Dawn
Cool air from the sparse alpine land above fills the valley. The sky glows dimly at first, then brightens to violet, powder blue, and pink. Three mule deer tiptoe on delicate, silent hooves through campsites and between the black huckleberry and mountain ash. The doe stops to inspect the new day, her fawns pause at her side.
Busier creatures begin to stir. Juncos, chickadees, and nuthatches scratch and nibble. A thin chatter of birds warms up, a tiny orchestra tuning for their concert. As the sun crests the ridge to the east, the chorus begins.
Morning
The warming light wakes the landscape and casts a fresh contrast throughout the campground. Campers rustle and yawn as they unzip sleeping bags and tent flaps. The smell of campfire smoke and freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air.
Breakfast is grand, indulgent, and necessary—fuel for hiking. Eggs, hash-browns, sausage, beans, and toast cook fast over open flames. A golden-mantled ground squirrel scampers up a tree and sits on a low branch, watching, waiting, hoping for a handful of granola to hit the ground. A quartet of elk amble through the tent sites and disappear into the cool forest.
Afternoon
A piercing, deflating heat now forces campers, magpies, and cottontails into the cool shady patches of ponderosa. It’s time to sit, snooze, and pine for the relief of sunset.
The thick clatter of bandwing grasshoppers fills the air—crepitation, I think it’s called. It’s a sleepy, hot summertime sound. Up and down, they jump and click, males snapping their wings together again and again, hoping to impress the females who shelter amongst yarrow and dogbane leaves below.
Dusk
Campfires crackle, and children run free. The clatter of pots and pans crescendos as families prepare their evening meals. The sky darkens, but the air remains comfortably warm. Campers clip headlamps to their hats and walk the trails around the campground.
Mule deer rustle as they bed down in the shrubs. A bull elk bugles, and his cry echoes along the valley. An ancient sound that declares the arrival of the new night.
Nightfall
The campfire hisses and pops and burns itself out. At last, a cold bucket of water poured over top extinguishes what remains. Quiet voices mumble nearby, campers up late, immersed in some wild conversation. A gentle breeze touches the tent, the nylon puffs and deflates with the moving air. Toasty warm under a blanket, in a sleeping bag zipped tight.
Finally, the primitive sounds of the night. The quiet crunch of some large creature pawing through the campsite. A hollow thump at the food storage locker. A black bear checks the lock. Defeated, he wanders off to test the next.
A gentle air current washes through the treetops. Cool air descends once again. A calm, brushing, soothing sound. Now I sleep.