APRIL 2020 PSYCHOLOGIES MAGAZINE 107well travelled
their common good fortune at being in this incredible place.
Retracing my steps across the bridge, I make my way along
the easier south side, following the road to Fowler Trailhead,
which leads to Rattlesnake Gulch – how the kids loved that
name! These are kinder trails that slowly wind their way
through pine trees with occasional cinematic reveals of the
Great Plains. On this side of the canyon, the air is crisp and cool
from its passage over the snowfields that still cover the high
mountains of the Continental Divide. The wind brings with it a
pine-scented freshness that tingles my nose like a cold remedy.
I recall how we talked about the pioneers who first made
their way through these mountains, trusting luck and instinct
to find a way to the golden promise of California. Their toil
and hardship was a source of constant fascination for the kids,
who grew up in the English countryside; a land of stone circles
where history felt too remote to be real. The children spent
hours playing The Oregon Trail, a computer game involving
a hazardous journey: broken wagon wheels, flash floods and
sick children; quests for healing herbs or a ford over a river.
Watching a family challenged by the rocky trail, I am glad
we made the most of every moment we had in this mountain
playground: hiking, biking, camping and skiing. Being
outdoors in this vast wilderness, we were always in awe.
Fighting back tears, I hope passers-by guess that it’s grit in
my eyes, not grief over the sands of time. It is painful to relive
happy moments; the oneness we felt with each other, pitched
against the monumental forces of nature. I recognise the need
to think of the past as a celebration of what we had, and to place
the melancholy of the present in its place in life’s sequence. I
briefly allow myself to imagine Atherton in the care home with
unseeing eyes, his sharp intellect blotted out. Recognising the
futility of this, I am drawn back to the profound intensity of
being here. An intensity that could not have been experienced
without our history and love of this glorious canyon and the
town of Boulder beyond.Bittersweet symphony, this life
It is with a heavy heart – and yet a lighter heart too – that I make
my way back. I expected that old memories would surface on
this walk, but I’m left with a more subtle sense of familiarity
and warmth; a conjoining with the place. Whatever happened
to us and whatever comes next, our year in Colorado will always
be part of who I am. These memories are precious belongings.
I can take them with me forever, and it is a comforting thought.
Back at the entrance, a white feather spins in an eddy. Slowly,
it makes its way down the road, fluttering from side to side,
gathering dust along the way. Like me, it becomes greyer and
more frayed, but still dances in the wind.
l Eldorado Canyon is 8km from Boulder, Colorado; cpw.state.co.us/placestogo/parks/
Eldorado Canyon l Getting there British Airways has direct flights to Denver, Colorado,
from £331; ba.com. From the airport, take the RTF airport bus to downtown Boulder,
£8.30 one way; rtd-denver.com l Where to stay Prices at Hotel Boulderado start from
£109 per night, including breakfast; boulderado.com. Prices at Millennium Harvest
House in Boulder start from £57 per night, excluding breakfast; millenniumhotels.comFROM LEFT
Deborah revisits
the Rockies after
two decades;
spring sunshine
melts the snow;
the infamous
Bastille looms
large; the family
during their yearin Boulder in 1998,
before Deborah’s
husband, Atherton- pictured with
their children
Katherine
and Alasdair - developed
early-onset
dementia