Aspen Peak - Niche Media - Aspen living at its peak
Issue link: http://digital.greengale.com/i/129660
I listen to the orchestra of water around me and watch Andy go back to work, tying a fly and then casting. There are more fish to catch. I'm inspired once again to watch this pro, not on skis going 80 mph like I did as a boy, but on the river, going zero. —PETE MCBRIDE I n the world of fly-fishing, Andy Mill is somewhat of a legend. He made a name for himself not on the Gold Medal water in which we stand, but producing TV fishing shows around the world and in competitive saltwater fishing tournaments chasing trophy fish: tarpon, bonefish, and permit. And some fishing enthusiasts dream, as I do, of catching one of each (the wily permit continues to elude me). Andy, however, calls such species to his fly like a siren. He is the only fisherman in the world to win major fly-fishing tournaments for all three—tarpon, bonefish, and, yes, the permit fish. I'm a guy with a fish story. He's the guy with the big fish story and the trophy to back it up. He has landed tarpons the size of surfboards (his largest weighed about 170 pounds) and even hooked a 500-pound blue marlin with a fly rod. "The reel was screaming like an ex-wife," he says, laughing. He landed an 800-pound marlin that was the biggest eye-opener of his life on conventional tackle. Throughout his fishing career, Andy has fished more secret holes in secret seas than most, perhaps even Hemingway's Old Man. Off the shores of Panama, he fished with big-league enthusiasts like former President George H.W. Bush and the Panamanian and Spanish presidents, to boot. But what is more special for me than hearing his stories or witnessing his fishing magic is revisiting our home river—together. It is an old-school reunion of sorts. "I learned to fish here when I was 9," Andy says. "I've come home." So have I. I too grew up on the river before us— swimming, fishing, rafting. We both were raised in Aspen, where we spent our winter months ski racing—chasing speed and gates down the snowpack that transforms every spring into the flow we fish and float to this day. When I was 9, I watched Andy in a World Cup ski race and mouthed, "I want to do that." A generation before me, Andy paved the way for many ski 124 racers who craved the rush of going 70 mph down a mountain. He competed in two world championships and two Olympics, inspiring scores of us. Like many, he also "ran out of body," having shattered many joints and bones in his career. It's one reason he was lured to competitive fishing. As for me, my ski-racing career plateaued at a Division I college back east. My drive and talent were limited. Later, the call of exotic adventures and storytelling replaced my need for speed. For two decades, photography took me around the globe—from Everest to Antarctica and even fishing in Cuba—for magazine assignments. Despite our diverse, peripatetic paths, it is immediately obvious that Andy and I have grown to realize one thing as we stand together, just two souls fishing: We are remarkably lucky to have such spectacular rivers in our intertwined childhood histories, at the doorsteps of our homes, and in view of world-class skiing. My appreciation grew when I saw the degradation of many foreign rivers while working abroad. It solidified, however, when I focused my cameras closer to home, on a two-year project following the length of the Colorado, source to sea. The goal was to witness firsthand what becomes of our shared watershed, that lifeline in the American West. And at the Colorado's source, of course, there are two worldfamous Gold Medal fly-fishing rivers: the Roaring Fork and the Frying Pan. B oth of these flowing gems earn their medal status from the high quality of their fisheries and thus have catchand-release restrictions placed upon much of their runs. And each is fed by the runoff from ski areas and 14,000-foot peaks, essentially all the snow on the western side of the Continental Divide. But despite their picturesque, clear-water beauty, both are dammed and heavily diverted. In fact, more than 40 percent of the water in both rivers is sucked off before either one passes Aspen or Basalt. Water in the West is a precious commodity, and it's no different in the Roaring Fork Valley. As snowpacks have dwindled under the heat of drought and the impact of climate change, river flows have dropped consistently throughout Colorado and the Southwest over the last two decades. Last summer, the Crystal River ran dry by Carbondale, and the upper Roaring Fork River ran through Aspen at levels just above a trickle. Meanwhile, the lion's share of the Roaring Fork's flow was siphoned off in tunnels to eastern Colorado, fulfilling the prior demands of an equally thirsty Front Range. The tailwater from Ruedi Reservoir creates the world-class fishing on the Frying Pan. It meets the Roaring Fork in downtown Basalt, and from there their waters move northwest, pick up the Crystal's flow (if any), and join the Colorado River in Glenwood Springs. While people flock from around the world to play on our local rivers, few realize that the rivers are changing and that, downstream, the mighty Colorado—the river that shaped the Grand Canyon and continues to shape the lives of 35 million people across seven states and Mexico—runs completely dry. For 6 million years it didn't. It ran to the Sea of Cortez, but in the late '90s it stopped entirely. Not a single drop of its flow, the same flow that originates above Aspen and Basalt, has kissed the sea since. Recent water shortages have heightened awareness of the problem throughout the West, and solutions for restoring the Colorado's delta flow are being explored. New laws have even been signed, but the river remains tapped out. A recent study of the Colorado River Basin says greater shortages can be expected. For some, a dry river delta downstream is too far away from our watery havens to be a concern. But good fishing needs good water. And the demands for that fresh water are becoming greater, not just ASPENPEAK-MAGAZINE.COM 122-129_AP_FEAT_Outdoor_SUM_Fall_13 copy_V2.indd 124 5/6/13 11:09 AM