Sugarloaf Strikes Again!

Sugarloaf Summit. Sugarloaf Mountain, Colorado, 2015

Yesterday afternoon, I stayed for three hours on and around Sugarloaf’s marvelous mammarian summit and watched as the latest storm front dissipated into flowing wreathes of vapor, caressing the valleys and slopes of the foothills. Stronger winds up on the Divide lifted snow plumes high into the air over the big peaks above timberline and rippled the sky into cigar lenticulars.

Strangely, even though we had up to six inches of snow down in Boulder, the taller surrounding mountains barely received a powdered sugar sprinkling. (I had some Nordic skiing in mind as I drove up the canyon, but it became apparent that photography would be the best game in town as I saw the conditions.)

And speaking of games…Yes, ’tis true, as I stood through sunset in gloves and parka on Sugarloaf’s nearly bald mound, I was missing that other highly-touted game down in Arizona. I chose Nature’s much more subtle, yet arresting, TV show, vice the screaming and pounding of highly paid 300-pound men with no necks ringing each other’s bells and bellies as best they can and chasing around a potentially underinflated oblong of leather.

Which is real, I ask?

The day was a monochrome one, at least for my eye.

This was one of those days that was probably better in the actual experience of being there, rather than merely seen after the fact through photographs. It was very hard to capture its essence. The best I could do are these half dozen selected images: