In Colorado’s Roaring Fork Valley, the arrival of spring isn’t marked by tulips or cherry blossoms—it’s marked by kayaks on car roofs and the wild rush of meltwater in the rivers.
A Sure Sign of Spring
In most places, spring is signaled by blooming flowers. But in the Roaring Fork Valley, it's different. Here, spring announces itself with brightly colored kayaks strapped to the tops of trucks, vans, and Subarus. These boats are our wildflowers—short-lived, vibrant, and full of energy.
They signal the start of something special. A thaw in the valley, a shift in rhythm, and a chance to reconnect with what moves us.
From Unified Winter to Scattered Spring
Since moving here in 1994, I’ve learned that winter in the Rockies is a shared experience. We’re all in sync—skiing, snowboarding, maybe snowmobiling—but ultimately centered around the same daily rituals. Wake up, gear up, hit the mountain, gather for après. Our lives align in pace and place.
Spring? That’s when we scatter.
Some head for the trails with mountain bikes. Others hit the road on bikes or lace up for high-country hikes. Paragliders catch thermals. Climbers chase dry rock. And for a smaller crew—the water babies—it’s all about the river.
The Water Window
For kayakers in the valley, spring means runoff. And the season is short. Runoff starts in late April and usually peaks by early to mid-June. You've got to be ready. You've got to go all in. Some days, we’d hit two, even three runs. It was a self-centered time—in the best way. It was about you, your boys, your boats, and the flow.
Sure, you can chase rivers year-round—down to the desert, along the bigger systems—but here at home, spring is magic. Within 30 minutes of your front door, you’ve got access to everything from technical Class V creeks to easy Class II floats. It’s just a matter of what you're in the mood for. Grab your crew and get after it.
Seasons Change. So Do We.
Over time, life shifted. Marriage, kids, new responsibilities. The days of spontaneous triple runs gave way to longer mornings, slower starts, and more meaningful connections. It became less about the adrenaline and more about shared experiences—with my family and others'.
But the water never stopped calling. We just upgraded to larger plastic shells—surfboats, sailboats, and rafts. Now, we bring everyone with us. It’s a different kind of thrill, but just as rewarding. The tribe’s bigger. The adventures are wider. And somehow, it feels even more alive.
Early 2000’s Kids skis in the car, Dad’s skis stuffed inside his kayak :) Talk about choose your own adventure :)
Nostalgia in Motion
When I drive by and spot a kayak on a roof rack, it hits me hard. I feel the slap of freezing water on my face, remember the sting of numb fingers, and hear the echo of rapids in my ears. There’s no better way to wake up—or clear your head.
These little boats aren’t just gear. They’re symbols. Of freedom. Of youth. Of spring. And of life lived fully.
In our valley, kayaks are our wildflowers. Bright, brief, bold—and always worth chasing.
My 2000s rig. Running on used veggie oil from our restaurants’ deep fryers. Rigged up for drying out the kit in the parking lot :)
