Near the beginning of one trail, Mrs. Hummingbird worked diligently to fashion a beautiful nest. Spiderweb strands were being tucked into its construction. Lichens and moss were used as camouflage. We were at the right place at the right time. She was almost eye-level, and we could watch her from just a few feet away. Her flashy green colors were amazing.
We were hiking in the Rocky Mountains in mid-July. As I recall, there had been a recent mountain lion attack on one of the trails we were hiking.
Just a few days before, we had been in the alpine area where the tallest thing around was us, and the next tallest things were the alpine flowers around our ankles. A thunderstorm rolled in and, naively, we were fascinated to watch the storm clouds below us. When we drove down the mountain, we saw someone lying in the Rainbow Curve parking lot with people gathered around. We learned the person had been hit by lightning. (Four had been struck, with one succumbing to his injuries. The previous day, in the same park, eight had been struck. Of those, one succumbed to his injuries. So take lightning seriously when outside in storms, especially when you are the tallest giant around.)
We were on a quest to hike to a glacier in Rocky Mountain National Park, and along the way, to see all kinds of amazing wildlife and alpine plants. We would head out early in the morning and hike for miles up the trail, leaving behind the forest trees, then still later the tortured miniature krummholz trees that weren’t as tall as we were. Above the tree line were just boulders, bedrock exposures, huge snow patches (even though it was mid-July), and meadows of ankle-high alpine plants. Our plan was usually to get back into the trees by early afternoon so as to be out of the alpine lightning strike danger zone before the afternoon thunderstorms would roll in.
This particular day, we had passed through a bone scatter of what used to be an elk, then hiked over a snow patch, saw a giant boulder with a large hole underneath it, scrambled over a massive boulder field, passed the last little patches of the krummholz, and were just about to the edge of a steep climb where we would’ve reached the tarn. The tarn was the little lake in the cirque at the foot of the glacier. We had hiked so many miles and almost reached our goal when suddenly it got stormy and dark, the wind picked up, and we heard thunder rolling around between the mountain walls. After seeing the lightning-strike victim a few days earlier, we were not going to be the tallest thing around! We were thinking fast and perhaps not very wisely.
“Hey, remember that huge boulder with the hole under it? Let’s hide in there.”
We scrambled down the boulder patches, slid down the snow fields, and crawled into the hole under the giant boulder. There was room for the three of us with plenty of room to spare. We sat there as the thunder raged and a rain and hail storm passed.
Now, we had flashlights amongst our gear in case of getting back down the miles of trail after dark. Shortly my son, who had gone in farthest, said, “Dad? There’s an elk leg back here with some skin on it!?!”
I whipped out my flashlight and shone it around the den, half expecting to be face to face with a mountain lion. No eyes glowed anywhere. Now, it might have been a bear den, or wolf hideout… who knows, but whewwww, we crawled into a den! Thankfully no one was home!
The storm passed, and we headed back down the mountain, enjoying amazing nature along the way. Incidentally, the next day we hiked another trail and were successful in reaching a different glacier.
We saw quite a few cute little pikas sitting on the rocks soaking up the sun. We also heard them calling to each other. We marveled as they foraged in the alpine meadows, gathering food for the winter by making haystacks. We wished to search for their hay piles, but we had a goal of reaching the glacier before the afternoon thunderstorms. What is remarkable about their haystacks is that they gather alpine avens and include them in the hay piles. The alpine avens are toxic to the pikas when eaten fresh, but, when included in the hay piles, the toxin acts to preserve the hay. As it does so, the toxins fade and are eventually edible for the pikas. Yes, pikas have a very wise Creator.
High in the Rockies, we encountered marmots in the boulder fields. One memorable time beside a pool of water at the base of a huge snowfield, we were taking a break among the boulders when some marmots came to join us. One even tried to make off with one of our day packs. I reckon since they hibernate more than half the year way down in their dens under the rocks, maybe they figured they might as well make their brief life in the sun more interesting.
Many kinds of alpine plants track the sun as it crosses the sky. This phenomenon is called heliotropism. The alpine avens, alpine buttercups, columbine, and others are heliotropic. Along with that, many of these flowers have parabolic-shaped flowers that focus the sunlight to assist in gathering heat for faster seed development. Insects like to bask in those solar collectors. We noticed especially flies basking on the alpine avens, the Colorado columbine, and the alpine sunflowers. Apparently alpine sunflowers don’t track the sun, but their habit of all pointing toward the area of the sky with the brightest sun is a form of heliotropism.
I’d recommend you not being the tallest giant around in the afternoon, and maybe skip crawling into a mountain lion’s lair.