Snowmobiling on Priest Mountain
In late May I never pictured myself carving a highmark on Priest Mountain. Priest Mountain is nestled on the east edge of the Grand Mesa National Forest. Deep sugary snow and feathery blue spruce trees cover the mountain and the area around. One fine day it occurred that I had the opportunity to carve my highmark and I still I have the mental image of my territory after that day. Even before that day, Priest has left a impression on me. Priest Mountain, for me, has been such a majestic riding area; Iíve been riding in this area for more than 10 years, and it is such a magical place to ride.
On this one fine day, we had a typical Colorado snow storm.. I can recall this very trip to the wonderful Grand Mesa because my mom was sick and it was Mother's Day. She told me to go have fun, and that she'll wait until she feels better. My dad wanted to play in a golf tournament, but I wanted to go snowmobiling. We both agreed that he would play golf in the morning and once he was done, I would meet him in the parking lot on the mesa to go snowmobiling.
My dad said, "Don't leave until I call you!"
"Dad, just watching TV, I'll be here." I replied.
The snow began to fall, and I could not control myself; so I just left. Jeff rode with me in the Power Stroke, and Alex rode with Justin in the Dodge. By the time I reached Cedaredge, I couldn't even see the sleds behind me because the snow was flying like crazy. I wondered why my dad was still playing golf in this weather, but that's my dad; he loves to play golf.
The whistle of the turbo diesel and the classic rock was getting me pumped for the awesome ride to come. By the time we were on top of the mesa, there was one foot of new fluffy snow...
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... halfway. Justin followed, he came down and told us to take the high side, there is less snow. I was ready; I hit the throttle and from the basin up, the ride seemed to last forever. I began to climb and my Yamaha screamed like a cat in a fight. I followed the backbone and kept climbing until I came out on top
I arrived at the crest and quickly noticed the mountain top bowl lined with snow. I plowed through the snow up to the peak of the bowl; man, what a view from the top. I could see the guys down at the bottom and miles into the distance. I could almost see all of Delta County in one shot and it was magnificant. I had now conquered the mountain, Priest from now on feels like my place. This mountain will certainly be a part of me for the rest of my life. I'm sure I will travel to other places that will be beautiful, but nono of them will match Priest Mountain.
Dillard’s use of images, words and figurative and lyrical language in her description of mountain together create a sense of motion and vitality, as if the landscape she depicts is actively alive, shaping and forming itself before her. The vitality of this particular landscape, as observed during her moment of transcendence, perhaps suggests that such life may only be observed but at rare and ...
The novel I am Malala tells the story of a pakistani girl named Malala Yousafzai, where she illustrates her story of her life and her movements towards women’s rights and girls education. Being the youngest candidate for the nobel prize, Malala inspires a multitude of girls, women, and social activist all around. She fights to create a generation who thrives in education and who lives truly how they should live in. Therefore, Malala wields surreal imagery to illustrate her events, utilizes drastic pathos to compel the readers into action, and excessive juxtaposition to contrast the American society to hers.
Looking upon the huge hill, a great, enormous, mass of snow, I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the hill. It was my first blue square course, an intermediate level. I felt thrilled, excited, scared,
A couple of years ago during one of those, on a whim after spending a few days in Arches National Park, my wife and I detoured to the snowy, icy south rim of the Grand Canyon. We journeyed toward it from the east side but got turned back at the National Parks’ gate; the road was snowed under from there on up. After retracing our steps, we traveled down to Flagstaff and spent the night, driving in my four by four truck up to the South Rim the next day. It was an eerie experience to stand on the edge of the South Rim and see only cloud; fog shrouded the canyon’s great gap, leaving us with visual doubts that anything was really there. Defeated, we hit the Visitor’s Center and gathered information so we could go back sometime in the spring or fall with weather more to our liking.
We looked around for a little while longer and Tom spotted a nice hit. It was an untouched field, with three 10-15’ drops which made for great hits. After hiking about a quarter of a mile we made it there. A quarter of a mile does not sound like that much of a walk but it is not as easy as it sounds when you are walking in snow past your knees deep, simply it took almost an hour and a half. We strapped in and took off, making huge carves in all the fresh powder that had probably not been ridden in at least a week. The first hit was coming and Tom shouted “hit it man,” As Dan and I approached the hit we got some big air. The only problem with riding such fresh snow is that when you land in that amount of fresh powder you sink like a rock.
As the two men hiked, they came upon many rugged trails and hills that were difficult to overcome, however they did it together and kept moving on. The view from the trail was beautiful with many places to stop and admire the view, but they couldn’t seem to get above the canopy of the trees to truly take in the whole view. The man that strove to see the beautiful scenery from an unobstructed viewpoint was trying in every way to get above what was around him to see the true beauty of the mountains.
I was born and raised on snowmobiles. I remember times when I would fall asleep in front of my parents and, being able to ride by myself when I was 5 till now. All the trips my family has been on in four states and we are talking about going to the mountains this year. Being able to ride around here with all my friends see who can go the biggest jump.
“I think I see a sunny spot Dani, let’s go warm up.” I say. The day was warming in the parking lot. Small piles of snow melting next to the concrete. Under the trees circling Bear Lake it is damn cold. Memorial Day Weekend at Rocky Mountain National Park and one side of the Lake still has three feet of snow covering the path.
“You are to look upon this grim opening as travelers on foot confront a steep, rugged mountain: beyond it lies a most enchanting plain which they appreciate all the more for having toiled up and down the mountain first,” (Boccaccio, pg. 7).
By 4 PM we had conquered most of the peaks. As we were climbing what we thought was our sixth peak, Big Red, a storm struck. It was a cold driving rain that froze us as we struggled up the mountain. We reached the top jubilant, but exhausted. As the crew tried to get a bearing I came to the slow realization that we were not on Big Red, but another peak. We had two peaks to climb, and in freezing rain! With no options, we hiked on.
When I woke up at 5 o'clock in the morning to go hike up a mountain, I did not expect to have an exceptional day with my cousin Kelsey. We were about to trek up Mount Chiquita in Rocky Mountain National Park. What made this hike unforgettable was the morning before the hike, the hike itself, and the great time we had afterward.
In the play Hamlet, by William Shakespeare, the protagonist, Hamlet is obsessed with the idea of death, and during the course of the play he contemplates death from numerous perspectives. He ponders the physical aspects of death, as seen with Yoricks's skull, his father's ghost, as well as the dead bodies in the cemetery. Hamlet also contemplates the spiritual aspects of the afterlife with his various soliloquies. Emotionally Hamlet is attached to death with the passing of his father and his lover Ophelia. Death surrounds Hamlet, and forces him to consider death from various points of view.
If my analysis is correct, then, Hamlet becomes a study in the passion of grief. In Hamlet himself it is passion which is not moderated by reason, a passion which will not yield to the consolations of philosophy. And being intemperate and excessive grief, Hamlet’s grief is, therefore, the grief that makes memory fade, that makes reason fail in directing the will, that makes him guilty of sloth. . . . (95-96)
The psychological aspect of Hamlet which is most prominently displayed is his melancholy. This condition is rooted in the psyche and the emotions, the former causing the latter to go awry. Lily B. Campbell in “Grief That Leads to Tragedy” emphasizes ...
His name is Smoke and he was the most beautiful, enormous horse I have ever seen. He was immediately intimidating with his jet black coat of sleek hair. My excitement to ride these mountains with him overcame all my fear. At first I was only able to stay on the saddle by holding onto the saddle horn. Not long after, I felt like I had ridden Smoke my whole life. It was dream-like as we trotted the trails with ease. I could never have chosen a more wonderful way to experience the beautiful Colorado mountains than astride this great horse. We rushed past the Aspen and Cottonwood trees. I caught the far off smell of campfires burning as we walked through fields of wildflowers. The scene laid out on all sides of me seemed to be a whole different