Dispatches From El Escondido, Vol 1, Sunday

 Awake before dawn, I grind beans and urge the coffee maker to life.  The alchemy is a mystery to me,  but coffee in the mountains tastes better than anywhere in the world.  This morning it was 37F on the front porch, and the warmth of the cup was welcome. 

I watched the first rays of sunlight of sunrise play with the crags across the valley, changing them from somber sentinels to majestic palisades. Few clouds were present at muster; the sky an azure blue.

It is dry in the San Juans. Not enough snow this year. Monsoon rains brought some relief, but they were not enough to bump up stream flows. For now, this area that endured the West Fork complex/Papoose fires in 2013 has stayed relatively free of fire.   

Mountain folk know the names of big fires like salty folks on the the coast remember the names of a hurricanes.  Disasters have a way of leaving marks on both people and land. 

After breakfast, I take out my bow and get in some practice. I have a new one-pin adjustable site I am still getting used to. It's nice to step out the back door of the cabin to fling some arrows without worrying the neighbors. 

I drive into town to pick up my fishing license, and get a serenade from a bagpiper in the city park.  I suspect his family encouraged him to practice someplace other than at home. 

The town is much quieter than normal on a Labor Day weekend. Usually the streets would be crowded with spectators for the gravity derby, and hot air balloons would fill the sky. But no one will use the word "normal" to describe 2020. 

The weather called for a high of 71 today. An early cold front promises to bring snow showers and much colder temps mid-week. The aspens are still mostly green - but I suspect they will put on their fall finery later this week. 

I have a couple creeks I want to fish before the cold hits, and one that I am saving for after. Today did not disappoint. Small waters, dry flies, and perfect fish that you have to earn. 

A hawk flew into a tree 5 yards away and watched as I fished. A little later I was preparing to loose a bow and arrow cast, and a small bird flew into my rod tip, startling us both, but thankfully he seemed no worse for wear. 

Tonight I am tired. I hiked over six miles today at nearly 9,000 feet of elevation. A hot shower, grilled steak and a good book are in my future. Tomorrow another creek awaits.