Fording the river at 400 cfs was a bit trickier than I imagined. We had learned from previous crossings to avoid the narrower rocky rapid part as the water becomes swift and scary. We made it across and while making our way downstream encountered a large beaver lodge wedged between a massive basalt boulder and the west gorge wall. This was no doubt the very large beaver I had seen swimming about several weeks before. I envisioned angry beaver teeth emerging and gnawing my shin bone as we went over the lodge hearing splashing and smelling musk. We crossed over without incident.
The next leg of our journey was a game trail (antelope?) that utilized a ramp like structure for descending and ascendinf the 100 foot gorge.
We removed our life jackets and water shoes and climbed up to the baking desert plateau of the BLM.
As we trudged the two miles in a beeline fashion toward the hills, I coached my son on rattlesnake etiquette, hydration, and noting landmarks for the return trip.
When we reached the base an hour later I had this strange notion that I was a patriarch leading his son to the top of a desert mountain in the Holy Land (This part of Colorado can do that to you). On this particular "mountain" the Lord provided swarms of gnats, piles of droppings from some rock rodent and an incredible view of the Taos Plateau and San Luis Valley. There were windshelters made of volcanic rock on both peaks erected by some unknown party. Like us, they too were drawn to these distinctive black hills.
