Time.
As we drive the dark road east, I look up where stars dot a narrow path through the morning. I feel the press of hundreds of feet of sheer canyon walls more than see them. Ahead of us the dawn unwinds its hours, slowly unveiling the skyline—a jagged, ancient silhouette stretching for miles.
Today our goals are lofty but we are under the press of time: drive a total of 680 miles; find an undisclosed creek and catch one rare fish discovered in only a one mile section; who knows how many miles to walk; see incredible sites, ranging from redrock sandstone to alpine meadows. And 17 hours to get it done.
Details gradually emerge as time peels away the dark: layer upon layer of vermilions, ecrus, ash, blues. Sand and mud pressed by the weight of one another wait out time, who solidifies them. Thrusts them up. Weathers them down.
The dirt road takes us over the streambed which is surprisingly dry. Do we go up the mountain, where the water may still run, or has it percolated down only to rise again as a trout-bearing creek below us? We go up.
Stands of aspen, scrub oak litter and pine duff, fill the ravine a mile further up. The ravine is steep. An old fence cuts through it marking the forest boundary. An old skull lashed to a wooden post mocks us as it overlooks the bone-dry creekbed. Dan hikes up the far side and into the next, also empty, creekbed, then returns.
How does such a creek support a rare fish? How long does this bed hold water and how often? If there were fish here, where are they now?
A couple of miles further up, after driving an ATV track cut through dense trees in a pickup truck, we hike a mile through healthy, white aspen. Thick-boled, they grow in gentle arcs, this way and that, giving a motion to the trees, as if they are dancing, keeping time for the seasons.
Small seeps feed nearly imperceptible trickles. Taking their time to build to anything substantial, and only two miles above the last dry place, we’re fooled into thinking we’re in the wrong place.
Time to cut our losses, we pack up and head down the mountain, shaking our heads.
“we’re fooled into thinking we are in the wrong place”
So I guess you found out later you needed to hike just a little further?
Great story though!
Harry,
Yeah, this little 1.2 mile stretch of creek (about 2 feet wide) is pretty bizarre. We crossed the culvert at the bottom of it and it was dry. We tried accessing it again about a mile further up and it was still dry. We tried accessing it about two miles further up and we came across a couple of nearly dried out beaver ponds which we found out on Monday was about 1/4 mile too high. So we figured we must be in the wrong place (although all the info we had pointed to this place) since it just didn’t make sense that when it said that these fish were found in a 1.2 mile section of the creek, what it really meant was the fish were found in a 1.2 mile creek. Who would have thought that these fish could survive in such a place. But, being the suckers for punishment, we’re going to try again November 7 (as long as they aren’t already buried under a couple of feet of snow). This is a mountain range that rises 12,000+ feet out of the redrock deserts, so snow is expected at any time there.
At least you had some beautiful scenery along the way. I need to get out to your neck of the wood someday. It seems like a place of such dramatic contrasts.
Anthony,
Definitely come on over (personal tour if you come in the summer). Contrasts is a good word. As I told Harry, these mountains rise to almost 13,000 feet right out of the redrock deserts. It’s incredible to go from sage to ponderosa pine in minutes. I’ve lived here for about 25 years now, and I’m still in awe.
Nice little story Scott – sort of parallels my little piece on Jones Park here in my neck of the woods. It amazes me how trout can survive in these little seeps – and makes me respect that all the more…
Beautiful country – great pics!
Keep up the great work – tight lines…
Hey Bob! It is amazing to me how these species survive. It gives me great hope that as much as we’re screwing up the world, there are going to be some survivors. Of course, I’d rather see us not screw up the world…
It’s all in the journey, CS! Some great pics too. Couldn’t tell the scale on the clawed aspen–griz? At any rate, I really admire your trout prospecting. If you’re ever over this way, let me know and I’ll put you on to some westslope cutts & Arctic grayling.
ER, Looked a bit small for grizz. I’d say 4″-4.5″ wide. Besides, I think these are only black bear mountains. Arctic grayling? Deal! I readily agree about the journey–it was great fun, even though we got about 4 hours sleep in 36 hours, darn near totaled the truck and got skunked. I’m serious though, it was a lot of fun. We were hoping for Nov. 7th for a retry, but looking out my study window right now, we’ve got snow on the ground and forecast for more. So maybe we’ll have to hold off until next summer.