A tour of Del Norte Peak

So far this spring has granted me seven summits of North Twin Mtn (10,500 ft), with lots of steep ups and downs to get there, and one of Del Norte Peak (12,300 ft) for longer durations at lower grades.  I still want to explore trails closer to Wolf Creek, but a series of events have made routes accessible from home more desirable.  This became an opportunity to run my own marathon on the DN Peak's forest roads before bushwhacking to the top.

Just after leaving the parking lot:

An ATV type road forks off at the two mile mark.  They are still pretty muddy and wet.  Follow the road as it turns left:

Up a steeper segment, then get views of the neighboring valley including Blue Ridge and North/South Twin, and start to get views of the Sangre de Cristos on the opposite side of the valley:

Once the road turns south again you hit what I call the "4-mile cattle guard."  During the summer the cattle from our ranch are hanging out on one side or the other of here at ~9500 ft:

The road starts flanking the actual ridge as it continues to ascend at 2-12% grades.  Coming up on 7.2 miles is the turn off that allows a longer approach but also a western (read: snowless) ascent.  Turn before the "7-mile cattle guard", now at 10,500 ft:

The grades of ascent are numerically the same but feel greater because there's less variance, but after another good mile there's a downhill piece that lets your legs get their feeling back.  It also brings a glimpse at the northern face of Del Norte Peak:

The bottom of the hill navigates through a logging area.  I never have figured out if this is commercial or part of the burn protection, but there have been downed trees hanging around here even since last year when Nathan and I last made a full summit and took this route:

Another look on the inside of the bend.  Currently at 10,700 ft:

A bit more climbing as you travel west, then the road flattens for a couple miles while passing what can be camp sites or areas for folks (like us with permits) to collect wood.  At 11.5 miles, after wondering for some time if you blew right on past the peak, is the initial turn towards the summit.  Now at 11,000 ft, there's lots of mud and swampy areas due to continued melt and runoff:

I stayed on the road for something like a quarter mile, maybe a half mile.  Now you are getting closer, 11,300 ft:

And at some point you just have to decide to turn off and bushwhack.  Just keep the top in your view and climb straight up:

The trees begin to thin as you work your way up and increasing incline:

And now the real work begins - 20-45% grades per my GPS watch.  Above tree line is always awesome.  Just over a half mile and another thousand feet of gain remaining:

This was during one of the 45% grade sections.  Eye on the prize while trying to beat the clouds and weather:

I beat the clouds by about a minute, so my proof-of-summit shot meant I stood with my head at the base of a cloud.  13-ish miles completed.  Here is looking east.  

There's a glass jar with multiple registers, pencils, and a few odds and ends left by previous summiters.  Someone also stowed a tequila bottle amongst the rocks, but that is long ago consumed:

Clouds start to thicken, so time to descend.  Looking to whence I came, to retrace my steps back to the bottom:

After retracing my steps and getting back to the logging areas thunder starts to roll in to the south.  I'm in the clear before any lightning chance has sprouted.  Hey, I was just up there:

The long downhill also means less effort and more looking around.  Saw a bunch of cow prints, but also a few elk who had crossed the road between the 4- and 7-mile cattle guards.  Lightning was starting to strike back by the peak, so I didn't longer long:

Below the 4-mile cattle guard, a glimpse at the baby aspen trees filling in areas of burn recovery.  There were much more ashen stumps visible last year:

Once back at the parking lot I had a solid 26 miles, so I went ahead with the silly loop around the lot for an even marathon of 26.2.  Total ascent was just shy of 5000 ft of gain.  Satisfying and peaceful day.

Creede Mountain Run, 22 miler

It didn't feel like I was racing yesterday until we were half way to Creede, Colorado.  This was after Nathan dutifully tried to figure where we were going - as though events in small towns in or just outside the valley give actual specifics.  There is a website, though it just says "Creede" and mentions that the race travels along Main Street within the first mile.  There are no stats for prior races, no description of where to park, and no such thing as a pre-race update whether by email, website, or on the equally slim Facebook page.  I had to search Google for ten minutes to find a map to guestimate my finish time.  We'd either see a sign leading the way once in town, or else we'd follow someone running gear until we found it.  Nathan sighed, resigned to go with the flow. 

Creede is an old mining town at 8850 feet.  It is only a few blocks wide by about a dozen blocks long, totaling 403 residents as of the 2010 census.  Still, it's little Main Street has more going on than our town that is at least four times as populated - a proper gear store, a modern bar/grill and at least four other restaurants as well as Creede Repertory Theatre.  The town keeps itself cute for tourists.  And the hills begin directly at the edges of town. 

Sure enough we found signs with an arrow directing us to a parking lot by the grocery store.  It is the same lot that was filled with funnel cakes, leather workers, hot dog stands and the like during the July 4th event.  An orange line was spray painted onto the road as the start.  Less than one hundred people lined up for the combo of three races (2, 12, and 22 miles).  A man wearing a sleeveless shirt, spandex shorts and Altra trail shoes and a young woman in a white tank top were working a few sprint warm up drills.  I usually prefer the old-runner warm up, which means I stood around taking in the morning light and pointed out the cute dogdogs to Nathan, who stood just off to the side.  He was signed up for the 12 miler, though was sidelined after his little accident last weekend.

The race took off south for two blocks, east for one block, then onto Main Street through the north end of town and onto gravel/forest access roads.  By the time we hit Main Street Sleeveless Guy and White Tanktop were both heading out of sight.  I waved at Nathan and trotted along.  Many kids were in the 2 miler, and a few boys didn't like it when some "old lady" passed them before they got to their turn-around at 1 mile.

Once north of town the ascent began.  From Creede's 8850 foot base we were to climb to 12,500 feet and then loop back down, basically one giant hill with a few little blips to mix things up. 

Race elevation and my pace, per my Suunto watch. 

The climbing started early through Willow Creek Canyon, old mining sites off to each side.  I chatted for a half mile with a guy named John from Colorado Springs who looked and indeed was ultra experienced with a few 50ks and 50 milers.  I didn't stay with him long, since everyone but me and one other guy were intent to "run" all these semi-steep hills.  I fell into my happy walking pattern, determined to not blow up early, and reasonably caught up to them on flatter stretches before dropping John.  Apparently we were somewhere on/between "The Pitch" and "Heartbreak Hill."  One woman in a pink tee shirt passed me.  Her legs looked marathon-esque, so I assumed she was a 22 miler as well.  But she was running a lot of those hills, all but an occasional 20 foot stretch here and there.  Impressive.  Wondered how long she and the others would keep it up.

The degree of incline eased by the fourth mile to what I consider reasonable for running.  I had bounced back and fourth with Tanner, for whom this was his first attempt at such a race.  He was without a bottle and without a watch, and his plan was to get to the cut-off spot quickly (had to reach 5.5 miles by 1h 30m in order to do the full 22 miles) and then ease off his pace.  I had flashbacks to my first half marathon, the Brooklyn Half, where I stupidly enough completed 9 miles within the first hour before I crashed and burned to total quad seizing by half way down Ocean Parkway en route to Coney Island.  I also met Rick, who seemed pretty fresh on the modest hills.  Tanner stopped at the aid station while Rick and I forged on.

Aid stations were every two to three miles, which seems ridiculously cushy compared to the long stints to which I am accustomed during ultras.  A bit more light climbing and we hit another station marking a left turn onto a short but steep climb.  I grabbed watermelon to eat along the way.  A little girl helping her mother called out "Why aren't you running?"  I laughed, thinking because we're not teenagers.  Rick called back "Because we can't!"  A bit over her head at that age to understand.

We rolled along while chatting.  He used to live in Creede and worked in one of the mines for two years.  Has a cabin or something in/near Telluride, so he was also there watching Hardrock back in July.  Currently living in Dallas for the last two years, so has been running with a group that is younger and faster in order to regain his own speed.  A large group of his family, up to 22 members previously though more like 12 this year, alternate between this race and a different race along a mountain pass.  His goal for an upcoming road marathon was 2h 55m.  I laughed at that idea - I SO want a sub-three hour marathon just once in my life, but I'm pretty sure I have lost a majority of my speed since running longer races and moving to 8000 feet.

With all the chatting I didn't realize how much my pace was probably a bit faster than it would have been otherwise.  Nothing crazy, but running with someone else can have its benefits.  Plus the race quickly became very spread out.  We saw the faintest hint of a lime green shirt a half to full mile ahead, no one visible behind.  I do almost all my training solo, so company is a huge pleasure.

Another aid station.  More watermelon.  I turned to head out and a volunteer mentioned "First woman!"

I was baffled.  "No way!  Not even a woman in a pink shirt?"  The volunteer had no idea who I was talking about.  So apparently she and White Tank Top were 12 milers.  And I was first female.  Interesting.

I thanked them and turned to begin "The Ladders."  Basically a steep climb for a good mile or more than necessitates hiking for nearly everyone.  After my back-to-back weekends volunteering at Hardrock and racing Speedgoat, the hills seemed pretty tame but I still stuck to a reasonable pace.  Rick had pulled ahead by a couple hundred feet.  He is at least 6' 2" with long legs.  He stayed within sight through the whole climb.  He probably could hear my numerous snot rockets too.  A few quick backward glances showed someone a half mile back.  Could not tell gender.  But, really, I didn't quite care.

The area at the turnaround was beautiful (mile 11, but my GPS watch said 10.5).  I'm not sure that it was truly above treeline or if the area was simply sparse.  Light reflects differently, colors have a different saturation, the air is more crisp.  I was suddenly dreaming of Hardrock course clearing that took place above treeline and Jemez's sub-treeline magic in the Valles Caldera.  Rick brought me back to reality when he called out good wishes and from the aid station above before he began the descent on the other side.  I waved back and continued marching.  This is apparently part of the continental divide, and I was surprised to remind myself that we topped out at 12,500 feet of altitude.  All those long runs on Del Norte Peak and similar areas at/above 10,000 feet seemed to have payed off.

I may have taken the initial descent a bit quickly, since my thighs felt it after only two miles.  We had a few sawtooth areas and one modest ascent, but otherwise we had lots of downhill left.  I narrowed the distance to Rick from a half to a quarter mile.  During sustained descents I can develop abdominal muscle cramps if my hydration/nutrition is off or if I allow fatigue to take over my form; so far I was still in control.  The area definitely felt reminiscent of the Valles Caldera I experienced during the Jemez 50 in Los Alamos.  These were semi-technical ATV type forest roads/trails, which made it much more fun than smooth and flat gravel/dirt roads.

Two more aid stations and I nearly caught Rick just as we began the one modest ascent.  He stretched his lead to a couple hundred feet by the time we hit the top.  I wasn't sure if that was actually the last uphill or not.  Next aid station volunteer offered the tease "All downhill from here."  I warily thanked him, since nearly all my racing experiences indicated that "all downhill" is never true.  I caught Rick again, and after we rejoined the 12 mile course he confirmed we were on the home stretch with three miles of descent remaining.  I had not before realized the streamers on the sticks were mile markers.  Per my watch I thought we had four and a half left - I'll take that math!   

We were rolling with descent speed.  In the distance I could see the town below.  Two miles to go and I started to really open up.  I hadn't used such a high cadence in months, but it was refreshing and fun.  I was pulling away from Rick, so I called out "You have the speed - you'd better catch me!"  He response didn't seem so confident, but with one mile to go he was within 30 feet as we caught his wife, who was walking the 12 mile course with their dogs.  I decided to really go for it.  Those last few miles had been sub-seven minute pace, and I was barely holding control what with increasing jello-quads.  At a point I looked back to see Rick about 300 feet behind me and surged on.  The course cut onto walking trails within the skirts of town with a dozen switchbacks before emptying onto the road.  One more corner, and there was the finish line.  Rick came through a couple minutes later.

3:43:42, 1st female, 4th overall.

Before you get crazy over the whole first female thing, know that only 27 finished the 22 miler out of the 32 who had signed up.  And only 7 of those finishers were female.  But!  They had times from the previous year listed on a board by the start/finish tent.  First woman last year was Diana Finkel - one of my idols of Hardrock badassery - who finished third overall but three minutes slower than my time.

I FINISHED FASTER THAN DIANA DID LAST YEAR.

It is a ridiculous comparison.  I climbed slowly then worked my ass off to make it up on the downhill, and I could not have held that up were the race longer.  Diana probably ran the race more consistently and would have kept her pace were the race longer.  And, notably, her ability to do so was proven at Jemez where she was the first female of the only 20 finishers since the rest of us were slow enough to get caught in the squall before the race was called.  Plus she ran Hardrock already last year, and I still have yet to complete my hundred.  Plus she'd blow me out of the water were we in head-to-head competition.

But if mathematicians can use calculus to prove that two equals one, then I can relish in fleeting self-smuggery that my time is faster than hers in one barely-on-the-radar race.  Just like I beat Ezra once in handball, caveats aside. 

Rick, with whom I spent 3/4 of the race.  Not sure who was pacing whom....

Last 22-mile finisher in 6h 15m - 83 years old!  He deservedly received a standing ovation.

Volunteering at Hardrock 2014

When I accepted a job in south central Colorado, one of the biggest secondary factors supporting that decision was our proximity to the San Juan Mountains and a new found ability to volunteer at Hardrock.  Two weekends ago I helped clear the course across the 28 miles of trail between Silverton and Telluride.  The whole endeavor of carrying the aluminum flags, removing orange flagging from trees, and picking up race trash took us just over 10 hours and was INCREDIBLE the entire time, even while getting pummeled with gravel hail.  A side note to the runners - we found a mere four tiny bits of trash along those 28 miles, so nicely done!

First, just a few photos from the race.  My group was set to clear our section on Saturday, so I got to watch a good chunk of the race which starts on Friday. 

[To be clear - I posted a bunch of photos on FB from two aid stations as the leaders went by, and I think many assumed I was also a participant.  Believe you me, had I been running this race then I would in no way be able to take photos, and there'd have been a lot of hoopla in the lead up - you'd have known.]

City Hall in Silverton, the race's home base

Race start

Telluride

First finisher Kilian Jornet, new course record holder

Last finisher Amanda Grimes.  Yes, that is 47h 51m. 

Below are a handful from my time on the course.  The nice part about not being an actual entrant is the amount of time you can take to soak it all in!

(Also, to note, none of these are edited - just whatever my phone camera could pick up.)

Above tree line heading up Pitman Basin

My trail mates, Erich and Heath.

From the top of Pitman Cataract Ridge, ~12,600 feet.

From whence we came.

Ice Lake, nearing the top of Grant Swamp Pass

Descending into Grant Swamp Pass, looking down into Chapman Gulch and across as Oscar Pass

I wish a camera could capture the angle of descent... Not easy!

Just below tree line on Oscar Pass, in a short break from the rain and gravel/pebble hail.  Looking back at Grant Swamp Pass, which by now had lightning.

Bierstadt and Evans: birthday weekend double

Morning camp at 11,700 feet

Sawtooth traverse between peaks

After the gulley, before the swamp

Top of Bierstadt (14,060'), top of Evans (14,264').

Salida's Run Through Time Marathon - race report

Salida, Colorado, just north of the San Luis Valley in what is known as the Arkansas Valley (named for the Arkansas River), is known for its proximity to Monarch Ski Resort and for its kayaking community.  The town is wedged at the base of hills, with its own town mountain marked with an "S" the same way Del Norte has Lookout Mountain marked with a "D."  But where Del Norte's hills give way to more small foothills with few trails, Salida's quickly become an entire network of progressively bigger elevations that become the San Isabel National Forest.  This was to be our first local race, a mere 1.5 hours from home.  Since our race in Moab I integrated a lot more hill work thanks to the snow melt, so I was hopeful to have a better race.  Or, at least, to not be so horrifically sore afterward.

Run Through Time Marathon course, per my Garmin (minus the first 1/2 mile)

Elevation profile, per my Garmin (minus the first 1/2 mile).  Blue line = my pace.

The race starts just across the river and railroad tracks at the base of "S" mountain.  Just ahead of us in the glob of a start was a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, two triathlon bottles strapped to his chest (it takes too much energy to pick up the bottle with your hands, so they have long straws so you barely have to turn your head to drink), and two trekking poles.  The race commenced at 8:00am sharp, and but five seconds later the dude already dropped one trekking pole and caused backup while he tried to retrieve it and nearly tripped everyone around him.

The first couple miles are a loop around the base over dirt roads to help the pack spread out.  There's a small climb at a half mile in, during which I realized my Garmin was not set to autolap every mile.  I accidentally hit the interval setting instead, and in disabling the intervals it ended up restarting my time.  Whatever.  (So when looking at the elevation chart, know that I refer closer to the true mileage.  The chart shows everything a half mile before it actually occurred.)

Suddenly some woman decked out in Salomon gear (read: expensive) wearing Salomon shoes 2-3 sizes too big went sprinting past in a panting fit.  What the heck?  The race just started, lady.  A minute later she was pulled over to the side, hands on knees, huffing and puffing.  I said to Nathan, "I know it shouldn't bother me, but I find that really annoying."  Nathan agreed.

We wound over that first small hill, back down to the water's edge, and toward the "S" hill to ascend singletrack and begin the real race.  Miss Salomon Specialness again sprinted past.  I silently shook my head.  Two guys just ahead of us pointed at her and chuckled.  It was her all out sprint start that made us all react, because that's just downright dumb in a marathon with a supposed 4000feet each of climbing and descent.  Once part way up "S" she was again pulled over, hands on her knees.  Honey, its going to be a long morning....

The trail ascended with the town shrinking in our hind view.  Once on the backside of "S" it winds up and down, in and out, along the waves of topography.  Many parts remind me of the east coast but for the desert dryness and different flora.  The weaving became repetitive, feeling like an M. C. Escher work in much the same way that part of Pine 2 Palm felt.  That's just how mountains build.  The east coast has less of that repetition since they are declining and crumbling mountains where it has all smoothed over.  I felt good on these hills.  Nathan did too.  We were able to run the ups without feeling any rehash.

Photo by race photographer Russel O.

Photo by race photographer Russel O.

Mile 8 opened up to a full sized dirt road that was the big, long climb of the day.  Steep enough to make things slow going and occasionally require walking stints, though just shallow enough to run (albeit slowly) and to fool you as to the severity of its actual grade.  Per my Garmin, it varied from 5-15% grade.  Here is where Nathan started to fall back, trying to preserve his stomach and ensure he could finish.  A women slowly passed me midway.  She asked if I ran Moab, and said she kept seeing me on and off throughout the first 20+ miles.  I asked her name: Emily.  She was moving well and I wished her a good race.  Some guys passed me at the base, but I caught most of them by the lollipop turnaround at its climax.  I wasn't very far behind Emily by the turnaround, and we exchanged a high five as I neared the turn and she was on her way back.  Nathan started the lollipop as I neared the aid station at its base.

I paused to refill with water and dump another salt tab into my fluids.  I had to get help to undo the capsule since my hands were cold enough to lose fine motor control.  It only took about 30 seconds total at the station, but it was enough for Miss Salomon Specialness to pass.  F***er.  She was within easy sight as I began the second half of the race, and I knew I could catch her once we hit the upcoming downhills.  In fact, I was looking forward to it.  I wanted to finish in 4:20, and I hit half way right on target at ~2:10, though my new goal was simply to beat her. 

I couldn't remember when the real downhill would start.  The next four miles included another mile of steady ascent within 4 miles of snow and ice.  It would have been slushy and muddy had the weather been 10 degrees warmer with sun, but the cloud cover and high in the 40s kept things pretty solid.  I started walking the icy bits just to make sure I didn't wipe out.  I passed a handful of guys.  I usually wait until I know my pace will continue faster than theirs and until I have an open enough spot appropriate for passing.  Once or twice I softly asked to pass only to then trip once in front.  I apologized each time for being that jackass, wincing at the thought of Mr. Blue Wobble's similar shenanigans during last year's Escarpment.  I ran a good 2 miles with one guy.  Adrian, perhaps?  I let him pass when I slipped a few extra times and decided more food and drink mix was needed.

Now the real descent began.  I still felt good.  We could see the next valley and peaks to the east.  It was a beautiful view throughout the entire course.  I kept reminding myself to keep my eyes on the trail to avoid tripping.  I hit a 120 degree turn to the right that, per my Garmin, then descended at 21% on loose dirt and rocks that acted more like thick sand underfoot.  I paused, knowing that two flags were posted to the right before the turn (indicating a rightward turn) but I did not see any confirmation flags afterward.  Standing with feet in place, I turned my head back to scan for other flags I may have missed.  I reasoned that I'd have seen others leading elsewhere, so turned my head around to continue on.

Without having stepped my footing gave way.  SMACK.  Right knee and right palm hit hard.  I'm really good at this falling-while-running thing.  My Garmin beeped completion of another mile on the way down.  I stood up to walk it off like usual, but my leg would not accept any weight.  That's when the flood gates opened, and all the stress of relocation and acclimating to a new place (both for me and for Nathan) came pouring out.  Apparently I hobbled at a 56 minute per mile pace trying to get down off that hill, reasoning each step with myself that my knee was not showing signs of instability and that now was not the time for a mental breakdown.  See the largest blue spike above.

It took five minutes for others to catch up from behind.  One woman recognized me and asked if I was okay.  By then I was at hobble jog pace, moving slowly on all rocky drops.  My ankle was feeling it too, though I could not tell if it received a little twist when I fell or if it was secondary to a sensitive knee.  A half mile later was an aid station.  I thanked them for being there but didn't stop, didn't even give myself the option.  The leg was slowly warming back up.  I had stopped crying, but I felt very much on an emotional ledge.  I had probably added a good 10 minutes to my total time.  I knew that my previous goals were no longer reasonable, so I went into salvage mode to simply finish.  I was much more cautious on the rocky downhills thanks to difficulty seeing depth and less confidence that I'd clear my foot properly.

The downhills kept on for a few more miles.  I could see the tower at the top of "S" hill, so I knew we were somewhere within the finish.  I just kept moving at whatever pace I could muster.  Again the trail wove up and down, in and out.  There was a modest sustained climb that I hiked.  Eventually on the back side of "S" was the last aid station.  "Just over two miles to go!  Keep up that smile!"  I realized I had smiled at them, trying to hide the melancholy I felt.  I just wanted to be done, I wanted Nathan to be okay, and I wanted to can our plans for the day in Salida and instead simply go home.

The want to be done can do amazing things for one's progress.  It helped that was mostly downhill along the switchbacks of "S."  A little out and back along the waterfront, over the bridge, loop back under the bridge, and then pop out next door at the Steam Plant to finish.

4:26:34.

Less than one minute too slow to make the top three for my age category.  Had I not fallen I'd at least have made 4:20 if not faster.  So it goes.

The afternoon after.  The real bruise started coming out this morning.

I hobbled to and from the car a few times to get warm clothes, water, a protein drink, etc, all the while watching for Nathan and desperately hoping to see him finish.  Our car was parked in the lot on the "S" mountain side of the bridge, so I had full view of those coming down the mountain.  I was cold, emotionally labile, and anxious for Nathan.  I kept seeing black long sleeve shirts with black/gray shorts but it was the wrong bag, or the wrong hat, or the wrong movement patterns.  As my nervousness escalated near levels from Moab Nathan finally appeared, walking down the last zig zag of "S."  I moved close to the finish line and waited for him to get through the little out and back and get across the bridge.  He finished with a drawn face, so I knew he was hurting, but he mustered the best jog to cross the finish line that his stomach would allow.

Nathan, finishing in ~5:20.

Nathan's stomach turned sour at mile 14 again, with florescent yellow puke the same color as during Moab.  At least this time was not nearly so bad.  We sat inside the Steam Plant during the awards ceremony.  He had one more puke on the way to the car, but then made the hour and a half drive home without incident, probably because he fell asleep.  Once home he stumbled into bed and slept for a good three hours, and managed to get in some juice and chips in the late evening without incident.

Baby Moo Cows!

Apparently one bull got a little feisty and jumped the fence into the cow pasture a few weeks before planned.  Normally the ranch plans calving season to start early February.  Two had already been born by the time all had returned to the ranch on January 11th, but they did not survive because the mamas were still way out in the fields and calves were not yet on anyone's radar.  If they are slightly premie and do not know how to suck on their own then they will die in a matter of a couple days. 

The calf that did not make it.  Sad, yet intriguing.  Took over two weeks for coyotes and scavengers to do anything with it.

So, all the impending mamas who were big enough to possibly birth in the next three weeks were brought into the calving pasture.  One day later I awoke to see one cow off on her own.  I found her smart for finding her own patch of grass while the others fought over the same swatches in the middle.  But then the patch moved -- and lifted its head -- IT'S A BABY! 

Mama nuzzled it.  It got on its forelegs, then toppled over.

SO CUTE.  EXPLODING IN CUTENESS. 

I sprinted to my phone to text the ranch owners.  Sprinted back to the window.  Mama nuzzled and licked some more.  Baby tried its hind legs, bobbled and fell over again.  Not long thereafter D appeared, walked over to assess Mama.  Most are devoted to their offspring, but every so often a mama is defensive to the point of charging or kicking at humans.  This one kept leaning its head forward but was otherwise completely benign.  D walked away to grab a sled.  When he returned Baby jumped up onto all fours with legs sprawled out in a big X. 

BABY STANDING!  SOOOOO CUTE!!!  I was just a wee bit excited....

D placed the sled next to Baby and waited for the right moment in its swaying to tip it onto the sled.  They he drug it into the corral with Mama right at its tail. 

One hour later we saw another mama pulled away from the rest.  Her head jerked back and forth; picked up her hooves repeatedly; basically looked very uncomfortable.  She had turned to face away from our window when her back flexed, tail lifted, and out poured buckets of fluid.  Nathan commented on the volume of pee.  I told him I was positive that was not pee.  He's got a little learnin' to do.

The next day we saw two little calves and their mamas in the inner corral.  A week later now, and Baby is now bounding and skipping alongside Mama.  

Baby!  One week old.

Last night I went to empty some compost by the west fence line.  Just as I got there I became recipient to the loudest, meanest, angriest moo I've ever heard.  I looked over in the moonlight and Mama (a new Mama) was facing directly toward me, eying my every move from 40 feet away and across a fence.  She mooed/yelled again as I walked back toward the house.  I wondered out loud if she had a baby and was being defensive.  Nathan went out moments later to empty out the ash bucket.  He took a headlamp and investigated.  Surely enough, another calf.  We again informed the crew.

Turns out this Mama was very sweet and allowing.  Nathan and I watched in full enamor while T and V worked with flashlights to assess and then get Baby and Mama inside the corrals.  I ran into T this afternoon, who said this calf had been a bit of a premie and needed help to learn how to eat.  Had we not caught it and let them know then Baby probably would not have made it overnight. 

I've counted about a half dozen total calves so far.  Apparently come February there will be something along the lines of 20 births per day.  Every time I am by a window and/or every five minutes I find myself searching for new calves.  We don't have a TV.  This is ridiculously entertaining.