When I stopped to ask directions, the man at the BLM office didn’t mentioned the cows. Only two quick turns off the main highway and I am surrounded by them. Hundreds of them! The road I am driving has been transformed into a wide cow path pocked with potholes carved by their hooves. It is rough and slow going. Every cow I pass stares at me with malevolent intent. I keep driving. The cows persist on either side of my vehicle, mile after mile. "Where do they get enough to eat?" I wondered as my sweaty hands grip the wheel. The green grass among the pigmy pines would surely last a mass of critters this large only a day or two. Still, they look remarkably well fed and…content, actually. Maybe their stares harbor only curiosity, not bad intentions. I relax my grip a bit. The herd is finally thinning out.

I am climbing into the low mountains of western Colorado now. No switchbacks, just steeper grades. Running water from recent rains has carved gullies into the roadway and I am careful to drive on the higher ridges. The trees are getting taller. I am looking for an unusual geologic formation that the BLM person described as goblins. "You'll know them when you see them," he said. So far his directions, except for the cattle, have been accurate. I continue on.

The road levels out about halfway up the mountain. I drive along a ridge that falls sharply towards the west. Over the edge I see colored rocks reminiscent of Bryce Canyon. Ahead on my left I see the goblins, mounds of gray rock with vertical erosion patterns. Interesting, yes, but my eye and spirit are drawn to the rim. I walk over and look down. Wonderful colors and textures are laid out below and extend off into the distance. It is still several hours until sunset but already late afternoon light creates a warm glow on the cliff-face. The vista rivals that in many national parks. BLM-man hadn’t mentioned this either.

The goblins, the objective of this trip, became less important. As the sun sinks lower the cliffs get warmer. Reflected light makes the shadows glow and the textures are more clearly defined. I find my spot and wait, clicking a few frames now and then to document the change. In the last minutes of light the distant cliffs fall into shadow and frame the closer, glowing rocks. Golden light in the golden hour. The best shot is right at sunset.

I camp alongside the road hoping morning light will be kinder to the goblins. It isn't. A couple hours after dawn I descend the mountain. Interestingly, the cows are less menacing and the road not quite as rough.