I was pleased to see my article on fishing and exploring Florida’s largest and wildest state park–the Fakahatchee Strand Preseve–featured in the Hidden Gems section of the latest issue of Florida Sportsman magazine. “Hidden Gem” is often an overused adjective, but the preserve lives up to that accolade. From feisty snook to tarpon to lunker largemouth bass and outsized Mayan Cichlids, it is definitely a delectable angling smorgasbord featuring scenic and productive freshwater lakes, salt water tidal creeks, and brackish ponds and canals. Did I mention all the critters you are likely to encounter like manatees, gators, scads of graceful wading birds in addition to rare and beautiful flowers such as Cardinal Air Plants and assorted orchids? You may even get lucky and see a rare Florida Panther or a Florida Mink like I did. It offers something for everyone, from families with kiddos like my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly to fly fishing experts. Hope you enjoy the tour with me–just click on the pdf links below for a copy of the article.
With the big runoff of 2023 here in Colorado finally abating, I took a week in the backcountry to explore some new creeks for articles in American Fly Fishing. I set up my mobile fish camp in the excellent Woods and River RV Park on the banks of the Rio Grande River in Del Norte. Then it was off for three days of recon on some remote, beautiful waters. Aside from some dicey moments on several rugged 4wd tracks that threatened to dislodge my dental work, the exploratory trips could not have gone better. The weather was beautiful, the scenery spectacular, the waters fishable, and the fish famished. You can read about these adventures, including a little-known water with rare Rio Grande Cutthroats, in upcoming issues of my favorite magazine.
Figuring I had earned a few lazy days, I rose late the next morning and decided to fish some waters closer by with easier access. Boy, glad I did. The first two I took a look at were still too high and muddy from the runoff, but the third was eminently fishable albeit a tad cloudy. I rigged up my 4-weight TFO wand with a #16 Royal Stimulator that my aging eyes could easily follow in the foam and dropped a #16 red and pink beadhead San Juan Worm a couple of feet below it. I find that color combo surprisingly effective during runoff. Go figure.
On my first cast at the bottom of a good-looking pool, a Lilliputian 8-inch brookie nailed the worm. At least I wouldn’t get skunked. Several casts later further up in the depths of the pool, the Stimi was yanked under uncermoniously, and when I set the hook a big fish rolled on the surface and dived. He tore upstream, then reversed and headed for a big snag on the other bank. My rod bent perilously as I winched him back into the hole. The fight lasted several minutes including one mad rush the fish made to get downstream below me into some fast water that would have likely snapped my leader. With some fancy footwork, I managed to cut him off and finally netted the leviathan–a gorgeous rainbow that pushed 20-inches! It took several minutes for my blood pressure to settle down. I would catch another dozen or so brookies over the next hour, but my day was made.
Next day I did some touring and sight-seeing with my favorite photographer, Ms. Jodi Bol who had captured the big rainbow in that gorgeous photo. But when I spied an alluring meadow stretch of a wild and wooly canyon creek I had fished years ago, she was kind enough to grant me dispensation to make a few casts. While the water was high and flowing fast, it was clear. I opted to drop a beadhead sparkle caddis larva beneath the Royal Stimulator to imitate the numerous fat cased caddis larva I spied under streambed rocks. In the first pool, I fooled several brownies which is all I caught my last time on this water. But in the next pool I nice rainbow surprised me by inhaling the Stimi as it careened downstream in a fast run. Another rainbow followed, loving that fast water.
In the next pool, much shallower, something smacked the dropper and took off in a frantic run upstream. Imaging my surprise when it turned out to be a feisty, colorful little brook trout. A couple of his buddies followed suit. Now it dawned on me that I have a surprise Slam–three different kinds of trout from the same stream. With my wading staff assisting, I danced a little jig on the slippery rocks, not a mean feat for a septuagenarian. Fortunately, Ms. Bol was out photographing wildflowers so the event was not memorialized.
But the real celebration soon followed when I was shocked to hook and land a handsome cuttbow, an orange slash under his mouth certifying I had a Grand Slam–four different kinds of trout. Now I have had several slams over the course of my angling career, but none more surprising or unexpected. And to top the day off, my last fish of the day a few minutes laters was a handsome, hard-fighting brownie, an exclamation point on a fine two hours of fishing.
Here’s a video recounting the two days and to prove they actually took place. We all know how anglers tend to exaggerate and even prevericate, present company partially excepted:
I am calling it my magical mystery tour–can anyone out there guess which stream yielded the Grand Slam?? What about the the water inhabited by that Brobingnagian rainbow?
I am back in Colorado from Florida just in time for the annual spring runoff that blows out all my favorite rivers and creeks. Saguache Creek in the San Luis Valley that fishes well at 40-50 cfs is a rambunctious 260 cfs. And the Big Ark near Salida that I can just wade safely across at 400 cfs is rolling at 2200 cfs. To complicate matters, most of my preferred high alpine lakes are still frozen or inaccessible because of deep snow drifts on the trails up. So, what to do? I could break out my float tube and drive over to Antero or Spinney Reservoirs in South Park near Fairplay and join the pontoon flotilla and motorboat brigade—and probably catch some giant trout. But that’s not my scene. For my money, a better option if you are seeking solitude and wild fish (and even some surprisingly big ones) is beaver ponds.
Pursued by the Spanish and Pilgrims, then trapped to near extinction in the US in the mid-1800s, beavers have staged a remarkable recovery. That history, from pre-colonial times to the present, is chronicled in an engrossing book entitled Eager Beavers Matter by Ben Goldfarb.
Beavers are particularly important in the dry western US where they create wetlands, help conserve water, AND as an added bonus for anglers, fashion inviting habitat for trout–a true foundational species in many areas. As Professor Tom Lovejoy, a former colleague of mine at the World Wildlife Fund, wrote in review, “Eager is the stunning story of beavers—so integral to early human landscapes of North America—and their function in support of people and later the American economy. Literally nature’s “Corps of Engineers,” beavers today play vital roles in restoring watersheds, landscapes, and flood control throughout the continent. To view them just as a cute animal with a flat tail is to trivialize the central player in both history and modern-day landscape ecology.”
Now admittedly, to catch trout in beaver ponds can be a real challenge, both physically and mentally, but offers great rewards. I have learned this through the school of hard knocks over the past five decades and have shared some tips and rules for fishing beaver ponds in earlier posts, such as always approaching a beaver pond from below the dam. (For more beaver pond fishing tips, see my earlier article from 2019: http://hooknfly.com/2019/07/06/beaver-pond-perspicacity-solving-the-puzzle/. I will have great days and some not so good, but isn’t that trout fishing in a nutshell? Fortunately, almost every region in Colorado has its share of productive beaver ponds. Around Salida in south central Colorado we are lucky to have a surfeit—Silver, Pass, Fooses, Greens, and Little Cochetopa Creeks to name just a few.
Now having spent several days unloading my SUV after from my annual migration from Florida, tidying up my cabin, and the bird feeders full, I figured have earned a day on the water. I do a little recon on a creek only a few miles from my house, and things look good. Through the thicket along a bumpy gravel road that parallels the creek, I catch glimpses of several beaver ponds that seem to be in good shape despite a lot of runoff and rain this spring. And because the mornings have been cold in the 40s, I won’t have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.
After a leisurely breakfast, I arrive at the chosen location around 9:30 a.m., a turnout that is a short walk to an opening in the brush and trees that according to Google Maps will lead to the series of nice-looking beaver ponds that have been good to me in the past.
Into The Wilds
I slip on my chest waders—beaver ponds can have deep and mucky holes and it’s much too cold for wet wading this time of year. The water will register a chilly 42 degrees when I break out my thermometer later in the morning.
As I head into the thicket, wild rose bushes grasp at my waders (Leave the expensive Simms ones at home!), and the sharp thorns of the currant bushes prick my arms. I march on resolutely down the increasingly steep slope, my wading staff saving me from a couple of ignominious falls. Soon I am smiling when I see water shimmering in a pond below. But when I emerge from the tangle, my heart sinks. The big dam has been blown out, draining the pond that now only has a few inches of water over what was a deep pool.
Sad remains of former hot spot pond
I mope about hoping to spot a fin, but nary a trout remains to be seen. I shake my head. The dam and pond have apparently been victims of a huge storm and flood that hit the area late last August that blew out culverts in the valley below. I look upstream and see that all may not be lost. As the little creek cascades from the narrows above, it swirls around a couple of rocks and creates some small pools that just may harbor a fish. I’ll give it a try.
Trout Hideaway??
I’m using short 7.5 foot, 3-weight fly rod rigged with a #16 Crystal Royal Stimulator dry fly and a #16 red bead head San Juan Worm dropper. The water is stained from the runoff, and I will try other droppers throughout the day—from tiny zebra midges to bushy olive wooly buggers, but the San Juan Worm will rule.
The Dynamic Beaver Pond Duo
The first two casts the flies float down the middle of the foam line in the narrow creek. But on the third I nudge the dry closer to the quiet postage-sized backwater behind one of the rocks and just out of the fast current. WHOOSH! A silvery fish rockets out of the water and smashes the Stimi. Startled, I still manage to set the hook after a slight hesitation that I attribute to a slight case of rustiness due to six months away from a trout stream. Obviously could have nothing to do with aging reflexes! The trout cavorts upstream to a little waterfall then reverses course and rushes back to his hideaway. I slowly work him out from behind the rock and ease him into the net where he pushes 12-inches—a respectable start!
Let The Fun Begin
I continue bushwacking upstream following the creek up the slope to another beaver dam that I can see through the tangle of brush and downed tree branches. When I finally emerge, the warm glow from that first fish evaporates—damn, another blown out dam, wrecked just as thoroughly as the first although Google Maps depicts it as brim full! Tip: Google Maps satellite photos are notoriously out of date in remote areas like this. Ground-truthing mandatory.
I resolutely press on and find the third pond also to be a mere shadow of its former self. And to make matters worse, the thicket above this one appears impenetrable. I’m going to have to detour up the slope on the opposite side of the dry pond where the vegetation appears to open up a bit. After some grasping, grunting, and clawing up the hill, I manage to find a route upstream that appears less suicidal. Along the way I take a short rest surrounded by a carpet of beautiful yellow wild sweet peas that are buzzing with bumble bees.
Then I spot an odd brown spherical shape in the forest floor that turns out to be a giant puffball of the Sclerodermataceae family of fungi.
Puff The Magic…
When I poke it, the puffball emits a cloud of brown spores that waft away in the gentle breeze. Like Clinton, I didn’t inhale.
I continue on and in a few minutes, I am looking down at a beautiful dam that actually has a pond with a decent amount of water behind it. I gingerly zig-zag down the steep slope with the help of my trusty wading staff and emerge onto a muddy sandbar that I see some big elk have recently traversed to get themselves a drink of water from the pond.
Elk Track
Then I see it—another big track in the mud. I think first “bear” but then see it 4 toes instead of 5 and a big palm pad, which means mountain lion.
Sign Of The Cat!
My skin starts to prickle as I survey the surrounding forest for the cat. This county reportedly has more cougars than any in Colorado, but I have set to see one in the wild. Not that I want to!
When my nerves settle down, I inch up towards a foam line that spills into a deeper hole where I can’t see the bottom.
On my second cast in the foam line, the dry is yanked under as something eats the San Juan Worm. It’s a frisky little brown trout, but I figure something bigger has to be lurking around that dead tree stump jutting from the bottom.
Tiny Tyke Falls For San Juan Worm
After releasing the little tyke I cast again into the foam line above the deep hole. The dry drifts near the stump and suddenly it’s gone. I set the hook and my rod bends double. A big brown trout rolls on the surface and dives towards the snag. I put the brakes on him and after a worthy battle, the brownie slides into the net, pushing 14-inches!
Muscular Wild Brown Caps The Morning
He will be the biggest of the day. Score another for the San Juan Worm.
I make a dozen more casts in the pond, but come up empty, so start bushwhacking upstream again. I soon am scrambling up on another beaver dam that has backed up a decent looking pond with a nice foam line coursing down its middle.
Promising Pool
There are plenty of signs of beaver activity.
Busy Beavers!
I fish the entire foam line thoroughly and am surprised not to spark any interest. The water just doesn’t have enough depth as it did a year ago. My guess is the dam was blown out and then rebuilt by the indefatigable beavers, but the fish haven’t yet returned. I’m about to continue upstream, but then spot what appears be a side channel on the other side of the pond and deftly wade across to discover a beautiful waterfall that I hope will be a stairway to angling heaven.
Stairway To Angling Heaven??
The creek has split and cascades steeply downhill into a couple of captivating small ponds with all the makings of honey holes. I pick my way carefully down the slope and then kneel to cast towards the deeper water at the foot of the small dam. Again, after multiple casts, nothing doing.
I reverse course and climb back up the waterfall and continue to the last two ponds that are a short trek upstream.
Up The Down Staircase
When I mount the first dam, again I am flummoxed. Both dams have been breached in the middle, and the ponds aren’t not deep enough to float a duck. Looks like the end of the day as I climb the slope to my waiting SUV.
But wait! After recharging with a can of RC Cola elixir and a hearty lunch, I refuse to give in and decide to drive upstream a mile or so to another set of beaver ponds with big dams that may have been able to survive last year’s torrent. As I round the bend just above a couple of the ponds, I see indeed they have and are in good shape, showing signs of recent beaver activity.
Beaver Pond Nirvana
The first dam is so big I decide not to risk scaling it but opt to skirt around its south side.
This requires clambering up a steep slope with occasional crawling, then sliding down to the pond oh so gracefully on my derriere. But it pays off. The pond is plenty deep and features a tempting foam line below the next dam upstream.
Foam Line Follies
On my very first cast, an eager little brook trout nails the San Juan Worm.
Hungry Brookie Kicks Off The Afternoon
Three more follow quick succession, then I start to work a good-looking spot just above two converging foam lines. The Royal Stimulator alights daintily just below the outreaching tentacles of several overhanging branches.
Promising Quiet Slot Between Two Foam Lines
Pinpoint casting, I congratulate myself on, although admittedly luck may have had something to do with it. Then I notice the Stimi is gone and set the hook. I hefty fish has taken the dropper and erupts into the air. He tears downstream with me in hot pursuit. I hit a muddy stretch, and my wading boots refuse to move. So I stand there up to my knees in muck and gradually wear down the hard-fighting critter. It turns out to be a colorful brookie, almost 13-inches long, a veritable leviathan in these waters.
Brawny Brookie
I continue to probe the two foam lines just below the dam, and low and behold, soon hook and land a surprise brown trout in this brookie haven. After a good battle he slides into my net, another fish pushing 12-inches.
Surprise Brownie In Brookie Land
I fool a couple more willing brookies up close against the dam before the action quiets and I head upstream. The next pond has a beautiful foam line that breaks around a stand of dead trees where the bottom drops off. On the first cast I land another brownie and follow that with a half dozen spunky brookies.
The Next Honey Hole
Then I spot some fish rising on the opposite shoreline in a foam line that slides under some nasty looking branches. Who can resist. The pond is too deep to wade straight across, so I wade back downstream and perform a high-wire act across the dam to the other side successfully. The Flying Wallendas aerialists have nothing on me!
Balancing Act Coming To Cross DamThe Famous Flying Wallendas
Then I bushwhack into position and carefully cast my rig into the maze of sticks and branches. My old eyes have a hard time seeing the white wing of the Royal Stimulator in the foam line, but a hard jerk on my line lets me know something has dined on one of my flies. It’s a nice brookie that surfaces with the San Juan Worm in its mouth.
A Brookie Out Of The Thicket
On the next cast, I push my luck too far and get snagged on one of the grabby branches. Fortunately, when I give my line one last hard tug, the branch breaks and my rig comes back in one piece with both flies. I try again, and this time the flies some how dodge the snags, and immediately another brook trout nails the San Juan Worm. And then another.
I’m thinking I should call it a day and not tempt fate by messing any further with the water thicket above but succumb and head up to the little pool just below the next dam that looks like it can’t miss. I slide into place to throw a short cast up against the dam, and sure enough, another brookie just can’t resist. But just as I reach for my net, I feel my left boot start to sink further into the muck, while my right boot refuses to move. The result is a slow-motion fall sideways into a mud-covered sandbar. There is no danger as the water is shallow, and I have to laugh while the cold water seeps into my waders as my left elbow sinks into the muck. After a few tries, I manage to extricate and right myself. But the brookie has won her freedom. This is definitely a sign that I should leave the next pond above featuring a big dam and shoreline completely surrounded by a mass of dead trees and branches, for another day.
This one has been a good one where persistence (or hard-headed stubbornness) has paid off. As I leave, I tip my hat to the inimitable Wizards of Gnaws!! They have had the answer to the runoff riddle.
After months of drought, with nary a drop of rain in January in Everglades City and not much more in February and March, the forecast is for the rainy season to begin in earnest later this week–rain every day along with winds gusting to 25 mph. I figure I’d better get out soon before I hunker down, and tomorrow the rain is supposed to hold off till 5 p.m. I have my sights set on the Blackwater River in Collier-Seminole State Park outside Naples. I haven’t fished the river for almost three years, courtesy of Covid followed last fall by Hurrican Ian which blasted the park and shut it down till recently. My last trip the fish were cooperative, so it’s time for some serious ichthylogical investigation to see how the finned creatures have fared.
January 2022 dawned sunny and bright, with me salting margaritas down in the Everglades instead of sidewalks in Colorado and, better yet, wrestling snook instead of shoveling snow! Covid was finally in the rearview mirror for the most part and promises for a bountiful piscatorial year are looking good. So how did it turn out? Here’s a look back at the best of 2022 and some bungled episodes as well.
It’s hard to believe that I hadn’t fished in the Everglades–or anywhere in Florida for that matter like the Keys—in the winter for almost two years! Despite that hiatus and fewer articles about fishing in the Sunshine State being posted in 2022, I was grateful my readers stuck with me and that the number of visitors and views stayed steady at the peak levels established in 2020. Many thanks!
Fishing Buddies And Family
As I age (slowly and gracefully), the connections angling brings with fishing buddies and family become ever more important and treasured. I had some fun and productive outings in Florida with Jim Cannon (former owner of the renowned Blue Quill Anglers in Colorado), my Colorado neighbor Charlie Cain, Esq., Steve Keeble, Robert Wayne, Esq. (who lives in Naples, FL), and my old college roomie Morris Douglas Martin.
MorrisBobSteve Holding Sea TroutJimCharlie
We had a lot of laughs together while we boated a lot of fish, and better yet, I learned some new tricks and tips from them. You ought to see Cannon and Keeble fly cast from a kayak—impressive! In Colorado during the summer the fish parade continued with good friends Bob Wayne and Steve Spanger as we chased trout in the Colorado wilds. I also enjoyed fishing with new friends Tom Palka, who writes the newsletter for our local Trout Unlimited Chapter, and Kim LeTourneau, an accomplished guide for my local fly shop Ark Anglers who also covers fishing for the Mountain Mail newspaper.
KimTomBobSteve
Whether in Florida or in the Rockies, they all had the chutzpah to outfish me!!
In March my son Matthew came down for a week to soak some rays and relax. The day we spent in the Everglades backcountry together warmed this father’s heart. It was a smorgasbord of feisty fish—snook, sea trout, ladies, jacks, and even a gafftopsail catfish that put up a great fight before sliming us when we wrestled with him to remove the hook. The video says it all.
This proud papa was thrilled when Florida Sportsman published a short article in the fall that I wrote about fishing the Tamiami Trail country around Everglades City. It featured a couple of great photos of Matthew and yours truly with some nice snook.
Come summer back in Colorado my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly showed off her casting skills while catching some nice rainbows in a high mountain lake along with her Daddy Matthew. The mile walk in and out to the lake was a great nature hike featuring beautiful wildflowers and a close encounter with a big buck mule deer.
Most Popular Posts And Published Articles
The continuing popularity of a series of five blog posts I penned in 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books Of All Time” is remarkable. It garnered over 3,000 views this year and on Google searches for ‘best fishing books’ has become the most popular link on that subject, even outpacing Amazon’s sponsored ads. Take that Zuckerberg!
What is really gratifying is seeing that level of interest in angling books, from serious literature to technical how-to works, remains high in this age of videos and on-line reading. Here is a link of you want to take a look: http://hooknfly.com/2020/08/01/the-best-fishing-books-of-all-time/
The most read angling posts, with almost 4,000 views, were again a quartet about finding and fishing for rare Rio Grande Cutthroat trout in southern Colorado. For my latest foray on the fab forks of the Conejos with my photographer Jody Bol, see: http://hooknfly.com/2022/08/15/conejos-river-capers/
Now that I am back in Florida for the winter and spring, you can bet I will be getting out on the water and sharing new trips and tales. I have already made plans for a two-week fishing trip to the Florida Keys in late April.
When the weather was uncooperative or the winds howling, I hunkered down and continued to write articles for American Fly Fishing and Florida Sportsman. The article about fishing in South Park, Colorado, was titled “Mission Impossible: Searching For Fish And Solitude.”
Fishing The Hidden Waters Of South Park: Under The Radar
It was the lead featured piece in the July issue of American Fly Fishing and focused on finding hidden and remote creeks in the famous valley near Denver, home of the South Platte River, Dream Stream, and other popular waters and lakes that sometimes feature combat fishing. http://hooknfly.com/2022/07/21/south-park-under-the-radar/
Florida Sportsman ran two of my articles in 2022. The first was a fun one in which I discussed the very controversial gar conversion therapy. Under the heading “In Defense Of The Antediluvian Gar,” I stood up for this hard-fighting, oft-underestimated fish while documenting the successful conversion of a tarpon aficionado to gar fishing in the Everglades. http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/19/gar-conversion-therapy/
Bob Wayne Undergoing Gar Conversion Therapy
The second piece, noted above, recounted the variety of angling opportunities along the Tamiami Trail between Naples and Miami.
Most Rewarding Trips
One of my favorite streams close to home is a remote twenty mile stretch of Grape Creek between Westcliffe and Canon City, Colorado. Over the past decade I have had many memorable trips into the canyon where the creek runs, chasing plentiful and hungry browns and rainbows. But disaster struck a couple of years ago when two giant flash floods only a few weeks apart scoured the canyon and practically wiped out all insect life in the upper reaches. Without food, the fish abandoned the stretches I frequented. After a couple of fruitless trips, I decided to wait a couple of years to see if Grape Creek would recover. Thankfully, it did, and I was rewarded with my biggest trout of the year—a 19-inch brown—during a July trip.
How Now Brown Trout
A bonus was that some healthy foot-long rainbow trout had apparently migrated down from the tailwaters of DeWeese Reservoir and helped provide non-stop action. http://hooknfly.com/2022/08/05/grape-creek-comeback/
Another trip up the headwaters of the Conejos River high in the mountains of southern Colorado provided some unexpected and mostly pleasant surprises. Exploring the five forks of the Conejos River is on my bucket list. I have had terrific days on the Lake and Adams Fork chasing beautiful, rare Rio Grande Cutthroats. This year I had my eye on fishing the Middle and North Forks, both of which can be reached as they branch off the Upper Conejos River about two miles above Platoro Reservoir. Being remote streams, I expected a plethora of feisty fish including cutthroats that I had found on the nearby Adams Fork. But after pounding the lower reaches of each for an hour, I was beginning to have my doubts. I decided to try one last pool on the Middle Fork that looked particularly inviting and struck a bonanza. On my first cast I watched transfixed as a huge brown trout rose slowly from the depths and inhaled my fly. Then it was off to the races, trying to run down the rascal who had managed to fly by me and head downstream into a brush pile. Somehow I managed to extricate that big brownie and followed that miracle by catching his large mate on the very next cast.
Given that result, I decided I’d better retrace my steps and go up higher on the North Fork. However, I only managed a few small browns on that stretch before it disappeared into a ravine above the valley. Needless to say, I was perplexed. Why so few fish on the Middle and North Forks, albeit big ones on the Middle Fork? The revelation would come as I fished back down on the Upper Conejos below the fork to the trailhead where my SUV was parked. Here on a mile stretch I caught a passel of brown trout, most over 15-inches. The answer?? As confirmed by a local angler at the general store in Platoro, the big fish migrate out of Platoro Reservoir into the Upper Conejos and grow fat and sassy eating all the little guys. Of course, now I must return in 2023 to confirm this theory!
In 2022 I thankfully avoided any scary incidents with moose, mountain lions, sharks and the like that I have had in the past. But the year’s most blood-curdling incident was self-inflicted, with an alligator playing the villain. Normally the many gators I encounter during my trips into the Everglades backcountry bolt at the first sign of my kayak or Gheenoe. Once in a great while a young gator will venture too close when I am catching lots of fish, attracted out of curiosity to all the jumping and splashing. Usually smacking a paddle on the water sends him scurrying for cover. Alligators that are aggressive down here tend to be ones fed by humans, mainly tourists.
My most memorable gator encounter for 2022 took place on a sunny day in March when I took my college buddy Morris on a trip along the historic Loop Road near Everglades City. I figured we would take a break from the serious day-long fishing trips into the backcountry and find some easier targets in the bass and cichlids in the canal along the gravel road as it winds its way through the swamp. The alligators were everywhere. Being teenage boys at heart, we couldn’t resist tossing one of the small fish we caught to a big gator lounging in the slough near a big culvert.
The fish bounced a few feet down the slope but didn’t make it to the water. All of a sudden, the docile reptile came rocketing out of the water at warp speed to gobble down the fish. His momentum carried him up the incline almost onto the road. It must have been comical to watch two old coots scrambling back towards their SUV in utter terror, but thankfully no one was there to record the incident. Lesson relearned: DO NOT FEED THE GATORS!!
The biggest bummer of the year followed in the wake of Hurricane Ian that struck southwest Florida in late September. I had dutifully rigged my Gheenoe, a motorized canoe, under my house on Chokoloskee Island near Everglades City as advised by old salts down here. Following that advice, my boat had survived in good condition a five-foot flood tide that swept over Chokoloskee during Hurricane Irma in 2017. Unfortunately, either because I didn’t insert the bilge plug or the ropes anchoring the boat and trailer to the building pillars were too tight to allow them to float, saltwater surged a couple of feet deep into the boat and destroyed the electrical system.
When I returned to Florida in early November, I took the boat to my local marina in Naples and got the bad news. A month and $5,000 later everything was put back in order, and fortunately the damage was mostly covered by my boat insurance. The big relief was that the motor was undamaged. Whew!
In the category of confusing was an exploratory trip to find brook trout and maybe some cutthroats reputedly swimming in a remote creek in the Colorado high country south of Del Norte. One of the best angling guidebooks for exploring secluded waters around my neck of the woods in Colorado is 49 Trout Streams of Southern Colorado by Williams and McPhail. They sang the praises of Torsido Creek, a tributary of La Jara Creek south of Del Norte, Colorado. I had fished La Jara Creek below La Jara Reservoir a number of times with great success, so was anxious to explore the upper La Jara and Torsido Creek. After a long and bone-jarring ride over a narrow, bumpy gravel road that hadn’t seen a grader for some time, I made it to the lake and drove to its upper reaches where La Jara Creek flows in. Trouble was, the creek was next to invisible in the expansive meadow above the reservoir, and it wasn’t clear where it was joined by Torsido Creek. To exacerbate matters, I had run off and left my detailed maps of the area in my travel trailer back in Del Norte and the GPS on my cell phone wasn’t working. No worries I thought. Torsido had to be out there somewhere. But after wandering about for almost two hours, marching through muck, dodging a big bull, and clambering over a couple of barbwire fences in my waders, I flew the white flag and turned tail back to my SUV. Fortunately, on the way back I had to cross upper La Jara Creek, and serendipitously where I did some trout were rising. That was the start of an epic afternoon of catching not only some fat, beautiful brook trout, but also some muscular, truculent tiger trout that apparently are stocked in the reservoir and run up the creek to eat. http://hooknfly.com/2022/10/24/taming-the-tigers-of-torsido-and-upper-la-jara-creek-near-del-norte-co/
Truculent Tiger TroutWandering In The WildsBeautiful Brookie
Not until I got back to camp did I discover the confluence with Torsido Creek is hidden in the gap in a ridge about a quarter mile from where I stopped fishing that day. Darn, guess I will have to schedule a return engagement in 2023!
Persistence Pays Off
Like many things in life, persistence pays off in angling. Two years ago I experienced a particularly humbling experience at the hands of brook trout on the upper reaches of the Huerfano (Wear-fano) River in the wilds of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado. Fishing in one of the most scenic valleys I’ve ever set foot in, I was sure this was going to be a banner day when in the first pool I came to I spied nice brook trout finning in the depths. However, three hours and 20 expletives later, I flew the white flag. I had scored nary a bite the whole time as the spawning brookies made clear amore was more important than eating. With the air redolent of skunk, I slunk back to my SUV. Now fast forward to the summer of 2022. I decided to return to the scene of the skunking for a measure of revenge. But this time things looked even worse when I hit the water after navigating the rough road to the Lily Lake trailhead. It was mid-summer, and the brook trout weren’t spawning. Indeed, none of the alluring pools seemed to hold any fish. So after two hours of flailing the water, I started back to the SUV, tail between my legs. Luckily, I had to cross a very narrow, but fast-flowing tributary of the Huerfano in the meadow to the west of the river. As I did, I happened to see what appeared to be a rise at a bend below me in the creek. What the heck, I thought, and threw my fly downstream. It floated a few feet, then was sucked in by what turned out to be a chunky brook trout. So that’s where the little devils were hiding. That was the first of more than a dozen nice brookies from what I have dubbed the West Fork of the Huerfano. You won’t see it named on a map, but believe me, it and the fish are there. Indeed, persistence pays off.
Hidden CreekSurprise BrookieAnd AnotherHuerfano River Headwaters Puzzle Solved!
And speaking of stick-to-it-of-ness, a case of avian persistence opened my eyes. I am a confirmed amateur birdwatcher, especially at my mountain cabin in Colorado where a steady cavalcade of western tanagers, evening grosbeaks, hummingbirds, and many others at my birdfeeders provides a steady stream of pleasure. But those bird feeders have also attracted pinon jays and Clark’s Nutcrackers, drawing me into a never-ending battle with these noisy, wily, and voracious, albeit handsome, birds. Imagine their fright when I come storming out on the front porch hurling expletives till the Colorado sky turns even bluer. I did some research on-line to see if there were any better strategies to deal with these smart, raucous marauders, and in the process learned that because of habitat loss, notably destruction of pinyon trees they rely on for food, and climate change, these iconic western birds are declining precipitously.
Clark’s Nutcracker Feasting On Pinyon NutsPinyon JayPinyon Jay At Dinner Table
Indeed, one report estimated the pinyon jays have declined 85% of the past 50 years and that there are only 700,000 left worldwide (versus 8 billion humans)! All of this made me realize I need to focus closer to home on saving the world. That will mean nurturing the pinyon trees already growing on my land and planting new ones. It will also mean biting my tongue when the raiders come to my bird feeders and dutifully hanging another suet cake when they take their leave. My thanks to them for their persistence and opening my eyes.
On The Horizon: Looking Forward to 2023
So what’s on the agenda for 2022? First and foremost is to get back down to Florida to get my saltwater chops back. I arrived in Everglades City a couple of months ago, got the kayak and Gheenoe ready to go, and started executing that plan. A 24-inch snook on my first yak outing led the fish parade not to mention a 33-inch leviathan out in my Gheenoe with buddy Steve Keeble in the New Year!
More stories and tall tales to come from the Everglades backcountry! I also want to explore some of the remote brackish canals east of Naples, Florida, that are impossible to access except with a kayak. Big snook are rumored to hide out there along with the gators! Fishing some remote islands in the Florida Keys is also on the agenda.
On the writing front, my article on fishing the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park in the Everglades is scheduled for publication soon in an issue of Florida Sportsman to be followed by a piece on the top ten tackle, gear, and techniques tips for kayak anglers in the Everglades. On the trout side, American Fly Fishing will carry an article this spring about my adventures this past summer on La Garita and Carnero Ceeks, two remote high-country streams in Colorado, to be followed later in the year by shorter pieces on upper La Jara and Tarryall Creeks, also in Colorado.
In the keep it under your hat category, I am also in initial negotiations with Kevin Kostner for a new TV series now that it looks as if he’s dropping out of “Yellowstone.” It will tentatively be called “Tales of a Zombie Fisherman” and will be based on my 2022 shenanigants on Halloween night when I went trick-or-treating with my favorite little witch Aly. Stay tuned!!
Of course, I will chase some trout with my sweetheart Aly and find Torsido Creek at long last.
