A night along the Colorado, below the cliffs

Campsite looking south.

Campsite looking north.

Rio Colorado in DeBeque Canyon.

I coasted into the Grand Valley. Despite wanting to set up my tent, shower and unwind with a few beers, I had not crossed Grand Junction in almost two years, mostly due to a bridge closure on U.S.50. 

With the heat pushing 100, I scurried into the Lowell School for a Belgian-style wheat beer at Gemini Beer Company. My often-planned night in downtown Grand Junction would remain a dream. 

I wanted to eat somewhere in downtown Grand Junction but felt the pull of tradition. I headed east to the doorstep of my last stop. 

Yet again, I ended up in Palisade at the 357 Bar and Grill for a burger and some ice teas. The quiet bar in downtown Palisade was the decompression I needed. Other spots called to me – the tasting rooms, fruit stands, boutique stores – but I already crossed the desert for a campsite. 

In the morning, I would take the slow route back, crossing U.S. 50 all the way to Canon City, across Monarch Pass, through Delta, Montrose, Gunnison, and Salida. 

First, I had a last night under the stars and an enviable campsite to relish. James M. Robb Colorado River State Park covers five units from Fruita to Island Acres, the latter sitting east of Palisade in DeBeque Canyon along the river. 

My day end at Island Acres, the unit which turned out better than I could imagine. Island Acres is wedged between the river and its steep cliffs. 

A few miles past Palisade, the exit has a gas station and access to Island Acres, nothing else. A brick visitor center sits along a tree-lined casting pond. 

The sun already passed the canyon, and the cliffs hundreds of feet above the Colorado River shielded us from the remains of the day. The heat immediately backed off. I set up camp, put up my feet, and read a few pages while I cooled down. 

After a shower and a few sips from a huckleberry beer, I walked on the riverfront path. Island Acres has no boat launch due to a small dam upstream that produces dangerous currents. 

But the high cliffs and proximity to the river more than compensate. Less than 100 feet from my campsite, I could walk along the Colorado. I have spent surprisingly little time on this river, so It was fitting that I could make its acquaintance at a spot as scenic as Island Acres. 

Outside of some small talk across the tent section, I didn’t talk to anyone. The tent-only section had a parking lot and a half-dozen lots. 

Despite a full campground, no one occupied the two sites next to mine. I felt civilization peel way at other stops, but here I just felt the beauty of relaxation so close to civilization. The river coursed by, the canyon cliffs loomed, and I unwound. Sometimes watching the way the light plays on the cliff faces is enough. 

I strolled along the Colorado path, then along the fishing pond path, and somehow avoided getting mauled by the local mosquitoes. Once again, I stayed up far later than my fatigue should have allowed. I had no campfire, but as I saw the neighboring fires dwindle, sleepiness finally took hold. 

Earlier I couldn’t properly stake the tent. The ground on the tent pad was harder than concrete. That would suffice until 2 a.m., when the wind kicked up and the tent tried to move away with me inside. For once I was thankful for the extra pounds, as I held still. 

I tossed in and out of sleep until 4 a.m., which the first hints of light helped me crawl out and start tearing down camp. Island Acres had grown so quiet that I could hear the river as I packed up. I hadn’t wish to bid goodbye this early, but the urge for going arrives quickly when camping. 

I took a pass through the full campground and looked forward to the sunrise erupting sometime before I hit Montrose. Meantime, I cherished my few hours at Island Acres, where nature does all the heavy lifting. The cliffs, the daylight, and the river supplied all the majesty anyone needed.

Fishing pond at first light.

Early departure.