Rocky Ford Creek Report: Perspective

It was the first day of Spring, and I wanted to be at Rocky Ford Creek at the exact time of the vernal equinox.

On my journey to Rocky Ford I pass right by Lake Lenore, a Lahontan cutthroat fishery. I noticed on my last trip that it was open: fishermen were all over it. This time I stopped and talked to a couple guys who said the fish were in the north and south ends already, something they don't normally do until April.

I made a note to get the float tube ready and give it a try on my next trip, but, as the guys said, "Be ready to squeeze in elbow to elbow."

Rocky Ford was a little more crowded than usual, too. I wasn't the only one who wanted to celebrate the first day of Spring on the water.

I found the fishing slow. I managed to hook a few small fish, but the larger trout were eluding me.

At least I wasn't distracted by constant action, so I was able to keep track of the time and be ready for the moment of the equinox. So here is what the the arrival of Spring looked like at Rocky Ford Creek. 

I fished some more, but I wasn't doing very well. The truth is, all the time I wasn't catching anything, or catching another little trout, there was a guy downstream on the opposite bank reeling in one nice fish after another.

My competitive nature kicked in for awhile, and I tried hard to outfish him. But after a time I had to admit that my heart wasn't in it anymore. It was time to accept that sometimes it's someone else's day.

There were two things weighing on my mind. The first was that when I got out of the truck there was a fluid leak under the engine. I didn't open the hood then, but I checked the fluid. It seemed to be plain water, but I couldn't think of any explanation for it. I decided to worry about it later, and now it was later. I wanted to have some daylight for troubleshooting, and some extra time in case someone had to drive down and pick me up.

The other thing on my mind was that I had lost a good friend that week. He had gone in for knee surgery on Monday, and died suddenly early Tuesday morning. His memorial service was going to be the next morning, and I had some things to do in the service that I had been going over and over in my mind.

So I left the water and headed for home. The first test was to see how the truck ran. It ran fine. So now I could stop worrying about that and concentrate on my friend's memorial service.

The view of the mountains to the west fit my mood, and I had some extra time, so I pulled off on a couple of gravel roads to get a better vantage point.

It was good to see those snowy peaks rising out of the misty distance. It was good to remember that they had been there for eons, and would be there for eons more. They helped put everything else in perspective.

It had been a good day, and tomorrow would be a good day, too.

The Voices of Those Who Were Here Before

I was up on the flats on Saturday to visit some friends. This is high cattle country, and folks have been ranching up here for almost a hundred years. Bears and cougars are not uncommon. The cattle have already been herded in close to home where the ranchers can keep an eye on them during the hunger time. I look at this view, and all of my childhood dreams of someday being a cowboy come welling to the surface. I feel lucky to have gotten this close.

As I headed down I noted that the far Cascades are still only moderately snowy. We're enjoying cold but clear weather. There's a good chance that the next Pacific storm will bring snow not only to the high country but to the valley floor as well.

I passed McLoughlin Canyon on the way and made a stop. I like this place. I've posted on the history of this canyon before, but here's a reminder of the story.

I climbed up to a vantage point and looked south to where the canyon opens up and that party of white men entered the canyon on that fateful day. Standing here, it's easy to imagine the whole episode unfolding before you.

On the way back to the truck I passed the grinding rock with its mortar hole, now filled with ice. This is mute evidence that the Indians used the canyon for centuries for gathering pine nuts and other foodstuffs. They would grind them in mortar holes such as this, worn into the rock over generations.

About a year after we came here there was a major fire that burned a swath some twenty miles long from the south. It roared up this canyon and burned itself out. I remember what it was like before the fire, with the welcome relief of green against the grey stone, and the wistful call of canyon wrens as the evening sun sifted through the pines. Now, especially at this time of year, there is only stark silence.

It makes the voices of those who were here before seem even louder.

Special Weather Statement

It has been chilly around here for awhile. Too long. Jackets, even long underwear, have been de rigueur when out on the water for a long evening. That's a heck of a way to run a summer, and it's unusual for this semi-arid desert region. This is supposed to be the HOT side of the Cascades, the northernmost extension of the Sonoran Desert climate zone.

Word is it may be getting back to normal soon.

Special Weather Statement

...HOT WEATHER LATE THIS WEEK THROUGH EARLY NEXT WEEK... CONFIDENCE IS GROWING THAT THE INLAND NORTHWEST WILL ENTER A PERIOD OF ABOVE NORMAL TEMPERATURES STARTING THIS FRIDAY...RISING TO WELL ABOVE NORMAL OR NEAR RECORD TEMPERATURES THROUGH THE WEEKEND INTO EARLY NEXT WEEK.  AFTERNOON TEMPERATURES ARE FORECAST TO RISE INTO THE UPPER 80S AND LOWER 90S BY FRIDAY...CLIMBING INTO MIDDLE AND UPPER 90S THIS WEEKEND...AND POSSIBLY INTO THE 100 TO 110 DEGREE RANGE TOWARD MONDAY AND TUESDAY. THIS WILL BE THE RESULT HIGH PRESSURE BUILDING INTO THE REGION FROM THE DESERT SOUTHWEST AND GREAT BASIN. PROLONGED HOT WEATHER CAN INCREASE THE RISK OF HEAT RELATED ILLNESSES.  CONSIDERATIONS SHOULD BE MADE FOR THESE CONDITIONS...ESPECIALLY FOR THOSE WITH WORK OR OTHER ACTIVITIES OUTDOORS GOING INTO THIS WEEKEND AND EARLY NEXT WEEK.

I for one say Hoo. Ray. Maybe now I can finally take some of the blankets off the bed.

Journey Into Winter

Chicago, and then the northern Midwest, sinks below us and is lost beneath a vast cloud plain. Seattle is 1,700 miles in the distance. We climb to 35,000 feet and the unseen continent passes in silence below us. We arrive at apogee and begin the long arc down. At the same time the land rises up, ridges and peaks breaking out of the clouds, shining islands in the sky. Jeremiah nudges me: "Look." He reaches for the camera.

Winter is bright and deep here. Winter shines as far as the eye can see. Jeremiah looks down into its depths and feels its immediacy, its danger. "Do you think anyone is lost down there?"

The land rises to meet us in our descent, and the clouds flow down the valleys and away.

We land, but only for a brief time, then ascend again, this time doubling back to Spokane. As we climb the land sinks away again. The clouds rise, sweep away the islands, the last outposts. The cold sun illuminates a white sea. White on white.

Then, at just the right moment, we swoop down and dive back into the heart of winter. We come to rest. We aren't lost. We're home.