Early Runoff
This Year
The spring
runoff on the Upper Colorado
River began on May first, a
couple of weeks early. Considering that
the river ice melted off five weeks earlier than I’d ever seen it, a slightly
premature runoff probably made sense.
But oh what a great few weeks it’s been for
the snowpack and river systems of Colorado! A month ago,
the snowpack was looking pretty low and having much of a runoff at all was in
doubt. In mid-April, I attended the
Colorado Trout Unlimited Rendezvous in Redstone, and that was the week if
finally started to snow and rain again.
Some of the attendees had some difficult driving conditions to get
there. But after a dry month, seeing all
that beautiful white snow on the ground was nice. Unfortunately, it came too late for
late-season skiing, as most areas including Vail and Aspen closed that very weekend.
There were several talks and presentations
given that day in Redstone, given in the local chapel. It was a strange juxtaposition between what
words were passing through my ears, and the images my that my brain processed. Experts were talking about how dire the
current and future water situation is, while the view outside the soaring
chapel windows were filled by quarter-sized flakes of snow slowly wafting
down. An 1815-type Currier and Ives
scene, during an April day in Colorado, circa 2015.
Later that evening, there was an awards
ceremony and I got one for The Guide Least Likely To Drown A Client (or
something). I got to say a few words,
and started by thanking CTU for all the good things they do for Colorado rivers in general, and the Upper C in specific. I finished by noting how wonderful it was to
see the snow that afternoon falling, and how most normal people would hate the
associated hassles with that, like difficult driving. But I was in a room full of folks who could
appreciate how precious each and every flake was, for in a drought every drop
of water is important. And most everyone
there also seemed to love that fact that it was snowing, finally.
That was a month ago, and how things have
changed, and almost all for the good. I
skied the last weekend at Beaver Creek, and then at Vail, and have been to
A-Basin twice in that time. The ski
season ended strong, and A-Basin is looking great. As I write this, it’s Saturday May Ninth, and
the mountains and foothills are getting up to 20 inches of snow this weekend!
Down here on the Colorado
River at 6,200 feet, its
mostly just dark and gloomy, with an occasional drizzle. But all the good stuff is falling upstream,
and will flow past my door sooner or later.
On Tuesday last week, I had the honor of
speaking to the Cheyenne Mountain Chapter of Trout Unlimited. They are pitching in to help preserve the
last remaining native habitat of genetically pure Greenback Cutthroat trout, so
cheers to those guys! On the way home
that night, I decided to take I-25 north to I-70, instead of my original plan
to go through South Park. One of the nice things about my 4Runner is
the huge rocketbox I have mounted above it, which has gear for fishing, skiing,
camping and other assorted tools and conveniences. Instead of fishing the Dream Stream, I was
going to do some hands-on snowpack inspections the next day, otherwise known as
alpine skiing, A-Basin style. Heading
west on I-70, I noticed how bright the moon was shining through my glass
sunroof. It occurred to me that we were in the middle of some pretty mile
weather, but that there had been two feet of snow in the central Rockies over the past week or so.
It occurred to me that it had been some time
since I had skied in the moonlight at Loveland Pass,
and this might be a perfect night to do so. But by the time I would be getting
to Loveland Pass,
it would be about one am, and who but
tanker truck drivers would be going over at that hour? I decided to take Loveland Pass
anyway, since I would be sleeping in the back of my 4Runner in the A-Basin
parking lot. Then as I approached the
tunnel, a large CDOT message board said, “Rollover Accident in WB Tunnel – use
US Highway 6 Loveland Pass As Alternate Route”, and I thought, “This is my
lucky night!” Instead of practically no traffic going over Loveland Pass,
100 percent of little traffic there would be would be going that way!
I parked at the bottom of the switchback to
where all trails off Loveland Pass lead, put on my ski gear, and walked over
the outside of the turn. I stuck my skis into the snowbank, looked up into the
still night air, and waited for a car.
Within minutes, a pair of headlights was coming up the road, and as they
rounded the bend I was caught in their headlights. The first car started to slow, but the second
one closed in on his bumper and they sped back up again. A half-minute later,
another set of headlights approached, and this time they pulled up right beside
me. I had been hitchhiking for perhaps a
minute and a half. It was a new Tacoma, and I pantomimed just hopping into the back to its
driver, and he nodded. So climbed in
back, knocked on his back window and gave him a thumbs up, and soon we were
climbing up into the sky. On the way up,
I was able to scout some good lines from the top of the ridge, and could see
several options. It was a waxing moon,
perhaps three or four days shy of being full, and the landscape was as easy to
see as it would have been at noon.
At the top of the Pass, 12,990 feet, I
climbed out, thanked him through his driver’s window, and set off for the top
of the ridge. Its possible to simply put
your skis on at the road’s edge and ski from there, but that means either doing
a long boring traverse or dropping into some trees. Bright as it was in the open, it was
pitch-dark in the trees so that wasn’t an option. If it were the brutal weather
that could often be found here on the Continental Divide, on the very spine of
the North American continent, I might
have opted for the traverse of to the bottom of the bowl, with a run out back
to my truck.
But on this night the weather was perfect,
with the sky almost cloudless and the air very still. So I hiked up to the top of the ridge, the
night quiet except for the crunching of my feet and the sound my own deep
breathing. I took my time, just putting
one foot in front of the other and tried to think of nothing else but that next
step, and the one after that, and so on. Sooner than I would have I imagined, I
was on top of the divide, able to see forever even at 2:30 in the morning.
I couldn’t have imagined a more beautiful spot to be on earth than where
I stood. Not knowing what to expect on top, I had dressed with an extra layer
and laid down in the snow on top, warm and snug. I watched electric white clouds drift past,
looking like horses, then poodles, then lizards. It was so clear that even the stars were very
bright, despite the moonlight. It was so
high that there was very little atmosphere for the moon to illuminate.
Finally I clicked my boots into my skis, and
began to slide down the hill. I sank a
little deeper into the snow than I expected, so I went a little faster to plane
up. Once I did it was effortless, and I
glided across the blindingly white plane like a low-flying night bird, an owl
swooping down to snag an unlucky mouse.
The endless mountains made me feel both insignificant, and intricately tied
to everything else all at once. Even as I was living that moment, I wanted to
hold onto the way it made me feel forever. If you are reading this during the
second week of May, odds are that you’ll able to so this for at least one more
phase of the moon this year. Go for it!
Since this is ostensibly a fishing blog, I
guess I should mention how the river fished over the pre-runoff period.
Actually, it was pretty good, especially if you could catch it running
clear. The warm sunny weather in March
did turn some of the tributaries muddy, but once ranchers started irrigating,
it captured a lot of that silt and the river looked pretty good.
But since there weren’t many bugs hatching
that early, fishing consisted mostly of running big stonefly nymphs or tossing
streamers. During the clearer waters,
watching trout charging out of a hidey-hole chasing streamers is pretty entertaining!
I’ve done if for fun with the hook cut off just to watch them do it.
So it fished pretty well this year, if
inconsistent. We caught a couple of nice
rainbows from the Class of 2012, but one was so vibrant it looked like it might
have some from a different planet. Maybe
it was some kind of genetic holdover from the pre-Whirling Disease era, some of
which have been found on the Gunnison. Epidemics usually don’t kill all of anything, just
most, and if you are one of the survivors then perhaps your genetics are
superior in some way. This rainbow sure looked like something special, that’s
for sure. This was the Angelina Jolie /
Tom Brady of fish.
Then things changed in a hurry. Between last Friday and Sunday, the river
went from 1100 cfs to 2200 cfs. Over the course of the last week, it’s risen to
well over 3000 cfs, and looks like its not going to go down anytime soon. In addition to the increasing snowpack, Front Range
drainages are already saturated and on the verge of flood, so none of this
western water will be needed in their inventory.
A river is a very dynamic ecosystem, and one
ever-changing variable on the Upper C is clarity, and how it’s affected by
river levels. Generally, as the river goes up, it gets cloudier and more
opaque. When it stays at a fairly
constant level for a while, it will clear.
If the level drops, it clears much faster. That’s usually a good time to be on the
river! The worst time is when the level
goes up dramatically. By those metrics, that would make last
Saturday the lousiest time to be on the water all year, right in the middle of
its doubling in size. And of course,
that’s when I would host a famous fishing writer, during the worse fishing
weather of the year. I’d loved his prose
for many years, and was pretty honored to be able to show him my little slice
of paradise. But then the fishing sucked.
He only caught three, though they
were at least spaced out, into an early one, one during the middle of the day,
and finally one late. But still, when
two people who know what they’re doing only land three fish all day? We did get
really close up to some bighorns, and the weather was OK. But usually when the river fishes slow, its
because its been sunny, and the canyon is so spectacularly colored that you
don’t mind not catching that many fish.
When its bright, the canyon scenery and wildlife are reasons enough to
be there. Or if the canyon is a bit dull, its because it overcast and its
probably fishing great. But last Saturday was neither, and I could
only wish that this person whom I admired could have seen it all in a better
light.
The last time I had a fishing writer on my
boat, the day could not have better choreographed by Robert Redford or Izaak Walton. The weather was great, the canyons colorful, the
browns aggressive, and we caught fish on nymphs, dries, streamers,
grasshoppers, and a tenkara rod. Just the kind of day you want to have with someone
who writes about fishing, to experience in your boat. Last Saturday was kind of a worse-case scenario
from both a fishing and a visual perspective.
In addition to all of the precipitation
lately, the news has also been good on
the insect front. Before the water level
rose, the temperature had been stuck around 35-38 degrees, and other than some
midges and BWOs there weren’t many bugs around.
But few days before the river went up, the temperature rose to 52 degrees.
That kicked off caddis hatches that have continued ever since, in the most
copious numbers since the pre-2011 high water.
The BWOs numbers also went up, to the point where their dorsal fins
could be seen slicing through the foamy eddies where their spinners would
finish their watery journey. Once the river starts to come down in a month or so,
the grasshoppers will be in play and thus will commence the meat of the fishing
season, Hopper/Dropper Time.
So that’s the time that Upper Colorado River
appreciators need to start thinking about, just after the runoff has peaked,
and begins to drop. It should clear quickly as long as it’s not too rainy, and
the fish will be aggressive once its clear because they can become efficient
predators again. Hoppers will be out,
and fish will be onto the hoppers. And
best of all, at flows above 2,500 the Lower Upper can be a pretty fun stretch
to run, with waves you don’t see at lower levels. If you are a watcher of river gauges, keep an
eye on the Dotsero gauge, sometimes listed in places as the Shoshone
number. If you subtract the gauge number
for the lower Eagle, from the Shoshone one, it’ll give you a pretty good idea
of what’s flowing through the “Lower Upper”, Burns to Dotsero. (The Kremmling
gauge upriver is also a good resource, but is so far upriver that it usually
under-reports the flows between Burns and Dotsero).
The main message is, we’ve got more water and
snow now than we had a month ago. If the Front Range gets through it without
any flooding, than that’s a very good thing.
Things are looking rosy for the summer of 2016!
I’ll
be watching those gauges very closely, and when they start to drop you will get
another one of these, (unless you choose to Unsubscribe at the bottom). I’ll
try to keep the next one shorter, at least to where you can read it in one
bathroom visit).
Tight lines,
Jack
Bombardier
2015 CTU Award Winner;
Guide Most Likely To Not
Kill You
14503
Colorado River Road
Gypsum, CO 81637
303-378-2149
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