Deer Crest Lodge | Nana's Whimsies

Both Bill and I grew up in the Midwest where winters are cold and snowy. You would think, therefore, that we would be used to bone-chilling temperatures and shoveling snow. Alas, we both hate it, Bill even more than I. Hence, a house in AZ. Unfortunately, we didn’t get there soon enough.

A few weeks ago, my sister Jen and I planned our annual trip to Rocky Mountain National Park to listen to the haunting and beautiful sound of the male elks bugling for their mate. Well, MATES, actually, since they don’t seem happy unless they have a whole herd. Greedy little devils. When we made our plans, the sun was shining and the temperature was in the mid-70s.

About a week ago, it became abundantly clear that fall was making itself known, and winter was just around the corner. Our lovely weekend was threatened by the forecast of snow and cold temperatures. I know I’ve been whining for a week now about the cold, but the forecast was for truly COLD temperatures — highs in the teens.

We considered canceling. After all, part of the fun is sitting on the car at dusk and listening to the beautiful mating calls, then returning to the Deercrest Inn, lighting up the firepit, and drinking a cuppa hot chocolate spiked with Fireball whiskey. All of that would be considerably less fun if the temperature was 12 degrees.

We didn’t actually make a final decision until Friday, when the forecasters were telling us that Saturday would be in the 60s, and wouldn’t turn cold until around dusk. Snow, they promised, would soon follow, the amount of which they are always vague. Very vague.

We decided to risk it. With the help of a rental SUV that had solidly good tires and all wheel drive, Bill and I drove to Estes Park, where we met up with Jen. After a quick trip to purchase the essential taffy, we returned to the Deercrest Resort and enjoyed the warm(ish) fall temperatures, with the help of some wine and (as the temperatures began to drop) the firepit…..

It is never unusual to see a lot of elk this time of year, as they come down from the high mountains to the more clement weather to graze and hook up. This big bull elk was hanging out all by himself at the Deercrest. He was clearly old and fairly crippled, so I think he was glad to get away from the youngsters’ shenanigans and enjoy some peace and quiet. All that bugling and testosterone, doncha know. It wears on one’s nerves…..

We made it into the park and though it took a bit of hunting and the help of a park ranger, we were able to locate a herd of elk. In addition to the mating calls, we were just a few feet away from a battle between two young bull elks…..

And Sunday morning, we woke up to a temperature of 12 and this…..

We all made it home safely, with another year of elk bugling under our belt. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

I could live forever without the snow, however.

There are a few things you can count on: death, taxes, and the Gloor sisters leaving their mark on wherever they visit.

This time it was Estes Park, Colorado.

We have been visiting this mountain community since we were in dirndls and Mary Janes, and know it like the backs of our hands. Even so, we find ways to dig up new adventures.

Jen, who still has to deal with that nasty distraction called a job, didn’t arrive until Friday evening, so Bec and I had an afternoon to kill. The weather was overcast, but we took a quick drive into Rocky Mountain National Park anyway so that I could try out my shiny new Senior Parks Pass — the single good thing about turning 62. Ten bucks for a lifetime national parks pass. Smokin’ deal.

Bec mentioned she had never been inside the Stanley Hotel — the haunted hotel made famous by the 1980 movie The Shining. I, on the other hand, had spent one long night many years ago during a work-related three-day meeting. I’m not proud to admit that I was so terrified after one night that I requested permission to sleep in another hotel the next two nights! Upon hearing my story, Bec asked “What was it that scared you?” “Someone walking down the hallway at 3 in the morning,” I told her. When I realized how dumb that sounded, I quickly added, “and some rattling chains.” You had to be there.

Anyhow, we went to the Stanley and had an It’s-5-O’clock-Somewhere martini at the very cool Cascade Whiskey Bar off the lobby. No twins chanting redrum, I’m happy to say, and the martini was cold (and not from ghostly drafts).

We grilled enormous rib eye steaks that night after Jen arrived and finished the day with Fireball whiskey shots after a toast to our absent brother.

We woke up Saturday morning to more overcast skies, but took a stab at finding a precious parking spot at Bear Lake in RMNP. The angels were smiling upon us and we pulled up just as a car left, so we got the opportunity to walk around Bear Lake in homage to our mother. Mom was not a hiker, but she loved the mountains and this particular walk was one of her favorites. And for good reason because the terrain is flat and the scenery is spectacular. Cheers, Mom…

We spent a quiet rest of the day watching hummingbirds battle for what they don’t seem to realize is an endless supply of nectar as provide by the Deer Crest Lodge’s staff. Another nod to Mom, because she loved hummingbirds. I, on the other hand, do not. A bit too darty for me. We ended the day with Italian food and Fireball shiskey shots around the fire pit which we shared with others also enjoying the fire, with a toast to our absent brother.

Jen left after church and breakfast, and Bec and I took a drive to nearby Allenspark to visit a Native American jewelry shop we learned about from our friends around the previous night’s campfire, told to us in appreciation for sharing our Fireball. But before we reached the shop, we stopped at Lilly Lake and walked the perimeter. There are few things we haven’t seen in the Estes Park area and this was one. It was beautiful….

Bec and I concluded our last full day in Estes by visiting the Alluvial Fan, a rocky waterfall resulting from the 1982 Lawn Lake Flood of Rocky Mountain National Park and Estes Park. The trail, we recalled, was short — a mere .3 miles up to the waterfall. We don’t need no stinking closed-toed shoes.

For the most part, we didn’t. But right at the end of the short trail, it gets quite rocky and a bit vertical. We were okay, but certainly the flip-flops we were wearing wouldn’t have been the shoe of choice for real hikers. We got up to the top. As we enjoyed the view, a young couple came down from their close-up view of the waterfall. The young man jokingly said to us, “Which rock up there are you going to walk to?” We laughed accommodatingly, and pointed to a rock way up above us. His friend, a young woman, looked down at our flip-flop-clad feet and said, “Hmmm, looks like you wore your hiking shoes too….” Touche…..

At least this time there were no rattlesnakes.

Bye, Estes. See you in the fall during bugling season!

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