By E.J. Phillips
I reach up a wee bit higher, first with one hand, then the other, clinging to the round, gritty surface. My arms spread out and fingers grasp tight. Inch by inch I scale the rock until I reach a small scooped-out hollow carved by wind and rain. I wiggle into the little nook, then turn and peer carefully over the edge to see how high I have climbed. Cautiously I creep up a few more steps until I stand on top of a giant boulder. It is like a gray stone fortress, standing guard over the arroyo stretching beneath me.
My grandparents called this place Bear Gulch. Located in southern Colorado, this gully-ridden, jagged mountainside was dotted with straggly cedar trees that struggled to stay alive. Covered with smooth rocks, sharp-edged rocks, little rocks and big rocks, it was a place where big black bears and little brown bears once roamed, built their homes, and hid their young.
