Seasons in Florissant: January

Hornbeck Homestead, Florissant

Every time a chance arrives, I relish introducing someone new to Florissant and its protected fossil beds of ancient redwoods, rare insects and arachnids.

Few places like the crossroads town exist anywhere, and few can tout the solitude present on the hills and trails northwest of Pikes Peak. After months of hiking with my old friend Tim, I realized I had not brought him there.

Set at 8,500 feet above sea level, Florissant offers a series of 15 miles of trails with little elevation change and light use. More challenging trails receive heavier attention, but the Florissant Fossil Beds’ trails are quiet, peaceful except for bird chatter and alpine winds that cut through the few hikers. The big winds that occasionally bend the trees in Colorado Springs roar regularly above this spot.

The trees around the visitor center offer the best glimpse of what life on the lake bed might have been like 34 million years ago. Redwoods grew along a lake until volcanic eruptions buried in ash and volcanic mud. I have described them many times in this blog, but never tired of the massive fossilized stumps now protected by pavilions.

The few people that milled around did not venture far past the pavilions, and in a few hundred few we found ourselves alone on the trails. Having walked every foot of these trails, I struggled with which one to test with new visitor. We could stick with the short trails around the visitor center, but I felt comfortable showing my friend the depth of quiet and wonder Florissant could reveal.

Staring down the markers where the trails split, I decided we should try the Hornbeck Wildlife Loop, which offers the best cross-section of the national monument, crossing the little creek paths, rock formations, the original homestead to occupy the lakebed and the high ground on the former lakeshore.

The subtle creeks that cross the monument hardened into solid ice, ribbons slicing through the pale grasses on the former lake bed. The ice covering a pond off one creek seemed thick enough for human weight although I had no desire to test its strength.

People might not tackle the trails in winter, but almost every animal resident of Florissant did. Scat littered the trail once it emerged from the pine forest, with evidence of elk, mule deer, fox and coyote taking constitutionals on our route. Prints were harder to see as much of the snow melted since the last major storm. Some clear coyote prints crossed the path (the monument prohibits dogs on trials.

Just shy of the Hornbeck Homestead, we crossed our only other hikers of the day, a friendly couple glad to note the beauty of the day. The homestead itself was sealed up, the nearby ground squirrels either hibernating or burrowed deeper underground till the thaw.

Leaving the homestead and crossing the county road, the snow field deepened and the path became an irregular set of footprints that often collapsed into deeper snow. None of it was more than six inches deep, but feet and ankles twisting even in boots designed to protect them. I thought of the spikes and the snowshoes I left at home. But I would have only needed them for that rough half-mile.

In the trees, the wind abated and the snowy path tightened. Walking grew easier, although muscles that rarely received attention had already earned a workout.

Up a few easy switchbacks, a stony lookout opens on to the old lake bed, pointing out the surrounding mountains. The feeling of peace is rarely broken by a car traveling the road that cuts the monument in half. The trees clicked with chipmunks, possibly a lone woodpecker, or trunks pushing against each other. Only the occasional airplane or car broke the silence.

The beauty of Florissant lies in trekking far enough from the road that any noise is a surprise. Back at the visitor center, a different group of visitors milled around the pavilions protecting the largest redwood fossils. The afternoon vacillated between blinding sun and overcast chills from passing clouds, but never grew oppressive.

At the highway, the town Florissant endures as a crossroads with a few storefronts, restaurants and gas stations. For a post-hike refueling, the Thunderbird Inn fits perfectly. Equal parts neighborhood bar and mountain crossroad tavern, you never know who might stop. They serve a good burger, and the wood-beamed dining room feels comfortable when tired demand a break.

The parking lot overflows on summer weekends, with live music and a full patio. In January, it’s a placid complement to the stone redwoods and quiet trails down the road.

Ice on the creek