Bobolink Trail
One of my favorite trails in Boulder is called Bobolink Trail. It travels along South Boulder Creek in a corner of the city that has been preserved as a pocket of open space, bordered by cow pastures and a llama ranch, allowing for a feeling of country woods and wetlands—a world away from the world. Whenever I walk here with my golden retriever, Buddy, I see or experience something new, something that is beyond the day-to-day. At those times, I find myself wishing for a camera in order share what I’ve seen with others. Since I usually don’t carry a camera, I’ve recorded these “snapshots” or “video clips” in writing, so readers can experience with me the joy of having this bit of open space so close to home.
August: Splash! Buddy has run to the deep part of the creek, gulping the cool water. He swims and then settles in the shallows, his tail drifting in the soft current, his belly on the polished stones. He rests his chin on the surface of the water and looks back at me. Is he wondering why I don’t join him?
October: The long grass is now pale gold. Buddy loves to run through it; his fur blends like camouflage in the wind and grass. The cattails in the marsh are fading, and the frogs, their loud spring croaking long over, are beginning their winter retreat. Cowboys, real cowboys, astride horses with cattle dogs alongside are moving a herd of cows from one pasture to another. A doe is flushed; she bounds, white tail over her back, through the tall grass to a stand of cottonwoods by the creek.
December: Buddy trots through the light snow, the Christmas bells on his collar jingling a doggy tune. He meets a puppy named Maisy, a small golden-husky mix, and they start to play. Buddy weighs 100 pounds; the puppy is dwarfed, but does not hold back. She jumps up and nabs Buddy’s ear, fierce puppy fangs flashing. Buddy ducks and runs, bouncing back with big paws, tumbling the puppy into the grass. They wrestle and chase.
January: Winter cold has frozen the creek, and Buddy slides over the water. Buddy loves the ice; he rolls and scratches his nose on a rough patch, then lies back, letting his warm golden coat melt into the gray surface. We walk on, and I hear the call of a hawk. Gazing up against the sun-filled blue sky, I see the red-tailed bird of prey, and perhaps its mate, circling over the trees above me. The darker male calls out, a hawk’s piercing cry.
A police motorcycle, siren whining, speeds by on nearby Cherryvale road. The stiff, winter-gold grass in the cow pasture stirs as coyotes echo the siren with their howls. They run a bit, only visible because of the movement, then settle again, waiting for field mice. Buddy listens, ears forward, and then turns to trot down the path once more.
Bobolink trail is only a 5-minute drive from my apartment and the busy University of Colorado campus, and I can hear the buzz of traffic on U.S. 36 as I walk. Yet along the trail, micro-ecosystems blend together, warm where the trees open to the sky, damp and dark in the cattail marsh, breezy as the trail widens, sheltered along the stony banks of the creek. Coming here with Buddy is a joy; to watch him run free, a sporting dog in his element, is a privilege I hope to enjoy, and share with others, for years to come.