Time actually does move slower in Wet Mountain Valley

New Years was spent visiting the family ranch of my son-in-law Cody in the Westcliffe/Silver Cliff area, which is located in Wet Mountain Valley between the spectacularly scenic Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the west and the Wet Mountains to the east.

Cody told us that time moves slower in the valley. Can't be, as physics teaches that time travels at the same pace everywhere and anything else is merely a perception. Still, when we first entered the ranch house, I had the sense we were visiting a place that time had long since flowed around and I found myself awash in memories of days spent on my grandparents' farm as a child.

While the house was not lacking in modern conveniences, the furnishings left one with a sense of practicality. Unlike many urban residences, nearly everything had a use. This was true of the property, sporting an earthen cold cellar, chicken coop, tool and work shed, bunk house, clotheslines, barn and oversized garden. All features long lost in the city setting.

Our bedroom was one of three attic-style rooms at the end of a steep, narrow stairway no longer found in modern houses. The bedroom, like the rest of the house, was obviously added on to meet the needs of a growing ranch family. This house, like many older ranch houses, started as a single room, steadily growing via add-ons over the years.

The sun shining through our window woke us to a blustery day. Our view of the lofty mountain peaks showed large snow clouds, an indication that the day's winds were not isolated to the valley floor.

During breakfast preparations, the high winds knocked down several power poles, leaving us without lights, water (wells run on pumps) and a slowly cooling house, as power was needed for the wood pellet stove. So we headed to town for a visit while waiting for Cody's uncle to call when the power was back.

Turns out we spent most of the day visiting nearly every open store, having a leisurely lunch and ultimately spending the afternoon at a bar nursing drinks and whiling away time playing the dice game Farkle. While we waited, we never stressed over the power outage, as indeed time seemed to move at a much different pace that day.

Originally, we'd planned on fishing Saturday, but the strong, icy winds cutting through us every time we stepped outside quickly killed the urge to be on the ice. We decided to wait until New Year's Day in the hopes of a calmer day.

Sunday was perfect weather for a day on the ice - sunny, clear and calm. Operating on "mountain time," after a leisurely breakfast, Cody and I made our way to the reservoir where we found a thick icecap that was responding noisily to the prior night's cold. Growing ice is a lot like rice cereal after adding milk; it snaps, crackles and pops.

Our first hole revealed more than 12 inches of clear, hard ice, which was plenty to bear our weight. But I'll be the first to admit to a strong desire to run for shore as a new crack formed near us accompanied by a loud crackle. Surprisingly, as nerve-wracking as the ice was to us, it didn't seem to bother the fish, as we managed several nice rainbows over the course of the next few hours.

As the afternoon sun settled over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, we sadly called it a day. It was time to head to the ranch, pack and go back to a world where time travels at its normal helter-skelter pace.