February 2004 Turtle Rock lies just off Interstate 80 between Cheyenne and Laramie, Wyoming. A network of roads and picnic grounds snake through the area, assuring me that this place is well-used in the summer months. In January, however, when I first visited, only a few other cars decorated the snowed-over entrance road as I started my hike. The road off the main road was not plowed, so Frank, Makenzie (members of the vaunted Canis genus) and I hiked over giant snowdrifts intermixed with stretches of smooth blacktop as we followed the road towards the trailheads. Frank and Makenzie bounded through the snow, illegally off-leash, of course, and frolicked in the sugary white powder. It didn’t seem to sink in that if they strayed too far from the beaten path, they immediately fell up to their necks in snow.  The day was clear and very cold. A typical Wyoming wind blew from the west at around 40 knots, inducing me to cover up almost every square inch of skin. Once again, my canine companions did not seem to notice that the wind chill factor was well below zero. Not knowing where I was headed, I wandered around in the snow a little, taking clues from footprints that had fallen ahead of mine, judging the main route by the density of boot and ski tracks. Of course, the majority could all have been going the wrong way, but that’s a chance I took. I reached a point in front of a giant monolithic rock dome that had a sign planted on it indicating trailhead proximity. I assumed the advertised Turtle Rock was before me, and I spent a few moments trying to see the Turtle in the rock, on top of the rock or as the rock, whatever the case actually happens to be. No luck. Lots of interesting rocks around, but I never saw anything that struck me as turtle-like. Lots of rocks struck me as turd-like, but maybe that’s just because I’ve been hanging around my dogs in city parks with strictly-enforced poop-scooper laws for too long. At the insistence of my impatient companions, I headed downhill through some spruces following the beaten path of boot tracks. The path led to a small parking lot with an outhouse at one end and the trailhead at the other. I hit the trail and began walking west with the rock dome on my right. Beaver ponds, frozen over with only a few small willows poking through the ice, appeared on my left. I threw rocks out onto the ice for Makenzie to chase, and laughed as she swirled and spun on the ice trying to catch the rocks. I had a hard time keeping Frank in sight. He kept trotting ahead quickly and disappearing around bends in the trail. As the area was heavily wooded, I constantly lost track of him as he took his white and black pelt into perfect camouflage under the dappled shadow and snow-covered forest floor.  As anticipated, the trail began to resemble a loop, as it turned north and then veered to the northeast. I stopped to grab my ziploc of Texas pecans, sent to me by Dad and Grandparents as a special Christmas delicacy, and stowed my parka while I was at it. In the trees, the wind had died down, and my quick pace was beginning to activate the old sweat glands. Knowing that a damp shirt would be a liability in the wind-swept rocks to come, I tried anything to stay dry. The snow was deepest on the northwestern side of Turtle Rock, and I noted that fewer footprints had made it this far. In places, there were no footprints, and only the keen sniffer of Makenzie kept us near the trail. On the north side of the rock, I stopped to photograph the interesting rocks that came into view. The sun shined on me from the east, and warmed me up nicely. I had to constantly throw objects for the dogs behind me to keep them from running up the very hillside I was setting up for. They seem to believe that any photograph I make should have them in it. Vain little brutes, no doubt.  After snapping a few clicks of the rocks, I decided to scramble up towards them for a better look. A long, rough slab of snow-free rock provided a quick highway up to the heights, and I made it up in no time. But as I neared the top, I was stymied by deep snow in crevices and unscalable rocks. From the position I attained, however, I could see quite a lot. The Sherman Mountains stretched to my north, and I could make out the plains around Cheyenne far on the eastern horizon.  The tallest sections of Turtle Rock blocked my view to the south or west. I wandered around looking for a  new place to descend, but because of the deep snow in areas, I decided it was best to return the way I had come. I regained the trail and continued on. I stopped for a water break under an arch created by two free-standing boulders on a sloping rock face. I threw rocks for Makenzie to chase (her favorite game) while Frank nosed around the underbrush looking for lunch. We scrambled among the rocks a little. I managed to hide from them both and watched with amusement as they circled around below me, frantically searching for a scent. Frank, who uses his eyes much more than Makenzie, saw me up above and made a few leaps to gain my perch. Makenzie soon followed.  Very soon afterwards, the trail intersected Crow Creek, and a pleasant little waterfall. Fifty feet beyond that lay another trailhead. From there I followed a road that led to another picnic area, and from there uphill towards the car. I met the first people I’d seen all day on the road, two guys with two dogs. Makenzie and Frank, still far too concerned with the surrounding terrain, paid them almost no heed as they ran right past with only a cursory sniff. Sometimes I wonder if they are really dogs.  I returned to the car after the short hike, and lamented that the weather was not fair enough for a multiple-day trek. Day hiking usually seems to be wanting the adventure of a backpacking trip. I went home and began perusing Canyonlands maps, eager for spring….

Page Created March 31, 2004