The Steamboat Pilot & Today

We had to suffer for it, but a couple of buddies and I witnessed a National Geographic moment Saturday in North Park.

A mature bald eagle landed in front of us and succeeded where minutes earlier a sea gull had failed.

We met about 8:30 a.m. Sunday and drove icy and snow-packed U.S. Highway 40 over Rabbit Ears Pass. It was May 10, and the state’s snowplow operators were still out working.

The thermometer in the rearview mirror of the Chevy read 26 degrees, and I wondered if our plans were folly. Our intent was to stand in the frigid water of South Delaney Butte’s Lake and wave our fly rods in the air. Those plans were predicated on the belief that a trout, recently awakened from its long winter’s nap under the ice, might be looking for breakfast.

When we arrived at our destination west of Walden, the temperature had climbed to 31 degrees, and there were snow squalls blasting through the sagebrush.

It was perfect spring weather for fishing, but this is not another fishing column.

There was very little open water — most of the south lake still was covered in ice, but the flocks of swallows diving and dipping over the wavelets suggested there was a midge hatch in process. So, we donned multiple layers of fleece and stepped into the water. My angler’s thermometer indicated the water temperature was 42 degrees. I believed it.

When the fish weren’t biting, it was mesmerizing to watch the darting swallows simultaneously work the wind while delicately picking off the tiny midges without colliding with the wavelets.

Without exception, the swallows flew into the gusting wind. That tactic allowed them to flare their wings and go into a momentary stall anytime they wanted to dive bomb a bug the size of a pencil lead floating on the water.

The swallows weren’t the only birds looking for a meal Saturday. Down the lake, a trio of massive white pelicans lined up and began rhythmically diving as if bobbing for apples. One after the other, they came up and arched their necks to swallow. We guessed that the lake’s crayfish may have been their victims.

A band of blackbirds sat on the edge of the ice, scooping up aquatic insects being blown onto the frozen surface.

Gradually, the wind began blowing the shrinking ice in our direction until we could actually cast our streamers onto the edge of the ice sheet. The wind also gave us a front-row seat for a National Geographic moment.

A gull plopped onto the ice and began worrying a nasty old fish carcass that had been frozen into the ice. The gull could only snag small pieces of flesh with its beak and eventually gave up.

Suddenly, I heard one of my companions call out and looked up to see a bald eagle not 40 feet in front of me. The bird used its talons to rip the old fish from the ice and flew off as quickly as it had appeared.

It was one of those moments in nature that leaves you with your mouth hanging open.

Mystery solved

On May 3, I wrote about George Kemry, the Routt County man who in 1941 shot the moose that has resided on the wall of the courthouse entry now for several decades.

In researching Kemry’s history in the valley, I learned that he and George Lockhart drove the stagecoach route from Steamboat Springs north to Columbine in 1913.

The mystery involved the fact that in winter, the stage went no farther than Hahn’s Peak. Kemry and Lockhart climbed down from the stage and finished the trip to Columbine on skis.

I wondered in this column what purpose their trip could have if they had no stagecoach to haul passengers and freight. The answer should have been apparent to me. Fortunately, Kemry’s daughter Harriet Kemry Aspegren was kind enough to fill me in.

Her father and Mr. Lockhart alternated on completing the chore of skiing mail from Hahn’s Peak to the gold mining camp at Columbine in winter.

Harriet’s brother, Lewis Kemry, confirmed the explanation.

“They carried absolutely nothing but first class mail,” Lewis said. “They skied up one day and came back the next.”

Lewis Kemry said the two men typically passed each other, one headed up the hill to Columbine and the other returning to Hahn’s Peak.

Kemry added that the 8-foot-long ash skis on which his father skied to deliver the mail to Columbine are in the collection of Tread of Pioneers Museum.

Aspegren recalls that her father was a very capable man.

“His formal education went through about third grade,” she said. “But he was a self-educated man. He could do anything he set his mind to — including building a house.”

I’ve also uncovered a romantic twist to my May 3 column. You might recall that I reported George Kemry wasn’t the first hunter to shoot the moose on the courthouse wall. A man named J.C. Woods already had wounded and greatly irritated the big animal.

Well, it turns out that the grandchildren of the two hunters would eventually marry. I have no idea if the moose has anything to do with this, but Lewis Kemry told me that George’s grandson Delbert, and Woods’ granddaughter Debbie are husband and wife.

­— To reach Tom Ross, call 871-4205

or e-mail tross@steamboatpilot.com