From her home waters in Crested Butte, this Indigenous leader is reshaping fly fishing culture, on and off the river.
Five thousand feet above the Colorado River, a soft light touched the crown of the sandstone-granite citadel. Below, kneeling at the water’s edge in the morning’s quiet, Erica Nelson faced east.
She pulled bright yellow corn pollen out of a grounds to her tongue and head and a pinch for the water. Extracted from the tassels of corn plants, corn pollen is a sacred and integral part of Navajo culture, serving as a life-giving blessing to connect with the spirit world.
Every river runner’s dream is to experience the magnificent Grand Canyon. For Erica, a Navajo angler and whitewater raft guide from Gunnison Valley, it’s also a sacred return to her ancestral lands. Her put-in ritual, intended to show respect for the river and ensure a safe trip, is a practice of Hózhó, living in balance and harmony with all things. Her push-off ceremony “is an entryway to form a relationship with the water, and a reminder that it’s very powerful,” Erica shared with her river crew, who were about to embark on the 16-day journey with her. She added, “It’s a moment of gratitude, connecting with ancestors, asking for safety and guidance, and inviting you to form your own relationship with the river.”
Despite Erica’s nearly 15 years of river guiding, this trip felt different. It was 2023. In the year prior, Erica’s mom had suddenly passed away, followed by her own cancer diagnosis. This journey would be an equal container for grief and for transition, as she brought along her mother’s ashes to be released in the Little Colorado River Confluence, “a very sacred area for the Navajo that signifies birth and renewal.”
Looking up at the rising sun, her heart swelled with a mixture of sadness, gratitude, and joy.
Reflecting on her past 40 years, Erica didn’t always love the water, and she hasn’t always identified with her deep, familial roots. She and I became friends after she moved to the ancestral Ute Territory of Crested Butte. We each grew up in the Southwest, with Erica being raised in Kirtland, New Mexico, on the edge of the Navajo Nation. But the most pivotal fork in Erica’s path was leaving her corporate career a decade ago with Marriott International in Portland, Oregon, to become a river guide.
Her training was unforgettable.
“I survived off pure adrenaline and PBR for seven days. I was, and still am, terrified of whitewater. But if I didn’t follow my dreams, I’d be working for someone else who did,” said Erica. “I needed to face my fears by immersing myself. It was terrifying, emotional, hard, and a lot of fun.”
Her entry into the profession involved guiding Class III-IV rapids on the American River through the Sierra Nevada mountains, before pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology and outdoor adventure leadership at Sierra Nevada University in Nevada. Following graduation, she moved to Lander, Wyoming, where she took an administrative role at the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS). There, fly fishing was a popular pastime, so she taught herself how to angle on the Popo Agie River.
“I was terrified going on the water alone. It was stressful and frustrating. But when I set my mind to something, I at least want to be mediocre at it. I ended up fishing every single day,” Erica said.
Soon, she hit another milestone, securing a competitive position as a NOLS river course instructor, which she held for several seasons. She loved field instruction, but there were tradeoffs. “I was dedicated to the mission of the company, but I struggled with my job inside of headquarters. There was toxicity, and I experienced a lot of discrimination,” she said. That ultimately brought her to Crested Butte, where she took a job with Vail Resorts as the learning and development senior specialist in 2018.
Erica’s move to the Gunnison Valley kicked off a golden streak in her life when her career experiences and personal interests converged. Beyond working for Vail Resorts, she cofounded REAL Consulting, which provides organizations with customized training and support on racial equity and inclusion. She launched Awkward Angler, a podcast that elevates diverse perspectives and equity on the water. Appointed as the first Colorado ambassador for Brown Folks Fishing, an organization that seeks to cultivate access and community for anglers of color, she helped to spearhead the expansion of fishing access nationwide. Amid all of this, she also began guiding for Willowfly Anglers at Three Rivers Resort.
“Learning how to work with and cultivating my relationship with whitewater has been a journey of fear and respect. I’ve simultaneously learned about my own traditional Navajo culture and the meaning of ‘water is life,’ which I never really was immersed in,” said Erica.
In an intersection of her passions, she developed the annual leadership retreat Decolonizing the Rogue River, which combines whitewater rafting with teaching Indigenous history alongside training in justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion. She also has an ongoing partnership with Trout Unlimited to develop community partnerships and advocate for water rights. Erica’s service on and off the water recently led her to take the role of equity and engagement manager for the nonprofit Western Resource Advocates, which focuses on conservation of the rivers, land, and communities of the West through policy advocacy, inclusivity, and clean energy, while elevating tribal voices.
Often, whitewater narratives center on conquering, and Erica hopes to shift that paradigm. “When I’m river guiding, as an Indigenous person, I can offer a different perspective, holding space for offerings and identifying sacred sites and how we treat them,” she said.
But this time was also marked by the loss. When Erica first moved to Crested Butte, her parents and her sister’s family would visit her each summer. During one visit, after stand-up paddleboarding at Lost Lake, they enjoyed a peaceful drive home over Kebler Pass. But when they pulled up to their hotel, Erica’s mom was non-responsive. The sudden loss of her mother, her greatest confidant and cheerleader, felt devastating to Erica.
“It was a big shock to all of us,” said Erica. A light in the darkness came with a surge of local support during that time. “Immediately, resources appeared…places for my family to stay and food.”
Only a few months later, while struggling in the wake of her mother’s passing, Erica was diagnosed with endometrial cancer in Late 2022. Because she has Lynch syndrome, a hereditary gene, she is more susceptible to the disease. Living in a one-bedroom accessory dwelling on a Crested Butte alleyway, she couldn’t maintain the snow removal during her treatment, but she would arrive home to find a clear path. Neighbors throughout town shoveled and snowblowed her section and brought over home-cooked meals. She also connected with Mountain Roots Food Project through Living Journeys, which delivered fresh produce.
“Going through my mom’s death and cancer immediately after, and seeing the community come out of the woodwork to support me was amazing,” said Erica.
Living Journeys and Gunnison Tough provided additional resources, including housing in Denver during her five-week radiation therapy. “Living Journeys has been phenomenal in its support and financial assistance — I was bawling. I had no idea our town could be so amazing and caring,” she said. “Going through hardships here makes it easier when you have a great community.”
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A silvery line glimmered against the light as Erica tossed her rod. The ribbon created a smooth crest above the snow-cloaked riverbank. Gusts pushed pearly cumulus puffs across the cobalt sky. It was only 40 degrees on the Taylor River, and she wore a bright red puffy jacket beneath her fly-fishing waders. Winter doesn’t scare her away from the water, so naturally, she had suggested we go fishing. Goosebumps rolled across my neck as I shivered, wishing I’d worn three more pairs of wool socks. I stood statically in the same spot, clumsily casting my fly rod.
“Toss it like you mean it! But not too fast,” Erica reminded me, right before both flies caught the tippet, whiplashing my overhead cast through the air and tangling into a ball of knots. “Now you’re fishing!” Erica laughed. While she showed me how to cut and re-tie my line — which, according to Erica, is 90 percent of learning how to fly fish — we talked about what this place signifies for her.
“I find it very sacred and special to visit and pay respects to the headwaters of the Taylor, East, and Slate rivers,” she said.
Standing in these headwaters is humbling. The Taylor flows into the Gunnison, a major tributary of the Upper Colorado River, which enters the Colorado River Basin and carves its way through the Grand Canyon. Over the past few years, Erica has rowed three trips down the Great Chasm, one of which, unfortunately, was stopped short by a torn ACL. Her most recent was a celebration of her cancer remission and the release of her mother’s ashes. As Erica stood teaching me, the river connected her with her ancestors.
After reflecting for a moment and handing me my primed rod, she said, “I’ve sought milestones and accomplishments to make my mom proud. Now that she’s not here, I wonder, ‘What am I doing these things for?’ It’s been a realignment of my own values and really, truly enjoying them, which is immersing myself in my culture and spending time on the water.”
Erica smoothly tossed her line, which immediately got a tug. “Whoa!” she exclaimed. Holding tension on the rod with one hand, she seamlessly unclipped a fishing net from her hip belt. A few seconds later, a shimmery brown trout idled inside the net: her third catch. She smiled and released the fish, feeling grateful for another day on the water.