But, I did not. Got way ahead of myself. After the drive through Boulder, to Lyons and up RT 7 only to find Lily Lake under a thick layer of ice. We sat in my truck with the heater on gazing out over the white lake. Damn. A very small section was thawed…right out in the middle. Taunting us. It would have been kinder if the whole thing was frozen. But no, just a glimpse. Dearest Lily hiking up her skirt and petticoat…showing just the top of one gartered stocking. Only for a second. Silly, silly man! A small car with out-of-state plates idled next to us in the gravel parking lot. It was full of young travelers. Tourists. Spring breakers. Yes, only me and four dumb underclassmen from Kansas State thought this would be a good idea. Nice. My would-be fishing partner sat beside me, rummaging in her backpack for bottled water and a granny smith (the practical woman’s version of “patiently” filing her long fingernails).
Well, there was always the Big Thompson. Yup. Old reliable. Besides, Estes Park and the Thompson was just a few more miles up RT 7 and the flows had been low (about 20 cfs). Some clouds had moved in, it was cool…proper beginnings to the Blue Winged Olive recipe. Just add the two of us, a few JuJubees and a Two Bit Hooker and we got ourselves a party!