A ride through the super bloom
All the unregulated streams and rivers I crossed on my way to the Western Slope were high and looked like chocolate milk. That observation triggered a brief session of self-congratulations on my part because I’d finally fished to a bluewinged olive hatch a few days before I left. I was happy, too, because I wasn’t going to the Western Slope to fish, which would be close impossible with the runoff. The reason for the trip, however, did have everything to do with the plentiful moisture Colorado received this spring.
My friend, Dewitt Daggett, a long time North Fork Valley resident, had called a week earlier to let me know that the snowmelt and springtime rains were responsible for a spectacular high desert bloom on the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) land northwest of Delta known as the Dominguez Rim. He said it was the best “bloom” he’d seen in a decade and suggested that I come see it.
“We’ll load the horses up and take a look,” he said.
I’d ridden the same area with Dewitt several years ago. The soil was powdery dry then. Even the mildest breeze lofted dust into the air. It’s sparse desert to begin with, and when it’s experienced drought for the better part of 20 years it can look pretty desolate. The thought of seeing it covered in wildflowers was enough to make me want to visit it.
Desert and prairie blooms don’t usually occur every year, although they can occur in localized areas every two or three years. The spectacular blooms you hear about in the Sonoran or Mohave Deserts normally occur about every 10 years. These blooms, called super blooms, attract a lot of attention from the public, which can result in damage caused when too many people visit sensitive desert areas. California’s historic wet winter of 2022-23 resulted in this spring’s super bloom, where wildflower seeds that might have been lying dormant for decades germinated and burst into bloom.
When we arrived at the BLM land, it didn’t take long for me to pick out a few patches of color. Dewitt and Sam Handley, also a North Fork Valley resident, unloaded the horses while I took photographs of some nearby globe mallow. It’s stands about shin high with wonderful orange flowers.
By the time I got back to the trailer, the horses were already unloaded. It didn’t take us much longer to saddle up and head out. We rode up a dirt road headed toward the Dominquez Rim that overlooks the Gunnison River.
In another life, Dewitt was a field geologist and spent time in the desert southwest. Geological time has always been hard for me to wrap my head around. If I ask, he tries to make local geology more accessible to me, which is not an easy task when the person trying to gain access is a simple outdoorsman stuck in the present.
Dewitt’s geologic commentary is the most fun when we veer into our own made-up comedic versions of life in the Pleistocene. Those conversations usually end up resembling dialogue from Mel Brook’s movie “Blazing Saddles.” When the humor begins to trail off, we often drift into more serious talk about climate change, overpopulation, species extinction and human craziness in general. You need a lot of open country to air out those topics.
On this ride, our spells of seriousness ended when we encountered patches of purple Phacelia, claret cup cactus, sego lilies and pepperweed because it’s impossible to not be happy when you find yourself in the presence of so many wildflowers in a desert that’s suffered such a long drought. This high desert bloom was more subtle than the California super blooms you heard about in the news, but spectacular because it’s a perfect fit for this place.
After a while we made it out to the rim. I’m a beginner rider, and riding too close to the cliff that drops down to the Gunnison River gives me the heebie-jeebies. I think Dewitt noticed me scrunching up in the saddle as we rode along and thoughtfully backed his horse away from the edge and closer to me.
Later, we stopped, tied the horses up and then clamored out to the rim for a snack and water break. Below us the Gunnison River was high and dirty. Green irrigated fields grew along its banks in some places emphasizing the contrast between the natural desert and man-made lushness
After gulping down more water, we mounted up and continued our ride along the rim. Dewitt commented that he used to see very few people in the area, but that changed during the pandemic when it was “discovered” by folks trying to get away from the cities. There were more fire rings, a telltale sign of dispersed camping, then I remembered from past years, but at least on this day the camps were unoccupied.
We’re all protective of our “secret” getaways, which for Dewitt and me mean few or no people. When that begins to change, we start looking around for a new place to go. Those places are getting harder and harder to find, and I’m not getting any younger. It makes me wonder how many next best places I have left.
The following morning Dewitt and I headed to another section of BLM land. The wildflowers were not as prolific as they’d been the day before, but he wanted to show me one especially large claret cup cactus. We were riding a couple of horses that belonged to one of Dewitt’s neighbors and needed exercise.
On the way to the “mother of all claret cup cactus” there were some sheep just off the road. Our horses looked at them like they were space aliens and started blowing and snorting and then spooked.
That changed our relaxed morning ride for sure, but that’s another story.