July 25, 1915

“Rent a couple horses from the Whitecross stable. I’ll load up my pack horses with camping gear and a kitchen. We can ride to Dinosaur or Long Lake on Buffalo Pass. I bet the trout are hungry up there.” A.M. Gooding put his beer on the table and asked, “What do you say?”

“I say, yeah,” du Bois’s replied.

“I would do that. It would be a break from river fishing and instructing guests on how to fish,” I added.

“I could be ready by tomorrow, Monday. We can watch the sun set and just by turning around observe the rise of the full moon,” Gooding exclaimed.

Camping on the Continent Divide was a new experience and an opportunity to be out of town. I have not revealed to anyone my assistance with Corina and the birth of the child. It was not my place to be with her, but I was thrilled with the familiarity. How the threads of our lives will continue to weave together is a mystery.

July 26, 1915

We picked up our horses around nine o’clock on Monday morning. “Bring me a few cutthroat trout and I’ll only charge you for two days,” the stable hand, James stated.

We weaved our way through town and then rode through Butcherknife Canyon. It is a short canyon not like Gore or Byer’s Canyons. Strawberry Park happened probably as a lake after the last Ice Age, the creek managed to erode a path in the rock wall and left a fertile park. We followed the creek and waved at the men, women and children picking strawberries. It looked like backbreaking, hot duty but they sang in a gay mood. The parents scolded the children who threw berries at us. We caught and ate them with smiles.

“We could have gone up Spring Creek but, I like this way up the pass,” A.M. Gooding said.

Fortunately, he decided on the route because as we passed the new dance camp, Marjorie Perry shouted from the corral, “Where are you going?”

“Dinosaur and Long Lake,” A.M. Gooding hollered back,

“I just decided where I’m taking the campers tomorrow. I’ll see you up there. We’ll have fish fry.”

“Sounds good, the trout will have to help out as dinner guests,” Gooding laughed.

We arrived at Dinosaur Lake my midday. Nestled on a ridge, in a small basin, close to the Divide trail, it appeared to be a spring-fed lake. Nearly round, it stood lined with wetlands interspersed with rock ridges at the water line and not visible from the trail. I made a mental note of the gentle slope with a small trickle meandering down it and hoped I would remember the approach to the lake in the future.

We fished a bit without any luck. Gooding suggested mounting up and going to Long Lake. He said, “The fishing might be better, and there is a perfect spot to see the moon rise and the sun set. Plus, nearby is a more open area for Miss Marjorie, her campers and their horses.”

A short distance south on the trail, the horse’s hooves sloshed through the Fish Creek headwaters in a large open meadow. A kaleidoscope of brilliant wildflowers dotted the entire area right up to the edge of the surrounding evergreen trees. Gooding pointed west while saying, “Steamboat is directly down this drainage. This should be the reservoir site for the city’s water source.”

Long Lake appeared about a mile south and surprisingly, was the lake the hot air balloon pilot, Corina and I crash landed last fall. The eastern edge of the lake washed in windy waves against the trail. Calibaetis mayflies hatched and dried their wings while bobbing up and down on the surface. We started angling. We caught enough brookies for dinner, unpacked the horses, staked them in the grass and set up camp. The view surrounded us. Gooding again pointed, east this time, saying, “Look across North Park. That is the new Rocky Mountain National Park. Follow the Park Range north and do you see the gap in the mountains?” du Bois and I nodded. “That’s Cameron Pass. It follows the Poudre River to Fort Collins.”

“What a view,” I gushed.

“There is nothing in Normandy like this,” du Bois added.

“The clouds are coming in. I hope they clear before the moon rises,” A.M. lamented.

They did not clear. They built and held. I decided to walk and fish around the lake.

“Pay attention to the lightning. Your fly rod is a perfect conductor to make you really toasty,” A.M. warned.

I waved my arm in a “Yes of course,” gesture and walked halfway around the lake. The wind picked up, the rain started falling, followed by hail and lightning streaking through the sky. The large hail stones pounded my bare hands. Alternating, one protected, the other holding my rod, I ran back to camp. A.M. and du Bois sat under the rainfly smiling. “A lesson learned?” du Bois asked, and A.M. laughed.

Night fell; the clouds cleared enough to see the full moon. They sailed across the moon like a light switch turning the reflection on the lake off and on. The meadow visibly dimmed in a rush of dark shadows and then returned to brilliance.

“Let’s build a shelter tomorrow and we can snowshoe up here in the wintertime,” A.M. proposed.

“The full moon on snow brilliantly lights the landscape,” I remembered.

“It does and I’ll tell the Forest Service about our refuge too. People travel up here in the winter by necessity.”

A.M. threw another log on the campfire, we sipped whiskey and told stories about our uniquely different lives and countries.

July 27, 1915

We awoke to a clear blue sky. Du Bois and I caught and cleaned enough fish for lunch while A.M. cooked a breakfast of flapjacks, bacon, and eggs. We slipped the brook trout on thin sticks cut from the brush and stowed them in the cool lake. After a hearty morning meal, we started building the shelter. We sawed several dead pine trees down, dug holes for the corner posts, lashed beams on the top for a sloping roof frame and laid smaller logs across the frame to hold smaller brush and fresh pine boughs. We lashed a door to the front that swung inside on rope hinges, latched it, and proudly observed our industry.

“That should hold snow and keep the wind out. I’ll bring a stove and pipe up before hunting season,” A.M. said.

After lunch, consisting of fresh trout rolled in cornmeal and fried in a black cast iron pan, we were left to our own curiosities. I read, A.M. laid on his back, imagining animals in the cloud shapes and du Bois stripped to the waist. He pulled an ingenious telescoping handled butterfly net from his rucksack and ran through the meadow swinging the net around like a drunken mad man.

“You’re going to get sunburned,” I shouted.

He smiled and ignored me, but soon brought several specimens to our camp. “Mon ami, look at these,” he said lifting his fruit jar to my eyes. “This is an American Lady,” he turned the jar, “This is a Timberline Blue and here is a Milberts Tortoiseshell. Do you see the cat eyes in the wings?”

“How surprising, I do. What are you going to do with them?”

“I’ll preserve them and mail them to my Uncle Giles. The Rouen Museum will want these. They’re a bit of the American West.”

“Hello,” a distant voice shouted. “We found you.”

As Miss Marjorie and her campers got closer, we realized Angela rode with them. She hopped off her horse, held the reins with one hand and pointed her index finger at me, “You delivered Corina’s baby!”

I smiled weakly and Marjorie smirked, “Julius, you devil.”

Angela stated, “I want to hear the details soon.” The gentlemen were stunned. She stared too long at du Bois’s bare chest, smiled, and asked, “Have you swam in the lake?”

“Not yet,” he replied and recovered quickly while putting on his shirt.

Marjorie turned to her group and ordered, “We set up camp first. Then you can experience the glorious sensation of freedom while swimming nude in a cold mountain lake.”

“We call it skinny-dipping,” A.M. revealed quietly to me as he stood up to help unpack the horses. Du Bois and I joined in, and we quickly had tents set, the stock staked and the kitchen ready. Angela quizzed me constantly and I confessed my joy of delivering the baby boy. She revealed that Corina was ecstatic with my kindness, care, and help.

“It’s hot,” Marjorie exclaimed and looked at Angela who nodded in agreement. They walked to the lake, undressed, and waded in. Several campers joined them. We three men just observed the lovely scene and their God-given beauty. I will never forget this day.