While spending a raucous two weeks in the California sunshine with family and friends for the holidays, I fell into a lovely rhythm of getting outdoors far more regularly than I’m able to during a typical Denver work week. The daily fresh air spurred thoughts of the many ways we wander through this world.
I usually relay stories of travel by car (I am American after all), or the occasional plane or train or boat, and some times I even sneak in a tale or two about hiking (really, with my own legs). But all of these modes possess a certain stride, a directness to reach a far off place. Yes, the journey is everything, but even while hiking we cover ground at a rather fast-pace.
Since I was five, my dad has taken me tracking (the simple, yet rather complex art of following animal sign through their habitat). So on New Year’s Day, we avoided the more classical pass time of watching the Rose Parade (not that it happened on the 1st anyway), by going out to check our “tracking boxes” in some near-by public lands. We’d smoothed out large sections of trail with a broom on New Year’s Eve in hopes that we could capture some clear, crisp prints of a mountain lion we knew to be traveling through the area.
I won’t confess to any shananigans, but tracking is a perfect way to spend the day after celebrating the end of 2011. Continue reading








