Aspen in the 1960’s

As a little boy growing up in Aspen, having a fishing license was as common as a set of Lincoln Logs.  Every little boy had both.  Before Aspen became the epicenter of “Catch & Release” we actually ate those little critters for breakfast straight from the Roaring Fork River through the bowl of beaten eggs, a couple of flips in Corn Meal and into the frying pan.  The entire trip took less than 30 minutes.

I remember being rudely awakened by my father more often than I want to remember, “Boys, why don’t you go catch us breakfast?”  It was really not a request and “No” was really not an option.  Into yesterdays clothes, and off to the river, my brother and I headed.  Back then it was more difficult to get out of bed then it was to actually catch something.  We would be back home in less than an hour including walking across town to and from the river.  We only needed six or so fish to feed the family and it took little or no time to catch that many.  My mom always cooked them with the heads still attached which meant not only could we eat our breakfast, but we could have some fun with it too.

My sisters joined us on the fishing expeditions sometimes as well; if they were already out of bed.  Back then it was not uncommon to see some of our friends out catching their breakfast at the same time.  Looking back, I actually enjoyed the fact that we could go fishing any time and without requiring permission from a local land owner or being limited to just a few spots along the river.  Access to the rivers in the valley was always open and easy to get to.  We even had our favorite fishing holes that no one else knew about.  We were able to keep what we caught, and each year it seemed like the rivers had more fish in them than the prior year, not less.  Brooks, Rainbows and Brown Trout, we caught them all, and I could never tell them apart once they were cooked, but I am sure someone could.

In the 1960’s, on cool mornings you could actually hear the roar of the river from just about anywhere in town.  That sound is gone, not only due to the fact that less water flows in the river, but because of all the houses, fences, brick walls, berms and cement retaining walls that now line the river.

I would be curious to know if anyone today ever wonders why they call that river “The Roaring Fork,” but if you lived in the valley in the 1960’s or earlier, you would know why.  I miss the sound of the river and the taste of fresh trout for breakfast.