There’s something quietly patriotic about spending Presidents’ Day outside — boots on dirt, wind on your face, wide views stretching toward the horizon.
Yesterday, Bill and I headed to Horsetooth Mountain Open Space for the South Ridge and Horsetooth Rock Trail Loop. At just under 4 miles, it’s not a long hike but what it lacks in distance, it makes up for in perspective.
A Landscape with a Story
As we stepped onto the trail, we paused at the park sign. It is a reminder that this land carries layers of history. Once ranchland owned by the Soderberg and Culver families, the area eventually became public through the dedication of citizens and a 1981 ballot initiative. By 1982, Horsetooth Mountain Park officially belonged to the people.
The Culver family lived in the area for more than 80 years, and during the Depression, they raised thousands of turkeys here.
That detail made me smile.
Now, when I see wild turkeys wandering fields near home or along the Big Thompson River, I can’t help but wonder about their lineage. It’s a small, whimsical connection but it makes the land feel even more alive. Ranching history layered into the foothills we hike today.
And the Soderberg name isn’t just etched into history, it’s still present on the map. Last spring, Greg and I hiked from the Soderberg Trailhead, watching the landscape shift from winter brown to early green. If you’re curious about the trail, you can read that adventure here: Spring Awakens at Horsetooth Mountain Open Space – A Soderberg Trailhead Adventure
I love that this landscape wasn’t preserved by accident — it was protected by intention.
Climbing South Ridge
The trail began wide and sandy beneath our boots. The air was cool but gentle. The kind of February day that makes you forget it’s still winter.
And yet it didn’t look like winter.
On February 16, the hills were dry and golden. Grasses lay flattened and brittle. The soil was dusty. Ponderosa pines stood vibrant and green against a muted landscape that felt months ahead of schedule. Normally, February holds snow in the shaded folds of the hillside. A few quiet patches remained, tucked beneath pines and along north-facing slopes, but the landscape was largely bare.
Beautiful but noticeably dry.
We climbed steadily along South Ridge, passing sandstone outcrops, wooden steps carved into the hillside, and clusters of young pines catching the light. The wind was mild — just enough to brush against our sleeves and carry the faint scent of sun-warmed earth.
From higher along the ridge, the views opened wide.
Horsetooth Reservoir curved below us and deep blue against tawny hills. Beyond that, the plains stretched east in a hazy line. And to the west, rising above rolling foothills, stood Longs Peak — snow-capped and unmistakable.
Dry foothills beneath our boots. Winter still holding strong in the high alpine.
That contrast stayed with me.
Along the Upper Ridge
Near the junction with the Horsetooth Rock Trail, the terrain narrowed and the climbing grew steeper in sections, with stone steps winding upward between granite slabs and tall pines. Light filtered through the trees in soft patches, illuminating textured bark and scattered pinecones along the path.
We followed the loop route rather than heading all the way to the rock’s summit spur, but the elevated ridge gave us sweeping views in every direction.
We didn’t rush.
There’s something grounding about hiking together. It is the quiet rhythm of footsteps, stretches of shared silence, the occasional pause to take in a distant peak. Presidents’ Day felt less about history books and more about appreciation — for public lands, for partnership, for the privilege of being able to walk here.
At one overlook, I noticed two riders on horseback tracing a lower trail — small figures moving slowly across the golden hillside. It felt timeless. Ranchers, turkeys, conservationists, hikers — generations connected by this same stretch of land.
Looping Back
The descent carried us through open stretches of sun and pockets of pine shade. High clouds softened the blue sky. The air stayed calm.
3.9 miles.
965 feet of gain.
One quiet Monday spent exactly where we wanted to be.
Some holidays are loud.
Some are reflective.
This one felt like gratitude.
Gratitude for land once ranched and raised upon, for turkeys and cattle and sandstone quarries. Gratitude for the citizens who voted to protect it. Gratitude for trails that carry old family names and new footprints alike. On Presidents’ Day, beneath wide Colorado skies, we walked a ridge stitched together by history — our footsteps joining the quiet rhythm of all who came before us.
Western Wanderlust Chronicles 
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