We don't celebrate spring with the appearance of tulips and daffodils at Easter up here in the mountains. It will be several weeks before the crabapple and cherry trees break out in blossoms. Those of us who flyfish look instead for the "blooming" of Blue-Winged Olive mayflies. Those aren't our first dry flies of early season (that honor goes to midges - little black ones, most often), but they do signal the official beginning of the dry fly months on the Arkansas River.

Today was one of those typical windy Colorado spring days. Not the best prospect for the delicate BWOs. But you go when you can go. Good thing. It was the best fishing day so far this year. Even though fish were rising, I kept with the midge emerger I'd tied before going out this morning because the fish wouldn't leave it alone. Even when the fish switched to BWOs after their round of midges, they kept taking the midge. Who am I to argue with that? I retired the first midge after about 18 fish. The replacement took another 6-7 fish before I called it a day. Fish were still rising when I left.

Now to Denver, first for CWFishers, some errands and personal time, then to present a flyfishing program to the West Denver TU chapter on Wednesday. If I can't always fish, at least I can go talk about it.

That is not to say that it has been especially snowy this winter. In fact, as of last week our snow pack measured 89% of average annual levels. The last 36 hours has boosted that percentage a little. Every couple inches helps in high mountain desert such as this. Visual beauty of the fresh white blanket is only part of the impact. Today's snow is spring and summer's life-sustaining river flow.

Today also marks the end of a 2-week stint of house- and pet-sitting in Salida. Nothing like a dog who needs to walk a few times a day to make you get outside no matter the weather elements. A walking and biking trail bisects Salida, its western end  paralleling this subdivision. Every day, the old yellow lab and I walk out and back. On her good days, we make it to the end, celebrating her effort with a symbolic circling at the terminal snowdrift.  Along the way we variously encounter Canadian Geese, juncos, deer, foxes. Just before yesterday's snowstorm, a flock of robins had arrived, huddled in the barren trees wondering why they'd started their northern migration quite so soon.

Salida's most prominent symbol is "S" Mountain, a conical hill across the river to the north. We see it on our eastbound return. Even set in a mantle of snow, the large letter "S" is visible both day and night. White lights in the S shape alternate with red lights in the shape of a heart. You can't miss it. The S, of course, stand for Salida. Right now, I like to think of it as promising Spring. Robins are the heralds. In the river, stonefly nymphs are stirring, BWO mayflies will follow, caddis won't be far behind. The fish know this.

Spring. It's coming.

"Somewhere" turned out to be north to Clear Creek Reservoir and the little huddle of buildings called "Granite." The only wildlife we saw at Clear Creek were ice fishermen scattered across the frozen reservoir, peering hopefully into their targeted holes in the ice.

Granite proved more rewarding. Across the river on the downstream end of town, a herd of about 40 Bighorn Sheep reclined in a ragged row along a low ridge. Ewes folded themselves around their bellies, showing the beginnings of the wait for spring lambing. Seven rams wandered and watched over their herd on the rocky slope close above their harem. They ranged in size from good-n-healthy big to magnificently massive.

After watching a couple of hefty brown trout lounging under the Granite bridge, we headed back south. On an off-highway detour, we spotted a small herd of elk in a meadow at the base of 14,000' Mt. Columbia.

No more 'winter blahs' on such a lovely day visiting our neighbors here in mountain paradise.

The balmy 40s and 50s of this week are, by comparison, a nearly tropic relief. Sunshine, blue sky and no wind invite one to risk a walk on the patchwork of snow and mud. The river's ice cover is melting in the upper valley. I was sure I heard fish calling my name down near Salida. After 2 months of missing my little finned friends, how could I not answer?

And they did come out to play. With the still snowy Collegiate Peaks as a backdrop, several rainbows and a brown trout came to my fly, then my hand, to welcome me back to the river. Happy New Year indeed!

Once the snowing stopped, icy, high-speed winds plunged wind chills below zero. Fluffy fresh expanses of white were sculpted into drifts, mounds, and waves.

While fishing has not been an option this week, other wildlife has offered a lesson in surviving arctic conditions. Hawks and a falcon cling to high thin branches, watchful for unaware field mice. A coyote competes in the search as he trots across the same open plain. Once the storm cleared, a bald eagle perched on the dead snag over the river, perplexed as to how to pluck out its sushi between ice patches sliding along in the current.

The best visual treat has been the large herd of pronghorn just across the road. There must be close to 80, and they've hung out here for 4 days now, grazing, resting under the trees, running across the wind-crusted snow. They are camera shy, however. Photos had to be taken from quite a distance. The occasional driver stopping alongside the highway for the photo op sent them up into the trees or to the safety of the next ridge.

My fishing fix will come in Denver this weekend where I will join my Colorado Women Flyfisher friends for our annual Holiday Party. We'll swap stories and pictures of the just-passed year of fishing adventures, and share hopeful plans for the upcoming new year's destinations.

Merry Christmas to All!

Yes - Snow! Beautiful, fluffy, classic Colorado champagne powder. The view out our window at 8 a.m. tells the story. Normally, the backdrop beyond the bird feeder, the highway and ridge is a sweeping view of 14,000' Mt. Antero.

Flyrods are tucked warmly in their cases, leaning together in the corner. It looks like the snowshoes' turn for action. They're already out there raring to go.

Oh, Baby, it's cooooold out there! But a snowshoe walk will keep the warm blood flowing. And there is always a hot cup of tea when I get back.

We started on the familiar ATV track from Ruby Mountain. Six miles later, up and over the main crest, we took a left turn heading toward a narrower track that I'd never been on. Twisting, turning, rolling, then up and up we went, to the narrow gateway at the fence. The sagging barbed wire borders private land that hosts narrow, rugged public tracks. Posted signs warn the unwary of  this forbidding Chinaman Gulch, rock-crawling heaven for extreme jeepers. We chose to walk the upper reaches. Not so the 3 jeepers who happened by. They were still working on getting the first jeep over the boulders when we left.

Having just seen the only other riders out there, we had the trails, the sky, the spectacular views all to ourselves. The low-angled November sun backlit fuzzy seedpods adorning skeletal bushes. A golden eagle soared overhead. Deer were everywhere. Singly or in small groups, they all eyed us as we drove by, watchful but never scared. As we skirted a long, high rocky slope across the way, I spotted a golden tan shape in a cavern opening. Was it a rock or an animal? Then I saw it move! In the moment that a passing bird distracted me, the mystery animal disappeared. Likely a mountain lion. At least that's my story.

How many angles have I seen of Mt. Princeton? How many pictures have I taken of the views? But I never tire of seeing it. Every vantage point, every angle, shows its powerful, dominating beauty. One vantage point displayed an unusual rock obelisque, seeming to stand at attention before the valley's Prince of Mountains. A couple of ridges beyond that, we had lunch on a high outcropping of rocks, basking in the warmth of the noon sun. Three tiny nuthatches tap-tap-tapped as they sought out their own lunch under the pine bark. All this with a stellar view to Mt. Princeton. My husband only takes me to the best places for lunch.

Or maybe your recreation of choice involves a motor: ATV, dirt bike or Jeep. That's where some conflict commonly arises. There are no easy solutions to noise vs quiet, trails vs wilderness, but with more and more people living and "recreating" in Colorado, there are inevitable collisions of purpose.

The most recent re-igniting of controversy involves a proposal to reallocate up to 70% of the Off Highway Vehicle (OHV) permit fees collected by our state park system. Sure, there are those OHVers who flagrantly drive off trail, damaging the forest, tundra and wetlands. Every group has its bad guys. But for the vast majority of responsible users, taking this money away from their trail maintenance and repair funds will cause even more long-term damage and erosion. The couple more officers this might provide will not begin to cover the thousands of trail miles in this state. Additionally, last year's passage of HB1069 authorized by nearly 4 times the current forest management officers who could issue citations for trail violations. This new reallocation is an expensive, ineffective and tardy afterthought.

The worst part of all this is the principle of the thing. Now, I've always been more a "quiet use" type of user than a motorized one. So why am I not all for this proposed "solution?" A group called Responsible Trails America out of Arlington, Virginia, that is primarily anti-OHV has come in from out of state wielding their ever-increasing influence over the ultimate policy makers. They have even succeeded in securing TU's endorsement of their plan. Now here's the question - Why can one group determine the reallocation of another group's legally collected and assigned $3.1 million dollars just because they fundamentally disagree with what some fringe members of that group's participants are doing? Granted, the OHV scofflaws are destructively wrong. The responsible OHV community, especially ATV clubs, recognizes that. But all ATVs and other OHV users are being summarily punished by those who not only don't belong to that community, but don't even belong to our state. It's really hard to not be outraged.

Hundreds of ATV club members in this state voluntarily work a combined thousands of hours each year maintaining, restoring and repairing OHV trails. They have not been given equal voice in this debate. Is it too much to ask that they be given the option to work toward a solution before all their funds are stolen (in essence) by other public lands users who happen to disagree with their sport of choice?

Polarization and animosity never solved anything. Get the Virginians out of here, give the Colorado OHV community their rightful voice, and hammer this out intelligently. We can hope that starts with the Colorado State Parks Board's Friday meeting. Public comment must be emailed to parksinfo@state.co.us by noon on Wed., Nov. 18.

The ATV destination of choice has been the popular Four Mile area northwest of Buena Vista. I drove the full 4-wheel drive mode through a section of snow, ice and mud in the pine forest at higher elevation. Lower and more open areas were sunny and dry. In all of those, the outside curves and high ridges offered expansive panoramic views of the 14,000+ feet Collegiate Peaks mountains. Every angle is a fresh perspective.

Across the valley to the east are the Buffalo Peaks anchoring the west end of the Mosquito Range to that corner of the valley. This smoothly rounded pair are creatively named East Buffalo and West Buffalo. We had some neighbors several years ago who summered here and wintered in more southern climes. The first snow that dusted "The Buffaloes" was their signal to head south.

From our back yard the Buffaloes just look like a couple of higher mounds on the distant ridge. Up close, as we rode around the base, they look a bit more massive in their commanding station overlooking our valley. Still familiar, though, it's like meeting someone you have only heard about or seen from a distance. They aren't the spectacular stars of the westside 14ers, but still a definitive and comfortable landmark of life in this valley.

On the third day, bright sunshine glistens off snow-covered mountain peaks. The sky is a stunning solid blue. Melting snow runs in rivulets off roofs, racing and gurgling through gutters and downspouts. Closets welcome back coats and boots. Past our soggy dirt road, now-dry pavement calls me out for a quick run.

Today, some other runners were out across the highway from us. It was not only horses running, but also elk! We were lucky enough to see not only the ones out in the open, but many others who filed through the pinon forest up on the hill. Most of these elk were cows and their young, but we spotted a couple of bulls. After several minutes, the herd settled down and retraced their path. They hung out up in the trees, teasing us with glimpses of legs, ears or rumps as they milled about.

Heavy snow in the higher forest, along with hunters, has pushed elk down to their winter ranges. We definitely enjoyed this fringe benefit of last week's storm.