Flutes and Sasquatches in Divide
Exploring Pike National Forest with Sam, the dog, and a few mysterious signs in the woods
A couple of weeks later, we set out west of Divide, deep in Pike National Forest, ready to see what the woods might reveal. Sam walked beside me, binoculars slung around his neck, while the dog Caspian darted ahead, nose to the ground, chasing scents I couldn’t detect. The forest road stretched before us, and as we descended, I stopped to take in the view—rolling ridges and trees under a partly cloudy sky. The air was brisk but bearable thanks to all my layers.
Getting to the trailhead had been messy, the kind of adventure that leaves you laughing and groaning at the same time. At one point, the dog tangled himself around a tree, and in the chaos of trying to free him, Sam accidentally swung the leash and smacked me in the eye. That set the tone—one of those “what else could happen?” kind of days.
As we continued down the trail, Sam suddenly stiffened. “Did you hear that?” he whispered, scanning the distance. He thought he’d caught a low moan about half a mile away, though I hadn’t heard a thing. Could’ve been a motorcycle, I told myself, but Sam lifted his binoculars anyway, searching the treeline with quiet intensity.
We found a small rise and sat down to rest. Sam pulled out a recorder we’d brought, eager to experiment. Caspian perked up immediately, ears twitching as Sam squeaked out a hesitant tune. I tried it too but quickly admitted I was terrible at it. Sam chuckled, already doing better than me despite not remembering much of how to play. After all, when I was growing up all 5th Graders learned how to play the recorder!
When we gazed out over a ridge, Sam remarked how shadows between the trees could be perfect hiding spots for Sasquatches. His seriousness made me smile, but I knew he meant it. Just then, we both heard distant gunshots, reminding me that we couldn’t linger too long. The roads were icy, and the last thing I wanted was to be stuck in the mountains after dark.
Sam’s excitement returned when he spotted our first real sign: a tree break. He rushed over, pointing out not one but two breaks in the wood. “The wind can’t do that,” he said firmly. “And snow doesn’t either.” His voice carried the thrill of discovery. I couldn’t help but share his wonder—maybe it was nothing, maybe it was something. Out here, you never really knew.
We climbed another ridge and suddenly found ourselves staring at an awe-inspiring view of Pikes Peak. I’d never seen it from this angle before, and it struck me as breathtaking. Sam snapped photos while I marveled at the sweeping horizon. Still, the day was slipping away, and we needed to head back before the cold closed in.
Climbing uphill, my chest heaved with effort. I tried to pace myself, willing my heart rate to steady, when suddenly my ear began to ring. Strange, unsettling, but gone as quickly as it came. By then I was worn out but still warm, thanks to my heavy coat. The thought of hot chocolate at the end of the road spurred me forward.
At last, it was time to leave the forest behind. We hadn’t found definitive proof of anything mysterious, but we’d discovered beauty, adventure, and a few intriguing signs along the way. As I turned back toward the car, I couldn’t help but smile.
That day in Divide had been squatchtastic indeed.
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