Back From Colorado

It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything on here. I needed a break. The dog days of an Oklahoma summer usually do this to me. Clearly—living in Oklahoma the months of July and August test your toughness if you work outside like I do.

My son and daughter-in-law both took new jobs in the oil and gas industry this past March. Their dream was to work in Denver and be near the skiing, fishing, and hiking outside of Denver.

So on August 23rd my wife and I embarked on a four day trip to Denver to see how they were doing.

It was a great trip. They rent a three level condo right in the heart of the Washington Park district of Denver. The area is green and there are trees, shrubs, and flowers of every variety. Walking paths, hiking paths, and bicycle paths are everywhere. The park is bustling with humanity to an extent which almost made me claustrophobic.

I loved the park. However, I could never live with this many people on top of me on a daily basis. I need space—which is exactly what I got for the last three days of the trip.

Crested Butte–that’s where I got my space. The kids took us to her family’s cabin in Gunnison County. Idyllic is how I would describe it. Set amongst the dense pines, spruce and firs the cabin nestles just above a stream which is a feeder stream to the Taylor River. You can literally hear the stream from the back deck of the cabin.

There is lushness everywhere. The high temperature was around 75 degrees all three days. Trout streams, trout rivers, and trout mountain lake abound. I was in heaven. I could retire to this place and be happy and at peace. My daughter-in-law told me they once had a black bear wander into the cabin in search of food. It’s that kind of place.

They took us to a place called Washington Gulch at around 12,000 feet elevation where I saw one of the great sunsets of my life which did not include the Pacific Ocean. I swear I could hear John Denver singing in my ears. “He was born in the summer of his 60th year…coming home to a place he’d never been before.”

The fishing was great. My son has become a fly fishing addict and we fished non stop for two days while exploring every stream, river, and lake we could cram into two days of fishing. I can fly fish so this was not new to me, but my son has become somewhat of a fly fishing purist.

We came upon a pool with about six trout in excess of two pounds idling in the water. We tried several dry flies and nymphs, but nothing interested the trout. One of the trout was a brown trout and weighed every bit of three pounds. I said to my son, ” Why don’t we rig our lines with a worm and let it bump along the bottom with the fish.”

My son was aghast. Fly fishermen don’t rig a line with a worm and bump it along the bottom. The look he gave me is one I’ll never forget. But keep in mind—my father and the legendary Joe Carter Sr. taught me how to fish and they wouldn’t have had a problem with catching a three pound trout on an earthworm. Land the fish, Michael me boy would have been their advice. Joe Carter Sr. was one of the truly great fishermen in Oklahoma history and when he was teaching me how to fish as a kid we had no idea Joe Jr. would hit that walkoff homer to torment Mitch Wild Thing Williams for the rest of his life.

But I get it. Fly fishing in Crested Butte is a religion. It’s not about just catching the fish. It’s the purity of the process. About placing your dry fly in a pool by a boulder and seeing the water bubble as a rainbow, brown, or brook trout takes the fly. It’s about nature. It’s about replicating a natural process in getting the trout to take your fly.

It’s why I loved the movie A River Runs Through It.

We ate at two great restaurants. One was a quaint place which was exactly like the Sleepy Hollow in northeast Oklahoma City used to be. You eat one thing. That’s the menu. Relish tray, then all you can eat fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, cream corn, and honey biscuits. Desert is one option. Do you want your vanilla ice cream plain or with chocolate syrup. It was excellent. Sometimes simple is hard to beat.

The second night we ate Italian at a place called Michael’s Garlic which backs up to the Taylor River. We sat at a table as close to the river as possible. I love Italian food. I’m part Italian. I pretend to be Michael Corleone at times. This was a wonderful experience. The waiter talked me out of getting chicken marsala, eggplant parmesan, or chicken parmesan and instead steered me to the house special. It was chicken smothered in garlic, spinach, and mushrooms. It was stunning. I had a salad and the two sides of mashed potatoes and brussel sprouts were the perfect touch. I love brussel sprouts and I have no idea why I don’t eat them more often.

Anthony Bourdain would have loved this place. A bunch of New Yorkers running an Italian restaurant on the Taylor River in Gunnison County. I gave it five stars. The only thing missing was Michael drowning Fredo in the Taylor River as the sun set.

The last day of our trip my son and I tinkered with the idea of getting back to Denver to see the first place Colorado Rockies play the St Louis baseball Cardinals at Coors Field. But we opted to just hang out at the cabin where I started a book called the Secret Life of Bees which my daughter-in-law loaned to me. Even though I’m neither a mother or a daughter it’s a great Southern novel which I should have read several years ago. Both bees and human dysfunction fascinate me.

I wish I could have stayed another week. I was at peace, but I sorely missed the diva black lab Pauli and was ready to pick her up at the Lucky Dog Spa and hold her in my arms.

So I’m ready to get back to blogging on the Thunder. Other than not acquiring Klay Thompson…I like what Sam Presti did with his basketball club this summer.

I could see Sam Presti fly fishing. I really could. Because it’s not just about catching that three pound trout–it’s about the purity of process in OKC and sustaining this franchise. I’m guessing Sam Presti would have rolled his eyes when I suggested throwing an earthworm with my fly rod and letting it bump along the bottom. But I’m also sure Sam Presti is obsessed with landing that three pound trout. If you kind of get my drift.