Pool with a View
A small alpine tarn reflects diffuse afternoon light just below Mitchell Lake (10,730 ft.; 3,270 m) on the east side of the Continental Divide, as Parry's Primrose (Primula parryi), Marsh Marigold (Caltha leptosepala), and Alpine Laurel (Kalmia microphylla) crowd the boggy foreground, Indian Peaks Wilderness, Colorado. This is a hand-held focus-stack of 3 images.
On this particular Monday the 3rd of July, truly an orphan among Mondays, falling as it did right before the 4th of July, I contented myself with the idea of skiving off work, and seeking the high-country with my family. If ever a day were made to engage in the most corporate of flex-time policies, this would be it. An orphan of opportunity.
To fulfill this vision of abdication of one's typical responsibilities, I packed a lunch, a light alcohol stove for making hot tea, a pot, a wee bit of milk, a couple of drinking vessels, quite a few pounds of camera equipment, and a small bushel of jackets and sweatshirts into my full size backpacking rucksack. I figured I might as well be the mule since it was my idea, and I typically enjoy the prospect of said labors.
At this point in the journey, we were returning hastily to the car as a mass of fast-moving grey clouds crossed the heights of the Divide to the west and began to darken ominously. We skipped over large patches of snow in the trail, and in the distance I saw the pink from this wet meadow drawing my eye. I slid down a shallow-sloped snowbank, carefully negotiated a few willows, and was greeted to this suddenly calm scene. The wind had unexpectedly died moments before, for no particular reason.
Pool with a View
A small alpine tarn reflects diffuse afternoon light just below Mitchell Lake (10,730 ft.; 3,270 m) on the east side of the Continental Divide, as Parry's Primrose (Primula parryi), Marsh Marigold (Caltha leptosepala), and Alpine Laurel (Kalmia microphylla) crowd the boggy foreground, Indian Peaks Wilderness, Colorado. This is a hand-held focus-stack of 3 images.
On this particular Monday the 3rd of July, truly an orphan among Mondays, falling as it did right before the 4th of July, I contented myself with the idea of skiving off work, and seeking the high-country with my family. If ever a day were made to engage in the most corporate of flex-time policies, this would be it. An orphan of opportunity.
To fulfill this vision of abdication of one's typical responsibilities, I packed a lunch, a light alcohol stove for making hot tea, a pot, a wee bit of milk, a couple of drinking vessels, quite a few pounds of camera equipment, and a small bushel of jackets and sweatshirts into my full size backpacking rucksack. I figured I might as well be the mule since it was my idea, and I typically enjoy the prospect of said labors.
At this point in the journey, we were returning hastily to the car as a mass of fast-moving grey clouds crossed the heights of the Divide to the west and began to darken ominously. We skipped over large patches of snow in the trail, and in the distance I saw the pink from this wet meadow drawing my eye. I slid down a shallow-sloped snowbank, carefully negotiated a few willows, and was greeted to this suddenly calm scene. The wind had unexpectedly died moments before, for no particular reason.