Snowshoeing on the mesa
For the last day of my Christmas vacation, we went on a snowshoe adventure at Grand Mesa, the broad massif that dominates the eastern horizon in Grand Junction. The tourism brochures here refer to Grand Mesa as 'the world's largest flat-topped mountain'; locals simply call it The Mesa. It's capitalized of course, because there are plenty of lower case mesas strewn around these parts but only one Mesa that tops out over 10,000 feet, complete with alpine lakes, aspen groves, conifer forests complete with that piney scent that spells Rocky Mountains to me, and -for several wintry months- snow deeper than the average 4-year-old. It is amazing how, in less than 60 minutes, we can leave our red-rock desert home and find ourselves in a perfect high mountain setting.
This trip was Cailan's first sojourn with snowshoes, barring a brief stomping in the park last week. Once we were all finally dressed and shod, he gamely struck out into the deep snow and down a steep slope. He fell down a lot but was enthusiastic about getting up again. Then we went up a short, steep hill with lots of powdery snow, and I think it wore him out. We reached a packed trail after that where the going was much easier, but he only made it another 5 minutes before he was done, laying in the snow and howling that he wanted to go home.
I wrestled him, still crying, into the backpack that has served us far longer than I ever expected; then I distracted him with the chocolate alphabet cookies I packed for just such emergencies. We set out again, and since I was loaded down with 34 extra pounds I stuck to the packed trail so I didn't sink too deep in the fresh powder.
First we went through a spruce forest, where the tree branches wore big puffs of snow like they were lathering up for a shave. The trees were dense enough to block out most of the sunshine, so it was dark, quiet and a bit mysterious. Then we emerged at a chain of lakes - Cailan didn't quite believe there were actually any lakes there, since they were iced over and covered with snow. 
The lake surfaces were smooth and white, sparkling a bit in the sun and marked with only a few tracks: skiers, snowshoers, rabbits, and very happy border collies. We walked along the shore, up and down some hills, and eventually came to a ridge that looked to be a dam. There was a groove in the snow that seemed to be an outlet from this lake where a little stream might flow to another, more distant lake. 
There were some big boulders atop the dam with some rock surfaces exposed above the snow. We stopped here for snacks and a bit of a rest, feeling surprisingly warm in the bright sun. Then we switched loads for the return trip, so that I carried the light pack and Chris was wearing Cailan.
Cailan remained in a good mood throughout the trip, talking and laughing and never complaining about being cold. But as soon as we got back to the car he started crying: "My hands are cold! My feet are cold!" He had little icy tears trickling down his pink cheeks. We got him into the car, turned the heater on, and I cupped my hands over his, trying to warm them up - they were, in fact, very cold. Fortunately, there is a small lakeside resort and restaurant on the Mesa that stays open all winter. They were well stocked with hot chocolate. Within a few sips Cailan was revived, so the trip ended on a good note.
Chris took these pictures, using the small camera we pack along on outings. When I first looked at the photos, I thought his gloves were in the pictures, at the top left and bottom right. But actually it's the camera - with the dirt and grit of many states, and having been dropped a few times on bike rides, the lens cover doesn't move so well any more and wasn't fully retracting the first few times we used it that day.
