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| May
20, 2001 Platte-out amazing Paddling on the Platte, you never know what you'll see or find By Miles Blumhardt The Coloradoan Need a part for a 1959 Rambler? I know where you can find one: somewhere on the south bank of the South Platte River near Kersey. At least I think that's where I saw all
Of course, the only way to see for yourself without trespassing is jump in a kayak or canoe and float the Platte because the surrounding ground is all private. Of course, if you find what you're looking for, you can't just jump out of the boat and touch the bottom of the river because as asinine as it sounds, that's considered trespassing in Colorado's good-old-boy courts. And the water, well, it's a fetid stew of heavy metals leaching from old mining shafts near the river's source in the mountains, human and industrial waste picked up as it's diverted this way and that through Denver and fertilizer and feedlot runoff from farmers' fields and pens. Then there was trip leader Mike O'Brien's tales of the naked man who once jumped in the canoe of
Remarkably enough as I found out when I did my first float of the Platte on April 30, despite the steady stench of feedlots, the miles of streamside junkyards, the absurdity of Colorado water law, the defiled nature of the water and the whackos who roam its banks and bridges, the Platte is able to offer up a rather enjoyable float. How the river still delivers a pleasurable float is truly an act of nature healing thyself. It's because, along with enough discarded concrete to build a runway at DIA, enough tires to replace all those Firestones and enough litter to fill Kersey's landfill, there are enough bald eagles, white-tailed deer and great blue herons to make you overlook the ugliness. There are ducks and geese around each bend that walk on water to avoid
The 15-mile section of the Platte that we did from Evans to Kuner is the only way to see this river as the surrounding land is in private ownership. According to those who have made this run, the Platte is a doable run just about anytime of the year, but May and June are tops. When we did it, the flow was 400 CFS, which is barely doable. In June, the river can get boiling. We put in at Evans, walking over -what else? - a layer of garbage with a thin sheet of gravel over it, and 50 yards of waterless riverbed to the main channel. The smell of cattle and fish hung in the late morning air, and the riverbank for the first mile or so was a parking lot of discarded vehicles. Fortunately, my canoe mate was Marv Crag, a retired military man as optimistic as any
Marv's gentle nature and upbeat conversation and us paddling away from Greeley's sprawl relaxed me and soon I began to accept what the river had become. As those who spend time paddling on a river will tell you, no matter what ails you, the flow of the river is calming. It's downright hypnotic. And so it was on this trip. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle and wildlife ever-present. The bleached wood of fallen giant cottonwoods reminded me of mammoth tusks. There was no crazy lady bitching at us from above and no naked man flashing us when we arrived at the Kersey pullout. We stopped for lunch under the shade of gigantic cottonwoods, which one day will succumb to old age and like others be transformed into petrified wood such as we found while "trespassing"
We cast sympathetic smiles as we watched the Poudre River disappear into the Platte. Thinking of its vim and vigor in the Poudre Canyon, the sight reminded me of watching a once-proud prizefighter getting his tired brains beat out. If O'Brien hadn't pointed out where the Poudre made its bland entrance, I'd have thought it was just another irrigation canal diverting back into the Platte. Sure, runoff hadn't started, but I easily kayaked up the Poudre's throat despite it being my first time in a kayak. The best section of the float was from the Kersey pullout to the end of the line at Kuner. Streamside concrete and cars gave way to more golden currants, willows, cottonwoods and elms. The main channel was larger and more predictable, making sandbar dodging a thing of the past. You can't get much closer to nature than in a kayak or canoe. Not even hiking. We floated a canoe-length away from a Canada goose before she flushed off a downed cottonwood anchored in the river channel. We didn't realize it until she flew that she was sitting on six eggs in a down-filled nest. We quietly paddled
Tired after 61/2 hours of paddling, we paddled into the Kuner pullout with the smell of manure money as overwhelming as at any place on the river. O'Brien said there was no reason to paddle further because past the pullout the number of water diversions leaves precious little resource in the real riverbed. Waiting for our shuttle vehicles parked near a feedlot, I stood on the bridge over Weld County Road 61 looking down at the river marching on like a good soldier. I have no beef with the smell of cows and no grudge against private property owners. But I kept wondering why this river that gives so much to so many people in return receives as damn little respect as that of a '59 Rambler. If you are new to the area or are looking for others with which to kayak or canoe, the Poudre Paddlers might be for you. The group offers members meetings, clinics and outings to advance their paddling pleasure. |
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