On May 22nd we left Tonto Basin for the Summer and Fall. We worked hard as Camp Hosts there so that we would be sure to get invited back. We love this place. However, it’s getting really hot and we’ve made a commitment to Steamboat Lake State Park. We traveled here before during the summer of 2018 and simply fell in love with the place. We actually extended our stay here by a week at that time. We couldn’t get enough of the high altitude and the mountains laced with clear streams. We’ve been all over Colorado and it’s a wonderful state...majesty, amazingly diverse, is everywhere in this state. However, the northern central part of the state is so unique. First of all, there are not that many folks up here. Oh, they average 345,000 tourists every year, but somehow in the summer it just doesn’t seem that busy. Plus, if you drive a few miles in any direction you can escape the crowded campsites and be off on your own exploring wilderness.
With the Covid-19 pandemic it’s anyone’s guess what will happen here this summer. But, we are here. We’re the last to arrive of the Camp hosts. Most got here last week. We’re required to spend 14 days in quarantine before we can interact with anyone or work among the other seasonals and camp hosts. What we’ve seen in Colorado so far is encouraging regarding the Covid deal. People are wearing masks in public. We went to a parking lot of a general store in Clark, CO to do a Zoom birthday party for our grandson, Jack, who turned 4. There’s an ice cream bar there and every single person who came by to get a cone while we were on the phone Zooming had a mask on. Very impressive. In Arizona, folks wearing a mask were the exception, even in the supermarkets. The supermarket clerks were not even all wearing masks.
The management at the park is taking it very seriously. They even gave us head gear/face masks along with our other volunteer equipment. With so many questions and uncertainty surrounding this pandemic it is very reassuring to be in a place that is:
1. Away from massive crowding where there is space between all of us
2. Respectful of our health and not demanding us to put ourselves at risk
3. Where the general population is willing to go along with health protocols
4. Is one of the most beautiful areas in the US
Diane and I do not take anything for granted. We are so very thankful for yet another great place to set up camp for a while. Why, we even have a little time before we need to go back to work, albeit when we do go back it is only 4 hours per day 5 days a week.
Leaving Tonto Basin we climbed into the White Mountains in AZ and began searching for a place to spend our first night on the road. Our route would take us through Navajo country and we knew that the Navajo were having a terrible time with the Covid-19. From what we had heard this area was the hardest hit in terms of cases per capita in the country. There were very few possibilities for camp sites in Navajo land right now. The worst area within Navajo country is probably Gallup, NM. And, that’s exactly where we ended spending our first night. We found a great private camp ground on the outskirts of town. The workers there all wore masks. In fact, nearly everyone in that town seemed to be wearing a mask. We didn’t leave the motor home that night except to walk the dogs...with masks on. It was a good find, this camp ground. Now we had a clear and easy shot to Grand Junction, CO. This was good because between Gallup and Grand Junction lies wide open Navajo land. Had we not been able to stop here in Gallup we would have been driving into the night finding a camp ground...and that is a clear violation of Rule #1...never, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be without a camp site by nightfall...never.
Is it coincidence that the Native populations in this country are probably having the deadliest time with the Covid-19 virus? We know that more Natives were killed by disease than by guns or knives or violence. Here we are again, the whole country suffering physically, emotionally, financially and the Tribes are getting the brunt of it...again. They just can’t seem to catch a break, these peoples. I feel so badly for them.
The next night we spent on the Wal Mart parking lot in Grand Junction. It was fine. It was safe, comfortable, and quiet. What more can you ask for? Oh yeah, it’s free! AllStays, the great RV APP that we depend on while traveling, details all the Wal Marts across the country and lets you know which ones allow over-nighting and which ones don’t. They even feature reviews by travelers who spent nights there. It’s a great app, Allstays.
We could make it all the way to Steamboat lake the next day, but we decided not to push it and stayed at Yampa River State Park about ¾ of the way to Steamboat lake. It’s a nice state park right on the Yampa river. The Yampa was flowing hell bent for leather when we got there. The snow mass over the winter was a good one and it was all melting fast. The tributaries to the Yampa are mountain streams, rocky, swift, clear, and steeply descending. They’re all running full bore right now. With the landscape beginning to bloom in 20 different shades of green, the first of the Spring wildflowers beginning to poke through last Autumn’s detritus, and the sky a 55 degree bright blue punctuated by pillowy white clouds, it’s hard to imagine a better spot on Earth this day. The brace of the temperature in the 50’s is so refreshingly invigorating after the fast approaching 100+ degree dry heat of the Tonto Basin. We’re beginning to feel glad down to our gypsy bones that we are changing our altitude.
Memories flood through my mind as we approach Steamboat Lake. Though we remembered this area as one of our favorite places we toured in ‘18, I honestly forgot how inspiring it is. Snow still covers some of the mountains, several of which are 10,000’. Streams are bouncing through the valleys and everything seems to be growing, reaching for the sunlight that is oh so prevalent and brilliant now. The air is crystalline clear, and so is our anticipation for a summer here. We turn to each other and through our happy feelings we say the only thing that could make this day even better...If only our families could be here with us. We miss our kids and grand kids so. To share this with them would truly be heaven on earth. There will be that time, someday, we’re sure of it.
Since we had 14 days of quarantine we had ample time to get re-familiarized with the area. Under quarantine it’s ok to recreate so long as we don’t go to town, go to a store, or interact with anyone. Ok, perfect! So, we drove down all the dirt roads once again and would get out and hike here and there. The wild flowers were a carousel of color, brilliant purples and cobalts mixed with buttery yellows. The Aspens were just starting to leaf out and their skeletal appearance against the evergreen forests was a unique sight for us.
On one of our hikes we decided to hike into Hahn Peak Lake Campground. We stayed there two years ago and it’s less than 15 minutes away. Hahn Peak Lake is tucked into a very steep valley of forested mountains. Creeks run rampant through the area and they create quite a few meadows that are somewhat swampy. Two years ago we watched a bull moose striding across one of the meadows next to the lake. I snuck through the underbrush and swampy, serpentine meadow and captured some good pictures of him. On this day we couldn’t drive to the campground because it was still closed so we decided to hike into it, perhaps a mile and a half or so. No more than 1/8 of a mile into our hike I suddenly heard huffing, deep, resonant and purposeful sounding. I stopped us dead in our tracks and surveyed the woods where I heard the sound coming from. I could see nothing, no animal, and that’s what I was sure I was hearing. After 5 or 6 more seconds the animal began a series of low, throaty growls. They began to raise in pitch signaling to us that this animal was upset or warning us, or both. I still could not see anything, though, I began to believe it was a bear. Now, in the event you run across a bear you do not run. At best you walk backwards away slowly. If it threatens you you threaten back, maybe throw rocks at it. Since we couldn’t see it, we took the first course of action and backed away slowly from whence we came. I had bear spray and my grandfather’s bear knife with me but who wants to start a fight with a bear? Not me. The more I consider that moment the more I am convinced it was a bear, perhaps a mother with cubs.
On another day we drove a dirt road into Wyoming, about 25 miles away. The Little Snake River begins on the western slope of these mountains and we followed its tributaries as they joined each other to make the more powerful Little Snake. Finally, we came to a beautiful valley that looked manicured, like something out of a magazine. A huge lodge like the Ponderosa with Hoss and Little Joe inside dominated one of the hillsides with smaller, though no less architecturally amazing cabins. The river laced through the valley there like a shoestring back and forth, rushing all the time. We later found out it was a fancy guest ranch called “Three Forks”. This place was the bees knees in terms of offering anything you could possible want in a mountain vacation. All for the price of $2,000.00 per day per person. Personal yoga instructors, horses, cattle drives...you name it, they had it. It was amazing that it was 25 miles down this dirt road from civilization.
One of our favorite pastimes lately has been to drive out on one of the main roads that cuts into the wilderness, find a Forest Service dirt road and hike the road up into the mountains. There are plenty of trails around here for hiking that we could explore, but lately Diane has been worried about hiking them due to the frequent high winds that rise up in the evenings. There are a lot of standing dead trees here due to beetle infestations and the Forest Service warns of them falling on you while hiking. It sounds a little far-fetched, but then again, I had an acquaintance in California who was killed in his 20’s by just this very scenario. He was out hiking in high winds and a tree got him.
Most of the Forest Service roads right now are still closed and hiking on them up into the mountains gives you a broad path with great sight-lines. The wildlife has gotten used to the absence of people and just like humans, they are opportunists. An easy way between destinations is appreciated and used. Last night we had hiked up a service road called 443 into the mountains. We were kind of giddy, knowing that we were the only humans in the area, once again left to open our senses to the magnificence of the place. Imitative clouds trying to outdo each other with fashions of imaginary beasts and heavenly gods paraded by west to east. A modest breeze braced our faces with 55 degree purified air. The Aspens and the Fir swayed to the beat of an unseen maestro on the ancient tones of the Continental Divide. As the sun began in dip ever closer to the western horizon we began to trace our way back down the mountain. There was a spot three-fourths of the way down the grade where we had an overhead view of Elk River. A slew had been created by an expansive beaver dam, the lodge being 30 yards upstream. There was the resultant pond that the beavers had created and where the river slowly leaked through the dam a series of meandering brooks intertwined for a few hundred yards before reconnecting with the main channel of the river, tumbling and bruising its way over the tumble of boulders in the stream bed. All of a sudden Diane spotted it. A large moose was ambling through the brooks in the evening light. We only saw the moose for a few seconds and then it disappeared into a thicket of willows. We’ve spotted moose before and every time we see them it’s a thrill. We also saw mule deer, marmots, and various little critters skittering about the woods, but the moose was the main event, the headline feature of the evening. After that we just started singing as we continued down the mountain. Why not?
Fishing here is amazing. Steamboat Lake is a Gold Medal Trout Lake. The watershed is protected by the staff here as if it were a Shinto shrine. No boat enters the water without a rigorous inspection for unwanted invasive species. Every single time (so far) that we have gone fishing here we have caught BIG trout. I started out fishing in Willow Creek, a main tributary to the lake, that was flowing strongly. Bang... big trout. Dinner was served, and brother was it good. The trout here tend towards red flesh, like Salmon. You can catch Rainbow, Cutthroat, and what they call Cutbows, a cross between rainbow and Cutthroat. Later, we moved to fishing the lake proper and Boom… dinner was served again. One of theses behemoth Trout can serve, Diane, me, and the two dogs for dinner. We never keep more than two. If we’re not going to eat them right away we throw them back. Only fresh will do and no wasting of these fish is allowed by us. It’s a fantastic fishery to say the least. Once, as we were kayaking around on a bright afternoon, not having a lick of luck, I hooked the Loch Ness Monster. Surely, this Trout was the biggest Rainbow I have ever seen with my own eyes. It was a trophy! I fought this beast for two minutes, I suppose. He circled the kayak several times and kept jumping and diving all around me. I had to get this fish in the boat, even if I let it go due to its status as the king of his domain. I got him right up to the side of the kayak and NO…. He spit the hook, only to return to his Neptunian kingdom. I know, “fish story”, right? I swear it happened. I’ll get him yet.
I recall George Jackson, an old friend of mine, who was an expert fisherman and one of the most amazing characters I’ve met in my life. George was a great friend. He taught me a lot about river fishing. George’s domain was the Big Piney river in southwestern Missouri. Oh, George could catch fish anywhere you put him, but the Piney was his backyard so to speak. George was also a great fan of the Road Apple band. He would come to a lot of our gigs and dance like a wild man. He got us a gig once right down on the Piney for the Ozark Scenic Trailrides club. As I understood it, George’s dad, Big George, was a one time pro wrassler. At least that’s what George told me. Dan Thompson, another mutual friend, once put it this way about George. “If somehow Hank Williams could mate with Elvis and produce an offspring, it would have been George.” The man had style. He had his own personal dance step which he called, “The Dance of the Spawning Smallmouth (bass)” He was handsome as hell. But George was a wild one, non-tame-able.
We went fishing along with Bob Breidenbach, by best buddy, many, many times. Once we trot-lined the Cuivre River at Bob’s family cabin and pulled Big catfish out of that stream all night long. In the morning we headed over to the Hawk Pointer, a local small town eatery. After ordering nearly everything on the breakfast menu, George fell head first into his massive plate of food, passed out from the night’s drinking, fishing, and general carryin’ on out in the woods. I could retell George stories for a day and half. The thing about George is that he was as kind and thoughtful as he was wild.
George returned to the Piney some twenty years ago to do some fishing right after he had back surgery. He was with another friend who had to leave to go back to work after the weekend of fishin. George never showed up back home. Seemingly, everyone in the county went out searching for him on the river for 5 days to no avail. His sister tells of standing on the Slabtown bridge just waiting...waiting to hear something, anything. It’s heart-breaking to hear her tell it.
George was finally found. He was found in a snag of trees and willows on the river with one arm broken, pistol still in its holster strapped to his belt as I heard it. The thought was that he was walking along a cut back and it gave way in the rushing water below as the river was at flood stage. We’ll never know for sure. I heard his dad suspected foul play, but I doubt that. Some of the locals in that neck of the woods live life just astride of the law. It’s more likely he fell in and in his weakened state he couldn’t make it back to shore in the fierceness of the rising tide. It was tragic. He lies side by side with his mom and dad in Evening Shade, Missouri. But, I have these memories and, as they say, so long as you remember someone they never really die.
Today, was the anniversary of his death. Now and then as I’m traipsing around the woods or fishing I think of George and review the snapshots and short videos in my memory of his antics as well as the fishing and general woodsmen knowledge he imparted to me. Coaxing a bass from a sunken log, dancing, one arm raised high over his head like a rodeo bull rider, I see him again living life to the fullest. George was a comet. He blazed a trail across the sky east to west, leaving a sparkling trail of life lived in his wake. I raise a Smallmouth Bass from a rocky, Sycamore-shaded bank in his honor.