Lula, Katherine, and Florence Shank pose with a large Colorado pikeminnow that was caught in the Yampa River in Lily Park sometime in the 1930s. Lily Park is the area where the Little Snake and Yampa Rivers converge.
Courtesy Museum of Northwest Colorado
All societies and cultures throughout history have adopted an animal, landmark, or even plant or food as a cultural symbol. These symbols speak to people about the land they inhabit, their history, their present life and the unknown future.
In an interesting essay on these ideas, historian Elliot West examines the bison as a unique icon throughout the West. His ideas made me think of Moffat County, a remote and hidden gem on the cusp of major change. Do we have a cultural icon that is only ours? I think we do … but this animal is not an obvious or very lovable being, although it does talk to us about our life, our country and our history.
Is it the moose? A strong front runner, yes; Beautiful, majestic, strong, the moose attracts thousands in hopes of carrying it home in clean, frozen white paper packages. But the moose isn’t just ours; it is too common across the continent, too popular with everyone else. The moose is part of us, but a 300-point monster bull isn’t just our treasure.
Maybe the Yampa River? Our Nile-like ribbon of life winds through the high desert, gives life and clings to natural cycles. Yet its mystical and mythical qualities have been pushed aside and it is now seen as an economic engine replacing our dwindling energy economy.
Maybe the popular cowboy? We rightly appreciate the story of the Brown’s Park ruffians, the great cattle barons, and the free life the cowboy represents. In the age of stamp culture, however, the cowboy can carry quite a bit of historical and cultural luggage. Unfortunately we have to look elsewhere.
For the past few weeks I’ve been reluctantly forced to consider and eventually recognize the Colorado Pikeminnow (formerly known as the Squawfish) as the true icon of northwest Colorado. Before you roll your eyes, grind your teeth and swear loudly, please hear me out.
According to Elliot West, the entire western United States held a dual meaning as a land to be conquered and a romantic and unobstructed vision of nature. The piceminnow is a metaphor for this idea. Once abundant in the west and free to follow its long life cycle up and down winding stretches of pristine, free flowing rivers, it is now endangered and confined to the upper tributaries of the Colorado River.
In the course of its long life cycle, the pike minov grew up, was a top predator, and fed on struggling farms. But in the age of development and dams, the pike minov was forced to retreat to the remote Yampa. From tip to nuisance, the section of the Green River from Flaming Gorge to Yampa was poisoned with Rotenone in 1962 to make way for more attractive non-native fish.
Conversely, the forces harming the Pikeminnov helped Moffat County thrive through ranching, homesteading, oil and gas drilling, coal mining, and eventually building a power station.
Now, in the modern age of environmental protection, there is a trend to preserve Moffat County as the last remnant of the west that once was. Our endangered fish is what drives the Yampa to be kept free of dams and represents the encroachment on modern values and beliefs in Moffat County.
Ironically, the values and beliefs working to save the Pikeminnov have put Moffat County under pressure. Federal and state regulations have forced our economies and lifestyles to retreat. Our coal mines and power plants are to be shut down. Sage hen concern has limited gas and oil wells. City dwellers have forced us to reintroduce the gray wolf. At least Initiative 16 was sidelined.
Like the Pikeminnov, we have been squeezed and pushed by outside forces that demonize our honest labor … our pain is the Pikeminnov’s pain. And like the Colorado Pikeminnov, we are threatened by more aggressive outsiders who invade our territory.
The Pikeminnow and Moffat Counties are endangered at the same time, and this should create a kinship, a hand-fin connection, so to speak. The piceminnov needs help to survive, and we have also been offered a euphemistic “Just Transition” to survive the end of our energy economy.
This is where our relationship with the pike minov becomes problematic. The state of Colorado has rushed to shock and euthanize non-native northern pike and black bass (but not non-native rainbow trout). We came to loathe the native pikeperch and to love the outsiders, the pike and the smallmouth bass.
Forced to break new ground, we are faced with loss of confidence and paralysis, and we dislike ourselves any more than our native Pikeminnovs. The Northern Pike of Change attacks us with bared teeth, but we are slow to adapt and are afraid of being swallowed up by the inevitable.
All of this and more makes the not exactly sexy or personable Colorado Pikeminnow a perfect addition to our cultural icon. Like us, it is endangered, needs to evolve and embodies our conflict-ridden future. Let’s hug the Colorado Pikeminnow and hug ourselves. We are the damn fish.
James Neton teaches history at Moffat County High School. He can be reached at [email protected].
Comments are closed.