Rocky Mountain Highs
“Now he walks in quiet solitude the forests and the streams
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake”
—“Rocky Mountain High,” John Denver
Where we live in New Hampshire sits at an elevation of 288 feet above sea level; prior to that, we lived on the Seacoast, a mere 36’ above sea level. I had absolutely no idea what elevations upwards of 9,000 feet would look like. John Denver knew what he was talking about. I’ve often flown over the Rockies en route to the West Coast numerous times; however, it’s another thing entirely to be on a train winding its way through the Rocky Mountains, at times seeming so close as to be able to extend an arm through the window and touch them. Awe-inspiring and breathtaking are words that still seem to fall short.
“You must be used to seeing mountains,” our lunch companion said to us after learning we lived in New Hampshire.
“We have mountains, but not like these,” I told her.
And it was true—it’s one thing to see, drive through, and (for some, not us) hike the mountains of New England. The White Mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont’s Green Mountains are gorgeous, and they’re certainly the source of many New Englanders’ pride, love, and joy. But seeing the mountains of the West up close? There’s no comparison.
With each passing day, I’m trying to capture—in words, photographs, art—the moments of this trip. I’m seeing our country in ways I never have before; for all of its faults, our country really is a beautiful place. And I haven’t yet come close to seeing most of it. These posts are quickly turning into love letters to the United States and, of course, to Amtrak.
It’s still the beginning of my trip, but I’ll say it now because when you know, you know: I have absolutely fallen in love with rail travel. If given the choice between traveling the skies, cruising the seas, or riding the rails, I’ll choose the rails. Every. Single. Time.