It took 46 years, but what better place to enjoy one's very first night camped in a tent all alone in the wilderness than in pristine surroundings like these?
Experienced outdoorsy types may chuckle at my humble tent's cozy proximity to a certain well appointed spaceship above, but hey, I'm easing into this whole backpacking thing. Baby steps.
Lulled to sleep by the La Plata River doing its thing fifty feet below, I was mauled by precisely zero bears, zero mountain lions, and the exact same number of homicidal machete-wielding back-country nut jobs. Not one irrational cityslicker fear played itself out, and the next thing I knew, that very same La Plata was coaxing me back to life at sunrise. Good stuff all the way around.
Man, it's impossibly green up here in the San Juan Mountains. So much that the urge to tone down the saturation on these photos is strong (i.e. to make them more believable). But I resist.
It is, after all, a great comfort to be reminded that sometimes, the plain, unfiltered truth can be pretty breathtaking.