The Tri-County Journal
& Chattahoochee Chronicle
PO Box 850, 71 Webb Lane
Buena Vista, GA 31803
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After I heard that my good friend Josephine Turney of Brighton, Colorado had crossed into the great beyond, I thought of the four years that my family and I lived in Denver, Colorado. I call those years my “movable feast.” I still miss the sighing of the rivers and streams that I once fished from one end of this great state to the other. Sometimes my wife Florine went with me on sightseeing trips and camping. We enjoyed eating trout fresh caught and cooked right by a rushing stream. Another great memory of Colorado is of Amy, our daughter, being born there.
The South Platte River runs tamely and limply by Denver but it begins from feeder streams roaring down from the mountains. This river runs from headwaters southwest and west of Denver and then heads northeast across the plains to join the North Platte at the NE corner of Colorado. In more recent years I had the pleasure of fishing the North Platte also. I fished the forks of the South Platte many times, which were a short drive from Denver for a day’s fishing. It was grand to fish where a stream roared through clefts and splashed over boulders while to the west loomed snow-capped peaks. A thrilling moment comes when a trout hits and leaps out of the foaming current, in the process often tossing the lure back at me.
One day after looking around an old mining town I drove my trusty 54 Buick up a rutted track to an Alpine meadow spread in a bowl between rugged peaks. I got hung up on a boulder but got over it by laying flat shale rocks to form a bridge for the car to pass without busting the oil pan. Bright flowers grew all over the meadow and nodded over a small stream from which I caught small but spunky cutthroat trout. I felt gloriously alone except for magpies, circling hawks and the swift current chattering away over polished colored stones.
The Gunnison River is a lovely stream and is famous for its trout fishing. While I caught a few decent trout in that stream the prize at
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During my stay in Denver I actually caught more trout, including rainbow and brown, from Cherry Creek Reservoir because it was just short drive from my home in East Denver. At this time – 1960s – this prolific lake reportedly had the fastest growing trout in the USA. At the time is was a lovely lake too, not overly fished or swamped with people until later years. In the spring, surrounded by a riot of green foliage and colorful flowers, the blue lake reflected the wall of mountains to the west.
I liked a stretch of the Colorado River that lies north of I-70 toward Kremmling and Granby, including Williams Fork and Fraser. A fading photo shows a table covered with trout, including at least one about five pounds, caught by two friends and I on a stretch of the Colorado River that rushes over a series of short rapids and long pools between high rock cliffs. We had a field day as trout were striking hard in almost every pool.
While I fished such lakes as Granby in the north and Dillon Reservoir in the central part of Colorado, I preferred the sighing rivers. I spent many a day under a bright sun, standing in cold water amid vivid colors, tangling with fighting trout in swift currents. Often I heard murmuring voices and tinkling gongs amid the churning waters and bright spray. Swallows swooped by my head, while magpies fluttered from leafy clump to leafy clump, flashing black and white in the sunlight. Circling high against a blue sky dotted with white clouds, hawks often screamed out a declaration of freedom and sovereignty. Animals, such as a mule deer, would come down to drink, or an elk or moose might cross above or below where I stood in the foaming snow-melt current. I often got on a “high” from the heady mixture of color, sights, sounds and life around me.
Although I had to leave Colorado parts of Colorado will never leave me. The experiences among the shining mountains have flavored my life and their memories often comfort me. In later years I traveled to Wyoming to camp and fish the rivers and streams there. I love Wyoming and enjoyed the people I met there. Brief visits to California, Montana, Idaho, Washington and Oregon were wonderful additions to my mosaic of memories of America’s Great West. Now I dream of sighing rivers and feel grateful for the privilege of spending bright, colorful days by their side.