Your Turn

Rocky Mountain High

By Gerry T. Himes

Cross-country skiing in Vail.
© Matt Inden/Weaver Multimedia.

Rocky Mountain High! Colorado. John Denver had it right when he wrote those words about the state with the mountains that reach to the sky.

On a cold morning in 1973, we were driving east to our new home in Denver from the flatlands of central Nebraska. We were still a good distance away when, across the prairie ahead of us, there appeared the snow-blanketed peaks that John Denver so lovingly wrote about. It was early that morning and they towered above the horizon, reflecting streaks of a red and pink sunrise. Our senses, deadened by the droning miles behind us, awoke to a majestic scene we would come to love.

Many mornings have passed since that welcoming sight of the ever-changing beauty and pleasures of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. We would become addicted to their many opportunities for recreation.

Skiing provided many fun days on the snow-packed slopes, our feelings and emotions caught up in the excitement. Winter weekends found us hurrying west to catch the first lift, complaints about the cold and the bulky ski gear disappearing with the first run.

All day, we’d hoot and holler, groom the slopes when we fell, and race to the bottom in envelopes of wind and snow spray. Our daughter’s pigtails flew behind her in the whoosh of air, her joy revealed in a permanent smile. We’d ski until the last lift closed, then the highs continued into the evenings with tales of the day’s memories.

When warmer suns melted away winter pleasures and spring exploded to new life, we sought our Rocky Mountain Highs in the national parks and mountains ranges of southern and southwestern Colorado. Canoeing, camping and hiking provided the fun we could not get enough of. Placid lakes, rushing streams, mountain trails that climbed to the skies, and secluded areas of quaking aspen fed our souls.

Through the years, the Rockies provided everything we could possibly want: recreation, beauty and outdoor challenges. Jeep trips cut through craggy mountainsides, within the breathtaking peaks high above Durango. Forlorn-looking ghost towns revealed skeletons of an Old West when hardy souls eked out livelihoods from whatever the land would provide.

Now, many years beyond that cold morning when the Rocky Mountains first took our breath away, we’re still here in Colorado, still enjoying those beloved peaks, reliving the memories made within their hallowed walls.

The truth is we could never leave. We had no reason to, because we knew we’d always miss that Rocky Mountain High.