Saturday, October 7, 2023

Pining For The Piney

                                                                 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

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