It was a Tuesday in early October. I was sitting here at 2:15 in the afternoon banging on the keyboard when out of the quite the phone rang loudly. It was my fishing buddy Gil on the other end of the line. "Hey, Dave, want to go fishing this afternoon?" he asks nonchalantly.
Since I felt guilty for once again squandering my time and not getting anything done I had to weasel out an "I can't". Then poor ol' Gil says, "Darn, I really was hoping you could so ya could bring me my spare set of car keys."
"What Gil, what's that about your keys" I ask, now that he has peeked my interest.
So he tells me that he locked the keys in the car early in the morning when he and George had finished getting geared up to fish.
For that, I tell him, I can break away to bring him the keys. Only then did I think to ask him where is he at.
"I am at Spinney Mountain Reservoir" comes the reply. "My car is parked near the boat ramp.
Well, that will teach me to pop off without putting on my interrogator hat first hand. You see, Spinney Mountain is about a two and half hour drive from my place.

Gil and I were at Spinney Mountain Reservoir back in August. These two pictures of Gil with fish are from then. Note that Spinney is in the middle of nowhere. The nearest gas station is at least 10 empty miles and a few hundred buffalo and an elk ranch away:

While we guestimated that I would get there about 6 pm, at least an hour before dark, I realized there really would not be any time for me to fish that day.

A half hour later than I planned I am finally on the road. After stopping at Gil's house to get his spare set of keys from his wife, who rushed home from work to meet me, I am finally heading west up Highway 285 into the Mountains. Soon the sky darkens up and the rain comes down hard for a short while. By the time I pass through Bailey and Shawnee the sun is shining again. The sky to the southeast where the storm has moved looks dark but the mountains to the south look deep green with white frosting descending a fourth of the way down the mountains. The clouds to the west are billowy and fluffy white with the sun refracting off moisture particles still in the air. Fog is also beginning to gather in some of the spaces between the mountains.

When I get to the entrance for Boxwood Gulch ranch at Shawnee I see a very pretty autumn sight. Below road grade are horse pastures separated by clumps of Aspen and willows shimmering with yellow and red reflected light. Beyond the golden leafed Aspens the mountains rise towards the clouds. The lowering fall sun shines brightly off the clouds and descending fog. To me it was too hard to resist. No, I could not fish the river at the ever-popular Boxwood Gulch ranch but I could snap an autumn picture or two.

After admiring that scene I pull back onto the highway to continue on to rescue my friend.

Another 20 minutes later at the top of Kenosha pass I decide I just need to stop and admire the expansive scenery of South Park, as I may never get back here again. I have passed this spot many times in the past few years but have never stopped before.

At this elevation it is cool in October, even in the afternoon, as evidenced by the ice on these pinecones.

After admiring the view I am on the road again. Down into the valley of South Park I descend. The valley floor is many miles long and wide containing a number of cattle ranches, as well as vacation homes dotting the landscape here and there. Plus at different times of the year there are roaming herds of antelope and elk. I have already passed a few groups of antelope. This time year it is spotty to find elk grazing. A view northwest:

The view Southeast:

When I get to the old mining town of Fairplay I have a couple minutes of cell phone service so I call the small country store a few miles from Spinney Mountain Reservoir to see if I can talk to Gil. I could not call Gil's cell phone because there is not any cell phone service out there. Besides it is locked up in his car! The owner tells me that Gil, George and Glen have gone back to the reservoir to fish. It seems that Glen, also from Denver, has shown up unexpectedly and so since there was nothing else to do and they now had a car they all went out fishing again. About this time while still on the cell phone I realize that I have missed my turn for heading south across the high altitude plain. After exclaiming my mistake into the phone I ask the country storeowner to relay to them that I am running a little late but I should be there in a half hour. Being on a cell phone out in the middle of South Park I guess communications are not the best. I find out later that the owner tells Gil and friends, upon their return from fishing, that I am having car troubles.
But the only trouble I am having at the moment is trying to figure out what to take pictures of.

Any ways, I am now heading down Highway 9 towards the small settlement of Hartzel. Of course I have to stop to take a picture of this inspite of the fact you can't see the South Platte flowing past the middle set of trees:

Then a little further down the road and over the next rise is this one.

The sun is getting even lower in the sky now:

Then just a couple of minutes north of Hartzel and 10 minutes from my destination for rescuing Gil I pass over the South Platte River. The light is reflecting off of the water surface. There are dimpling concentric rings rippling along the surface from rising fish along the gently flowing river; on both sides of the bridge.

It is about dark thirty, 7:30 that is, when I pull in at the Country store a couple of miles form the reservoir. In the dimly glowing lights of the store I can see three forms milling impatiently about. I cannot tell who they are but I recognize the silhouette of Gil's fishing hat. When I roll down the window Gil is asking me where have I been. He says the storeowner told him I was having car trouble. He also says we need to hurry up and get his car before they lock the gates to the reservoir. He says he has been worried about me. Again he asks me what happened. I had to tell him the truth.

"Gil, when I passed over the South Platte River near Hartzel the fish were rising. I had to stop and fish. ……Gil just smiled and said "well done" "It is the only truly good excuse."

It would have been even better if I had hooked one of those fish.