The Colorado Rocky Mountains were my vision of paradise. Their immense proportion, viewed against the surrounding pines, deluged my senses with an all-encompassing wholeness and an aura of well-being. No other place produced such an effect within me; I felt no spiritual rift with the universe and no emotional rift with myself. I could not understand the stop-and-start tourists who drove through the park simply to justify their bumper stickers; or those who, at a scenic turn off would jump out, peer over the railing and pronounce, "Nothing special here" if there were no chipmunks to feed. They wanted artificial, invented forms of entertainment. If there were no buttons or knobs to pull, no tour guide, nothing that spoke to them through a speaker or took them on a ride, the place had no significance. Whirlwind tourists rarely ventured onto any of the trails, or if they did, seldom walked further than one mile. Since all social amenities had to be packed in, few sight-seers prepared themselves for adversity of even the kindest temperament. They generally had no poncho, wore heeled shoes or sandals, carried no energy food, and of course, no water. Once their mistakes were evident, they wasted no time retracing their steps, trundling down the trail with parched mouths agape and pouting loudly for the lifestyle they had momentarily misplaced. Norm and I generally encountered these people on our return from a long hike; since our trek had begun early in the morning, we avoided the afternoon rain and completed our hike long before the sun dipped behind the mountains, washing the surrounding land in darkness. When I saw a "typical" tourist attempting a hike while toting a radio or blandly surveying the scenery, I realized how different I was... and how thankful I was concerning the former statement. I knew also, that if it were not for the differences in people, I could not revel in the solitude that was mine to enjoy. Our days in the mountains were excellent. The rain never lingered, leaving the nights clear and cold. We often returned to the park after supper to drink in the darkness and listen to the wind dance in the pines. Apart from society, but for an occasional passing automobile, we felt delivered, not deprived. Cool winds swept through the silhouetted trees and curled between tight crevasses, producing a melodious rhythm which conjured the impression of silence. The noise of society was stilled in tranquility. By daylight we roamed the trails, packing our essentials and my camera. I never hoped to confine the actual beauty of nature on film, but toted my camera as a pictorial diary. Photographs had become my favorite souvenir for their dimensional forms recalled statements attesting to one's destination... they were almost like eyes into the past. Aug. 8, 1980... Sandbeach Lake (a 4 mile hike). It was gorgeous. Got sunburned. Felt great...not tired at all.