Late afternoon below Emerald Lake: the view has changed
From the edge of Aspen Grove canyon the fire is clearly visible. I stand and watch it eat a ridge of pine trees. They literally explode into balls of fire that shoot into the air and light the underside of the billowing thunderhead of smoke. A tiny mosquito whine marks where tanker planes and helicopters circle to battle the blaze.
The fire is burning right across the ridge trail where I often ride my mountain bike. I know that fire is a natural part of the cycle of life on the mountain.
But I mourn the landscape I have known.
The sun is now completely eclipsed behind Timp's summit, and within just a few minutes the lengthening shadows eat the light from the surrounding hills. Only the towering smoky thunderhead retains a golden glow in its upper reaches to complement the dancing red at its base. I still have nearly seven miles of steep trail to cover. I drop over the edge of the canyon and begin winding through the switchbacks below.