Misty Mountain Hop – Magicwolf's Wanderings

So I’ve decided what I’m gonna do now
So I’m packing my bags for the Misty Mountains
Where the spirits go now
Over the hills where the spirits fly

Decompression!

Sometimes I like to trot off on little solo trips into the bush to clear my head; away from towns and people-populated areas.

I cut through Rockerville, which is a tiny ghost town (except for one restaurant which still operates) hidden in the wooded median of the highway. Rockerville was founded in 1876 as a result of the gold rush; it was originally a mining camp. Sadly, widening the highway to a 4-lane effectively killed Rockerville, and most everything in it closed decades ago.

Them Thar Hills

It was overcast last weekend which made for some otherworldly-looking scenes back in them thar Hills that reminded me a lot of Yellowstone with the rising steam, except no geysers or boiling mud shot out of the earth!

Usually when I go out like that I have no set plans, no places to specifically be. I just load up my ever present Thermos of coffee and…go!

I found myself somewhere around French Creek. It was drizzling, but not enough where I’d get soaked so I parked Hhrbie and took a little hike. I didn’t plan to go there, I just spotted the sign and whistled in there on a whim.

Starting out.

Red cliffs towering overhead on the French Creek trail.

This is French Creek, I believe. I crossed it several times. It’s dry right now – which is a good thing or my hike would have ended abruptly – about 10 minutes after it started!

Portions of this trail (except for the towering red cliffs and hills!) reminded me a lot of wandering around by ‘the gravel pit’; a place I would go in northern MN in the fall.

Tiny white flowers peeking out of the ground.

On the way back to Hhrbie, mist hanging in the air.

Ponderosa branch taking a shower.

Herd of pronghorn, milling by the road.

There were few people or vehicles back where I was last weekend. I spotted literally hundreds of deer, a few buffalo, some turkeys and a herd of pronghorn. The white-butted critters peered at me curiously as I coasted by, and were in no particular hurry to wander off the road, and that was fine because I wasn’t in a hurry, either!