Western Morning, Southern Afternoon

While the East Coast got pounded by record-breaking blizzards, we were enjoying an absolutely blissful weekend here in Boulder. It was sunny and clear, and although the mercury topped out in the mid-50s, it felt much warmer than that when one was in the sun. It was a perfect day for a hike, so I packed Mischa into the car and joined some friends at a trailhead a mere eight minutes' drive from our house. The park is called Chataqua and it's criss-crossed with trails that lead up to the nearby Flatiron Mountains. Here is Mischa, posed and ready for hour hike.

Most of the pictures I took ended up looking more like this, so I was pleased with the shot above:

Although the day was warm, the trail was very, very icy, but fortunately everyone in our group had the good sense to bring spikes. This is a product I didn't know even existed for most of my life, but in Boulder it's indispensable. I actually own two different types, one like the picture to the left and the other with smaller spikes under the ball of my foot and springs to dig into the snow that run under my heel. They're great because they're light enough to carry easily if you don't need them, but they make it possible to walk up slick surfaces that would be nearly impossible otherwise. We cruised by lots of hikers who were slipping and sliding along the trails and turning back early. Perhaps that is why the area wasn't as crowded as it ought to have been, considering the wonderful weather. We had a great time.

Mischa, who had no spikes, did an excellent job anyway. Ed and I had taken her up Mt. Sanitas, another nearby trail, earlier in the week, so this wasn't her first rodeo. Sanitas involves lots of scrambling over small boulders, and we were pleased that Mischa, who had never done anything like that as far as we knew, had little trouble picking out and executing a path over the rocks. She seemed to have a great time, and she was cheerful on our Saturday hike, too (which had no boulders to climb over and so was easier going). She hardly pulled on her leash at all, which is an improvement, was serene instead of anxious when passers-by attempted to pet her, and even did a fair job of ignoring many dogs we passed. (We still have a lot of work to do on this front.) She ended up muddy, tired, and happy.

Having worked up an appetite on the trails, several of our friends and I made a bar in South Boulder our next stop because they were hosting a crawfish boil. They do this a few times a year, apparently, and I will most definitely be back for the next one. Crawfish came in one-pound baskets or three-pound buckets, accompanied by corn on the cob (a little overdone) and boiled potatoes. I dispatched my own basket and part of a friend's, then helped Ed with a three-pound bucket. They were delicious and fun to eat. The only place I'd ever eaten crawfish before was a New Orleans-themed restaurant in Manhattan, so I have yet to rack up an "authentic" experience, but I'm not complaining.

Our bucket

I will be on the road quite a bit for the next few weeks, but I couldn't have asked for a higher note to go out on.