"The taste for country displays the same diversity in aesthetic competence among individuals as the taste for opera, or oils. There are those who are willing to be herded in droves through 'scenic' places; who find mountains grand if they be proper mountains, with waterfalls, cliffs, and lakes."  – Leopold, from "Country"









June, Vail Co.


We waited at the hotel at Lionshead corner for only five minutes before the Sage Outdoors shuttle came up to pick us up curbside. We found a lucky patch of sunshine there at the corner, one we won't forget, because the Colorado morning -- although the afternoon will soon swelter to 90 – is notoriously cool, especially in rafting bathing suit and sickles sandals. We had heard that the Gore Creek run wouldn't run this spring because the snowfall was down this past winter, which translated to low water, which then translated to more exposed boulders than most any of us would care to try to navigate, so we headed to Eagle instead, only a half hour down the road, a class 3 rapids where the water was still high enough to comfortably float three 8-man rafts without the constant barrage from rugged rocks.  On arrival we got out and started to suit up – wet suit, wet shoes, helmets and sturdy life jackets. The rules are fairly easy for a guided whitewater trip, but to the total newcomer such as my 12 year old daughter, it all can feel a little like a lead-up to an emergency to mostly be avoided. We find through our quick training session that really it is the ability to follow orders quickly that can make or break you, literally. Seven of us hit the water, paddles down, helmets tight, down deep in the beautiful enormous crevice of this Vail Valley, so dynamic in its varying features from red rock cliffs, full of rusting iron, and then lush high aspen in the foreground and still the snow capped peaks of 14' ers in the background.  If nothing else happened of noticeable drama on our raft ride, all of us would finish this lower Eagle run, one would hope, with a profound sense that not only are the Rockies otherworldly, but they are enviously the world many of us would love to some day live in. This bold water, zig zagging along the bottom of the green drama, is something like a wild exclamation point, recreative, beautiful and, we certainly all hope (if the fisherman dotting the shores were any indication) full of life and cared for in some invisible ways by the ranchers who run this valley.  For an hour and a half we are called upon to left forward one, or right backwards two, and the raft, quite responsive for such a giant yellow mass of rubber on water, dashes left and right with fair responsiveness, as we dance around the buried dangers that line the bottom. When we enter a rapid without quite such precision we are reminded immediately by splashes that offer freezing temperatures and despite the wet suits awaken the sleepiest of warming skin.  Near the end of the trip, one particular patch has been reengineered for navigation and for recreation. As we approach it of the blind horizon kind, one long line of water that does not reveal its bottom. If it were a water fall it would look all the same but of course we trust that it nothing more that a few feet drop; on entering, I can only imagine, if I had the time, that all faces, experienced or not, would opened wide and wondering. My daughter stoops in amazement, paddle in hand, her left foot secured in the raft billow in front of her and, I'm quite sure, let out a wild scream of thrill and probably survival as we swooshed up and down, side to side in waves half as tall as I am. We all got wet on this run, and can't wait for the slow long curve ahead which we see now holds pure mountain sunshine and three fly fisherman yanking at trout. We thought at that moment we'd do this again tomorrow if it weren't for the horseback riding we had already booked with the same company.