Firelight & Forest Trails: A Wild Fourth in Rawah Country

This Fourth of July, we traded fireworks for fir trees and camp chairs under the stars. Tucked into a quiet pocket of Roosevelt National Forest near the Rawah Wilderness, our little crew—Bill, Greg, me, and our two four-legged explorers, Lennon and Dasher—celebrated the holiday the best way we know how: outside.

We found a peaceful dispersed campsite surrounded by a patchwork of life and loss—reminders of the 2020 Cameron Peak Fire still linger in the standing dead trees, but green shoots of recovery are everywhere. Bright wildflowers danced in the breeze. Chipmunks darted through downed timber. And in the early mornings, birdsong filled the cool, pine-scented air.

Creekside Mornings & Campfire Feasts

Each morning began with the simple pleasure of creekside coffee. Steam curled from our mugs as the sun slipped over the ridgeline, golden light sparkling across the water. Lennon and Dasher wasted no time wading in, splashing through the shallows with tails wagging and tongues lolling in pure joy.

By evening, the rhythm of the fire took over—crackling logs, the occasional pop of pitch, and the scent of woodsmoke curling through camp. On the 4th, we grilled classic hamburgers and hot dogs over the open flame, savoring that perfect mix of char and campfire flavor. And dessert? A little apple pie, heated gently over the coals until warm and fragrant—our own humble homage to Americana.

Casting Lines & Quiet Moments by the Water

Bill and Greg spent part of the weekend along the Larimer River and nearby alpine lakes, rods in hand, hearts content. The river ran cold and clear, weaving through meadows lined with wildflowers. Fish stirred in the eddies, and while no catches came that day, the serenity more than made up for it. There’s something timeless about casting into a wild river under a bluebird sky—just the sound of flowing water, wind in the trees, and the hopeful flick of a line.

Winding Trails & Wild Encounters

Greg and I set out on the West Branch Trail, hiking over 7 miles round trip into the Rawah Wilderness. We moved at a relaxed pace through tall aspen groves and lodgepole pine, where the leaves whispered above us like soft applause. Birds called from the canopy, and sunlight flickered across the forest floor. The roar of the Laramie River echoed through the canyon, adding a soundtrack to our alpine stroll.

Throughout the hike, small streams flowed across the trail, fed by snowmelt and shaded by wildflowers and mossy rocks. One narrow chute bubbled cheerfully between boulders, another spilled like a miniature waterfall beneath a fallen tree. Every few steps, we were reminded of the wild water that shapes this land—and how alive everything is in summer’s peak.

One of the more memorable moments came when we reached a sketchy stream crossing—a tangle of downed logs stretched across a fast-moving creek. Greg moved first, stepping carefully, arms out for balance as the water rushed below. I followed, laughing, arms outstretched, channeling my inner balance beam. On the other side, we high-fived, energized by the small challenge.

While we didn’t trek all the way to the alpine lakes, we found our reward in the little things: glimpses of snow-streaked peaks, open meadows blooming with paintbrush and columbine, and a stunning buck with velvet-covered antlers stepping onto the trail ahead of us before vanishing into the trees.

While We Wandered, They Rambled

While Greg and I were out along the West Branch Trail, Bill took Lennon and Dasher on a ridgeline above camp. The area, scarred by the Cameron Peak Fire, is now a ghost forest of tall, charred trunks—silent sentinels standing over a rebounding landscape.

Bill and the dogs ventured through a mix of boulders and fire-cleared meadows, where new grasses have pushed their way through the ash and stone. The dogs were in their element—Lennon perched like a king atop a massive granite boulder, tongue lolling and eyes bright, while Dasher trotted below, nose to the ground and tail wagging. You could feel their joy radiating from the hillside.

Bill later reported signs of elk and moose—evidence in the dirt, disturbed brush, and that certain stillness in the air that suggests something big had just passed through. It’s the kind of quiet adventure only a slow-paced wander can uncover.

Moose on the Move & Mountain Roads

Off-roading through the forest roads around North Middle Mountain felt like driving through a hidden green cathedral. Pines arched overhead, sunlight filtering through in golden beams, while the dirt path twisted and narrowed like a secret passage into the wild. The smell of warm earth and pine needles drifted in through the open windows as we crawled slowly over roots and rocky ruts.

We kept our eyes peeled, and sure enough—around a bend in the road—a moose appeared. Towering and calm, it ambled directly down the track ahead of us, its long legs silent on the soft earth. We stopped and watched in hushed awe as it disappeared into the trees, leaving only a few snapped branches and our wide-eyed wonder behind. Encounters like that remind you whose home this really is.

Eventually, the road began to fade, turning from dirt to grass and then to nothing at all. We parked and continued on foot, giving Lennon and Dasher the perfect chance to stretch their legs. They darted through the understory with joy, tails wagging, noses to the ground. The air felt still and sweet, filled with the rustle of the breeze through the needles and the soft thud of boots on duff-covered ground.

Wandering the last bit of trail gave us time to slow down and soak in views of the backcountry.

A Forest-Lit Fourth

There were no fireworks this year. Just flickering flames, the rustle of the wind, and the laughter of friends (and the occasional bark of dogs) echoing through the trees. In place of a sky lit with bursts of light, we got stars scattered across an ink-black sky and the kind of quiet that settles deep into your bones.

It was exactly what we needed—time to reconnect, reset, and roam. Here’s to more wild holidays, campfire meals, and trails that lead us someplace new.

Here’s to more weekends where the trails are dusty, the skies are wild, and the firelight lasts just a little longer.