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FrontRangeLiving.com -> Outdoors -> Black Canyon at Gunnison
 Black Canyon of
the Gunnison:
A Secluded Beauty
By Niki Hayden
The Black Canyon of the Gunnison lies hidden from drivers cruising
Highway 50 between Gunnison and Montrose on the Western Slope. The chamisa-strewn
hillside on either side of the road leading to the canyon is ho-hum until you reach
Tomichi Point. There the canyon unfolds in an abrupt discovery: a startling drop
into the center of the earth surrounded by sheer cliffs. The canyon looks to be
otherworldly, almost magical. Or so it appears.
 Perch on the edge of the Painted Wall or Pulpit Rock, and the experience is
akin to that of a falcon. The edge of the canyon falls away far, far
below with only a thin ribbon of river glinting like liquid silver in the
distance. Birds circle in the altitude of their choice: swifts flitting and
swirling along canyon walls, falcons soaring and turkey vultures lolling midair.
They share their airspace with the casual visitor. And while you won’t have
their keen eyesight to spot a brown trout in the river below, it’s as close as
possible to seeing the world from the perspective of a golden eagle.
 "I’ve had people who say they have driven Highway 50, but when they
look up, they think it doesn’t look like much. I guess it’s counterintuitive
to drive up a hill to see a canyon," says ranger Tammi Corchero. "That’s
because here you don’t have the widening of the canyon, like you do at the
Grand Canyon, which is softer sandstone and easier to erode. The rock that makes
up the colors of the Black Canyon is gneiss and schist, metamorphic rock. The erosion
processes are the same as the Grand Canyon but because the rock is harder here,
it’s more difficult for water to cut through it."
 Tammi rattles off prehistoric dates when describing the Black Canyon, which
was formed about two million years ago. That's not so long ago if you consider that the
earth is estimated to be 4.6 billion years old.
As snow melted on the Rocky
Mountains, water carved away the softer sedimentary rocks until it reached the
harder rock of the metamorphic. Today much of the metamorphic gneiss and schist
are black in color with striking stripes of quartz that zigzag along cliff
walls.
 Spires, too, of hard rock have remained--their softer surrounding rock
washed away. Erosion removes only a thin layer of rock each year, about the
thinness of two sheets of paper, but through time, the stripping of layer upon
layer of softer rock means that the canyon deepens and the river flows in a
narrower channel.
Even in the height of summer, when visitors from other states flock to
national parks in Colorado, the Black Canyon promises solitary lookout points.
With a rising mist from the river and fiery sunsets of silver-lined clouds the
color of molten lava, the canyon is vast, quiet, almost numbing. The perfect
destination for the contemplative, the Black Canyon looks primeval, nearly
untouched by contemporary events or people.
 Herbert Hoover set the Black Canyon apart as a national monument in 1933, but
an act of Congress deemed the canyon a national park in 1999. Despite its new
status, the park has changed little, other than a new visitors center. And the
rangers note that the campgrounds are blissfully quiet, mosquito free, tidy and rarely filled.
For the rangers who give interpretative talks, the meager audience can be
discouraging, but for campers who choose solitude, the park is a welcome
destination.
 "There’s not that much to do here," ranger Kyrie Thompson says
wistfully, "You can camp, but to go into the wilderness, isn’t easy. You
take the drainage trails down, but it’s only for experienced hikers. We do
require that you register for that in case you don’t turn up. Then we’ll go
looking for you." Drainage trails are long ditches of rock and
gravel-strewn paths where snowmelt flows into the river. Hiking down looks
treacherous. Hiking back up must be worse.
Instead, there’s a steep East Portal Road that takes campers to the river,
the destination for fly fishers. Inching down in low gear is imperative on the 17
degree
grade, but the twisty road brings you closer to the
canyon walls. On the canyon floor, the cool water floats downstream, spilling
over a small dam and pooling peacefully for early morning fly fishers.
Campground chatter, abuzz with talk of the gold-medal waters, takes place
as eggs sizzle on camp stoves. Rainbow trout as well as
brown trout are easy catches. The fishermen catch and release their fish, noting
that they are limited to two trout, anyway.
 The river
looks deceptively calm as the fly fishers wade into the cold water in
hip boots. Farther down, the rapids are tumultuous. "The canyon is very
narrow," Tammi says, "a wider river is better for kayaking or rafting
because it gives you more choices if there is a big rock or a drop. Here, your
only choice is to go through it or around it. The water is not navigable. And there are a lot of rocks." Outside the park, where the
canyon walls become sandstone, the river widens and tourists line up for
rafting.
The absence of people on the river contributes to the wilderness of the
canyon. Most campers lodge on the rim. Except for the fishers’ campsite,
the canyon belongs to the bears, bobcats, mountain lions and deer. A few, like
the bears, are discouraged. Campers are advised never to leave food in the
sites, but to keep their coolers in the car. Mule deer stroll through the
campsites in search of juicy serviceberries, enjoying the security that visitors
provide from their intrepid predators, the mountain lions.
 While there may be tooth and claw drama at the canyon floor, on the rim, the
campgrounds are hushed by nine at night. Under a starry canopy, the Milky Way
floats by. Stars never seen in cities, or suburbia, shine brightly. The closest
town is Montrose and those few lights are too far away to obscure the night
sky. Several times in the summer an amateur astronomy club arrives with scopes
for campers to peer into the universe. But even without a scope, the sky is
filled with more stars than can be counted.
By early morning, a loud scuffling turns out to be a fat sparrow kicking over dried
gamble oak leaves. Just inches from a tent, the noise of a
small bird is deafening. Tents are set up under thickets of gamble oaks. These
tough trees produce acorns, which provide a critical link in the park’s food
chain. Beloved by birds, bears, rodents—the acorns are basic fodder and mule
deer feast on the leaves. The gamble oaks, halfway between tree and shrub,
thrive in the thin soil on the canyon rim, giving cover to animals as well as
campers.
A few campers chance upon a great basin gopher snake, but no poisonous snakes
live on the rim. And while most of the wildlife is typical of other Western
Slope destinations, a few are unusual. A blue grouse ambles across the road
looking somewhat like a pheasant. Black, white and gray-speckled, the blue
grouse refuses to budge in mid-road. "That happened to me, too," Tammi
says, "And then I noticed a bunch of baby chicks. The mom was waiting in
the road for them to cross."
 At an altitude of 8,100 feet, the Black Canyon is home to the highest cliff
in Colorado. Big sagebrush, chamisa (rabbitbrush) and the gamble oaks line the
rim, while a few pinyon pines hug the rim edges and Douglas firs provide a wooded forest along the north side. Colder, wetter conditions indicate
one side of the canyon provides a vastly contrasting environment from its
opposite side. Kyrie points out that seasons at the canyon may be subtle, but
the wildflowers indicate the passing of every month.
 In the spring, she describes the mariposa lily with its
brilliant purple
markings against white petals. The early spring bulbs are followed by lupine,
harebells and wild roses. The Indian paintbrush rustles in a summer breeze and
by the end of summer, the bright yellow of the chamisa, takes over.
The pinyon
trees are scattered, but like the gamble oaks, they provide an important food--pinyon
nuts. Besides bears and rodents that feast on the nuts, the pinyon jay is a fan,
too. "The pinyon jay can figure out, without opening the nut, whether it’s
a good nut, or one that is diseased," Kyrie says, "and although they
do eat the healthy nuts, they also dig a hole in the ground to bury them for
future food stores. Quite often, they’ll forget where they have buried them
and that helps the survival of the pinyon tree."
 Above our heads, turkey vultures float in the air. "Nature’s laziest
bird," Kyrie says with some disgust. "They’re too lazy to fly, they
just catch a burst of wind. They’re even too lazy to kill their own food, but
wait for someone else to do it for them. Look at how they fly—all
wobbly."
Turkey vultures, sporting their ungainly flap, contrast sharply with the
stately golden eagle or deft falcons. Swifts, tiny mighty birds with gracefully
arching wings, always flock together for protection from falcons and eagles,
their predators.
The animals at the Black Canyon depend upon two other adjoining
natural
areas that extend food and habitat to support all the creatures that call the
canyon home.
 The Black Canyon lies between
the Blue Mesa Reservoir
upstream and the Gunnison Gorge downstream. The Blue Mesa, or Curecanti National
Recreation Area, was built because of the dams upstream. It’s a stunning body
of water with 96 miles of shoreline. The
Gunnison Gorge National Conservation Area was formed to protect the river
downstream. Each area has a distinct
purpose that balances water protection and recreation since the Gunnison River
is essential to water in several states. All three are managed by agencies
within the United States Department of the Interior.
Although winter brings a stark beauty of its own, not many visitors frequent
the park. Scant snowfall caused by an ongoing drought usually brings a dusting
of snow rather than the deluge of past years. But the visitors center is staffed
and the road is closed for skiing and snowshoeing on occasion. The views, of
course, remain spectacular year around, with Tomichi Point still providing the
first gasp for those who take some time off the highway and make their way up
the hill.
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