Just Around The Bend Episode VII Colorado Where Rivers Run Wild

JUST AROUND THE BEND

Episode VII


COLORADO RIVER:

This is an amazing area. Colorado supplies so
much water to the neighboring states from
Nebraska, Kansas in the east to the south and
west. Most all of the water in the southwest,
Arizona and California comes from these
mountains and the Colorado River.

Years ago the eastern edge of Colorado, where
80% of the populations lives; Boulder, Denver,
Colorado Springs and Pueblo decided it had
better transfer a lot of water across the
Continental Divide to their side, where they
could use it.

Around 1920 they began construction of a 9 foot
tunnel under the Rocky Mountain National Park.
It was a huge undertaking. Since that time the
Colorado Water Compact has defined the
strongest water usage laws and distribution
procedures in the country.

The Colorado-Big Thompson tunnel built during
the 1930’s added another huge amount of water
to the eastern front; 11 times more.
Today more than 20 tunnels have been built
through the Rockies to supply the Eastern Front.

The water that feeds the Eastern Front comes
from Lake Granby. It originally flowed into a
reservoir at Estes Park. Since then multiple
reservoirs along the front, store the transported
mountain run-off.

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We are about to take a final hike along this great
water way’s path. It’s a creek that runs into and
out of Lake Granby; the largest fresh water lake
in Colorado.

Our hike is north of the lake. The ‘creek’ is a
small brook that runs along the mountain valley.
Our trail followed right beside it. Arlene takes a
moment as it skirts a small meadow.



























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The summer weather was warm and the creek
was so inviting, clear, and cool. When we came
upon this fallen log we had to try crossing it.
Arlene resisted, while Richard didn’t get half way
before he slipped off sideways soaking himself.

My polyester clothes and summer hiking boots
dried quickly, as we continued through a couple
of narrow stretches. At one point there had been
a landslide and the hillside was covered with
rocks. The rock slides made dandy places for a
colony of Marmots. These characters, fluffy,
with brown coats are many times the size of
squirrels, but just as active.



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We watched one pop up and look around, and
disappear, then another. We didn’t want to
attract them because of earlier experiences, where
we learned they carry diseases that we’d rather
not get.






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Once high in the mountains of Montana along a
sunset trail a Marmot came out of the rocks and
began sniffing around my boots, maybe because
of the salt on them. We were with a Park Ranger
and when she saw it she quickly called out for me
to ‘stop and freeze’. She used her hiking stick to
usher it away. Later she said that among other
diseases they carried bubonic plague.




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This was a fine walk and we took most of the day
to enjoy it. Once we returned to camp we were
pretty tired. The mountain air, altitude and
exercise had gotten to us again. We had a light
salad and retired early.
































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Unlike the source of the other rivers in Colorado
that we’ve seen and traveled along this one
begins in such a beautiful setting. We take just
one more look before saying good-by to it as it
begins it’s long journey to the Gulf of California.
































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Never Summer Ranch:
Beside Timber Creek Campground is the Never
Summer Ranch. It like so much of the Colorado
mountains was explored and developed by
miners. In this case, because it was low grade,
silver, the rush didn’t last long.

th
During the turn of the 20 century there was a
lot of activity around the area. In 1920 and a little
earlier a group of Indians thought the sun never
set on these mountains. European translators,
called it the Never Summer Mountains, where so
many of it’s peaks, 17 named, kept the warm
weather away.
In the early 1920’s the road across the Rockies,
now the National Park lead a saloon keeper from
Denver to start a ‘dude’ ranch in the valley. It
lasted for a while, until maybe the 1970’s.

With a name like that we couldn’t resist visiting.
Several wooden cabins have been saved. Back in
time tourist could stay in them for a couple of
dollars a week. The meadows haven’t been
cultivated for some time, yet the fences are still
there.

We really enjoyed being there, and felt quite at
home wandering around. I posed beside one of
the out-houses reckoning that it wouldn’t be safe
to go inside.


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Arlene on the other hand was so relaxed that she
acted like this was her ranch. She posed beside
every fence making us think she was the ‘Dale
Evans’ of the Never Summer Ranch. She really
needs a Palomino horse.









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ROCKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK:
Milner Pass:

Early in the morning, 7:a.m., we broke camp at
Timber Creek, and left for the eastern side of the
Park,
Milner Pass is pretty high, 10,760 feet. But not
the highest point for us today. We will go along
the Trail Ridge Road. What’s special about this
pass is the Continental Divide.

Actually, for us we’ve crossed 5 other divides
since in Colorado. So we’re getting pretty use to
them. The road however, built during the 1920’s
is supposed to be the longest, highest hard top
road in the US. It runs from Grand Lake to Estes
Park, and is generally closed in the winter.
Along the way we’ve seen several herds of Elk,
as large as 15, all cows, in their high summer
pastures. They have lost their blotchy winter
coats and are sleek good looking animals with
dark brown coats and tan rumps.

There were a couple of young elk with small felt
antlers. We’re sure they won’t participate in this
seasons rut.







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The divide was such a special place, but we all
couldn’t have come from Denver for a picnic
today. There were so many traipsing up the trail
to the summit that it looked like the Chil-Koot-
Trail leading to the Klondike gold fields. .


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The Alpine Visitors Center was packed also We
waited in line so we could buy a couple of
souvenir glass mugs.

Outside there were several snowfields. Both
Arlene and I took pictures of each other. But it
had been a while, several months where debris
and tourists had packed down the snow. It was
crusty, no snow balls, and dirty.

We moved along with too many people enjoying
the good weather and hilltop.






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A little further along we came to an even higher
mountain top. It wasn’t the continental divide,
but still had some snow along it’s ridge. It gave
us an idea of how the mountains would look
during the late spring.












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By late morning we had driven down the
mountain side into Estes Park and around into
the large Moraine Campground on the Eastern
side of the Park. To find a campsite we circled
around checking out any that were open. There
isn’t any electricity in the camp so we were
nd
rd
looking for 2 and 3 level choices.


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Moraine Campground:

The campground overlooks the Moraine valley.
A large expanse greater than many football fields.


























If we were lucky we’d be able to camp on the
edge of the hillside overlooking the meadow.
Our other choices, like access to water, and
facilities like a toilet or showers really took a back
seat.
With two sites in mind, both flat and on the hill,
we returned to the Visitors Center where they
assign them, waited, hopeing that we’d get one of
them.

Hurray!



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We got our first choice on the hill overlooking
the meadow, with a little stream wandering
through.


























We were so happy about this good fortune that
neither of us were going to rush to finish any
housekeeping, or setting up the camp. We
decided to take it easy the rest of the day, cook
outside and just relax.

I made a Gin and Tonic, poured Arlene a glass of
Sauvignon Blanc, and laid out a New York Strip
steak for us. Arlene is really picky about the grill
so I always place a little foil under our otherwise
sanitized cooking surface.





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The meal was swell, and with a couple more
drinks we were feeling really good. We turned in
early and listened to the Elk bugling in the field
below us.

Our plan for the day was to go into Estes Park,
to the Museum, and get acquainted with the area.
We were here in May about 3 years ago. Back
then not only was the Trail Ridge Road covered
with snow, but it wouldn’t be opened for several
more weeks.
Estes Park was busy, tourists filled the streets
along with every bric-brac store. We wandered
from one to another. At one gadget store there
were dust pans made from every state. Arlene,
with her soft spot for Wyoming bucking broncos
seized upon this one, adding it to several hats.

















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The museum was at the Visitors Center, it
sucked. The Park film wasn’t much better. We
started back to camp but stopped to talk to a
shuttle bus lady that was going to Bear Lake. We
thought we’d hop on and just go for a ride. We
didn’t but she gave us the low down on getting to
Bear Lake and why we’d want to go there.

Years ago we picnicked near the lake, but it also
was covered with ice and snow back then.
On our way back to camp we decided that we
should go on the bus ride another day.
Tomorrow a Kodak fellow was supposed to give
a walking and photo lecture around the lake.

That gave us the rest of the day to cast for fish.
Fishing:

At the fishing store, we bought a couple of 5 day
licenses, as we planned to fish some of the
mountain brooks. After falling into the creek the
other day during my balancing act on the tree
trunk. I was encouraged to buy a pair of waders
as the water was pretty cold. They were on sale,
making it a good reason. Everyone we knew had
several pairs. Brian had so many that both
Arlene and I wore a pair of his older ones.
We might have asked ourselves. What are you
doing? How often do we fish? Why would they
help if we never wanted to catch a fish, anyway?


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No we never asked. But, we did buy a pair;
$85.00, gulp!

Down the hill from us, on our side of the
Moraine Valley was a little stream wondering
along the grassy meadow. That’s where we went
this morning to catch fish.

We drove down and parked. There were plenty
of places along the roadside. We got the fishing
gear ready and selected a fly; either a Caddis or a
Nymph. Can’t tell the difference, and there’s no
names on any of the two boxes of flies.

I should have looked through the neat little waist
pouch for the knot tying guide as a reminder.
That’s because my first cast flipped that pretty
little fly, with dry dock on it, right off.
Our pouch is loaded with licenses, a 25 year old
survival booklet, that Arlene carried when
climbing Mount Washington, both in envelopes,
our cheap 3M reel with extra line and leaders,
and a couple of candy bars.

The lower section was packed with the two fly
boxes, the dry dock bottle, a line cutting tool and
a couple of ‘let-them-float’ red neon bobbers.
So after a couple of casts I realized I needed
another fly. Choosing flies is great fun, and it
take two of us to decide. It usually comes down
to how fluffy and good color one has. (We are
running low on the pretty ones.)

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Reviewing the knot guide we tied another fly on
the leader and started casting. Again, over my
head and snap. I can’t believe the amount of
patience it takes to fish. Again we choose a fly
and tie it on according to the guide. We follow
every step.

It’s Arlene’s turn to fish. With our RV just up
the hill Arlene hiked down to the small creek.
There seems to be two stages of streams. The
ones that bolt down the mountains at a terrific
white water rate, and the ones, like this, that
meander through the meadows and valleys. This
one meanders through the wide ‘U’ valley carved
thousands of years ago by the glaciers.


























Arlene has a technique. With all the expert advice
she starts casting up stream on her side. The

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water is clear, so she expects the fish to face away
from her. Her fly with a coating of silicon floats
down past her.

To reach the further side. The fly floats down
the far side and moves toward the current in the
middle. Several casts later she has a fish. It
wiggles and pulls against the line. She draws it in
winding the reel up.
It’s a brook trout, but to small to keep. We’ll
need to ‘Catch-and-Release’. I put on my gloves
and held it while removing her fly. It didn’t have
a barb, because we’d cut it off.

Arlene’s fish was about 3, maybe 4 inches long.
But, there was lots of excitement, as I held it in
the water until it stopped bubbling and swam
away.
She really is good at this, but there were no more
bites. There should have been more, a Rainbow
or Brook Trout to take her nymph.

We share a single rod, our 3M with it’s new tip,
thanks to ‘Jolly’ who sent it to us. Arlene had
decided she had enough and was ready to give
me a chance.
I fish a little differently than her. Maybe I’ve got
more power, and cast the fly further. I’m liable
to cast across the creek to the bushes on the
other side.


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Here in the meadow it’s such a lovely day that I
left my new waders in the RV. I’m casting just
over the white water, so my fly will float over the
rapids into their hungry mouths.


















I tried both sides of the pools and didn’t even get
a nibble. Then I exercised my muscles and cast
the fly over the creek into the bushes. Well
maybe it wasn’t that far. This happens frequently
to me. Usually, I can haul or jerk the line loose.
Sometimes it doesn’t work and I snap the fly
right off. If everything fails and I think I could
wade across I do so.

The water, even though it’s come off the ice
fields of those 10,000 foot peaks around us, isn’t


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cold. After running through the valley in the sun
light it’s warmed up. I waded across and pulled
the fly and line free from the long grasses.

This fishing trip has been a success. We were
able to get out along a stream on a beautiful day,
cast until we were sure our bait wasn’t that pretty;
nymphs are small and brown, not like our yellow
bumble bee. And of course, neither of us
wanted to catch a fish anyway.
Bear Lake Hiking:

Today’s going to be a big day. We’re going over to
Bear Lake for a hike with the Kodak man.
Arlene would like to learn how to take simple
pictures. This is discouraging to me as she takes nice
pictures, but sparingly. Wouldn’t it be nice if she
were ‘un-corked’ so-to-speak and took more.

For me I go at it from a different point of view.
Maybe if I learned to look differently at the meadow,
stream, or the mountains, and flowers my pictures
would be different. Maybe really nice. So
hopefully, he will help me see with a clear eye. I
might even learn to describe my vision differently.

It’s true we’ve been here before. On the way to
Alaska we visited with Sally Daly, an old friend who
stood up for Arlene in her last marriage, her very
last. Sally had been all over the world and moved
from Connecticut to be near her children.


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She was a fun person to visit, taking so much
time to show us around the ‘front edge’ from
Golden, home of Coors, to Boulder, home of the
State University, and here to Rocky Mountain.
She had only one flaw. She drove like blazes and
I was in the suicide seat.


























It was really exciting for us as the snow was still
covering everything. Ridge Trail was covered


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and closed, and Bear Lake was iced over with 2-3
feet of snow on top. Sally had prepared a picnic.

So bundled up we huddled around a bench and
had a grand time.

Here you can see Arlene and me in more snow
than we’d ever seen in our lives. It’s a short way
to Bear Lake, just beyond those trees. I couldn’t
resist trying to get over to it, and sinking up to
my knees I climbed and struggled a hundred
yards to what seemed to be the edge.

























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I couldn’t tell because there was only an opening
in the forest, but no sign of the shore or lake.
This is the view I would have gotten if the snow
hadn’t covered the lake.

Taking pictures of these flowers, and
knowingtheir names is a challenge. Maybe these
are Fireweed, and White Rocky Mountain
Pussytoes.




























Steven Keen the Kodak man had come out to
the Park each year for 14 years. He was the chief
photographer. He had come from Connecticut,
Kodak paid his way each summer to encourage
visitors to take better pictures. He started his
lecture with a few tips. Flowers, brighten when
given a sprinkle of water, and look like morning

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dew. Clusters are more photographic than
singles. Here are three Mountain Lupine,
bluish/lavender.























We tried snapping lots of different flowers.
Arlene’s favorite was the lake and the lilies.

She took pictures of lots of groups also, but
always came back to them.





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Another tip was about the changing skies. They
often begin the day clear and blue, as the day
progresses clouds build until the evening. We
weren’t taken by that as we




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have plenty of experience watching the clouds
grow and alerting us when sailing. The afternoon
photo we took was a warning that a thunder
storm might be coming.


























Tips were great and we took hundreds of
pictures. His knowledge and pleasant character
led us to continue throughout the day with him.
After his short morning lecture he led two others
into the mountains above Bear Lake. We
followed, listen and chatted. It was a fun day for
both of us and here are a few of the best photos
we’ve taken for years.






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This is ‘Bierstadt’ country, the wonderful Hudson
Valley artist, and we were approaching one of his
most famous paintings locations.




























Unfortunately we don’t have a copy of his Rocky
Mountain painting.




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We kept climbing all day through the forest, into
a more rocky terrain and then out over a clearing
overlooking this small pond.





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From this point we stopped to rest before
heading back down the mountain, back to Bear
Lake.





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Here Steven took a few pictures of us.





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During the spring the snow melt causes the rivers
and creeks to run high, as we’ve seen over the
years. Here is an interesting formation of logs
and tree trunk roots that caught our eye.
We seldom take so many pictures, but this was
such a good opportunity for us that we exceeded
our greatest estimates.



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Our pictures have been better because of the
Kodak man, but we’ve had help before that
weren’t so successful. Our ability to keep up
with what we learned and practiced has never
lasted to long; usually 2 weeks.








































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We have been able to get out and around this
side, in Moraine Park, more than any other place
we’ve visited. That not only because we’ve
visited several times, but the programs here are
good.

We have been back to this mountain trail before
when a terrible drought dried up the pond. It
constantly changes and each time we visit the
water level is different.
Stars and Galaxies:

One evening all the amature astronomers from
Boulder gathered far up into the Moraine Valley,
at the darkest point. We thought it would be


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great to go, and listen and become star gazers
ourselves.

After all we do have quite a background. Sailing
the seas. We’ve studied celestial navigation and
the stars for years, trying to guide ourselves. We
even have an old brass sexton and telescope my
Uncle Jenkin used as a Merchant Marine. We’ve
visited every observatory we pass on our
journeys, California, Texas, and astrological
locations meant to capture information from the
universe in New Mexico.
Yes we were ready for some star gazing.

Following these small single lane back roads
along the Moraine we ended up in an meadow
opening surrounded by the forest and those
10,000 foot mountains. Looking around the sky
was pitch black except for a small area of dim
light in the southeast. As dim as it was we still
presumed only Denver’s lights could be it’s
source. All else was so dark that we couldn’t see
our hand in front of our face.
We walked around the meadow. It was a great
place for all the astronomers. They had plenty of
room to set up their gear, yet were not crowded
together. We didn’t really have an idea about
what to expect, how popular is star gazing
anyway? Should there be the telescopes like the
ones we’ve seen in department stores, or


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museums; the five foot long 3” diameter ones
or larger.

What a surprise, at least 20 telescopes were
stationed around the meadow. Each at least the
size of 12” diameter and many so large that after
being set up there was a step ladder to get to their
viewing site.
The program began with a Ranger introducing
the couple of amateur astronomer groups and
other individuals that were set up and
participating. Each one of them had their scopes
set on different stars or galaxies. And all were
eager for you to come and see what they had set
up.

He then began a lecture with his laser picking out
different constellations. We knew most of them,
the Big and Little Dipper; Ursa Major and Minor,
the North Star, Actours the red giant , Scorpius,
Leo the Lion and Orion. Many we didn’t know.
If it wasn’t for his laser we would have had a
really hard time picking them out from all the
other stars. We had never seen so many. We
were looking at a sky on the edge of our galaxy.
The sky was filled with them and they were
different. Some twinkled, many were white some
red and few blue to our eye, all different
temperatures.



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We couldn’t see our favorite constellation, the
Southern Cross. It was to far south. Although,
it’s not the constellation so much as it was our
favorite, dream boat, a double-ender 36 foot blue
water sailboat. If we had chosen to sail the
world’s seas it would have been in this boat.




























By the end of the Rangers presentation we had a
good idea of what was above us. What we
weren’t ready for was the pitch black night and
the ice cold air. We’d worn a sweater and coat,
but not only did the air cut right through them,
but our ears, feet, and hands were frozen.

We tried our best to see several individual
displays. They were spectacular, Andromeda,
the only galaxy in sight, far beyond our Milky

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Way. We climbed up the ladders to view through
these scopes; the site was clear and remarkable.

We stayed as long as possible, but by the time we
got back to camp we were frozen through and
through.

The Big Thompson:
Today’s going to be a big adventure. We are
going up into the mountains along the Big
Thompson River/Creek. It’s hard to say exactly
which it is but for Colorado it’s really important
despite what it looks like. This is where they
tunneled through the Rockies to transfer all the
Colorado River water from Grand Lake to the
East, Denver, Boulder, Colorado Springs and
Pueblo. If you wanted a swallow of Coors, this is
where it came from after crossing the Continental
Divide.
Before we go we should get in touch with
everyone. We didn’t have cell phones back then
so it was a special day that we could use one of
the antique phones in a booth. Phone booths
don’t exist anymore anywhere.

Okay who are we going to call? Let’s see Dean is
probably at work, Matt protecting the Governor
of Vermont, Nate is working at one of those
companies we’ve lost money investing in, Dan is
in the Pacific under the water somewhere, and
Alyx.

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Okay Alyx: Hi, how are you? We’re great, getting
ready to hike into the Rockies. We’re taking our
fishing rod with us, hopeing we’ll surprise a fish
but not catch it.




























We’ll also call Doug and Irene. We left them
earlier in Mexico, but it is always nice to talk to
them.

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Does this look inviting? We should be wading in
it instead of hiking up the trail along it.




























It’s steep climbing with several crude bridges.
You can see Arlene with her fishing rod crossing
the nicest of the bridges.




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We kept going across a couple others, this one is
just two, two by twelve’s laid down with a 8” log
for a railing..







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Arlene found a good place to cast her line. It’s
pretty narrow, so she could reach the other side.
The good news is that it’s pretty rocky, and the
fly probably won’t stick to anything. In this fast
moving stream she’s hoping for a bite from a
brook trout.




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The rule about being a mile away from everyone,
applies in most cases, but here, in the wilderness
there was an exception. We hadn’t seen
anything all morning, not human or beast. No
Magpies, or Robber Jays.
Until the crushing of branches, and the heavy
sounds of hooves. Yes, here came two riders on
horseback up the trail. It truly didn’t make sense.
Arlene pulled in her line and we stepped to the
side as they passed.

A few hundred yards later they disappeared into
the brush. Not following the trail at all. I
Suppose they knew where they were going,
because they couldn’t have stayed on the trail.




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