Chesterfield Chipmunk was off on a Great Adventure. His kayak quietly floated upon Lake Laberge, north of Whitehorse, Yukon. He watched an elk on the shore, just yards away from a muskrat lodge. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, a mighty thunderclap awoke him; he was assailed by a torrent of hail as he scurried to the roof hatch of the turret of his Queen Anne Revival style house on the westside of Trinidad, Colorado.

Sheltered within his castle walls (as his imagination described his red sandstone house), he wondered, “What has befallen me? Stealthy, silent Morpheus, the Greek god of sleep and dreams, must have come upon me while I was basking in the warm sunshine.” His ears still rang from the roar of the thunder; he pitied himself, wet and (to him) horribly bruised from the rain and hail. Oh, woe! Ah, but then, his mate Kimana called from downstairs that lunch was ready. Acorn soup! And piñon seeds!

Poor Chesterfield! He sadly realized that he could only dream of an adventurous trek through the Klondike Region, down the Yukon River, and across Alaska. Could he have a real adventure closer to home?

Our heroic chipmunk, brave and bold, decided to take a canoe voyage on the Picketwire River in southern Colorado. Maybe next Wednesday? No, can’t do that. Remember that children’s poem, “Wednesday’s child is full of woe”? Hey, he could goon Thursday – yeah, “Thursday’s child has far to go”.

So, on a sunny Thursday morning in late Spring, Chesterfield embarked on his great adventure. Was he tempting Fate, starting a journey on the day dedicated to Thor, the Norse god of thunder and storms?

He put his canoe in a beck just below Trinidad Dam, and slowly paddled down the Picketwire through the quiet city of Trinidad. This was so relaxing and peaceful. For safety, he wore an acorn cap helmet and his tailor-made bubble wrap life jacket. His vessel was well-stocked with provisions for his sustenance. Quack! Quack! A mother duck escorted her flotilla of ducklings. And then, Honk! Honk-honk! Honk! Honk-honk-honk-honk-honk! A flock of geese flew overhead. Chesterfield supposed they were on their way to the John Martin Reservoir and Wildlife Preserve on the Arkansas River near La Junta, about 90 miles downstream.

The Picketwire River was running somewhat high and fast. Oh, of course! Chet realized it was due to the Spring runoff, the melting of the snow in the San Juan Mountains.

Uh, gee! He seemed to be going pretty fast. Yeah! Rollin’ on the river, just like Proud Mary. Little did he know there was danger lurking ahead.

Smack! His canoe struck a dark rock. Crack! The keel broke, and his craft was taking on water. Suddenly, he was in the stream, and he frantically swam for the safety of the riverbank. Exhausted, he sought shelter in a waterside willow thicket. Maybe this was the start of a new adventure, like "The Wind in the Willows". No, he had enough difficulties to face, without letting his mind wander into a children’s fantasy.

Chesterfield watched his wrecked canoe sink. There he was, up the creek without a paddle; but then, who needs a paddle when you don’t have a boat? There went his ukelele, floating away. Oh, no! His drinks and snacks were in the canoe! His keg of root beer popped to the surface and wallowed downstream like an African hippo-what-amus. His food was gone, and his little chipmunk tummy was already hungry. Oh, and his blanket! What if he got cold when he wanted to sleep? Alas and alack!

Now, hold on! He had come on this journey looking for adventure, in whatever comes his way. After all, a chipmunk is a woodland animal, born to be wild, like a true Nature’s child. He can find food and shelter as he makes his way back to his home in T-dad. Should he let country roads take him home? Nah! He’ll rough it, across field and stream, over the river and through the woods. Gee, he really missed his ukelele!

OK, time to find some food. Chokecherries were plentiful, but they’re sorta bitter; what else can he find? Blackberries! Sunflower seeds! Even acorns from the Gambel oak. Our chipmunk hero wondered if huckleberries grew near here. He passed a farmer’s field; alas, the pumpkins were not yet ripe. He caught a cricket; not his usual morsel, but it was full of protein. A squirrel chattered a warning. HAWK! Chesterfield quickly found a safe spot under a bush.

Chet walked on for a while, then he stopped suddenly and said to himself, “Ewww! What’s that stink? Oh, it seems a feral kitty cat had marked its territory. Well, that reminds me to beware of cats.” And there was another unpleasant aroma – a skunk must have been upset about something a few nights ago.

Oh, what’s this? A pawprint in the dust. Looks like it might have been a dog; no, it probably was a coyote. Chet resolved to watch out for that wiley trickster.

After three weeks of arduous travel, Chesterfield arrived in Trinidad. No longer was he the sleek rodent with chubby cheeks and heavy flanks. Now he was slender and lean, fit and hardy. He made his way along the river to the center of town where he used the Commercial Street viaduct to cross to the left bank. He went on until he reached Kit Carson Park. Time to rest! Ahh, a nap on the soft grass. When he awoke, he continued west on Colorado Avenue to his final destination – home at last!