I’ve been a confirmed amateur birdwatcher and avian connoisseur since the tender age of 10. In 1950s Dad would take my sister and me birdwatching after church as Mom prepared dinner (dinner was the big noon meal on Sundays). My little hometown of Buhler, located on the Great Plains in south central Kansas, is smack dab in the middle of the huge Central Flyway, a major bird migration route. So in addition to local favorites like meadowlarks, red-headed woodpeckers, and scissor-tailed flycatchers, we also got to see some beautiful and interesting itinerants like goldfinches, cedar waxwings, and rose-breasted grosbeaks as well as lots of ducks. I got my got first little bird book then and soon thereafter as a gift, membership in the Audubon Society accompanied by a weighty tome, the Audubon Guide to North American Birds. It is still a prized possession that brings with it many good memories.
My First Bird Book
I’ve continue my ardor for birds six decades later at my cabin in the Colorado high country near Salida where I have been enjoying feeding birds, providing nesting boxes, and watching my winged friends up close—gorgeous western tanagers, bluebirds, hairy and downy woodpeckers, evening and black-headed grosbeaks as well as little buddies like mountain chickadees, nuthatches, and towhees. Then there are the golden eagles soaring high above. Here are some of my favorites, close up.
Brilliantly Colored Western TanagersBlack-headed GrosbeakHairy WoodpeckerEvening GrosbeaksRose-breasted GrosbeakSteller’s Jay
But as my human friends know, I have been having a running battle for several years with pinyon jays and Clark’s nutcrackers, large birds that are members of the jay/crow family, who raid the suet and sunflower seed feeders in large bands, chasing away smaller birds amidst a raucous sideshow on my front porch. When I’m inside and spot the gluttons through my big front windows, I creep stealthily to the front door, then in a flurry throw it open and run screaming onto the porch like a madman, scattering the noisy robbers. Here is an array of my antagonists!
Drawing From Skin Collected By William ClarkPinyon Jay’s Sharp, Long Beaks Can Remove Seeds From Cones And Pierce Them To CrackNo Feathers Around Beak So Can Pluck Seeds Without Getting Sap Around Nose!Clark’s Nutcraker Hard At Work In Pinyon TreeGetting Ready For Assault On Bird FeedersHandsome Devil!
Of course, they are usually back before too long. They have incredible eyesight and can see through the big front windows as I slink to the front door. To the amusement of occasional visitors who have witnessed the skirmish, it’s actually become something of a sporting exercise routine for this retired old codger.
But recently I have experienced a major change in attitude about these critters. I happened to read an article about the pinon jays documenting how it is now being listed as a threatened species and the Clark’s nutcracker (first observed and named by William Clark of Lewis and Clark expedition fame in 1805 along the Salmon River in Washington) is experiencing a precipitous decline in parts of its range, likely due to climate change reducing the forests they rely on. I was saddened to learn there are only about 700,000 pinyon jays left in the entire world, an astounding decline of 85% over the past 50 years. For comparison’s sake, Mother Earth is inhabited by almost 8 billion humans! Both birds call the high-country home year-round, and they are smart and inquisitive, befitting their membership in the jay/crow family.
They are also noisy and rambunctious, with shrill rasping calls that sound like “kraal, kraal.” I have named my favorite local Clark’s nutcracker Griswold in keeping with his boisterous antics.
My Local Favorite Clark’s Nutcracker “Griswold” Hard At Work In A Pinyon Tree Next To The Cabin
In my neck of the woods, they rely heavily on pinyon trees for sustenance—pine nuts. And in turn, the pinyon trees rely on the jays and nutcrackers to help reseed and spread the forest. Both have big spear-like beaks to probe cones to get to the seeds, and then crack them to get to the nuts. The Clark’s have a big pouch under their tongues that can hold up to 150 seeds.
Chow Time–A Pinyon Cone With A Seed Remaining
Both the jays and nutcrackers bury the seeds for food during the harsh high-altitude winters. One study in New Mexico estimated that a flock of pinyon jays there cached 4.5 million seeds in a year! Other research has shown that they can remember where they buried the seeds for six months and more. But when they forget, the seeds can sprout, rejuvenating and spreading the forest reach
The pinyon tree is the foundation species in this ecosystem—everything is built upon it.
Pinyon-Juniper Forest Above My Cabin
In addition to the pinyon jays and Clark’s nutcrackers, rodents feast on the seeds and are in turn food for the coyotes, owls, hawks….you get the picture. The birds and rodents help spread the seeds far and wide. Because of the dry climate and generally poor soil in this region, the trees produce seeds only once every four to ten years on a rotating basis so that about one in five has cones every year.
Incredibly, in the 1950s and 60s, government ecologists declared pinyon and juniper trees as invasive species that were destroying grassland and wasting precious water. And more grasslands would mean more cattle, more money for local economies, etc. They gave the green light to uprooting millions of acres of the trees by chaining—a process that ripped the trees out along with just about anything else in the vicinity. The massacre was actually recounted in a documentary narrated by Robert Redford, Broken Treaty At Battle Mountain. Not surprisingly, the wholesale destruction of these foundation species was an ecological disaster for all the myriad species that relied on them. Here are just a few examples of the devastation
Today climate change, spraying of pesticides, and residential development are taking their toll on pinyon and juniper stands. In some states like Nevada and Utah, federal and state agencies continue to rip out pinyon and juniper forests to promote grasslands, while in others there is an effort to protect areas used by pinyon jays and Clark’s nutcrackers. Environmental groups are turning up the heat for conservation measures. Hopefully it isn’t too late.
That’s where my change in attitude comes in. Rather than clashing with the pinyon jays and nutcrackers in the daily battle of the bird feeders, I will welcome them. Indeed, I will add a few more feeders, hoping the bears don’t notice. I will make sure the pinyon and nutcracker nesting/roosting areas on my land that can harbor 15-50 birds are left undisturbed. In periods of drought, becoming more prevalent in my neck of Colorado, I will dutifully lug pails of water to the forest of pinyon and juniper trees that cover the slopes around the cabin if I see some browning on the top branches, hoping it will help see them through tough times.
And that leads me to my change in altitude. For many years in my professional career as a land use attorney and planner consulting with local governments around the United States I flew back and forth across the United States. One air route from Denver to Las Vegas, Phoenix, and southern California that I took often flew high above my cabin a hundred miles southwest of Denver, but I could still just barely see my town of Salida and homestead a few miles away as I jetted over. It was a comforting thought to be looking down on that peaceful piece of territory. Today as I sip wine on the porch at the end of the day, I can see the multiple contrails above me from planes flying the same route, the sign of our ever busy society.
Up,Up And Away–My Former Life Painted In Contrails.
On those trips I worked with communities to improve their development codes, among other things to protect wildlife habitat, sensitive ecosystems, and historic buildings. My colleagues and I preached the gospel of sustainable development and helped write and update regulations and incentives to promote solar and wind energy, affordable housing, water conservation, and the like. Those were exciting and fulfilling days. We were trying to do our small part to save the world.
But as time passes, I see the need to focus closer in my own backyard and change my altitude from a bird’s eye view of saving the world to one closer to ground level, to the 35 acres I call home. When I first bought my place some 25 years ago, I planted over 100 pinyon and juniper trees that were distributed free at the time as part of a government program. It was back-breaking work digging holes for them in this rocky landscape. But because this is a harsh, high-desert climate, despite occasional watering and fertilizing over the years, today only about 10 survive. After 25 years, those survivors range in height from just 4-6 feet! I’m proud of each and every one of them!
A Healthy Little Guy!Two Juniper And A Pinyon Planted Near The Cabin In A Meadow.My Big Offspring–25 Years Old And 6 feet tall
Now I will focus more attention on them, thinking of future generations of pinyon jays and nutcracker that will feast on their bounty as my granddaughter Aly, all grown up by then, watches from the porch. I’ll do some clipping to give them some growing room when rabbit brush and other bushes crowd too close. If the drought continues, they’ll get more periodic watering.
When I see a mature pinon tree close to the cabin starting to bear cones, I’ll give it an extra drink of water. I will remove weeds, bushes, and tinder from under its bows to help it survive a wildfire. Those mature 25-foot tall trees can be pushing 200 years old or more. The granddaddy pinyon growing right next to the porch where the small birds like to perch and eat sunflower seeds is a giant, probably over 300 years old. I choke up a bit when I think that this grand tree, now in my care, was growing before the American Revolution and that the native Ute Indians probably harvested seeds from it to make the rich, nourishing gruel that saw them through the winters long ago. And here it is today, healthy and providing sustenance and shelter to the pinyon jays, Clark’s nutcrackers, and other birds. I have the obligation to make sure it continues to thrive. Healthy pinyon trees can last a thousand years!
The Granddaddy Of The ForestHundreds Of Years Old, Healthy, And Still Bearing Cones And Seeds
And occasionally I may even attend local public hearings on the type of sprawling rural subdivision the county can’t seem to just say “NO” to, hoping that at least they will require the development to preserve as much of the pinyon and juniper forest as possible and maybe even plant trees to compensate for any removed. Many progressive jurisdictions across the nation already do that.
And of course, when the raiders come to my bird feeders, a noisy “kraal, kraal” chorus announcing their arrival, I’ll bite my tongue and dutifully deposit another suet cake when they take their leave.
I’ve been hard at it the past two days writing a fishing article for Florida Sportsman and decided to come up for some fresh air. It’s sunny outside so looks like a good day for a little hike in the Everglades near Everglades City. I’ve had my eye on nearby Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park, the largest in Florida and one that protects thousands of acres of uplands that are prime habitat for the endangered Florida panther. But who hikes in the Everglades??
When I first moved to the Glades about seven years ago, I had no idea you could hike anywhere around here–just too darn wet I thought. In the summer torrential rains cover the Everglades with several feet of water. But I have since learned that during the winter and spring months, the Glades get very little rain. That’s when the marshes dry up, and saltwater from the Gulf pushes far inland via tidal creeks. When I first hiked a trail in the Fakahatchee Strand several years ago, I was struck how similar the landscape was to the prairies of Kansas where I grew up–wildflowers among the tall grass, grasshoppers everywhere, birds hiding in the cover, and hawks soaring overhead. So off I go!!
I arrive at the unmarked trailhead around 9 a.m. as the sun starts to heat things up. High 80s is the forecast. I don my kayak water boots knowing that it’s likely I will encounter pools of water and spongy ground here and there. Then it’s into the wilds. I have the whole place to myself!
Everglades Prairie
The terrain is dry, spongy and a little wet in places, but eminently navigable.
I don’t have to walk far before a giant grasshopper takes flight a few feet in front of me. I scurry after the big guy and using my patented grasshopper hunting technique (one hand in front of the hopper to distract him, then snatch him from behind with my other hand) am soon admiring his outrageously beautiful, distinctive colors. He’s over two inches long, an Eastern Lubber Grasshopper.
As I look him over more closely, the hopper starts to foam. I’ll later read that this dark-colored secretion, resembling tobacco juice, is noxious to birds, not to mention odious to humans. Such is the life of a big-game hunter!
A bit later another grasshoppers whirs away from me, but with my quick and nimble septuagenarian moves, I corner him. Turns out it’s a juvenile Easter Lubber Grasshopper who is sporting different, but equally impressive colors.
Juvenile Eastern Lubber Grasshopper
I also start to notice the petite wildflowers hiding among the tall grass and reeds. I admire the delicate pink Rose of Plymouth, a salt-tolerant marsh flower that is threatened or endangered in some parts of the U.S.
Rose of Plymouth Wildflower
Then there is the aptly named Sweetscent–an herb with small flowers and a pleasant camphor-like aroma. It’s another wetland flower, one that is often used in dried flower arrangements.
Sweetscent Herb And Flower
A few minutes later a giant Marsh Marigold catches my eye, another salt-water tolerant perennial plant that sports its big flowers on six-foot vines.
Marsh Marigold
The dry, spongy ground suddenly dips into a little creek that appears to be flowing somewhere, so I follow it. I crash through a tangle of brush, reeds, and tall grass and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a hidden crystal-clear lake that just happens to have some fish finning in the shallows. An angler’s dream.
Hidden Lake
Another oddity of the lower Everglades just north of Everglades City where saltwater normally rules, is the existence of a number of freshwater lakes like this one. The crust below the marsh in many areas is limestone, and in some places freshwater springs have created these lakes that harbor freshwater fish like Largemouth Bass, Long-nose Gar, and Bluegill. In others, the lakes are the result of mining limestone gravel for highways in the area like the Tamiami Trail and Alligator Alley (Interstate 75).
I wade into the clear, cool water and immediately spook a big largemouth bass then a school of smaller fish–maybe bluegill or Mayan Cichlids, a freshwater invader from South America.
Angler’s Dream
Suddenly something erupts in the cove, a big gar performing some acrobatics while chasing prey. I start to see gar spawning on the edge of the limestone shelf along the shoreline.
Feeding GarSpawning Long-Nose Gar
It’s almost noon now, and the sun is beating down hard. After ogling the fish and scenery between bites on an apple, I begin to saunter back to my SUV. On the way, I come across a stand of Bald Cypress.
Bald Cypress Sporting New Needles
Being follicly-challenged, I have a special affinity for this odd tree. It is what the botanists call a “deciduous conifer.” It’s unique–the only conifer to shed its lacy needles every fall, becoming “bald” for the winter, then regrowing them in the spring. Oh that I be so lucky! Bald Cypress flourish in marshy areas, its wood highly valued for water resistance.
I next stumble across the only sign someone has been here before me–a small flip-flop sandal. I wonder what the story is behind that? Who left it? Why only one?
The Flip-Flop Mystery
In my head, I also start to hatch my fishing trip for tomorrow. I’ll be back early in my kayak to see if I can score a rare Everglades fishing freshwater slam–catch a bass, gar, and bluegill in a single day.
Deep In Thought
Then it hits me. Maybe I can start a new fishing fad and organization–call it BassGar! Could be a huge dollar deal!! I start dreaming about big fishing tournaments where the kayaks are plastered with sponsors’ ads and the contestants are wearing jumpsuits dressed up with emblems of their wealthy corporate patrons and backers. Just like Nascar! I can almost hear the boys in the yaks yelling “booyah” when they hook a big one.
But just then I catch sight of my favorite Everglades bird, the graceful swallow-tail kite. He soars overhead surveying the scene.
The Graceful Swallow-Tail Kite
As I admire his elegance, my nutty BassGar scheme quickly fades away. Who could possibly want to disturb this remarkable country, this solitude? We need to protect more, not fewer, of these special places! A walk in the wilds for everyone would do this country a world of good right now.
What a treat this past week to be able to celebrate my son Matthew’s 33rd birthday with a fishing trip into the Everglades backcountry! He was in from Denver for a few days of R&R. Early one morning we pushed off from Chokoloskee in my Gheenoe and were met with eerie fog-enshrouded water that conjured up visions of ghosts who had called this land home hundreds of years before our presence. The fog slipped away quietly, stealthily as the sun rose up, giving way to a beautiful sunny day. We probed deep into the wilds, and the fish cooperated on que. My young lad exhibited some excellent casting skills and caught a smorgasbord of fish including a poor man’s slam–snook, sea trout, jack, and ladyfish. Even Pops fooled a few. Did I mention the sail cats?!? What fun! Nothing like a father-son fishing trip to boost the spirits of an old codger! And to top it off my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly washed off the boat for us!
During my professional career as a land use and environmental attorney, I worked with local governments, conservationists, and biologists across the United States to protect wildlife habitat. There were wins, there were setbacks, but I was always optimistic that we were making progress. In retirement I have kept my finger on the pulse of things in the field while turning to a second career writing for outdoor magazines and conducting more personal on-stream piscatorial research (AKA fly fishing). Now the two are intersecting in an unexpected and troubling way. Entomologists are sounding the alarm about the cataclysmic decline in insects around the world, calling it the Insect Armageddon. As pollinators, food providers, pest controllers, decomposers, and soil engineers bugs are a key part of the very foundation for all life on the planet. That means, of course, for the fish we love to pursue. Already we are starting to see the decline of aquatic insects that could have a devastating impact on fishing—witness the 50% drop in mayflies in the upper Midwest just since 2012.
Goodbye Mayflies??
What can we do about it? For some ways each of us can answer the call to action click on the Powerpoint presentation below that I will presenting at a national land use and environmental conference later this month. The future of our sport may depend on it!!
Greetings to all my friends and readers. I hope your holidays were peaceful. Here’s wishing for all of us a great 2021. It’s been a very interesting and rewarding year writing my blog. One of the few benefits of Covid-19 was providing plenty of social distancing time to pen articles as well as to explore not only those remote places I love while conducting serious piscatorial research but also waters close to home that I had overlooked and new species of fish.
I was gratified in January that 2020 kicked off with Southwest Fly Fishing publishing an article I wrote about Treasure Creek in southern Colorado, an out-of-the way stream high in the Rockies that is one of the few that harbors native Rio Grande Cutthroats.
Chasing Native Rio Grande Cutthroats On Treasure Creek
After that things changed quickly as reflected in my next article in the May issue of Florida Sportsman about fishing safely through the Corona virus.
Apparently lots of other anglers had some time on their hands as by the end of the year over 43,000 people had visited my blog site with over 93,000 views, an almost 90% increase over 2019. Thanks to you all!
Among them were readers from over 70 nations ranging from China to Kenya to Finland to Brazil. I will have to admit my readership from Russia plunged to only two, perhaps reflecting I’m off Putin’s watch list after publishing a not-so-flattering photo of him accompanied by some wisecracks in an article about fishing Saguache Creek a couple of years go. Whew! That obviously gave his minions more time for hacking.
All kidding aside, as we look forward to a year that just has to be better than the last, it reminds me there were lots of good things to remember about 2020. So here is my annual retrospective on the best and the bummers of the past year.
Cream of the Crop: Two things really standout as cream of the crop. First, as you might imagine, for a septuagenarian grandpa, nothing can compare to spending time on the water with my sweetheart of a four-year old granddaughter Aly. We started out in May catching some nice rainbow trout at Staunton State Park west of Denver. A few months later she pulled her first yellow perch from Eagle Watch Lake in Denver. A garden hackle lure was the ticket. But the moment I remember best was after she had practiced casting a few times in 2019 with her new spin cast outfit, I said to her let’s go fishing and you can practice casting some more. She looked at me very seriously and said somewhat impatiently, “But Grandpa, I already know how to cast.” And later that day she proved she could!
Another high point was the connection I made with my readers, making new friends around the country. We exchanged emails and phone calls and are hoping to do some fishing together next year. Thanks to Randy, Wendy, JD, Jim, Chip, Dan, Bill, George, and others for your kind words. Looking forward to hitting the water with you in 2021. Just promise not to outfish me!
Most Gratifying: Another yearly sweet spot is hosting an annual fishing trip in the Colorado high country with my erstwhile Florida fishing buddy Robert Wayne, Esq. We are both what might be called elders of the angling community. I get a real kick out of hosting Bob and guiding him on some of my favorite waters for a couple of weeks, even taking him to some of my top-secret creeks. In 2020 Bob wanted to catch a cutthroat, a fish that had eluded him during his storied international fishing peregrinations. We hiked a couple of miles into a high mountain valley through which flows one of my favorite streams, a Herculean task for two old codgers. But when Bob fooled that handsome 15-inch cutt, the smile on his face was ample remuneration.
Counselor Corrals Nice Cutt
Earlier in the summer, it was payback time to some fish in a high alpine valley that was also extremely gratifying. Two years ago I hiked about eight miles roundtrip to chase some giant cutthroat trout in Upper Sand Creek Lake in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado. The trout were there as I had been promised, but to my great consternation for almost five hours these behemoths repeatedly turned up their noses to practically every fly and lure in my fly vest. With my tail between my legs and the odor of a skunk in the air, I left the lake vowing I shall return. Fast forward to June of 2020, and I hiked back into Lower Sand Creek Lake and exacted some measure of revenge. Fooling many large cutthroats that were cruising the shoreline, I had one of my best days ever on a high-mountain lake where, as experienced anglers know, the fish can be maddenly finicky. See for yourself: https://hooknfly.com/2020/07/25/return-to-sand-creek-lakes-revenge-of-the-skunked/
Another particularly gratifying episode has been the response to a series of my blog articles entitled The Best Fishing Books of All Time. Over the past couple of years I have been heartened to see a cohort of younger anglers (AKA as anyone under 40 whom I call “young bloods”) taking up the sport, both men and women. Hopefully, they will be the next generation of anglers who will not only enjoy the sport but fight to protect and preserve the waters we all cherish. Thanks to a bout of annoying sciatica in October, I had time on my hands to write five articles in which I described dozens of my favorite books about fishing in several categories including “best literature,” “funny bone ticklers,” and “fish that shaped the world,” among others. My goal was to introduce the young bloods to the grand tradition and history of our sport dating back hundreds of years.
My Choice For The Best Angling Book Of All Time
I always feel that any endeavor is greatly enhanced by knowledge of its tradition and history. By the end of the year the articles had been read by over a thousand people and is now one of the top results on the web when you google “best books about fishing.” Here’s a link to the first of five installments: https://hooknfly.com/2020/08/01/the-best-fishing-books-of-all-time/
Most Popular Posts: Surprisingly, the most popular freshwaterarticle was one from 2019 on fishing for trout on the scenic Conejos River in southern Colorado, just north of the border with New Mexico. There were almost 3,000 hits on this post, which is somewhat astounding given the fact it is nowhere near any large population centers plus the Conejos is not one of the more fabled rivers in the state like the Gunnison, Arkansas, and South Platte. Here is a link to the article: https://hooknfly.com/2019/09/26/solving-the-conejos-river-conundrum/
While I would like to think it must be my captivating literary style that proved so attracting, I have a hunch its success is more likely attributable to the hordes of pesky Texan fly fishing anglers doing research before they invade southern Colorado in the summer and sample the nearest trout stream to the Lone Star State. (Just kidding guys and gals…we love to take your money, but just make sure you return home come September.)
Also worthy of attention is a trio of articles about trying to find fish AND solitude in the waters of South Park around Fairplay, Colorado. South Park, and particularly the waters of the South Platte, is overrun with anglers from nearby Denver and Colorado Springs. They do catch some big fish, but it’s often combat-style fishing, especially on weekends. I wrote about three small creeks where solitude and good fishing, often a rarity, go hand-in-hand.
Biggest Fish: There is no doubt that despite however sporting and conservation-minded most anglers are, they like to brag about their biggest fish. I plead guilty. My two freshwater leviathans were, oddly enough, caught in the Everglades where most of my angling is in saltwater. Unbeknown to most anglers, the Everglades is dotted with small freshwater and brackish lakes and canals that often hold big largemouth bass and exotic, colorful peacock bass. I did a fair amount of sleuthing and found several that ended up producing a seven-pound largemouth and five-pound peacock. https://hooknfly.com/2020/11/15/freshwater-bass-fishing-in-the-everglades/
Here in Colorado my two biggest fish, an alpine lake cutthroat and a rainbow from the Arkansas, both went about 18-inches. I won’t mention the bigger ones on which I adroitly executed long-distance releases.
In saltwater, my best catches were two snook in the Everglades, one in January and the other in March. One that pushed 30-inches was caught in a brackish lake also frequented by largemouth bass.
Surprise Snook!
The other caught in a narrow tidal creek in the Everglades backcountry was my best of the year at 31-inches. Talk about utter mayhem before I could coax her away from those infernal mangrove roots and to the boat.
Bummers: Perhaps the biggest bummer was, of course, related to Covid-19, but not in the way I expected. Fishing is a great way to socially distance and you don’t have to wear a mask most of the time. No problem there. What I didn’t anticipate was the virus would be a force that hobbled many angling and outdoor-related magazines that have published my articles and the death knell for others like the venerable American Angler. That magazine carried some of my first fishing articles back in the 90s. When the virus hit many fishing-related businesses either shut down permanently or temporarily and cut back dramatically on their advertising which staggered many angling magazines and book publishers. As a result, after a piece on Treasure Creek was published by Southwest Fly Fishing in January, only one other of my articles made it into print in 2020, ironically one in Florida Sportsman that dealt with tips on fishing through the Corona crisis!
I also had to grapple with an acute case of sciatica in late summer that cut down on my ability to explore and chase trout in some of those small creeks in rugged Colorado canyons that are dear to my heart. It reminded me growing old isn’t for the faint of heart. Fortunately I am on the mend so hope springs eternal, and scenes of backcountry soirées in both Colorado and Florida keep dancing in my head.
Burst Bubbles: In my spare time one of my favorite endeavors is sleuthing on-line or using Google Maps and other GPS apps to discover remote backcountry creeks in Colorado that just might be loaded with eager trout. It’s a hit or miss game, about 25% of the time turning up a goose egg. This year the honor goes to Nutras Creek, a tributary of Cochetopa Creek on the edge of the La Garita Wilderness Area in south central Colorado. I have had some of the best fishing days over the past few years on Cochetopa and other of its tributaries. I had driven over Nutras Creek many times, and a couple of cryptic posts online reported some big brook trout hiding in the beaver ponds that dot the stream. Google Maps confirmed there were literally dozens of good-sized beaver ponds up- and downstream from the access road. A month later I eagerly made the hour drive from my mobile fish camp only to find most of the beaver ponds were gone, kaput, extinct, washed out!
While I managed to catch enough brookies in the few small ponds that remained and in the creek, I went home issuing a plethora of epithets directed towards Google Maps for not updating its satellite photos thereby leading me on this wild goose chase! Fortunately a few weeks later my sleuthing paid off with a Century Club day on another remote creek that shall remain nameless.
The Bloodcurdling: Spending time in the wilds, either in the Colorado mountains or the Everglades backcountry, you’re bound to have some exciting moments—one reason I carry a Garmin satellite text phone in case I get in trouble. This year was no exception. Two of the bloodcurdlers were close encounters of the wildlife kind. Last year it was a truculent Burmese Python in the Everglades. This year it was a big 12-foot gator that I stumbled on in my kayak, passing within 15-feet of the big boy as I emerged from a mangrove tunnel into blind turn. I was close enough to the prehistoric looking creature to be able to count the gnarly teeth protruding from his jaws.
Close Encounter of the Gator Kind
Fortunately it was a very cool day so he was content to bask in the sun and let this intruder beat a hasty retreat.
The second close encounter took place a few months later in the Colorado high country. I was finishing up a successful day of fishing on a remote creek when I heard some noise in the woods above me. I turned and saw a moose with a giant set of horns ambling my way down the slope.
Moose On The Loose
Moose are often very belligerent, especially cows with a calf. Again I lucked out as the moose eyed me contemptuously then turned around and proceeded to saunter away insouciantly as if I wasn’t worth paying any heed to.
The most dangerous moment, however, came when I made an ill-advised decision to descend an extremely steep slope with loose scree into a canyon to reach an alluring creek far below.
On Verge Of Rash Decision
I quickly realized the fix I was in and thought this may be a case where things that go down never come back up. I was carrying two fishing rods and a small insulated bag with my lunch in it when I lost my footing and started to slide down on my keister. I quickly jettisoned the lunch bag and tried to grab some brush to stop my descent without breaking my rods or body parts. Finally about twenty feet down I lunged and latched onto some sturdy brush and was able to finally dig my boots in and stop. I took a deep breath and turned around to chart my course back out, but realized there was no way to go back up.
Best Laughs: Closely tied to the blood curdling slide above was the fate of the canvas lunch bag I was carrying. When I gave it the heave to free up a hand to slow my descent, it started flying down the long steep slope, bouncing off rocks and gaining speed by the second. Suddenly something started to gush from its sides making it look like a pinwheel as it careened towards the creek. When I retrieved it 10 minutes later I was delighted to find most everything was intact except for a can of the elixir known as Squirt soda pop that had split open. That explained the small geyser spewing from the bag on the way down. It may have been gallows humor, but I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched its flight down the rocky slope.
The Flying Lunch Bag Survives
Another good guffaw involved the tale of the broken rod. I rarely break a fishing rod while chasing trout. One exception this year was when I left a rod leaning on my SUV then backed out and crushed the tip. Temple Fork Outfitters graciously replaced it with a newer better model at a modest cost for shipping. But in the Everglades I average three broken rods a year which I attribute to much larger fish that I tangle with in tight quarters in mangrove tunnels, often in my kayak. Certainly could not be lack of skill. This year the broken rod tale was under much different circumstances. I was on an outing with my accomplished fishing friend from Georgia, Steve Keeble. We were on a quest for snook in my Gheenoe in the Everglades backcountry. We caught plenty of snook but then decided to take a breather in a slow-moving backwater off the main channel. It was loaded with forage fish, and soon we started to see black tip shark cruising everywhere. I suggested we have a little fun, so chunked up a ladyfish and baited it on my stoutest rod I typically use for large tarpon. I handed it to Steve, and a shark quickly gulped the savory meal. I yelled “set it hard,” which Steve dutifully did, which was followed by a loud crack as the rod snapped in half.
Steve exhibited his considerable angling skill by continuing to fight and land the truculent critter with half a rod as I doubled over with laughter. Of course the joke was on me with the broken rod, which Steve graciously replaced.
Biggest Surprise: My biggest—and most pleasant—surprises all came on freshwater lakes in the Everglades. Most of my fishing in the Glades is done in tidal creeks or the Everglades backcountry where the water is salty. When the Corona virus hit south Florida, mobs of anglers sans masks or any attempt at social distancing descended from the Miami area and Fort Meyers, where public boat ramps had been closed, on our local boat ramp on Chokoloskee Island. One morning at one point a line of over 50 boats were waiting to launch.
Knucklehead Invasion
Not wanting to tempt fate or run into the hordes in the backcountry, I decided to investigate some of the nearby freshwater lakes inland that usually receive little pressure. Boy I am sure glad I did. As noted above, over a period from late March until early April I caught and released some big largemouth and peacock bass and a hefty snook that had somehow found her way into a lake just off the Tamiami Trail. Who knows how she got there as there were no canals or creeks leading into the lake, but who am I to complain!
I received another pleasant surprise on the South Fork of the South Platte later that summer back in Colorado. I had set out to fish the South Fork in the flatlands of South Park, but when I got there the stream was blown out, muddy water filling it from bank-to-bank. Undaunted, I decided to drive the some 20 miles up towards historic Weston Pass to fish some beaver ponds on the South Fork headwaters. Posts from local fly shops said the fishing there was challenging as the ponds were overgrown with brush, however still fun for small brookies but nothing else. The ponds were definitely there, stretching for miles along the creek, and the brookies were eager. But I had a hunch the attractive short stretches of open running water between the ponds might just harbor some bigger fish…and they did. I managed to catch several handsome cutthroats, one that went 15-inches. Definitely a satisfying surprise! https://hooknfly.com/2020/06/07/on-the-road-to-riches-finding-fish-and-solitude-in-south-park/.
Birthday Century Club: One of my annual traditions is to take a multi-day solo high-country fishing trip in Colorado on my birthday in late July. And part of that tradition is to see if I can catch as many fish as my years on this planet, which in 2020 were 72. I had my sights set on a comely little creek hidden in a canyon that I had only recently discovered last year and had fished but once. Not only did that little jewel produce fish in numbers—I caught and released over 100 wild trout thus qualifying for the Century Club—but my efforts were rewarded with a high-country slam–a cutthroat, brown, and brookie, with the cutt and brownie coming in as a double! Not sure how many more years I can make a trek like that, so this one was all the more to savor.
Most Beautiful Fish: The beautiful coloration and intricate patterns fish sport never cease to amaze me, nature seemingly able to exceed anything thing I could imagine. In freshwater this year the honors went to the stunning cutthroat trout of Lower Sand Lake and the gorgeous Arkansas River rainbow trout, the last fish I caught late in December. On the saltwater side, it was hard to beat the riotously colored Peacock Bass and Atomic Sunfish (AKA Mayan Cichlids) that I fooled on a freshwater lake in the Everglades.
Old Dog, New Tricks: The older I get, the more I get set in my ways, for example, in the species of fish that I chase and the techniques that I employ to catch them. So it was with the antediluvian long-nose gar that proliferate in the brackish water of Everglades tidal creeks, canals, and ponds. I had hooked many a gar while chasing snook and redfish, but never landed one. I considered them a nuisance despite their fighting ability. Gar have long bony mouths filled with hundreds of sharp little teeth that make them extraordinarily difficult to hook. They are shunned by most sport anglers because of the challenge hooking them as well as their truculent tendency of trying to bite one if hooked. They are reportedly good to eat but nearly impossible to clean due to armor-like scales. But one day in February when I ran into a huge school of spawning gar and hooked and lost fish after fish, I vowed to master the fine art of catching the toothy torpedoes. Back home I found a number of articles by good ole boys from the South who actually specialize in gar fishing. I learned that I needed some specialized lures to catch these prehistoric fish. These off-beat lures, which are made out of unraveled nylon rope, have no hooks at all but rely on the nylon fabric to ensnare those needle-sharp teeth. Not available at local tackle shops, I crafted a few of my own that I thought turned out rather well.
Homemade Gar Lures, Sans Hooks
On my very first day on the water with one of my handsome creations I cast with extreme confidence towards a gaggle of gar porpoising on the surface in a canal along the Tamiami trail. Something erupted from the water, and I was astounded to see it was a giant snook that had inhaled the lure. Unfortunately, since the lure had no hooks, the snook had to merely shake her head and was soon cruising away scot free. To make matters worse, I also had a tough time hanging onto the gar that smashed the lure time and again. So it was back to the drawing boards where on the advice of another gar hunter on-line, I added a small trailing treble hook and didn’t friz out the nylon . That would prove to be the answer. On my next outing I hooked dozens of feisty gar and managed to land several as substantiated by the photo below. The lure in the middle shows the results of grappling with the nasty gar teeth. Guess it goes to prove that an old dog can indeed learn new tricks! For the full story of chasing the prehistoric gar, see https://hooknfly.com/2020/04/15/in-defense-of-the-antediluvian-gar/.
Most Scenic: The little secret creek mentioned above in the Birthday Century Club was hands down the winner of most scenic. As I approached the canyon rim an incredible scene opened before me, reminding me of the mythical Shangri La. See for yourself!
Into The Future—2021 And Beyond: I’m anticipating 2021 with high hopes. Only a few days into the New Year, I’ve already caught my first fish, a nice brownie from the Arkansas River on an icy cold day featuring my rod guides clogged with ice. I also got in some practice on my patented long-distance releases, magnanimously freeing a couple of bruisers.
First Fish Of The New Year!
Now one of my readers has just invited me to do some ice fishing for big trout in frozen Antero Reservoir located in frigid South Park (Antero hit 50 below zero a couple of weeks ago!). I haven’t ice fished for 15 years since doing so with my son Matthew when he was in high school. Should be interesting and will probably spur a hasty return to Florida!
My first order of business will be to finish the Paddlers Fishing Guide To The Everglades that in 2020 I signed a contract to write. The publisher will be Wild Adventures Press, one of the leading fishing guide producers. I’m already thinking about marketing the book, especially in a time of Covid-19. I had my first trial run making a presentation to the Mangrove Coast Fly Fishers Club out of Sarasota. My friend Jim Cannon, a club member, invited me to host a Zoom meeting focusing on some of my favorite kayak fishing creeks in the Everglades. It was great fun answering questions from the 30 or so members, and the positive response was very heartening as witnessed by this very kind letter from the club’s president:
Chris—I have one word to describe your presentation to our club. OUTSTANDING. I was telling Ethan earlier today that your presentation was one of the top two or three that I can remember in the ten years I have been a member of MCFF. Your information, diagrams, stories, and friendly demeanor, along with some great pics, made for an awesome evening….Hope to meet you in person in the near future. Tight lines. Ken B.
If any of my readers would like me to make a Zoom presentation to your fishing or kayaking group on either fly fishing for trout in Colorado or saltwater fishing in the Everglades, I would be happy delighted to oblige. It’s been a reel…er…real treat to meet so many fine people and avid anglers over the past five years through my blog, and I look forward to more in 2021. I’ll be adhering to the following New Year’s Resolution:
