Pining For The Piney
Some people
may assume that fishing guides get to fish all the time, or at least
more than they get to do. That may or may not be true, it depends on
the guide and who they are being compared to. I know that there are a
lot of retired men and women out there who get to fish a lot more than I
do, because I've met more than a few of them. I'll hopefully live long
enough to be one of them myself someday.
But between running shuttles seven days a week, driving a propane
truck, and being on the water myself floating lucky folks down the
river, there's not much time to actually go fish any distant waters, or
even those closer to home. Luckily, there are many good places to fish
locally. One of these places is on the western flank of the Gore Range,
only an hour's bumpy drive from Vail. At the top of that drive is Piney
Lake, one of the most photographed spots in all of Colorado. The lake
borders the Eagle's Nest Wilderness, and rugged peaks just seem to rise
right up out of it. It can be a busy place, but its not unknown to
fishermen, so I don't feel like I'm outing a hidden spot that people
don't know about already. They occasionally have a guide working there
to offer advice and services, and you see plenty of people toting fly
and spinning rods. But for some reason, most of those fisherpeople head
to the lake, and a smaller number fish the river above the lake, but
I've never seen anyone fish below it.
There's
a private concession there with a small restaurant and store, cabins,
outfitter tents, canoes, SUP rentals, and a big deck overlooking the
lake upon which many wedding vows each year are exchanged. Piney Lake is
a beautiful and inspiring place. In late summer, once the lake levels
drop and the algae blooms, moose come out and stand in the shallow areas
of the lake slurping up their aquatic salad bar. I've seen moose on
most of my fall trips to Piney Lake. Last September, a pair of moose
were sloshing around twenty feet away from the deck, right next to where
solemn commitments made between two loving people (which may last
between forever and six months) are made.
The
reason I go to Piney so often is to deliver propane, and I've been
doing so for almost ten years. The whole operation is off the grid, so
its powered by a pair of propane generators supplied by a tank farm of
four 1000 gallon tanks. When those tanks get low, I go up there with a
full propane "bobtail" truck, and fill the four tanks. This happens
about once a month while they're open, which is from around Memorial Day
until the end of September. That means I go up there four times a year,
and get to see that upper watershed in all of its phases that don't
involve being buried under the snow.
The
drive usually takes about an hour plus from Vail, and then I spend an
hour filling the tanks. Then, before making the hour drive back, I try
to fish a little. Its usually only for an hour or so, but even just a
short amount of time spent along a high mountain stream is mentally
restorative. Sometimes being out there trying to fool a ten-inch brook
trout feels like one of the reasons I'm living on this earth to begin
with. I often get that same sensation when skiing aspen trees.
The peak that dominates the view from Piney Lake wedding deck is called
Mount Powell, named for the famous explorer who made the first recorded
trip down the Grand Canyon a few years later. John Wesley Powell was
among the first group of white men known to have climbed to the top of
the peak that now bears his name. Whenever Powell's name is invoked,
it seems obligatory to mention that fact that he only had one arm, lost
to a cannon ball in the Civil War. For most people, climbing mountains
and rowing boats with only one arm wouldn't be high on the list of
things they would want to do. Powell was obviously not most people. It
seems appropriate that a mountain which bears his name has waters which
flow all the way down to the canyon he first explored.
The
section I usually fish on the Piney is the stretch that runs from the
outlet of the lake down to where the road going to the lake crosses the
creek about a mile away. The first time I drove up there was over twenty
years ago, while dating the sensational girl who later became my wife.
She was looking forward to driving up there to see the bridge which
crosses the Piney, which was designed by her dad Jerry years before when
he worked for the Forest Service. The Piney is a classic freestone
Rocky Mountain stream, not very large but clean and cold and full of
small eager brook trout. Brookies are sometime looked down upon in the
Rockies as they are non-native fish, technically an invasive species.
When headwater streams are being prepared for the reintroduction of
native cutthroats, "cleaning" those waters by using a piscicide to
poison the existing fish populations. These fish are usually the
offspring of rainbows, brookies and browns that were put there by
well-meaning fish biologists many years ago. But even though brook trout
don't "belong' in those waters, angling for them is still one of my
favorite ways to pursue fish. Part of that is due to where they live,
which are almost always scenic. That's because brook trout love clean,
cold, clear water, and that type of water is usually found high up in
some watershed. The other thing is that brookies are among the most
beautiful creatures found on this green earth. Cutthroats and golden
trout have their advocates, and for good reasons, but for me brook trout
embody everything I love about fishing. Brook trout have stunning
beauty that's almost impossible to capture by either photograph or
paint, though many try. The only way to really appreciate one is to
hold one in your hand, while it's still wet. Also, brookies were the
native fish from where I came from in New England, so they were our cutthroats.
A fly that's well cast and mended on the Piney River will almost always
result in a small brookie trying to eat it, even if it's too small to
fit in its mouth.
The
stretch of river above the lake also has its charms, most noticeably
the gigantic mountains that are almost distracting in their presence.
There are some deeper pools that form behind beaver ponds here, and the
fish tend to be bigger. Perhaps that's why this stretch sees more
anglers on it, but its not crowded and with all the meanders there's
plenty of room to spread out.
I've
never fished the lake from a boat, but have fished the creek's inlet
into it. One of these days I'll bring some kind of watercraft up there
to do that, or use one of the lodge's canoes. But I've never been a big
stillwater guy, because fishing in lakes and ponds feels kind of boring
to me. Watching a fly or indicator just sit there on the water's
surface while waiting for the tug seems very random, and requires little
skill beyond rigging the appropriate tackle and depth. No real casting
or mending are required. Being on a lake also deprives one of the
sublime music that only a river can make, like some natural Mozart
symphony. I love everything about high mountain streams, from how they
look and smell, but especially how they sound. You don't get that on
stillwater.
On
my last trip this fall, I drove my truck about halfway to the bridge
and pulled over to wet a line. There's really no bad spots, its all
fishable. I rigged up an elkhair caddis and my first decent cast fooled
a small trout, but when I set the hook I missed the fish. Working my
way up the stream, I got a rise in every pool and missed them all.
Finally I hooked a brookie and brought it to the bank, sticking my hand
in the pure water to cradle it. It was only a few inches long but pretty
as hell.
What the Piney is like between Jerry's bridge and the confluence with
the Colorado River twenty miles away is still a mystery to me. I did a
short hike from the bridge down once and the trail and creek got very
brushy. It didn't appear as though there would be room to cast a fly
even if there were trout in there worth casting to. But being able to
have the time to better explore that middle reach is on my bucket list.
When
I first moved to Colorado, I spent more time on and around the lower
Piney, where it meets the Colorado River at State Bridge. The Piney
flows about twenty miles straight north from the lake to the river, with
only one small irrigation diversion. Right above the confluence of it
and the Colorado River is a small campsite overlooking it. There was
once a great saloon nearby called the State Bridge Lodge, and I'd camp
above the mouth of the Piney and walk the mile to the bar at night. The
Piney is a loud, splashy river which barges into the Colorado River
creating a huge spinning eddy at some levels. The white noise it creates
makes for wonderful sleeping, at least until the middle of the night
when some creaky old freight train comes screeching around the corner
from across the river. The train's headlight casts a blinding atomic
flash to go with the armageddon soundtrack, which can be slightly
disruptive to the great night's sleep you were having only minutes
earlier.
The
State Bridge Lodge also became the place I'd meet my wife back when she
was still my girlfriend, and it was a magical place. It was a bar that
was open to everyone, from hippies to rednecks to bikers to tourists to
fishermen to rafters to hunters to cowboys to bicyclists to campers and
to anyone or anything on feet, hooves or wheels. After my now-wife and I
made our move the mountains twenty years ago, the State Bridge Lodge
was the one place we'd feel comfortable driving to for a night out
involving cocktails. Since our drive our home was along the Colorado
River Road which has almost no traffic, it felt pretty safe. Then about
fifteen years ago, so lowlife bastard burned the place down, and I hope
that a new, lower level of hell was created for him (or her) when they
lose their mortal coil.
The
Piney is also notable for another reason, and that is the USGS gauge
located just upstream from the Colorado. During spring runoff or during
the monsoon season, the Piney gauge gives one a very good window into
what the mountain snowpack is doing. Its a very direct look into how
fast or slow its melting, with not much in the way of headgates above
it. There are even times when the Piney has a greater volume of water in
it than the Colorado, which seems crazy to think about. But in bad
snowpack years, when the melting snow is held back and stored in
reservoirs on the Colorado, wild streams like the Piney rush and crash
down the mountainsides to the waiting river below. Once in 2002 I
camped at my usual spot above the confluence, and from that vantage
point the Piney was clearly the dominant tributary. It was during peak
runoff and the Piney was flowing at a thousand cfs, while the Colorado
River flowed meekly past at a mere 400. The Piney thrust into the
Colorado River hard from river left, its
dark turbid flow overwhelming the clear olive water coming from the
reservoirs above. The whole river below the confluence was a boiling
mass of whirlpools and sticks.
I
got the idea to take my cheap ducky for a ride down the Piney, before hitchhiking up to float the Colorado later. My usual pattern was to
stick my thumb out in front of the State Bridge Lodge (where people had
to slow down), and catch a ride up to wherever they went. I'd do the
same put in as them, inflate the cheap ducky stuffed in my backpack, then
float down to my campsite above the Piney. Sometimes that would make
for a quick day, if I only went up to Rancho Del Rio. But if my ride went all
the way up to Pumphouse, then I'd be in for a longer float. I tried to
just go with whatever trip fate dealt me.
I
hiked along the fire road which paralleled the Piney for about a mile
to the bridge where the USGS gauge and a gate blocking the road was.
Along the way, I kept looking at the raging torrent that was the Piney
River. The Piney is officially called a "river", but that's giving it
too much credit. "Stream" is really a more apt descriptor, and "creek"
or "brook" also give a more accurate image of it than "river" does. But
on this June morning, river" seemed entirely appropriate. The Piney was
basically pure whitewater froth from the bridge to the Colorado River,
with both banks lined by stiff brush and rocks, the occasional log or
branch blocking one side. The more I looked down at the torrent, the
less of a good idea it seemed to be. I was still young enough to feel
invincible, but old enough to know better. By the time I got the bridge, I
was hot and tired and didn't want to schlep my pack and paddle back to
camp. The Piney looked cool, refreshing and terrifying. I thought, how
dangerous could a little stream like the Piney be?
I
clambered down the steep bank and blew up my ducky using lung power.
One hundred exhales each into the right and left tubes, then fifty into
the floor. There wasn't much room along Piney, but once I was ready I
straddled the ducky and side-hopped into the crashing water. The ducky
shot off and I almost lost the paddle in trying to hang onto my little
boat. The surrounding landscape went by in a blur, and I used my paddle
more to deflect oncoming obstructions than to actually paddle. It
seemed as though in any given moment there were ten different things I
was flying past which could puncture the boat or me. It was like an
arcade game or amusement park ride, but with real potential
consequences. The thought of bailing on this hazardous endeavor occurred
to me, but even if I wanted to get out there was nowhere to go. It
was Colorado River or bust. I covered the mile of the Piney in what
felt like ten seconds, though it was probably at least twenty. The banks
widened and spread apart and suddenly there was the Colorado River,
moseying along minding its own business when suddenly this impudent
little mountain stream came barreling in with a whooping idiot riding
its impatient power. When I hit the Colorado River, I shot all the way
across to the far bank, totally missing the takeout to my campsite. The
two flows merged and twisted and I let myself spin around in the
whirlpools, laughing.
The Piney River is one of Colorado's treasures, one that I hope to make more memories on in the future.
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For
what its worth, as of October 4th 2023, the Lower Upper Colorado River
is in as fine a shape as I've ever seen it, and I've lived and guided
here for twenty years. 2023 might go down as the best year this river
has ever had. The flows are high, the water is cool, the browns
are hungry and the foliage color is at peak. It's heaven on earth,
right now. I'm pretty busy already with all of the irons I have in the
fire, but if anyone wants to taste perfection on the water now is the
time to come here. If I can't find time to take you, find someone else
who also knows this stretch or come wade fish it for free.
Jack Bombardier
