Finding the Wrong White Water

Three weeks ago, three men, from three different towns came together in the diamond studded hills of Basalt for the search of white water. The days prior to the weekend adventure were glorious, filled with rays of sun, warm tulip breezes, and fast melting snow, resulting in rising raging rivers.
The days prior to putting into the rivers were filled with daydreams instead of chemistry problems, fleeting movements of the smell of wet moldy neoprene, and sometimes while doing the dishes in the evening you could hear the roar of the rapids and the purr of the eddy lines. It was going to be a great weekend with close friends, Phil, Kyle, and the water.

Friday night finally came as did my friends from different parts of the state. Kyle zooming in from Grand Junction got here at 7pm. Just enough time to dawn the dry top and hit a class III section of the Crystal. 7:45 and we are still on the river, almost dark, Phil probably at the house, chit chatting with the Chica. 8pm its dark, we are off the Crystal, freezing as the snow begins to fall.

Saturday morning and we are a little groggy from the many PBR's, late night talking, and laughing. As the coffee boils we glance outside to see the gorilla gray skies of a spring snow storm. Fists of snow fall to the earth, hard to believe summer lifted her skirt to us earlier this week, getting us excited for the fun surging rides to come.

Snow hasn't stopped us in the past, the fun must move on, we pack and head to the river. Saturday saw many moods, the gorilla storm moving around the mountain valleys, opening its mouth to shout more snow, hiding in the valleys as the sun glares down, fighting to shine. We too fought, seeking the turbulent white capped waves, wanting so bad to just paddle a few miles. We drove to Marble, a small mining town about an hour from the house. There is a manky class V+ run we wanted to check out and envision paddling. We were not going to do it that day, it was just a way to kill time, let the gorilla pass. As we approached the broken shanty town we could not find the gorge. We drove broken hearted mining roads, 4x4 up grey shale talus, looking, searching, and in the end finding the wrong white water...snow.

After the back woods jaunt we drove down valley to the stretch Kyle and I paddled yesterday. In the sideways sleet we buckled the life jackets, lifted the paddle, and headed down river.