2023 Ruminations–The Sweet, The Sour, and The Surprising

February 2024

It was early January 2023 and I was just back from Christmas in Denver with my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly. A nice farewell snowstorm reminded me why I am now a confirmed snowbird.

But it only took me a few days of 80-degree temperatures to thaw out, and I was itching to hit the water. My chosen inaugural 2023 trip was kayaking on the Barron River, the namesake of the famous Barron Collier, founder of Everglades City. The tidal river skirts the northern edge of the small town, running out of the Everglades wilderness into the Ten Thousand Islands, a chain of islands and mangrove islets just off the coast. That first trip was a sweet one!!

THE SWEET

I launched early from below the bridge at the town’s entryway, but 30 minutes after fighting a strong falling tide and scoring nary a fish, the odor of skunk was wafting in the air. With a stiff upper lip, I continued pedaling upstream and rounded a bend in the river so I could work a deep channel that opened up into a lagoon where I had scored before. And no sooner did my gold curlytail lure hit the water than something smacked it hard. I saw a flash of silver and thought “SNOOK.” The fight was on, my rod bending double. The fish made a hard run then erupted out of the water in a spectacular jump. But it wasn’t a snook, but a high-stepping ladyfish!!

Putting The Squeeze On A Sultry Ladyfish!

Now many of my angler friends would be bummed out by this turn of events, but not me. What’s not to like about these sleek beauties? For starters, they are close cousins to one of the most revered gamefish, the much larger tarpon, known as silver kings, which can grow to five feet in these waters. They have big, forked tails like the tarpon and no teeth to bite you when you release them, unlike females of certain other species. Ladyfish are also feisty fighters like tarpon and incredible jumpers as well. I have had them vault clear over my kayak in a spectacular aerial display on several occasions! To cap things off, they eagerly eat artificial lures. An hour later, after luring dozens of the finned creatures, no wonder I had reaffirmed my reputation as an accomplished ladies’ man!! For the lubricious story of this romance, see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/01/15/ladys-man-bares-intimate-secrets-on-barron-river/

A few weeks later, my friend from Georgia, Steve Keeble, came to town. He’s the quintessential fishing buddy, an amiable, low-key, and knowledgeable gent who’s a pleasure to spend a day with on the water. I am happy to share secret spots and techniques with him as I know I will learn from him new angling tricks and the location of what he calls chicken holes where the fish flourish. The term “chicken holes” apparently comes from the practice of good ole southern boys to chuck a dead chicken carcass into a deep spot in a river to lure unsuspecting fish for easy pickings. On our first day out, I took him to one of my hidden spots with the more civilized name of a honey hole, the headwaters of a remote narrow creek far up in the Everglades backcountry. There under my sagacious tutelage, and displaying some impressive angling skills, Steve managed to hook and land a massive 33-inch mama snook in tight quarters fringed by menacing mangrove roots.

Big Mama Snook Meets Her Match In Mr. Keeble

Later in the year in Colorado, he exhibited his piscatorial prowess by catching ten beautiful brown trout out of a single pool in one of my favorite mountain streams. I was particularly impressed with his crawling ability in reaching my favorite chicken holes!

I was lucky in 2023 to hook up with a couple of new fishing chums, both veritable youngsters (defined by this septuagenarian as anyone under 55). My new neighbor on Chokoloskee Island close to Everglades, Mark Mitchell, is a wealth of knowledge and energy when it comes to fishing the far-flung reaches of the Everglades Waterway that stretches 99 miles from Everglades City all the way to Flamingo. Later in the year he would lead me to a spot where I fooled my largest snook of 2023—a 33-inch beauty.

On the freshwater front, my new buddy is Tom Palka who lives near me in Salida, Colorado, where I spend the summer in the Colorado mountains. He has an insatiable curiosity and energy that is invigorating to everyone around him and a keen eye for assessing new waters like a hidden access trail to a remote section of my home water in Colorado, Saguache Creek.

Tom Palka With Colorful Brookie From Secret Creek

Family time on the water was another highlight of 2023. During their annual spring trip to Florida to visit me, I took my son Matthew and Aly kayak/canoe fishing on a freshwater lake near Everglades City. Matthew caught a boatload of largemouth bass and Mayan Cichlids while Aly fooled a monster Oscar then brought it in all by herself.

Scads of graceful birds including herons, egrets, osprey, and black vultures plus some curious gators made for an interesting ecotour. A few months later Matthew’s good friend Blaine and his family spent a weekend with us at my mountain cabin. I had the enjoyable assignment of teaching Blaine how to fly cast on the South Arkansas River, one of my favorite mountain streams. Not only was he a perspicacious student, but proceeded to catch a respectable brown trout on what was his maiden fly fishing trip. What a treat to watch him make that perfect cast, manage a good float, and fool that fish that glinted gold in the sun as I swept it up in the net.

New waters are also a treat to explore, and 2023 was a banner year in that regard. I was able to score a freshwater slam on two tributaries of La Jara Creek–Torsido and Jim Creeks–not far from Antonito, Colorado. After several false starts in 2022, I finally located Torsido Creek, finding it hiding coyly between two ridges far off the beaten path above where in flowed into La Jara Creek. There I had a ball catching dozens of beautiful brookies and several flamboyantly colored tiger trout.

A few days later I survived a bone-rattling 4WD two-track rocky road that led to Jim Creek, where native and rare Rio Grande cutthroats reputedly thrived. The rumors were true, and I had a ball catching and releasing many cutts, including some tackle-busting brutes that pushed 15-inches.

Hats off to Trout Unlimited and its partner organizations for bringing this stream back from near oblivion with a host of rehabilitation tricks like bottomless culverts. Articles on both will be coming out in American Fly Fishing in 2024.

I was excited to revisit another water that had treated me kindly on one of my first trout fishing trips over 50 years ago. I am happy to report fishing is as good if not better today. I managed a grand slam of brookies, cutthroat, browns, and rainbows on the three branches of Clear Creek, not to mention a 19-inch plus monster rainbow that I managed to land on a wisp of a wand.

On the saltwater side, I had a beautiful day exploring around a little-known island in the Florida Keys—Shell Key Preserve and bird sanctuary. Carefully surrounded by no-combustion motor zones and with special steps to protect sea grasses, Shell Key shared its bounty with me and Steve Keeble. Being a confirmed Cuda Buddha, I had a blast catching dozens of barracuda while Steve had multiple shots at tarpon and caught some mangrove snapper before he relented and joined the cuda caper. See the following for the full story: https://hooknfly.com/2023/09/24/lignumvitae-and-shell-keys-no-motor-zone-fishing-magic-in-the-florida-keys/

One of the most satisfying endeavors of 2023 was expanding my horizons and writing articles that focused on terra firma, several hiking trails in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park, the largest in Florida. A critical piece of Everglades habitat located near Everglades City, the reserve offers a range of fascinating habitats from slough swamps, pine hammocks, bald cypress stands, to marl prairie. Did I mention a half dozen freshwater lakes loaded with truculent largemouth and peacock bass? These habitats provide shelter for two endangered species, the Florida Panther and tiny Florida Mink as well as rare orchids and other exotic plants not to mention bear, deer, myriad birds, and, of course, alligators. These articles garnered almost 3,000 views, hopefully helping more people appreciate and enjoy this fascinating and unique place. For my articles on hiking and fishing the Fakahatchee Strand from Florida Sportsman, see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/07/31/a-hidden-gem-fakahatchee-strand-state-preserve-park-florida/ ; https://hooknfly.com/2024/01/26/hiking-in-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-dont-overlook-the-jones-grade-trail/ ; https://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/ .

Overall, the numbers of readers stayed at peak levels with over 40,000 visitors. The most popular article was one I wrote back in 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books of All Time” which garnered 3,400 views. If you Google “best fishing books” it pops up near the top of the list of sources to explore. It does my heart good that people still read books, especially of the angling variety. On the trout fishing side a trio of articles on exploring the Conejos River in southern Colorado logged over 4,000 views, and the favorite saltwater article was one on kayak and wade fishing around the popular Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys

No 2023 retrospective of sweet spots would be complete without noting my great joy and satisfaction in watching my partner in angling escapades, Jody Bol, reach new heights with her photographic skills. At times risking injury to get the perfect shot (like clambering on top of my SUV along Jim Creek), Jody managed to bring my stories to life with stunning photos.

In that light, I forgive her for double crossing me by shooting a scene of me falling butt first into a hole in a beaver dam, a photo that made the Parting Shots photo on the inside back cover of a national flyfishing magazine that shall remain nameless as I plot my revenge against Ms. Bol and the editor of that august publication.

I was also particularly gratified that I had three articles published in popular fishing magazines. Florida Sportsman carried my pieces on fishing on the tidal rivers and freshwater lakes of the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve mentioned above, and American Fly Fishing featured an article on chasing trout on the remote La Garita and Carnero Creeks in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. 2024 got off to a good start with a tale in American Fly Fishing about my adventure chasing wild trout on Noontootla Creek in northern Georgia, a new trout fishing locale for me.

THE SOUR

2023 was a terrific year from an angling perspective. And while I am usually a Pangloss Pescador, not all was rosy. Early in the year a January cold wave in Florida with temperatures dipping into the 30s killed thousands of fish plus a few manatees and even gators. Most of the deceased were invasive Mayan Cichlids and Oscars which are a blast to catch, but even some snook and tarpon fell victim.

The chilly temperatures put fishing into the deep freeze for several weeks as well as my moods. On the bright side, this experience with plummeting temperatures led me to dig deep into the question of what water temperatures my favorite finned quarry prefer and what cold water readings they flee. The silver lining to these climatological vicissitudes is that Florida Sportsman will be publishing the results of my research in an article in early 2024.

I had another good reason to be crabby in 2023, notably when the prop of my little Gheenoe motor boat that I rely on to explore the far-flung Everglades backcountry was snarled up in a sunken crap trap anchor rope. The trap had no marker buoy as required, likely the work (or lack thereof) by an amateur crabber who did not check his cage often as he should have or had abandoned it. The result was a Gordian Knot that had me leaning over the stern of the boat hacking away at the thick rope with a knife while simultaneously filling the sky blue with expletives.

Things went more smoothly for the next few months until I ran into a real mystery on one of my favorite high-country trout streams, Chavez Creek. In preparation for my Florida fishing buddy Bob Wayne’s annual fishing trip to Colorado, I made a special trip to make sure Chavez was up to snuff. I found the brook and brown trout famished plus some hungry lunker brownies in several deep bend pools in the serpentine meadow section of this beautiful stream.

A few weeks later, I confidently guided Bob to the best stretches. On the lower section where the valley narrows and beaver have created some beautiful small ponds, Mr. Wayne had his way with the willing brook trout who seemed to fight over his fly on every cast.

That, I thought, would be just a prelude to a grand finale in the upstream meadow stretch where the brown trout ruled. Think again. We saw nary a fish there, let alone coaxed any rises. What had happened to the big boys and girls was a mystery. After flailing the water for almost an hour we flew the white flag. Was it the cattle that had appeared on the scene as part of an early fall roundup since my last trip that were the culprits? Certainly, they had damaged the creek in some reaches, but hard to believe they had driven all the fish away. Did some poacher get out a seine and do his dirty work?? We are still scratching our bald pates over this mystery. I hasten to add that on the morose trip back home we decided to fish little Archuleta Creek, and it saved the day. We both fooled some nice rainbows up to 15-inches, preserving our sterling angling reputations.

The final sour note of the year came when I did my annual migration back to Florida. When I arrived in November, my buddies were singing the blues about the big drought gripping the region during the summer and early fall “wet” season that was putting the quietus on decent fishing for snook, tarpon, and redfish. But as soon as I arrived at the start of the normal “dry” season, the heavens let loose. Continuing waves of rain, cold weather, and blustery winds made fishing a real conundrum, even for Everglades old timers and guides. An active and powerful El Nino was widely blamed for the contrary weather. Luckily I was able to find fish on most of my trips by kayaking into tidal creeks that most motor boats could not reach or using my Gheenoe that can run in six inches of water to get far from the madding crowds. However, on one day-long trip with buddy Mark Mitchell on Halfway Creek, an old reliable favorite of mine, we got a measly six strikes and landed only three fish—one snook and two Mayan Cichlids. Yikes!!

THE SURPRISING

Surprisingly, I had also run into a surfeit of water back in Colorado during the summer. In May and early June, normally dry Colorado got lots of rain and by the time I got there my favorite streams were all blown out. Not to worry, I consulted with the wizards of gnaws and their beaver ponds. Most sane fly anglers take to pitching big streamers in these conditions and avoid beaver ponds like the plague given the touch of insanity it takes to tackle these often maddening waters. One must be ready to do a high-wire act on the beaver dam, slosh through knee-deep muck, and execute perfect casts to avoid the clutching branches of surrounding trees and bushes to have any chance at success. In other words, one must be a tad daft. But that didn’t stop me, and I wracked up a string of excellent days on hidden ponds near my cabin in the Colorado high country, netting several brown trout in excess of 16-inches, veritable leviathans. But in the process, I got my waders nearly scared off me. Here’s what happened.

I hacked my way into the creek below one of my favorite beaver ponds, up the hill on the far slope, then descended along a game trail to the pond. I came to a nice firm sandbar and noticed quite a few elk tracks where the beasts apparently came down for a drink. Then I froze. A couple of feet in front of me were the fresh tracks of a mountain lion. The few remaining hairs on my head stood at attention.

With my heart pounding, I scanned the surrounding thicket for any sign of the cat. Not seeing anything I then backed carefully out of the water and picked my way cautiously back up the slope till I came to a clearing where I could get a better view of the surrounding landscape. Seeing nothing after several minutes, I then beat a hasty retreat to my SUV. Luckily, I can report that I had good luck at a string of beaver ponds about a mile up the road, but it was a reminder that I wasn’t the only predator on this stream. I was also gratified to see that as the summer proceeded the movement to protect and even emulate beaver ponds throughout the West was gaining momentum. Based on scientific research, it is becoming clear how important beaver ponds are to recharging local aquifers, protecting water quality, and providing important habitat for fish, particularly on smaller streams. An excellent book entitled Eager Beavers Matter by Ben Goldfarb makes for a good read for any fly fisher between angling trips. For more on my beaver pond peregrinations, see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/06/08/solving-the-runoff-riddle-off-to-see-the-wizards-of-gnaws/

My next surprise in the summer, one much more pleasant, was the phenomenal recovery of Grape Creek, a tributary of the Arkansas River, near Westcliffe, Colorado. Two monumental floods about five years earlier had scoured this favorite trout stream of mine of all fish and fish food. Before the floods I would routinely catch dozens of fish on every outing into the rugged canyon through which the creek flows—mainly browns, some over 18-inches, plus some nice feisty rainbows. On my first trip after the floods, I couldn’t find a caddis larva anywhere and came up skunked! So, I waited a couple of years before trying again. Boy, am I glad I did. The browns were back in numbers, including one that went over 18 inches, and they were joined by scads of rambunctious rainbows in the 10-to-13 inch range. But where had those rainbows come from? Maybe migrated down from DeWeese Reservoir upstream where they are stocked? Or natural recovery like the brownies? With a little digging I found out the renaissance was due to a smart, methodical restocking program of 8-10 inch fish throughout the river for miles below the reservoir by the fine, hardworking crew at Colorado Parks and Wildlife. They told me the browns can usually recover on their own after a flooding disaster, but the rainbows need a little help. As a result, the fishing in Grape Creek is as good if not better than before. For the full story of Grape Creek’s comeback, see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/08/28/grape-creek-the-curious-case-of-the-rambunctious-rainbow-resurgence/

And talking about rainbow trout, the nearly 20-inch Brobdingnagian specimen I caught in little Clear Creek was noted above was definitely a surprise of the best kind!

On the medical and health side of things, I was surprised to learn I had contracted the deadly mangrove madness disease. Fortunately, I was able to find the cure—the drug was the tugs….on fish on my line.

I did have to chuckle that some of my readers were hoodwinked for a few minutes before they realized I was pulling their legs. For the full story on this medical emergency, see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/12/16/emergency-health-warning-issued-for-sw-florida-saltwater-anglers/

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all in 2023 was being introduced by Mr. Keeble to the non-descript Mop Fly that he employed to embarrass and outfish me decisively on his home water, the Tuckasegee River in the Great Smokey Mountains. Never has such an ordinary looking and frankly uninspiring looking concoction produced such a bountiful catch for him while I nursed a skunk. After being subjected to his withering and relentless taunts, I finally relented and joined the fish parade. I will be using this secret weapon on western trout this summer.

I must mention, however, I schooled Mr. Keeble the next day on nearby Deep Creek by introducing him to the Two-Bit Hooker, a renowned fly from the Mountain West.

Lastly, and perhaps my most satisfying surprise was catching a 14-inch rare native Rio Grande Cutthroat in the headwaters of Carnero Creek in southern Colorado. To fool this beauty required me casting blindly around a bend in the tiny creek which up that high was small enough to jump across with ease. I heard a splash and set the hook, then had to take off running to keep up with the big boy before bringing him to the net for a quick photo and release.

Headwaters of Carnero Creek Shelter Elusive Cutts

For my adventures on Carnero and LaGarita Creek, see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/09/14/into-the-wilds-exploring-la-garita-and-carnero-creeks-in-s-colorado/

So here’s to an remarkable and sometimes a tad frustrating 2023, the sweet, the sour, and the surprising. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world!!

January 26, 2024January 26, 2024 hooknfly

Hiking In The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve? Don’t Overlook The Jones Grade Trail

For my other hikes in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/; https://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/; https://hooknfly.com/2024/01/14/hiking-the-mellow-yellow-trail-gate-3-in-the-fakahatchee-preserve-and-stumbling-on-a-haunted-house/

January 2024

A rogue cold front has invaded the sunny climes of Florida’s Everglades, an angler’s nightmare. It has put the fish down deep with an acute case of lockjaw. What now? I decide to try a new hike and settle on the Jones Grade Trail, one of the least traveled in the area, located in the northern reaches of Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park near Everglades City. The trailhead is 30 minutes north from park headquarters and main road into Strand and the preserve’s most popular tram trails. Like most of the trails in the preserve, it was carved out of the swamp to build a rail line to haul out cypress logs.

Red Dot At Top Is Location Of Jones Grade

I have often fished the freshwater lakes in the Jones Grade area but have never explored the trail which is tucked away at the end of a gravel road that provides access to the reserve.

Serendipitously, it turns out to be one of my favorite hikes, the only one offering the full range of the fascinating habitats found in the preserve—prairie, pine island/hammock, strand swamp, and freshwater slough. And a bonus is you will likely to have the place to yourself.

It is also a good one for families with kids. In just the first mile or so on an easy wide two-track path it offers a hidden pond with a raft of noisy birds and fish, towering bald cypress trees, and iconic Everglades critters like deer and alligators. However, to the observant you will also find that it is the small, delicate, and quiet things that come into focus, holding and rewarding your attention.

The entrance to the Jones Grade Park is located just ¾ mile south of Alligator Alley (Interstate 75) off Florida Highway 29. There are no state park signs to guide you, but the turn is at a white mailbox with the name Quail. Then it’s an easy drive on a narrow gravel road one mile to the trailhead. As I putter down the road, I know it is going to be a good day when see a doe browsing nonchalantly on the edge of the track. She reminds me to slow down and observe. When I get closer, I see she has yearling with her. I creep forward slowly and snap some photos, and they finally skedaddle into the marshy forest.

As I drive past the point where they dove into the swamp, I can’t see any trace of them as if they disappeared into thin air.

Soon I am at the trailhead gate, only about a mile from the highway. There is only parking for a couple of vehicles, so take care not to block the access gate or private road that peels off to the south. I can see the wide two-track trail which extends for several miles will make for easy hiking and that the path is not overgrown.

The bonus of the recent cool spell and gusty north wind is that there are no mosquitos, at least for now. They will come later on the return trip, so be sure to take some bug spray.

One of the attractions of the Jones Grade trail is that it runs east to west so that a series of culverts has been put in place to allow the strand slough to pass underneath as flows north to south towards the Gulf. That provides great opportunities for views into the prairie to the north then the swamp later in the hike.

I tug my hiking boots on and am on my way. I soon get my first glimpse of the prairie to the north. Usually dry during the winter, this year there’s standing water.

Soon I see something tawny brown in distance? It’s moving! Maybe a rare Florida Panther? They are definitely around here—the Florida Panther National Wildlife Refuge is just on the other side of the interstate highway. I grab my binoculars and spy….another momma deer. Then I spot her yearling.

are grazing, seemingly unperturbed by my presence. I walk very slowly forward and pause when they lift their heads. I get closer and closer, snapping photos as I go. Suddenly Junior has had enough, and he bolts into an opening up the trail, flashing here signature white flag of a tail. His mom is hard on his heels. I pause and smile as I look at the pictures on my phone camera, and as I do, the curious doe comes back to take another look at the intruder. Then she saunters slowly off again.

As it turns out, just ahead the Jones Grade Trail meets the 11-mile long East Prairie Trail that runs all the way south to intersect with Janes Scenic Drive, the park’s main road. The doe continues to browse as she ambles south, then finally stops and takes one last look before she bounds into the tall wet prairie grass and soil. The yearling hesitates, then he is off.

I hear them sloshing through saturated soil but when I jog up to see where they are going, they have completely disappeared into a stand of bald cypress to the west. Was I imagining things?

I backtrack and continue on the Jones Grade Trail. I stop to investigate an odd-looking pile on the side of the trail—what looks to be some very fresh bear scat. I back off and look around, but don’t see or hear anything. I check my handy-dandy Pocket Naturalist Guide that confirms it is indeed Ursa americanus poop! Looks like he’s been dining on his fair share of berries.

I proceed carefully, just in case the bear is still around. It’s winter here in the Glades which means there not much flowering flora, but still lots of interesting plants everywhere—prickly greenbrier with triangular leaves and pickerel weed that will bloom with beautiful purple flowers later in year.

I come to a grand stand of bald cypress that tower over the landscape. They are somewhat of an oddity—a deciduous conifer that sheds its needles come winter and regrows them by spring. The bonus is that the needles provide a soft trail duff that makes for pleasant walking. Bald cypress is one of the few trees that can live and thrive in swampy water. The wood of the trees is highly valued because it is extremely water resistant. That fact led to the extensive logging of the cypress forests in the Everglades in the 1940s for use in WWII PT boats and aircraft carrier decks among other things. The cypress are bracketed here by the ubiquitous sabal palms with their broad fronds.

The trail curves a tad to the south ahead, and I see some shafts of sunshine which I have a hunch means there’s some sort of opening in the tree canopy. I hear lots of wings flapping and the squawking of egrets, herons, anhingas, and burly red-shouldered hawks. I speed up hoping to catch a few photos, but put on the brakes as a gator scurries across the path and dives into the slough to the north.

The attraction turns out to be a pond that is wider and much deeper than the slough on the south side of the trail that feeds it. Fish are jumping everywhere, probably bass and cichlids, and they are smacking something on the surface. It’s an angler’s dream–and me without my fishing rod. Next trip!

Hidden Pond

I explore the edges of the pond and spot some antediluvian gar, a fish that has been around for millions of years, coexisting with and then outliving the dinosaurs. They have a leg up because if a pond gets stagnant they can breathe air as well as take oxygen from the water. (For more about is fascinating fish, see my article: https://hooknfly.com/2020/04/15/in-defense-of-the-antediluvian-gar/.)

I continue down the trail that is lined with giant sword ferns and wild coffee plants with their bright red berries. I also start to see more and more gator skids, flattened areas along the slough where alligators enter and exit the slough.

It’s a reminder to approach openings in the trail vegetation carefully.

Gator Skid!!

Then I come to odd-looking mounds of gray soil—they remind me of termite nests I saw on a trip to Africa years ago. I can’t see any entrances. But rest assured, truculent little invasive fire ants are in there, literally thousands of them. Despite their lilliputian size, believe me their bites sting and will result in nasty red lesions with pus at the center. Interestingly, I see some tiny wasps landing on several of the domes.

My handy PictureThis app identifies them as potter wasps that build nests out of mud that is a mixture of soil (maybe from the ant hill?) and regurgitated water. They then sting and paralyze caterpillars, larva, and beetles (and maybe ants and ant larva??) then place them in the nest where a single egg has been laid. When it hatches it has a nice meal waiting! The adult wasp feeds more civilly on flower nectar.

A few hundred feet further at the next opening in the trail-side vegetation, I spy a marsh bathing beauty—a 10-foot-long gator that is sunning itself across the way on the banks of a small, shallow pond. He looks very content and doesn’t even give me a glance.

As I snap some pictures, several birds berate me noisily. I pull up my Cornell University Merlin bird sound app that identifies birds by their calls. I hold it high above my head, and it immediately confirms these irate avians are red-bellied woodpeckers, common in the Everglades.

Bird Call ID App Works Auditory Miracles!

I amble on, enjoying the small flowers peppering the trail here and there. The zebra butterflies seem to enjoy them all.

I hear some water gurgling ahead and soon come to a stretch where the slough has jumped its banks is has run across the trail—no doubt thanks to the buckets of rain we have had this past month during the supposed dry season.

Fortunately, it isn’t very deep, but still manages to swirl over the top of my “waterproof” hiking boots. Actually, the cool water feels good on my tootsies.

The surprises keep coming as I continue snooping down the trail. I stumble on an odd-looking form in the shadows along the slough that turns out to be an abandoned canoe.

It has a chain on it, but the chain isn’t anchored to anything. So odd to find it out here in the middle of nowhere. With all the deadfall and obstructions in the slough, it’s hard to fathom how anyone could have paddled this far into the wilds, and carrying it a mile or so from the trailhead would have been quite a haul. I wonder what might be the about story behind it. Maybe they makings of a novel like one of my favorite tales “Where The Crawdads Sing?” To make the atmosphere even more mysterious, an owl starts hooting not far back in the swamp. Then another. I click on my bird sound app again and it quickly tells me they are distinctive barred owls that prefers deep moist forests and wooded swamps. No wonder they call the Everglades home.

There are many fascinating stories the flora and fauna of Strand tell. Like the tree full of plump Seville oranges that I cross under where it has arched over the trail.

El Gran Arco Del Las Naranjas De Sevilla

Back in the late 1700s, Spaniards brought the tree with them to St. Augustine in northern Florida. Since then they have spread, even reaching the Everglades. They never made it commercially, as hinted at by their common name “bitter orange.” Here and there I see evidence in the scattered orange peel that some hungry animals have had a citrus treat.

As I linger, a red-shouldered hawk perched in a cypress tree across the slough reminds me with his raucous call that I need to keep moving. As I do, a squadron of zebra butterflies envelops me. I stand still, hoping one might land. Several can’t resist some alluring small white beggartick flowers on the edge of the trail, and one alights right next to me. I move slowly and snap a close-up of the beauty, capturing some wonderful detail of her proboscis probing the flower for nectar. Can you see it?? It’s another reminder to look down as well as up on this hike.

And as I do, I see another handsome and interesting plant, this one a guava, a fruit-producing evergreen shrub that hales from the Carribean and South America.

It’s past noon now and I am getting hungry. My timing is impeccable. I reach a large clearing in the swamp where the Jones Grade Trail curves and then meets the East Main Tram Trail which extends south to Janes Scenic Drive, about 10 miles away. I have walked about 2.3 miles, not counting peregrinations and backtracking.

After snapping a few photos, I retreat a few hundred feet to a great place for lunch where I can sit on the moss-covered stones of the culvert opening and soak in the scene. I am surrounded by giant bald cypress and see big bird’s nest ferns and holly trees back in the forest.

Dining In The Wilds

A gaggle of noisy red-bellied woodpeckers squabble in the woods, then I hear a Carolina wren and a white-eyed vireo. I am definitely a happy hiker.

As I sit and dine, I notice something shiny along the shoreline just a few feet away. I scramble down the incline and discover it’s a lovely apple snail shell. I think my granddaughter Aly will like it for her collection.

Now it’s time to head back. I vow to focus on the little things on the forest floor and am rewarded with treasures and twists like tiny wild violets, Parmeliaceae fungus, and red maple seeds.

As I scan the trail ahead, I see something flutter at the edge of the path. But as I get closer and get set to take a picture, I see that it was just a leaf stirred up by the wind. Then a few seconds later I get a big surprise as the “leaf” folds its wings and flies away! It was a Curve-Tooth Geometer Moth, a new one on me! Talk about perfect camouflage!

Another hundred yards down the trail, I also chuckle when I discover that the highway isn’t the only place one might see a tailgater (er, tail gator?).

Back at the big, deep pond, I am excited when I see a big turtle sunning on a log, but in my haste to get closer and snap a photo get a good surprise when the shoreline 20 feet in front of me explodes in a big geyser of water—it’s that same alligator I saw scrambling across the trail this morning that has come back to his sunning spot. Thankfully he was fleeing, and soon comes up for a quick pose before he disappears again in the swamp.

Once my blood pressure comes back down to normal, I carry on.

Soon I am at the gate. But the delights aren’t over. I spy a big shiny apple snail shell for my little Aly. And as I peel off my boots, my eyes catch sight of a mob of tiny black insects fleeing wildly into the bush that turn out to be young Eastern Lubber Grasshoppers—little black beauties.

It seems the gifts of the swamp never cease. It’s been an enjoyable foray into the wilds with few boot or bike tire marks, just a healthy dose of solitude and nature.

January 14, 2024January 22, 2024 hooknfly

Hiking The Mellow Yellow Trail (Gate #3) In The Fakahatchee Preserve And Stumbling On A Haunted House!!

For some of my other hikes in the preserve see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/12/15/hiking-the-fabulous-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-the-south-main-tram/; https://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/; https://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/

December 2023

The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park has an array of hikes to explore the wonders of the Everglades. Its most popular trails like the East and West Tram are several miles long—intriguing treks, but maybe a little too much for some. Fortunately, there are several inviting shorter walks, especially for little tykes and seniors, that offer plenty of natural wonders. One of my favorites, called the Yellow Trail, starts at Gate 3 on Janes Scenic Drive about 2.8 miles from the mile zero marker at the park entrance gate.

Like many of the park’s trails, it follows a railroad tram line from old logging days, this one a short spur into the wild heart of the strand where it peters out near a reputedly haunted cabin! The trail is flat and mostly open with calf-high vegetation and thorny vines in spots, calling for long pants.

A sign with the #3 on the dual entry posts marks the turnout on the right side of the road that makes for easy parking.

Keep an eye out for the Great Egret gatekeeper who maintains a close watch over the slough at the entrance to the Yellow Trail.

With all the rain we have had recently in the so-called “dry season,” I have to do a hop and skip to ford the shallow flowage running across the trail. A school of minnows darts wildly about, a perfect stopping point if my granddaughter Aly was along. Be sure to bring a little net for the kiddies for some play time.

I take a few steps up the trail and am immediately buzzed by a couple of striking Zebra butterflies having lunch on some white Beggartick blooms. The Beggarticks are an important source of food for butterflies, bees, and insects. I snap away with my phone camera and then continue on.

Zebra Butterfly Feasts On Beggartick Flower

The trail is bracketed by two troughs where mucky soil was dug out and piled up for the tram line road bed when the spur was built over 75 years ago. It is filled with slow moving water. I stop at each opening in the vegetation to peer into the swamp jungle, a veritable botanical park. Just keep an eye out for alligators! At one point I spy a stand of big Bull-tongue Arrowhead plants immersed in the water. They are an important cog in the swamp ecosystem, providing food for many critters and shelter for smaller ones.

Above are dozens of graceful epiphytes clinging to their host trees. They use their hosts as secure foundations, but are not parasites, living instead by taking water and nourishment from the air! In spring my favorite known as a Cardinal Airplant will burst into bloom with distinctive, showy red and purple flowers.

Other plants like Virginia Creeper, a member of the grape family, also cling to tree branches and trunks. Earlier in the year they have fragrant flowers that give way to blue-colored berries, then to beautiful reddish orange leaves in the fall. Their tendrils have adhesive pads allowing them to cling to mostly anything! Then there’s the prickly ivy called Saw Greenbrier. Watch out for those thorns! Interestingly, those needle-sharp spikes don’t keep wild turkeys, squirrels, and songbirds from munching on the leathery, triangular leaves.

As I continue north, it becomes clear that this trail gets far less foot traffic than the major trails—a welcome harbinger. I won’t see another soul all morning. The other thing that catches my eye is that the trail isn’t framed by giant sword ferns that dominate elsewhere in the preserve, but by shiny green wild coffee plants that carry the appropriate scientific name of Psychotria nervosa. I spot a few that haven’t been stripped of their bright red berries by birds.

Suddenly the quiet is interrupted by a hubbub ahead just off the trail in the slough—maybe a gator?? No, it’s a beautiful Great Egret that soars into the air, somehow dodging all the overhanging branches. He’s followed by a loudly squawking Green Heron, also known as a chucklehead for its distinctive cry.

I keep my eyes peeled for birds and reptiles as I get further into the jungle. I spot something creating a disturbance in the brush along the trail. Maybe a lizard? Turns out it’s one of my favorite insects, a big Eastern Lubber Grasshopper.

Sporting striking orange, yellow, and other colors, they grow up to three inches long. Eastern Lubbers colorful garb might attract attention from hungry birds, but they secrete a noxious dark thick foam from their thorax when disturbed—not very tasty!! It will definitely stain your fingers. He poses for a quick photo and is kind enough not to douse me with what as kids we called tobacco juice, then hops merrily into the thicket.

As I walk into a small clearing, I am greeted by, of all things, a plastic chair. I think I must be getting close to the haunted cabin!! I hike on a few minutes, keeping my eyes peeled for ghosts, and come to a big circular clearing with a rusting propane gas tank peeking out of the brush at one end. But there is no sign of any cabin or other human habitation of this world or otherworldy.

Two trails split off the clearing, and I take the one to the right (east) because it looks most intriguing. It soon narrows, and then I am sloshing in some shallow water. No worries, I have on my waterproof hiking boots. Here and there are animal and bird tracks, and I can hear a ruckus ahead, but can’t see any wild things. A few minutes further on, the trail opens up into a stand of striking bald cypress. But that’s as far as I can go—the trail drops off into a foot of water.

I snap a few photos of the lovely jungle and head back to the opening. On the way, I see something glinting in the sunlight just off the trail—a big snail shell. It looks to be a Florida apple snail, although there are three very similar apple snails that are invaders from other countries.

I trace my way back to the clearing with the gas tank and take the other fork. As I amble up the trail I am stopped short in my boots—dead ahead I see something of the trail obscured by a tangle of trees, vines, and bushes that looks out of place. I creep forward cautiously. A shiver runs up my spine when I realize it’s a big dark opening in what looks to be that spooky cabin I have heard stories about.

I snap a few photos and a video for my little granddaughter Aly back in Colorado, keeping my eyes open for any ghosts or goblins.

I make my way warily to the hole where a window used to be and peer in. It looks like a tornado has swirled through the cabin. There’s a mattress and springs that appear have been used by somebody or something.

Then I hear a crash as something smacks down on the roof. I don’t wait to find out what it is as I turn tail and hustle out of there back to the trail.

After my nerves calm down, I continue up the trail, peering behind me from time-to-time just to make sure I am not being followed. It’s obvious the path north of the cabin, thick with vegetation, doesn’t see many hikers. Very soon the path gets very wet—I have to broad jump over and tippy-toe around water trickling across the trail. Finally, I have to call it quits when I reach a stretch where the water is higher than the tops of my boots.

Hopefully as the dry season takes hold I will be able to return in a few weeks and explore further up. Google Maps shows a distinct line that extends another mile or so to the north. Who knows what I might find….or what might find me!!

December 15, 2023January 9, 2024 hooknfly

Hiking The Fabulous Trails Of The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve: The South Main Tram

December 2023

For my earlier articles on hiking the East and West Tram Trails, see: https://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/and https://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/

The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve, the largest state park in Florida that covers thousands of acres, features several popular trails like the East and West Main Trams that each require several hours to hike. But there are a few shorter trails, often overlooked but every bit as intriguing hikes, such as the South Main Tram. With the park closed for several weeks in late November 2023 due to torrential rains in the area and a deluge of water that flooded Janes Scenic Drive, I was itching to get out and explore some new territory in the park. The South Main Tram Trail had been on my radar screen for a year, so I figured it was time to explore.

When I arrive at the park at just after 8 a.m. on the last day of November, I am relieved that entry gate is open. Earlier in the month when I visited the park it was closed and locked because of flooding. In my excitement, I momentarily exceed the 10-mph posted speed limit on the normally smooth gravel road. I immediately received a jolting reminder as my SUV plunges into a giant pothole, a leftover from the swamping that closed Janes Scenic Drive and left long sections covered with assorted detritus.

Early November Floods Leave Potholes And Debris On Janes Scenic Drive

But the pockmarked road makes me slow down and enjoy the vistas and wildflowers that line the route.

And the good news is a little further on around the bend is that the water still cascading down the strand from north to south towards the Ten Thousand Islands and Gulf and under the drive at every culvert is attracting graceful egrets and other wading birds and assorted critters for a feast. My camera is at the ready!

Freshwater Flow Through The Strand

At one culvert as I snap photos, I hear a distinctive bird call coming from some tall trees back from the road—”wreep, wreep, wreep”—but can’t spot anything in the swamp maze. I immediately open an app called Merlin on my cell phone, a free product of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, that has come to be a favorite of mine. It identifies birds by their calls. I open the app and hold my phone up high to catch any sounds. On cue the hidden bird calls out again. Immediately the app identifies it as a Great Crested Flycatcher.

GreatCrested Flycatcher (Picture from iBirdPro)

The app notes that the flycatcher is found throughout eastern North America and migrates to Florida and points south in the winter. It resides mainly in treetops and is rarely seen on the ground. It feasts on fruits and berries plus insects caught mid-flight. I have witnessed them doing that—quite agile for a bird almost as big as a robin.

With all my lollygagging around the culverts, it takes me over an hour to cover the four miles from the park entry gate to the gate at the trailhead that the South Main shares with West Main Tram Trail. I park my SUV so as not to block the gate, pull on my hiking boots, grab my hiking staff, hoist my day pack with water bottles and sunscreen, then walk over to check out the big map display. There I am greeted by my friendly reptilian guide—a lilliputian anole.

Having learned my lesson on previous perambulations in the preserve, I am wearing my usual hiking duds—hat and light weight long-sleeved shirt with long pants. The trail is easy to follow but has knee-high vegetation in spots including thorny vines. Then there are the squadrons of mosquitoes and no-see-ums. While usually not a problem during the winter dry months, they are particularly nasty this year because of all the rain and breeding spots. No matter the season, don’t leave home without some effective insect repellant.

It’s almost 10 a.m. as I slip by the locked gate at the trailhead. For about a mile until it spins off to the south, the South Main Tram Trail shares the route with West Main Trail.

The trail is an old railroad bed dug out of the swamp to allow trains to carry out big cypress logs during the 1940s and 50s. It is flat and easy to navigate, but best traversed by ambling and sauntering, not speedwalking. The numerous culverts that guide water flow under trail provide perfect spots to investigate the often hidden, but vibrant life of the fascinating and mysterious swamp on either side of the path.

As I snap a photo of another egret, suddenly a large, beautiful orange butterfly swoops past and alights on a nearby tree. I approach in stealth mode, and the butterfly accommodates by staying put and exhibiting his wings full spread, so I get a couple of good photos. I then pull up my favorite nature app on my phone called PictureThis. The version I have costs $30 annually but is well worth the small charge as it accurately identifies insects, plants, birds, and trees. I run the photo through the app and soon learn the butterfly is a Ruddy Daggerwing that lives on the edge of forests with the adults feeding on the nectar of giant milkweed.

The name comes from the imposing dagger-like tail. I notice prominent notches on his wings, but on further investigation of images of other Daggerwings online, see that most have similar cuts. Another distinctive feature is that the intimidating tail end of the butterfly could pass for a head, reputedly an illusion to fool or scare would-be predators.

At the next culvert a few hundred yards down the trail, I spy one of my favorite swamp flowers, a Florida swamp lily, hiding among the branches, vines, and air plants. It is a beauty that has long purple stamens and a sweet fragrance.

As I move closer to get more photos, I hear the distinctive meowing of a cat! But I am not fooled—it’s a gray catbird, a large shy dark gray songbird with a jaunty black cap that is of the mockingbird family.

It loves to winter in Florida like us northern human snowbirds and is often seen in the preserve. I have a little fun with him, doing my best cat meowing imitation. Soon we are carrying on quite a conversation as he replies to my entreaties. Who knows what I was saying in catbird language?!?

The jungle opens up at the next culvert, and I can see further into the swamp. I spot a stand of aptly named Bull-Tongue Arrowhead. It is a flowering perennial native to the southeastern United that acts, the guidebook says, as a vital link in swampland ecosystems. Its dainty white flowers add a touch of color to the winter landscape.

Next my eyes fix on some striking orange underwater vegetation called Marsh Seedbox or Water Primrose. It is an aquatic perennial herb commonly used as an aquarium plant.

As my eyes wander further into the jungle, something moves! Maybe an alligator? I can’t tell until I focus my 10X camera lens on it, and YES it is a gator! He is coyly hiding his head and tail under some giant sword ferns. Even though it is cool, and alligators are typically less active in these conditions, it is a reminder to be careful—one might be lurking much closer to the trail.

I move on and in a few minutes get another surprise. Protruding from the watery muck close to the trail is what appears to be the remains of an old rail car, perhaps one that was used to haul logs almost a century ago. Oddly, I never noticed it before on a half-dozen treks up this trail.

Fortunately the park has recovered nicely from being heavily logged from 1944 into the 1950s for cypress and pine. Cypress wood is highly water resistant and was in demand during World War II for making aircraft carrier decks and PT boats among other vessels. Today it is used for more peaceful products like decking and coffins. The tiny communities of Jerome and Copeland (near the park entrance) are reminders of those days, having served as home to loggers of the era.

A minute later I pass by a clearing in the bushes and ferns where an inviting picnic table has been placed. It’s a good point to stop and rest, especially if you have little kids in tow.

As I relax for a minute and tighten up my shoe laces while ambidextrously shooing away a gathering cloud of pesky, blood-thirsty mosquitoes, I hear something squeaking just ahead. I creep forward cautiously and find what I thought might be the source—several tiny baby alligators swimming in the waters around a culvert looking for their next meal. My granddaughter Aly thinks they are the cutest! I advise the little ones to be careful—they would make a tasty meal for the egrets and other wading birds that abound.

Baby Alligator On The Prowl

I continue on and soon come to an impressive stand of wild Seville or bitter oranges that tell an interesting story of early Spanish settlers in Florida.

They were reportedly brought to Florida in the 1700s by the first Spaniards to land in St. Augustine. By 1800 they had become widely planted by early settlers and local Native Americans and have now spread throughout southern Florida. Today, they are primarily grown commercially for rootstock for grafting budwood for sweet oranges. Believe me, they are bitter, but can be used for making marmalade or certain liqueurs or for making marmalade or certain liqueurs or as a substitute for lemons in cooking. Just don’t sample any in the park!

It’s 10:45 by now, and I have covered about a mile when I come to where the South Main Train turns left off to the south. I can see it is not as heavily trod as the West Main Trail which carries on for a couple of more miles west.A park ranger whom I spoke with earlier tells me while the South Main is in the process of having vegetation pruned back or cleared, it is open for hikers. He advised me not to worry about the sign on the gate a couple of hundred feet further down the trail that says park staff only—it applies only to ATVs, not hikers.

Like the West and East Main Tram Trails, the South is edged by striking rows of giant sword ferns. Because it runs north to south, there are far fewer culverts to allow water already flowing in the same direction to pass under. There are boggy slow-moving sloughs on both sides of the trail where the swamp was dug out to provide fill to elevate the tram railroad bed above the marsh. Without the culverts to provide views into the swamp, now I stop anytime there is an opening in the thick trailside vegetation.

While I am walking, I scan both sides of the trail for signs of birds or other wildlife as well as interesting plants and flowers. In doing so I almost walk smack dab into a bristly tent caterpillar that is crawling on a chest-high vine across the trail. I take a quick photo and duck under the aerialist then almost bump my head into some dangling Seville Oranges. This trek is getting dangerous!!

Further along I see something glistening in the sun in the middle of the trail. I can’t figure out what it is until I am only about 20 feet away and a seven-foot gator that had been sunning on the pathway erupts from her nap and goes crashing through the sword ferns into the swamp. I move forward cautiously, hoping for a good photo, and find where she bulldozed through the ferns.

But try as I may, I can’t see any the slippery critter anywhere even though the water is clear! She has somehow disappeared into the shallow pond along the trail. I think to myself maybe I’ll see her on my return route.

I continue on, admiring the marshy scene on either side of the trail. It’s very shady so I don’t see many flowering plants except a couple of Lilliputians hugging the ground called Redflower Ragweed and Caesar’s Weed, the first an invasive from Africa and the other from Asia.

Then a bright flash temporarily blinds me. I jump back and see it’s a covey of cameras that apparently have been installed by the park rangers to monitor activity on the trail. Orchid poachers beware!

When You Least Expect It…Smile–You’re On Candid Camera

Just a few minutes later I hear the whine of some ATVs and the sound of vegetation being cut, probably the trail clearing crew that the ranger mentioned to me. I decide to turn back.

When I make my way back to the junction with the West Main Tram trail, I have a decision to make. It’s only noon, and the day is still young. I have time to hike up to one of my favorite spots in the park just a few minutes up the trail and have a leisurely lunch. So, I turn left and head west on the West Tram Trail.

On the short 15-minute side trip I come across a wild coffee plant with its bright red berries. I also have to chuckle at the descriptive scientific name of the plant—Psychotria nervosa. Then I see a vine with some intriguing geometry—it’s a Vietnamese vanilla plant, that wonderful tasting extract we all love. It’s an invader from the far east, but who’s complaining?

Soon I am at the lunch spot. I have a choice between a rustic park bench and some plastic chairs someone has apparently rustled out of the picturesque “haunted” house that has fallen further into disrepair since my hike last spring.

I chose the chairs which are situated on a narrow bridge leading to the house which provide a peaceful view into the cypress forest and allows the breeze to keep the pesky bugs at bay for a while.

This is a great spot to bring your children and grandkids to explore and regale them with tales of the ghosts in the haunted house! A half hour later I have finished my lunch and downed the last of my magic energy drink, an RC Cola. Rejuvenated, I load up my day pack, grab my walking staff and start the hike back to the trailhead.

I keep my eyes wide open for any critters that might be emerging now that the sun is up high and warming the swamp. The first thing I notice is the fungus among us—an interesting one called Arthoniaceae that coats many tree trunks in the preserve. Some the fungi form lichen colonies with algae and bacteria while others live on top of lichens.

Next, I see a tiny bird fleeing into the jungle. It’s a secretive little white-eyed vireo that makes it home throughout Florida.

Shy White-Eyed Vireo (Picture from iBirdPro)

As I walk further, I recross a culvert from this morning and get a surprise when I see a big gator hiding under some floating vegetation just a few feet from the trail. He can see me but doesn’t move a muscle. Tricky devil. Another object lesson about approaching the culverts with caution.

As I continue, a flighty, striking Zebra Longwing butterfly flits by me, circling and sliding this way and that, he comes back and alights on a nearby flower. This beautiful butterfly feasts on pollen and nectar which it uses to produce toxins that poison predators if eaten, which keeps the predators at bay! Sadly, the zebra is reportedly being decimated outside the park by sprays meant to control mosquitoes. I snap a quick shot before he lifts off and continues his peregrinations.

As I watch him disappear, I see one of my favorite swamp flowers, a lovely purple pickerelweed. This striking plant is an important food source for deer, ducks, muskrats, and fish. The plant grows up to 3.5 feet high and can tolerate water up to six feet. Its large leaves and stem clusters also provide great cover for smaller fish, birds, reptiles, and insects. Seems like everything in the swamp has an important role to play in the ecosystem!

Soon I am in sight of the trailhead gate and my SUV. The Fakahatchee Strand has delivered another wonderful day in the wilds, a chance to commune with and better understand Mother Nature.

September 14, 2023 hooknfly

Into The Wilds: Exploring La Garita and Carnero Creeks In S. Colorado

September 2023

Was gratified to see my article on exploring two remote wilderness creeks in Colorado as the lead feature piece in the Sept/Oct issue of American Fly Fishing magazine. Hope you enjoy it…and don’t miss the now infamous Parting Shot photo of me in a very indelicate position!

CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO DOWNLOAD THE ARTICLE

Colorado SO23 AFF Download