I got out of town. A couple hours down the road from Boulder, I pulled into Eagle, Colorado for ice cream and gasoline, and caught wind of the fair and rodeo. I parked out in a satellite lot and made the hot, dusty pilgrimage back to the action. I walked with the strutting bucks and their grooming babes, the happy families packing strollers and wipes, and the old folks with practical garb and picnic grub. I was glad to see a couple dozen resistant 4-H'ers were showing their livestock and crafts amid the condos and swank of the Vail Valley. The ski resort service industry has drawn quite a big hispanic population to the valley, and the rodeo was a great cross-cultural cultural event with lots of joyful hispanic kids running around. I got a fluorescent wristband and a tallboy from the Coors tent (support your local MegaBrewery!) and bought a hot dog from the high school basketball team. I climbed to a thin band of shade at the top of the grandstands and watched some rodeo. When it got late, I drove up to some reliable camping above Glenwood Springs and sacked out in the wildernest.
I'd always been intrigued by the Crystal River and that special part of the drainage that led south from McClure Pass. Well, there's a town up there. Marble, Colorado was developed around the cutting of the incomparable Yule Marble, of which was built the Lincoln Memorial, Washington Monument, and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. This marble is excavated not in open pit quarries, but in vast underground caverns. Where the Crystal River passes through town, the riverbed is littered with fragments of brilliant white marble. Also, there is a surreal disc golf course through the marble-strewn ruins of the stone cutting and grinding facility.
I was pretty stoked to see that the only eatery in Marble was a barbecue joint, so I caught some grub (good baked beans!) and trail advice (Crystal -> Leadking Basin loop). It was another 4-Low epic and I eventually came out at the old Crystal Mill, pictures of which are familiar if you've ever been in a doctor's office in Colorado.
I got up to the Leadking Basin at treeline and had a nice sleep in the rain. I packed up for a day hike and stepped my way up the series of cirques underneath Snowmass Mountain. Sean and Lars had climbed Snowmass a couple of years ago. I had bought some jerky that must have been dosed with laboratory-grade capsicum, so I was stuck trying to balance my need for sustenance with my tolerance for debilitating pain. The mountains were in full bloom; I counted 12 blooming flower species from one vantage. In typical high-country form, I was getting a fierce sunburn until the moment I started getting menaced with lightning.
With the mountains getting heavy weather, I drove down to some hot springs on the Crystal River below Redstone and soaked in shallow, scalding pools locals had built out of the blast rock from the highway just above. Some serious rain fell in the country to the west; I drove up there and camped in deep mud. Frogs were out and, in awe, I watched an immense colony of ants send a new generation of queens and drones off on their nuptial flight. A fledgling redtail hawk tested out its wings amid the clamor of watchful progenitors.
I lost some elevation and parked my truck on the banks of the Gunnison in Delta. The Gunnison River, which is damned to form the Curecanti Reservoirs, flows cold and clear from the reservoirs, through the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, and out through a moderate, rural canyon to its Junction with the 'Grand River' in Grand Junction. The Grand River was renamed in 1921 as the Colorado River through the machinations of a Lakewood politician, who claimed that calling the river 'Grand' would be "...a meaningless misnomer. Practically everything in Colorado is grand!"
On the riverbank, I puffed up the Green Duck and set out for a big paddle on the Gunnison River. The Falcon Publishing guidebook 'Paddling Colorado' had a fact-blemish to the tune of 15 miles, which made for a longer day. The point of the day's paddle was to push my limits, and having some extra mileage tacked on really was the surprise that forced me to draw upon reserves. I saw some incredible sights, learned a bit about my boat, and developed some constructive criticism for the Nature Valley Granola Bar company. I tried to outrun a thunderstorm, and when it finally swept over me, I came upon a sandy beach under a big rock overhang. Up on the beach, I lounged on my boat and enjoyed the electrical show like I was sitting in my car at a drive-in movie.
The water was calm under the waning sun and I paddled across the deep landscapes of the reflected sky. At last light, I finally pulled off the river in the flat water that surrounds the town of Whitewater. With my boat stashed under the overpass, I was able to hitch an after-dark ride back to Delta. It took a long time to catch a ride, and I sure was glad when I heard the bass-thumping micro-truck squeal into a U-turn. Those guys gave me gatorade and a ride all the way back to my truck.
Ten million years ago, a volcanic eruption laid a two-hundred foot bed of lava over Western Colorado. This lava hardened into basalt, which resisted the regional erosion that elsewhere lowered the elevation by several thousand feet. This tough rock now caps Grand Mesa: a 500-square-mile butte that stands thousands of feet above the surrounding terrain. I drove my truck up there and camped on the edge of the world.
In my dusty man-rover, I bounced down a little spur road and tucked up under some welcome aspens. A couple hundred yards down the rimrock from camp, the view opened up to 50 miles of the lower Gunnison and the Colorado Rivers. I could trace sections of the previous day's paddle through binoculars. The amazing light made Grand Junction look like The Chosen Land. The bright green of the Colorado River bottom and the Grand Mesa foothills is highlighted against the dry, lower-valley slopes.
The Uncompahgre Range stood out the west; through the long, gradual network of the Dominguez Canyons, this eastern side of the range drains all the way to the foreground of this photograph.
Where the Colorado River bent south and disappeared behind a ridge line, the river was disclosed by its reflections of the setting sun. Great place to explore! Lots of fodder for future trips.
