Grizzly Gulch, Colorado

Even with his forehead pushed against her warm side a tit in each hand he could sense it was coming. Back and forth the burr filled tail flipped, and swirled. Many cowboy were great at snapping and popping their whips, but none could compare with Daisy. Faster than he could turn his head it came, hitting his swollen left cheek. Well below freezing, the skin was somewhat numb, but the tiny barbs dug in. He almost dropped the milk bucket. Tears and blood ran to his chin spreading further the stain on his pants. Another milk cow had taught an eleven year old farm boy self discipline - the hard way.

Ignoring the screaming wind, and biting pain from the exposed facial skin, that had for a brief moment taken him back in time, he counted the members of the rescue unit. Fourteen had came to the valley and they had very little time to leave. Originally, they had been roped together as they searched for the ski instructor. A man who a short time earlier had been cross country skiing. During the first half hour of stabbing long poles into the snow trying to locate the avalanche victim dozens of small cornices had broken loose about two miles up the mountain. At first they sounded like small caliber rifles, but soon changed to the boom of hunting rifles. Fearing the worst was soon to come he instructed the team remove their ropes and pole hard and fast toward the road to the north where the four wheeled drive rescue trucks were parked on a ridge about twenty feet above the valley.

Within minutes one of the ladies on the team began waving her arms and yelling. No words could be heard above the winds, but the searchers moved toward her. Having been on many of these operations Undersheriff, J.J. Danger knew she had hit something. Explaining how she knew would be difficult, but a pole touching a clothed body feels different, and once you find one you just know. Through the swirling snow he could see about half of her pole was still showing. They would be digging for some time in the packed snow. Carefully, he started climbing the ravine leading to the base of Grizzly Gulch. About a hundred yards up he topped a ridge. Even though the sun had set some time ago, their was a full moon. As the wind shifted he was able to catch brief glimpses of the mountain above. A chill ran down his spine. He was looking at certain death.

The tips of sixty foot pines he had walked among the previous summer were barely visible. Huge rock outcropping had disappeared. In their place were jagged ice cliffs towering hundreds of feet high, clinging to the mountain. The slide that had taken the man earlier that evening had been a baby compared to what would soon be descending miles in either direction. Having witnessed many avalanches in Clear Creek Country, Colorado, he knew only the very lucky would survive.

Carefully, J.J. made his way back to the rescue team. Someone had retrieved the rescue sled, and several were on their hands and knees digging fast to remove the packed snow around the patch of blue in the bottom. At first it was about the size of a baseball. As fatigue and pain reached the unbearable point, exhausted they would crawl out of the hole and another would take their place. Three to five minutes of intense effort and another sweating, heaving body lay on the snow trying to recover. Soon it was obvious they would be bringing home a body. He had been rolled into a ball, head to foot, and dozens if not hundreds of bones had been broken into tiny pieces.

Once his face was clear one of the nurses made the obligatory CPR effort. He was placed on the stretcher. Above the roar of the winds the cornices could be heard popping faster and faster. They ran and stumbled toward safety. It was only fifty yards, but by the time they reached the ridge everyone was staggering, gasping for breath. In high school J.J.'s coach had taught him to reach down deep and always finish strong. In war and in peace he had never forgotten. He took five deep breaths and attack the ridge, five more deep breaths and he was on top, grabbing the nearest hands, and coats, he strained to pull his heroes over the top. Soon all fourteen were over along with the victim. In the distance the rifles had been replaced by cannons. The body loaded, the team climbed into their vehicles and drove around the mountain toward the base camp near Loveland Ski Area.

It was as it had been a few hours before. J.J. was alone in his Chevrolet Blazer looking at the valley below. He began making one last check to make sure everyone was accounted for before driving away. As he got to the last name the avalanche was suddenly there. No warning, nothing, except his Blazer tipping toward the passenger side, then righting itself and snow everywhere. At first he thought he had been buried, but slowly the snow cloud began to settle. Carefully, he lifted the door handle adn pushed. It worked! Standing on the running board he waited as the wind cleared the air and looked toward the valley. It was gone! In what seemed the blink of an eye the avalanche had filled the entire valley. He was stunned. Gone was the ridge they had so painfully climbed. In mere moments J.J. was around the mountain headed for the base camp. Grizzly Gulch, where he had ridden his department snow mobile dozens of times, was from that moment on a summer trip.

Decades later, sitting on a ridge of The Superstition Mountains outside of Gold Canyon, Arizona, J.J. turned his face from the bitter winds that stung his cheek. The wind felt a lot like Daisy's burr filled tail, but now his face was old and weather. As old men often do, he chuckled and leaned forward pushing faster up the mountain side. A burr filled tail had not deterred him, a bullet from Robert Rosen's gun had only annoyed him, although he still limped when the weather changed, an older brother hacking his younger sibling to death with a hatchet, and then burning the house down around him after filling the bathtub with gasoline so he could ascend to heaven in his version of a burning chariot still plagued his mind, but not anymore than the hundreds of other deaths he had investigated, or studied, during his law enforcement career, so the biting wind would just have to do it's best.

Resting at the top of the ridge J.J. looked closely at the vast view before him. Deep valleys, steep mountain sides, and thousand of wilderness acres hid the riches of The Lost Dutchman Mine. This had been so since the legend began, and no doubt would continue long after he departed. Again, as old men are prone to do, he reflected on his life. Daisy, with her black and white hide, had been a comforting place to rest his head during the cold winter mornings. Like the politicians of today her hide was different colors, but regardless of the colors, it was one hide and it belonged to one animal. Yes, they were pretty much all the same, and when Daisy lifted her tail you had better move quickly. She put out the same as the politicians.

As for gulches, right before him were hundreds, many as dangerous as Grizzly Gulch. Starting down the mountain Johnny J. Danger chuckled to himself , yelling loudly in his best Ed McMahan voice, "Here comes Johnny!"

John J. Danger

Have fun. Never let fear stop you.