Jim's Last Campsite
For the better part of the last decade, Jim would spend a month camping in one of the many majestic national parks in Colorado. Each winter he would peruse maps and internet searches to select the perfect spot. His favorites were Gunnison National Forest and Grand Mesa National Forest, preferring western CO to avoid the crowds ascending from Denver. He would typically host shifts of one or more of his eleven grandchildren and their parents for the first three weeks of his trip and then spend a week on his own before returning to his home in St. Augustine. On several occasions he would come through KC and spend a week with me at the farm helping with whatever project I had going.
Every summer he would pick up a grandchild or two or more in Jacksonville, Charlotte, or Kansas City for the long drive to western CO. Once he got to his preferred park he would reconnoiter to find the perfect campsite, preferably one isolated from other campers, yet on the south-facing shore of a mountain lake. Grand Mesa, near Grand Junction, offered precisely such a site for Jim's last trip. If you've never been to one of these national treasures, it's hard to grasp their size. Think Rhode Island.
With Covid limiting options for solemnities in 2020, Jim's widow Mary decided it would be a fitting memorial for family and friends to visit the final campsite on the anniversary of his death.
I flew to Eagle, CO on Thursday and enjoyed a delightful dinner at the home of co-grandparents, Fred and Carolyn. The plan was I'd take a leisurely 3-hour drive Friday afternoon to Olathe, CO to join Mary and her family and Jim's son Jason and his wife Megan. I Googled the route that morning and was puzzled to see a Byzantine route indicating a 6-hour drive. I investigated and learned that I-70 was closed to all traffic in Glenwood Canyon (my intended route) owing to forest fires in the area followed by torrential rains and mudslides.
Todd, a friend of Fred and Lucy's, stopped by and offered some advice. He said, "Since you're going to be driving the Jeep, you can take a rocky, mountain road south of Gypsum that will eventually wind its way over an obscure pass and down to Carbondale. From there it's all paved roads west to Olathe. There could be a problem though if there are a lot of other people taking that route. All it takes is one knucklehead to get stuck on one of those shelf roads, and you could end up spending the rest of your life there."
The other options were a northern route through Steamboat Springs, Craig, and Meeker rejoining I-70 at Rifle, or a southern route through Leadville, Buena Vista, Gunnison, and Montrose. I chose the latter. Driving south on Highway 24 out of Leadville was like visiting old friends, Mt. Elbert, Mt. Huron, and La Plata Peaks, all formerly visited 14ers that are part of the Collegiate Mountain Range. At Salida, I turned west on Highway 50 and noticed signs saying the road is closed west of Gunnison. I thought to myself, 'Surely they wouldn't close this major east/west thoroughfare with I-70 closed,' and I drove on. Sure enough, the road was closed west of Gunnison as they were blasting.
On the bright side, the detour took me to some places I'd never been before, most of which offered breathtaking scenery. I drove along the north ridge of Black Canyon before heading north to Crawford, Hotchkiss, and Delta, CO. Fortunately, westbound traffic hugged the inner most lane on the mountain so I was spared the terrifying views of the Gunnison River as it carved its way through the canyon.
Six hours after leaving I arrived at the spacious, log cabin dwelling Mary rented outside of Olathe. The 6-bedroom home was surrounded by irrigated fields of corn, soy beans, milo, and marijuana. All crops appeared to be prospering. Shortly after I arrived we were treated to a 30-minute torrential rain then we dined on a home-cooked meal of elk, steak, lamb chops, and peach pie.
On Saturday morning, we left Olathe, elevation 5,300' and headed north. We stopped at one of Jim's favorite haunts, The Creekside Café and Bakery in Cedaredge, CO, for a tasty creekside breakfast, made even more memorable by 9" swirling propellers on 12" wooden stands sitting on each table. I was told they were automatic fly swatters. We drove about an hour and a half up into the Grand Mesa eventually reaching Jim's campsite at an elevation of 10,200'. It would be very easy to get lost among the many miles of rocky roads without the benefit of GPS.
Fourteen-year-old grandson Thomas and his Dad, Ryan, were the last family members to see Jim alive after being delivered from their campsite to the airport in Montrose. When we arrived at the campsite Thomas enthusiastically gave me a guided tour. "This was our campfire, here's where Papa's tent was, this is where I chopped wood, here was one of our favorite fishing spots. This is where Papa parked his car and set up a clothesline so no other campers would wander near our special place. Papa would give me $50 if I could split a large log with one swing of the axe."
"Did you ever cash in?"
"Yes, a couple of times. I cut, split, and stacked enough wood to last Papa for his final week."
Mary later told me, that when she and son, Aaron, arrived to retrieve Jim's car and camping gear, all of Thomas's fire wood was gone. Jim had a lot of gear, a tent of sufficient size for him to stand, a cot, sub-zero sleeping bag, fishing gear, his well-used Coleman stove, and a newly acquired chainsaw and giant ax. Fortunately, nothing but the firewood was taken. Mary recalled, "Jim had accumulated so much stuff. A deputy brought a lot of it down to Grand Junction. I will always reflect on how caring and helpful Mesa County Sheriff Jeff Burne was during that terrible time."
Thirty minutes after we located Jim's last campsite, we were treated to another major rainstorm. We retreated to our 12-passenger van, where we stayed for the next two hours. We'd see flashes of lightning followed by the roar of thunder. One lightning strike had to be very chose as the thunder followed immediately. We figured that was Jim's way of saying hi.
I sat next to Jim's youngest granddaughter, 6-year-old Nora, during the wait, and we shared a couple of stories. I told her about the Magic Mermaid Princess and her adventures with sidekicks Willy and McGregor, the singing dogs. She said, "That is a very good story, but I have one that is better."
"I'm all ears."
Nora said, "This is a story about a boy whose life was saved by bubble gum."
"Once upon a time there was a boy named Billy who loved bubble gum. He was tall and thin, kind of like a green bean. One day he begged his Mother to give him some money so he could buy more bubble gum. The Mom told him that he already had enough bubble gum, why would be need more. The boy begged and begged, and finally she relented, and Billy went to the store to buy more gum. He bought a big wad and put it in his breast pocket." Actually, Nora didn't use the words 'breast pocket' instead she demonstrated by patting her chest.
Nora now paused for a while, and I thought that might be the end of the story, and I said, "How does the gum save Billy?"
Nora replied, "You silly, I was just about to get to that."
"So, one day Billy was walking through the forest and he came upon a long poisonous snake. The snake sprang up trying to bite Billy in the face, but it instead bit him in the pocket that held his bubble gum. This surprised the snake, and it slithered off leaving Billy unharmed."
I said, "That is a great story. But I have one question. Did the snake blow bubbles as it left?"
"No, you silly. Snakes can't blow bubbles."
I told Nora I was very impressed by the sophistication of her language. She said, "Thank you," and added, "Old people usually don't know how to talk to kids. You know why?"
"Why?" I asked.
"Because they talk to us like we are children."
"Good advice."
When the rain stopped we got out and continued to enjoy Jim's final resting spot. Granddaughters Madelyn and Ashley explored on their own, and the adults hiked on various trails around the campsite. 9-year-old Samantha caught eight good sized rainbow trout. Later, when we were loading the van, a large 50ish man wearing a Red Sox hat walked by and noticed Sam holding up her stringer of fish. He was wearing an elaborate fishing vest with a million lures and flies and an abundance of gear, and he carried a fishing net suitable for Jaws. He was fishless, and asked Sam what she was using for bait.
"Wal-Mart Trout PowerBait." She answered.
The man's wife chuckled loudly. Sweet!
We stayed until it was almost dark largely leaving unspoken the reason we all had gathered.
On July 24, 2020 James Milton Sneed delivered the last of his guests to the airport in Montrose, CO. He returned to his lakeside campsite in the Grand Mesa National Forest, built a fire, poured himself a glass of wine, and sat in his camp chair to enjoy the scene. Nearby campers discovered his body the following day. Here's a picture of Jim's last campsite:
