TRUE CAMPFIRE STORY #4

THE BLACK POOL PEOPLE - PROLOGUE, First Discovery

I've always loved all types of fishing, but anyone who's ever been fishing with me knows that my favorite is creek fishing. Heaven is to sneak up on unsuspecting trout in pool after pool. After a few casts, I'm on my way up, or down, to the next pool; sometimes throwing a few lures into the fast water between the pools.

No matter how difficult a stream is, I'll rock hop over white water, wade where possible, climb rocks or even cliffs if necessary, and fight the dense brush and trees; then onto the next pool.

I'd often tell Sheila, or friends, that I'll be just a few minutes, I want to try a couple of more pools; Often they'd yell at me, letting me know that I had been gone many hours; too many creeks, and too many long absences.

The first time I had fished Cherry Creek all the way to the base of Red Rock, I'm sure that I had hit every pool from the lake, about 2 to 3 miles, but to get to each pool, it may be 10 miles. There is much rock hopping, many rocks to climb, tiny 1-2 inch ridges to traverse, and even an old dead tree to climb to get up over a small granite cliff.

When I came to the base of Red Rock, I found the north side granite as smooth as could be, from the water's action through the centuries. I tried a few skinny ridges but could go no further, The Red Rock side of the creek was equally smooth, without the slightest foothold.  So, I decided to see if I could go up a ways and find a crevice or small ridge to get around the bend. Up, up, up I made my way; No luck. Not a crack or a ridge to get me around the corner. I looked down and saw that I had climbed a couple of hundred feet above the white water. Oops! I'd pulled a lot of dangerous stunts while fishing, but being up there, where no one would ever find my body, was one of the best. I carefully worked my way back down, and obviously I made it.

How many hours I'd been gone, I had no idea. Sadly I started back towards camp. As I looked around, I noticed a skinny gap between Red Rock and the granite cliffs just to the south. I edged over towards the base of the gap, and much to my surprise there was a trail going right up the middle. It was very steep, but easily traversable. I thought of going up the trail, but realized that I was tired and it was late, and I was assuredly late.

On the next trip to Red Rock, Sheila accompanied me and we wasted no time with the lower pools, but made our way through the lower canyon, up to the flats, across the big pool, past the lower Black Pool and arrived at the gap trail. We tiredly arrived at the top and found ourselves in a narrow granite crevice, about 20 to 50 feet wide at various points. It was heavy with vegetation, quite flat, and had a musty odor. We soon discovered the upper Black Pool and continued along side it until the pool and the trail disappeared.

Having crossed overland during many backpacking trips, I felt secure in my sense of direction and told Sheila that if we keep going straight we should hit a gully that should get us back down to Cherry Creek. We forced our way through the thick brush with only a few minor scratches, and lo, there was the gully! It was very steep, strewn with boulders, and covered with thick brush, trees, and fallen deadwood. As we started down, it proved more difficult than I had anticipated. We were scraped, battered, bruised, and cut, but after another 1-1/2 hours, we made it down to the sandy beach on the southern edge of Cherry Creek. We rested and licked our wounds; Sheila glared at me!

We had some snacks and drinks, explored the huge pool, and fished the pools above it. Soon we were ready for the trek back to camp.

As I looked back the way we had come, I was surprised to see a 1/4-mile expanse of granite with a gradual slope up to the granite cliff on the south side of the upper Black Pool. I told Sheila that I think we can hit the trail if we just go up the slope; it looked easy enough to walk, with no trouble. It was.

It took us about 10 minutes to make our way that 1/4-mile, which had cost us so many injuries and 2 hours of pain. There were a few places that had a stair-like quality, which enabled us to get down the 10 feet or so to the upper Black Pool.

Sheila doubly glared at me!

We went back to camp, very tired.

I feel bad about our troubles getting there, and all that I had put Sheila through, not even thinking to look over a 10-foot high ridge. But, I'm happy that so many of our friends and our children's friend have discovered this beautiful spot.

Never the less, whenever I mention this story to Sheila, she still glares at me!
 

Copyright 2004, Carport's True Stories
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