On maps it is called Rabbit Mountain, a sloping hill about twenty minutes north of Boulder. But when the interpretive kiosks mentioned this mountain’s habit of walking—three miles away from its companion foothills over recent eons, thanks to a maze of small seismic faults in the area—I was hooked on its other name. A walking mountain. Cool.
We headed out one morning this week, our lunches packed, to enjoy warm sunshine while we could. (In Colorado, March warmth may not last long; a foot of snow can follow within hours.) The air was hazy, but a little ways up the Eagle Wind Trail, the snowcapped peaks of the Continental Divide became visible: