Rocky Mountains, Colorado

I took my first trip out west 20 years ago to visit a friend who had just moved to Denver, Colorado. Growing up in Northern New Jersey, I had never traveled west of the Eastern time zone. I feel in love with the Rockies during that trip. We explored by jeep, and the more I saw, the more mesmerized I became with the vast, wonderfully scenic mountain range. In the midst of our first hike, I became tired and winded and then suddenly it occurred to me that I’d never been so high up before. We visited the Maroon Bells, Mesa Verde, Ouray, and Telluride. Cliffs towered over us, the river rushed past, and as we rode in an open-car train chugging from Durango to the small mining town of Silverton, smoke and cinders rained down upon us.

After two days in Rocky Mountain National Park, I was head-over-heels in love with Colorado. We camped near the most brilliant blue lakes and flower-filled meadows I’d ever seen. On one hike, my friend suddenly stopped and quietly pointed out the tracks of a mountain lion. It was thrilling. I saw animals I’d never seen before, like bighorn sheep and elk. We drove up Trail Ridge Road and the trees became stunted and the temperature dropped. I saw tiny alpine flowers and watched a pika collecting food and realized I was experiencing alpine country for the first time. Time has faded some of the specifics in my memory, but I’ll never forget the joy and excitement of discovering my place of a lifetime.

—Carol Enquist

Carol Enquist is a Traveler photo editor.