“In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.”
John Muir
A few months ago, I heard someone make a comment on getting older. They implied that as we get older, “we all reach a point when we realize there is nothing new for us to do, nothing new to discover.” I don’t agree with this way of thinking. Aging doesn’t mean that life ceases to be exciting. No matter what your age, there are always things to discover and, with the proper perspective, re-discover. I do believe that we can never go back to life the way it used to be when we were young, and why would we? Yet in adulthood, if given an opportunity to re-experience something long forgotten, well, that’s a special gift, one that should be embraced.
I first noticed the Rio Grande River as I drove into Alamosa, Colorado in May of 2016. I was there to check out Adams State University where I hoped to continue my education after I completed my Associates degree at Pikes Peak Community College. No one had told me the river was in the San Luis Valley, much less that Alamosa was nestled against its southern shoreline. “Maybe I might have a chance to explore this river,” I thought. At that time, I had no idea what the Rio Grande would come to mean to me or how it would change my perspective on life.
Two years later, after finishing my first semester at ASU, I found myself standing at the river’s edge. It was a cool, sunny morning in mid-May, and I was restless and bored. I was supposed to be training for a new job but found myself with an unexpected day off. Still, I didn’t want to go back to my tiny apartment on campus or to the studio, so I decided to drive around town. I turned north on State Street to North River Road, and there it was, the Rio Grande River, the river I had been wanting to visit since I had moved to Alamosa five months before.
I pulled my car up under a tree near the bridge on the south side of the river. At first I was hesitant, but I wasn’t sure why. I had been wanting to explore the river. Now I wanted to avoid it. I was afraid that I would be disappointed at what I would find. After all, every river I have ever visited that was located this close to a town was abused and polluted, a shell of what it should have been, dying and devoid of wildlife and a vibrant ecosystem.
As I sat in my car, staring across to the north bank, I realized there was more to my apprehension than a damaged river. I felt something powerful when I saw the Rio Grande. Like it was calling me. This was something I hadn’t felt since I was a kid, and I wasn’t sure I could commit to what would be require of me emotionally. I told myself that I was too old for this nonsense. Yet, the longer I argued with myself, the more curious I became. At this point, anything would be better than cleaning my apartment for the millionth time.
I got out of my car, walked up to the trail above the river, and looked down at the water. There along the river’s edge were tall grasses intermixed with patches of cattails and a partially submerged log with a muskrat perched on it. This is a rare thing to see because these creatures are usually active in the evening. Muskrat are mostly omnivores but will eat small aquatic animals and even small birds. They make their homes along the banks of rivers and marshes. They’re known for the quality of their soft dense fir, not to mention a little-known fact: they’re really good to eat.
Several Canadian Geese were hanging out in the reeds along the north bank, as well as several pairs of ducks, including Mallards, Northern Pintails and Common Mergansers. The ducks swam and dove under the water, feeding on what they could find. Except for an occasional car passing over the bridge and the sound of birds, it was calm and quiet. The river’s current was slow and steady, fish fed on insects at the water’s surface. From what I could see, this appeared to be a healthy ecosystem.
Anticipation replaced apprehension as I began to walk north towards a bend in the river. Soon I began picking my way through the tall grass and reeds, looking for signs of other wildlife around the river’s bank. I found racoon and deer tracks. Although I didn’t see any fox prints, I could smell that a fox had been in the area recently. Fox will mark their territory, much like a dog, and the scent has a very distinct, pungent smell. Once you learn it, you won’t forget it.
My search revealed signs of a healthy muskrat population with a dozen or more holes burrowed along the bank. In addition to this, I found freshly cut branches with evidence of beaver teeth next to two slides that led into the water. The ground around these slides was spotted with fresh beaver and muskrat prints, and the slides were still slick from recent use.
I spent over two hours at the river that day carefully working my way along the shoreline, taking pictures and enjoying the environment. It felt good to be outside by the water, and childhood memories began to come back to me. I had forgotten how it felt to explore like this. It had been too long since I’d had the time and freedom to do this. I sat down on the bank and watch the slow meandering river do its thing while the fish and ducks continued to do theirs.
The following morning, I returned to the river to explore the east side of the south bank. This part of the river curls around the southeast side of Alamosa, flowing under a bridge that is highway 160, the main road entering town from the front range. Here the Rio Grande showed signs of human neglect and indifference. Where the day before revealed no trash in the river, this part of the river was littered with garbage along the banks and waters. Plastic bottles, cups, bags, aluminum cans, and broken glass littering the shoreline.
Despite the pollution, animal life still thrived. Two beaver swam down the center of the river. When then saw me, they disappeared beneath the water, slapping their tails hard as they dropped beneath the surface. Like muskrat, beaver are normally active in the evenings. They slap their tails on the surface of the water as an alert to possible danger. Beaver are also coveted for their fir and, like their cousins, the muskrat, they are also . . . wait for it . . . good to eat.
That evening, I returned to explore the north banks west of North River Road. This side of the river is more secluded, lined with willow bushes, reeds, grasses and small trees along the bank. A wide, elevated trail separates the Rio Grande from the Cattail Golf Course that lies to the north and east. 1,300 acres of open space and wooded land along the north side shade the trail and provide abundant habitat for the wildlife that live near the river. This is just a small part of a larger trail system that runs nearly eight miles. It’s known as the Alamosa Ranch Trail System, and it’s my favorite part of the river.
The best time to view wildlife is at dawn and dusk when they are most active. I now walk the trail twice a day, starting before the sun rises and ending after the sun sets. This allows me to experience the animals and their river up close and personal. On some days, I’ll see rabbits, chipmunks, and Mule Deer. On others, I’ll see muskrat, beaver, ducks, and porcupines. Sometimes, I’ll even come across racoons, fox, coyote, skunk, and snakes.
This area is a bird watcher’s paradise. I’ll see Robins (the rabbits of the bird world), Crows, Ravens, Magpies, Gold Finches, Western Scrub Jays, Mountain Bluebirds, Stellar Jays and many other bird species. The Red Winged Blackbird is my favorite. It’s an aggressive little bird and will dive bomb anyone who comes close to where it’s nesting. I discovered this first hand one evening while on the trail. As I was walking along, I felt a swoosh of air as something hit me on the shoulder. I looked up and saw this blackbird flying up high. Then, like a fighter jet coming in for another attack, it veered downward straight at me. The bird nearly took off my cap. This assault continued every day for several weeks. Every time I passed them, I had to hold onto my hat until I cleared their territory.
I haven’t see a Bald Eagle in this part of the Rio Grande yet. Still, I’ve seen several hawk species like the Red Tail Hawk, American Kestrel, and Ferruginous Hawk. I’ve also encountered Burrowing Owls and Turkey Vultures or, as the locals call them, Turkey Buzzards. These vultures are fun to watch in the mornings as they lumber around in wide circles, their wings half spread out, in an attempt to dry themselves off after a night of scavenging the river’s shores.
The porcupines have been fun to watch. They tend to cross the trail to the river at dusk. My first sighting was from a distance. At first, I thought it was a racoon, but this creature was waddling, and racoons don’t waddle. Since then, I’ve seen several of them leave the shelter of the trees and brush and head to the river in the evenings. Just for the record, porcupines don’t shoot their quills at you. However, I did get too close to one once and the little fellow bristled his quills and began to back up towards me. I apologized to him and took my leave.
Mornings are my favorite time on the river. Wildlife activity is higher, probably due to the cool nights and the lack of foot traffic along the path. One morning, I came across a Racoon and her six babies. I had seen their tracks on the trail. As I approached, I could hear her growling and chattering at her kits as they tried to climb a tree at the edge of the trail.
Clearly, she was telling them to climb higher, and every time she verbalized her commands, they would scurry higher in the tree. Except for one confused little kit, who dropped out of the tree to ran back to her. She sat up on her hind legs. Then in rapid fire motion using both paws, she slapped the mess out of him repeatedly until he ran into the marsh behind her. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was priceless.
Larger predators inhabit this part of Rio Grande, too, although I haven’t seen any yet. Black Bears patrol the area, but not often, and a reclusive Mountain Lion stalks its prey by the river. The local folks say she hasn’t been seen in over a year, but that doesn’t mean she won’t return. A Mountain Lion‘s territory can encompass 100 miles or more, so I look for her tracks and keep an eye on the trees and brush daily.
So far, the only animals that have posed a real danger to me are the deer and one crazy rabbit. The Mule Deer population along the Rio Grande River is abundant. Deer tend to be very playful in the morning and will run you down if you’re not careful. I experienced this first hand when a doe leaped out of the willows along the trail and stopped just a few feet in front of me. I could have reached out and touched her, she was that close. This has happened more than once. Here’s a note: deer don’t mind when you sing to them, but they freak out when you dance.
Another time, I came face to face with a young buck that had just crossed the river. He spread his legs in a defensive stance, pawed the ground, and lowered his head in a challenge. This behavior isn’t normal except during the rutting season, which it was not. Unlike with lions and bears, looking bigger isn’t better in front of a young buck who’s full of himself. Raising your hands over your head only poses a challenge to them. I just stood my ground until he lost interest and went on his way.
As I mentioned, rabbits are abundant along the river. I see dozens of them every day, scurrying back and forth from bush to bush. This defense tactic protects them from being captured by predators. It works well for avoiding hawks, but not so much for avoiding cars, or for avoiding me. Recently, a rabbit darted out in front of me as I was passing him. His indecisive behavior caused me to trip over him, kicking him in the side. Neither one of us sustained any injuries, and he posed for a photo.
Tragedies and triumphs occur every day along the Rio Grande. Lives are taken but never lost. Nature absorbs them and returns what has been taken, creating new life in its place. This is part of the natural order, the circle of life. Being able to experience these events and encounters with a new perspective has been amazing.
As a child, my perception of nature was whimsical and idealistic. I didn’t have the knowledge or understanding. Now, 51 years later, my life experiences have changed the way I perceive the natural world. Exposure to hunting, fishing, and trapping in my 20s and 30s gave me a different, more realistic outlook on wildlife and the ecosystem that supports them. My younger self wouldn’t have handled some of these things very well.
For instance, I watched a Magpie battle it out with a snake and lose. I saw a coyote snag a baby beaver from the shallows of the river bank while its parent watched helplessly from the water. Once, I witnessed a large owl swoop down and take out a rabbit, then disappear into the trees to feast. I even watched a large fish pluck a duckling from the surface of the river. The death of an animal by another animal is never easy to witness. Still, life goes on, and the cycle continues.
I was lucky to be present as a newborn fawn, still dark and slick from birth, took its first steps. I watched as it struggled to control its four wobbly legs and stumble after its mother as she made her way to the river. Baby rabbits play with each other, hopping high in the air then coming down in the same spot only to dash in a circle around each other. Racoon kits squabble over some find. Ducklings race over choppy water after their mother and twin fawns dance around in the shallows of the river. All of these experiences are part of life along the Rio Grande River, and I’m grateful for every one of them.
When I’m not on call as a campus resident assistant, I explore the river off trail, using deer trails to get closer to the river’s edge. I leave as little impact on the environment as I can. Needless to say, I look forward to these moments the most. I keep my own pace and enjoy my surroundings without outside responsibilities. I use this time to clear my head, reflect on my day or the day to come, and center myself.
Sometimes I listen to music, but I usually just listen to the sounds of nature and my own thoughts. Sometimes, I battle with myself over difficult decisions or how to approach an art project. When this happens, I go to the river’s edge to quiet the chaos and calm my uncertainties. This gives me peace.
The Rio Grande reminds me of the times I spent as a child by the creek behind our house. I didn’t have much to worry about as an eight-year-old in the ’60s. Still, my struggles with school and not fitting in weighed on me at times. I would spend hours alone with my thoughts as I played with tadpoles, frogs, and minnows, hunted for box turtles, and waded in the cool water. Being in the forest by the water allowed me to relax and focus.
Through the years, I’ve had many opportunities to enjoy nature. However, I never allowed myself the time or the freedom to embrace nature like I did as a child. I always had work to do. The responsibilities of raising kids, managing a household, and maintaining my career kept me detached from the natural world. I now have the chance to restore something that has been missing from my life. It is a gift from my childhood experienced from a different perspective. While it’s true that you can never go back, you can still revisit what has been lost with new eyes.
My time spent by the Rio Grande has signaled personal renewal. After 40 plus years, I’m finally returning to who I once was before poor life choices nearly buried me and hid me from myself. Several years ago, I let go of my past and decided to stop playing the role of the eternal victim. This step changed my direction and began to prepare me for where I am now.
As with the river and the life that surrounds it, the natural order of things can seem cruel, but we must accept the bad along with the good if we’re going to grow. We can learn from the bad, embrace the valuable lessons therein, and discard the negativity that all too often will define who we are instead of who we’re meant to be.
Sometimes, I’ll sit on the bank of the Rio Grande with my feet in the water and sketch or journal. Or I’ll skip rocks across the surface, or lie in the grass, stare at the sky, and enjoy the sunset. The river lets me see my life differently and accept the change. Living alone for the first time in my life has awarded me time to humbly reflect, to be silent and still and to listen. This isn’t what I expected would happen that mid-May morning as I reluctantly stood at the river’s edge for the first time.
The river has more to teach me, and I’m grateful that my time here is not up yet. It has become an important part of me, and I’ll never take it for granted. Eventually, I’ll leave Alamosa and the Rio Grande behind to pursue my master’s degree, but I’ll return to this place, and when I do, I’ll stand humbly on the river’s edge, absorbing its beauty and power.
Lost as I may be
All in the fog of my own noise and triviality
Grand Holy Mother, grant me clarity
I am standing on the edge of forever
Forever
One among infinity
Witnessing the majesty
Calm in this humility
Witnessing the majesty
Hope as far as one can see
Witnessing the majesty
Witnessing the majesty
Witnessing the majesty
Standing on the edge of forever. . . .
Maynard James Keenan
from “Grand Canyon,” Puscifer
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Susan Andrews lives in Colorado Springs. She is a graduate of Pikes Peak Community College and is currently working on a BFA with a concentration in painting at Adams State University, Alamosa.
