The first thing you noticed about Willie Trowbridge was the jacket, collar pulled high above shoulders hunched against an afternoon chill.
After all, this was a day when record-high temperature sprouted across a map of Colorado like dandelions, the sort of extreme weather that turns everyone into a statistician.
Then there was his smile, an ear-to-ear grin that among fisherman almost always goes with a deeply bent rod and something interesting swimming on the other end of the line.
Whatever laid claim to Trowbridge’s fly had its heart set on reaching the middle of upper Mohawk Lake, one of those special destinations above timberline where the water is as clear as the king’s crystal and whatever trout you might catch seem like rich frosting on a cake that already seems tasty enough.
That thing about beating the heat provided a bonus that just happened to coincide with one of the state’s most pervasive heat waves. Truth is, Trowbridge and fellow Summit County resident Ed Bowers would have climbed the 2 miles dead uphill to Mohawk in a snowstorm – as they sometimes have over the years.
For these fish hounds, the attraction almost always is the trout, that and the special feeling they always get in that magic world above the trees. The sensation begins with a riot of wildflowers, then grows with the first sighting of waterfalls, a giant’s stairstep down a granite face made more dramatic by this season’s enduring runoff.
“Can you believe the snow that’s still up here?” Bowers said, waving a rod tip toward substantial snowfields being squeezed, sponge-like, for those last, precious drops of moisture.
Farther along, the spectacle continues with a snowmelt rush out of the lake down Spruce Creek, a tumble through rocks and willows that might have been lifted from some fairyland.
Then there’s the final approach to the lake itself. Lungs burning, legs wobbling just a little, a hiker suddenly finds himself eye-level to the water, like peeking up over the edge of a balcony.
“I’m always amazed at that sight,” said Bowers, who has seen it more times than he can count.
Among these several reasons for making the climb to Mohawk, we inevitably must return to that urge to escape the Front Range blowtorch. All things equal, a heat sufferer can expect to lose 4 to 5 degrees for each 1,000 feet of elevation gain. This means that a trip from Denver to the rare 12,080-foot air of Mohawk – first by pavement, next on a rocky road to the trailhead and finally that breathtaking climb on Shank’s mare – dropped the thermometer by more than 30 clicks.
Thus, when the usual late-day squall blew down from the Tenmile Range to rumple the lake, we found Trowbridge eagerly tugging on protection from the chill.
For Coloradans desperate for heat relief, high lakes such as Mohawk provide solace both for the skin and soul. Every mountain range is pocked with this aftermath of glacial recession and a surprising number are accessible from highway passes. Others dangle tantalizingly at the end of long, grueling treks.
Some offer marginal fishing, or none at all; degree of success typically can be measured in direct proportion to the amount of boot tread used to get there.
To find the best, start with a general topographical map such as the DeLorme Atlas and Gazetteer series. Then telescope to a national forest map or a more detailed U.S. Geological Survey quadrangle. For a fishing assessment, consult “Kip Carey’s Official Colorado Fishing Guide” or similar guidebooks, generally available in outdoor shops.
For 12-acre upper Mohawk, the scouting report stands in sharp contrast to the degree of difficulty, or at least the amount of visitation it received. Accessible to all the resort hurly-burly of Breckenridge as well as Summit’s considerable resident population, the trail to the lake on weekends resembles a concourse.
Nearly all are day hikers and those who do tote rods appear to respect the fragile nature of the fishery and the need to release these Colorado River cutthroats with due care.
Now in glorious spawn colors, these trout sometimes stretch to 16 inches, a prize in any location. When Trowbridge at length subdued a fish sporting an almost surreal blaze of red punctuated by large, dark spots, the smile grew even larger.
But at no time was he tempted to take off his coat.
Charlie Meyers can be reached at 303-820-1609 or cmeyers@denverpost.com.
