I may be an Easterner by birth, but my heart belongs out West.

The sheer physical beauty of the place is stunning - mountains and canyons, deserts and forests, all beneath an expansive blue sky. As the sun sets, the stars blaze in the velvet night. I'm drawn to that sense of space, and the perspective it provides. Plus, there are so many memories of amazing outdoor adventures, shared with a group of friends I met while living in Tucson some 25 years ago. Hiking the nearby Santa Rita and Rincon Mountains. Rock climbing the terrifying/exhilarating routes at Windy Point on Mount Lemmon. Backpacking in Grand Gulch and Escalante and the Uintahs and Wind Rivers. Mountain-biking the iconic White Rim Trail in Canyonlands, the slickrock of Moab, the sweet singletrack of Vernal and Fruita.

In early July, I packed my bags and headed out to meet those friends in southern Colorado. We convened in a large log house outside Westcliffe, with a perfect view of the rugged Sangre de Cristo peaks across the valley. Mornings were spent on the deck sipping coffee, watching the dogfights of hummingbirds fiercely defending their feeders from competitors. Once sufficiently caffeinated, we hiked the mountain trails, or enjoyed the picking and singing at the local bluegrass festival, or sampled craft beer at the Colorado Brewers Rendezvous, or toured the surreal fantasy of Bishop Castle. Then it was back to the deck in time for happy hour cocktails, the aerial maneuvers of hummers replaced by the flits and dives and whirrs of nightjars as the sun sank behind the mountains. And those sunsets? Spectacular!

Two weeks flew by more quickly than imaginable. We said our goodbyes and scattered to our homes in Arizona, Utah, Montana, Maryland. But the sense of space, the memories of new adventures, and the appreciation of great friends remains. Until next time...

h.