Rocky Mountain National Park

    Yesterday I drove to Rocky Mountain National Park. Here are some of the things I saw:

    I saw groves of Aspen trees, huge patchworks of color on the mountain sides, millions of leaves glimmering like gold medallions in the bright sunshine. I saw a bull elk take a leisurely stroll across a meadow, unfazed by the crowd of tourists taking his picture from the road. I saw, from 12,000 feet above sea level, the vast panorama of the Never Summer Mountains, newly dusted by the first snow of the season.

    I saw long lines. Lines of traffic at the park entrance, lines of people waiting for the bathrooms. I saw Magpies. I don't have much to say about Magpies other than I like saying the name. Magpies. I saw snow banks on the side of the road taller than my car. I saw dead trees, alarming numbers of them, killed by a beetle that no one can stop. Nature acting naturally. I saw the wind blow, cold and strong, so strong it made the only sound I heard when I was away from the cars and the people. I saw rocks of all sizes and shapes, perilously perched in gravity defying positions.

    I saw people. Lots of people. People with their families, people with friends. I saw people picnicking. I saw people posing for cameras mounted on tripods. I saw people asking strangers to take their pictures so the whole family could be part of the memory. I saw people pushing baby strollers, walking dogs, running to the next scenic view-point. I saw people making snowballs for a surprise attack on someone unsuspecting, someone who was undoubtedly an important part of their lives.

    It’s a privilege to be able to see all of these wonderful things. My job makes it possible. But this time, for the first time, I realized something was missing. My pictures have no people in them. They have snow-covered mountains and golden trees and majestic animals, but no people. As I watched them all with their families and their friends, it occurred to me that I could be the only person in this 266,000-acre wonderland who was here alone. And that’s when I knew I have to quit doing this job. It’s time to go home.(9/2009)