Mobile Fish Camp Shakedown Cruise: The Bad, the Good, and the Fish In Two Acts

June 2024

For Fishing Act Two, see https://hooknfly.com/2024/07/02/mobile-fish-camp-shakedown-cruise-the-fishing-act-2/

Prelude:

I am back in Colorado getting ready for another trout fishing season. I have fished for more than six decades, starting with catfish and bullhead in Kansas rivers and graduating to bluegill and bass on a fly rod in lakes then to trout. The mobile fish camp of the day with my Dad was a hulking blue 1951 DeSoto car.

Dad would sleep in the front seat and me in the back seat on a special platform he built over the huge drive shaft hump on the floor. Great memories as we explored the rivers and lakes of central Kansas.

Getting ready for those trips–gathering our gear, bedding, food, and other paraphernalia–was something akin to a religious ritual. It felt even more so that way now as I loaded up my little travel trailer for dry camping in the boondocks of the Rocky Mountains. Of course, being June most rivers around my cabin near Salida are blown out and the high mountain lakes are still iced in. I have already tried the local beaver ponds with reasonable success, but I am now itching to try some new waters, and maybe even find a creek that’s fishable or some new beaver ponds. With my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly and her daddy Matthew off to Las Vegas to visit family there, I have some time on my hands and decide to take a chance and explore. With a Yuengling Amber Beer in hand, I sit on my front porch near Salida, Colorado, and contemplate my options.

A tailwater creek or river would be a viable option during runoff as the flow would be more controlled and the water clearer. One with some big beaver ponds in the vicinity would be a bonus. Central and southern Colorado where I do most of my angling has several famous tailwaters below big lakes like the South Platte flowing out of Antero and a series of other reservoirs, the Blue River below Dillon Reservoir, and the Arkansas River below Pueblo Reservoir. But those waters with their relatively easy access and proximity to big population centers are typically overrun with anglers during runoff. Not my cup of tea. But there are other options further south and west like La Jara Creek below La Jara Reservoir (near Alamosa), Grape Creek below Deweese Reservoir (near Westcliffe), North Clear Creek below Continental Reservoir (near Creede), Tarryall Creek below Tarryall Reservoir (near Lake George) and Archuleta Creek below the Dome Lakes (near Gunnison). Several of them also feature productive beaver ponds nearby.

After some digging and rumination, I chart a five-day trip focused on the contiguous Cochetopa and Dome Lakes State Wildlife Areas about 75 miles southwest of my cabin and 45 miles southeast of Gunnison. I have camped and fished this area before.

It is remote, but not too remote, high but at “only” 9,500 feet not so high as to be iced in, very scenic and it’s unlikely there will be many anglers around this early in the season. The gravel roads in the area are usually in good condition, and Gunnison is only 45 minutes away in case I need fuel, food, or whatever. Little Archuleta Creek flows out of Lower Dome Lake, a true tailwater that joins Cochetopa Creek a mile or so below the dam. Several tributaries of Cochetopa Creek above the Dome Lakes also sport some excellent beaver ponds.

I figure it will be good preparation for more ambitious trips in the July-to-October prime trout season in the Rockies. I can get everything organized and in ship shape—the proverbial shakedown cruise.

I can avoid problems later when in the wilds. As it turns out, it was a good practice run as I made some rookie mistakes that could have been real disasters in the more remote backcountry. Here are a few I can laugh at now, especially since the fishing, the description of which follows a summary of these memorable rookie mistakes, was excellent!

Rule #1: Always thoroughly test the trailer water, propane gas, batteries, and solar panels before you shove off. Double check the gas! I dutifully drained the antifreeze in the water system on my travel trailer, flushed it out and refilled the water tanks. I tested the new water pump, and it hummed efficiently. Next, I filled the propane tanks and carefully tested each of the three gas burners on the stove. They all functioned perfectly, and then I ran the gas furnace and checked the gas connection that would run the little refrigerator. The batteries were next. I charged them up and tested the solar panel that would keep them humming in the boondocks, allowing me to have light in the trailer and recharge my cell phone after the daily quotient of photos of the scenery, wildflowers, wild animals, and big fish. After all that activity, I retired to the front porch to enjoy the view and have a glass of wine.

I was admiring the Western Tanagers, Black-Headed Grosbeaks, and assorted hummingbirds on the bird feeders when I heard a cheeping noise coming from out back beyond the trailer among the pinon trees and sage. Maybe a new bird for my list?? I crept quietly around the cabin in the direction of the cheeping but couldn’t see anything. The chatter continued. I slyly pulled out my cell phone and opened the Merlin bird app from the Cornell School of Ornithology and held it high in the air. It identifies birds by their calls. I could tell the app was struggling, but it finally identified the call of a spotted towhee, a shy bird that frequents the area.

Next morning when I awakened, I heard the phantom towhee who was continuing to cheep merrily away. After finishing breakfast, I snuck outside to see if I could spot him. Then I realized the call was coming from my travel trailer. I opened the door and sure enough a little black box near the floor under a window was sounding off. I unplugged the device and found it was a propane gas detector.

But there was nothing using gas on in the cabin. The note on the box said it should be replaced every years, and my trailer just turn seven, so I thought it must be defective and was ready to toss it into the trash when I happened to glance over to the stove….and saw that one burner was not fully off and not lit! It was turned to the lowest setting when I tested it, but apparently I had not shut it off completely and it had been running all night long. I quickly turned it off and bailed out of the trailer. Since propane gas is odorless, no telling what might have happened if it had continued to slowly leak gas into the trailer and I had lit a match! Yikes!!

Rule #2: Always check the hitch, lights, tires, and inside of the trailer one last time after you drive it a short distance. The driveway down from my cabin to the nearest county road is a tad rough. I take it slowly and always stop at the bottom of the driveway just before turning onto the county road to check things. Everything looked good from the outside, but when I opened the door, I was met by a river of white liquid that was oozing out of the refrigerator and across the floor to the door. I tiptoed around the white flow and opened the refrigerator. Inside was a frothing lake of white milk covering most everything. Turns out I had not tightened the cap sufficiently on the quart milk box, and it proceeded to leak out over everything below it—lunch meat, fruit, tomatoes, corn on the cob, you name it! AARRGGHH! Quite a mess, but fortunately I caught it before it coated the entire frig interior not to mention the floor of the trailer.

Rule #3: Double check the trailer brakes and 4WD before hitting the main highway. As noted, my driveway is bumpy and steep, always reminding me to test the trailer brakes and put the SUV into four-wheel drive to slow the descent while give it a little test. Unfortunately, in the hubbub over the spilled milk, I forgot to switch back into 2WD and proceeded to drive for 45 miles in 4WD at speeds to 60 mph before noticing my error. The owner’s manual cautions never to drive in 4WD over 55 mph. Luckily I appear to have dodged a bullet as the 4WD performed flawlessly throughout the trip in more suitable terrain at acceptable speeds.

Rule #4: Always set blocks under the trailer tires before unhitching from the SUV. When I got to Upper Dome Lake where I would be camping in a state wildlife area, I was anxious to get on a nearby creek which appeared to be high but fishable. I unlocked the trailer ball and cranked it down from the hitch receiver on the SUV. I moved the SUV forward and went about leveling the trailer. But before I could finish the job, a huge gust of wind, probably more than 40 mph, swept over the trailer and BANG, pushed the trailer jack/hitch off the block of wood it was resting on. The trailer skidded forward a half dozen feet, coming close to crashing into the SUV. I had to struggle for 30 minutes to get the trailer hitch jacked up high enough to reconnect it back to the hitch on the SUV and then maneuver the trailer back into position. This would have been easily avoided by the simple act of setting the tire blocks first before unhooking the trailer. Lesson learned.

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize till later that the trailer jack had been damaged. Fortunately the jack crank still worked, if barely. I was able to hitch the trailer up to the SUV when I headed home a few days later and get a new new trailer jack pronto.

Day 1—Archuleta Creek Headwaters

Surely things had to get better after this auspicious debut!! And they did. Although the wind continued to howl, blowing hard from the northeast at 20-30 mph, after a quick lunch I was able to find some shelter from it on the headwaters of nearby Archuleta Creek which lays in a wind shadow of the magnificent Cochetopa Dome. The dome is a fascinating geological feature that dominates the valley. It is the center of an extinct giant volcano that collapsed millions of years ago. The caldera of the collapsed volcano, now a vast landscape of sage and prairie vegetation, was an incredible 20 miles wide!

Cochetop Caldera With Cochetopa Dome Marked CO

Tiny Archuleta Creek arises from the hills of the Cochetopa Caldera to the south of Upper Dome Lake where it is dammed a mile or so down the valley. It’s so small in its headwaters that even a septuagenarian can easily to jump across in places. Surely there can’t be fish here. Indeed over a period of 15 years exploring this area, I have never seen another angler on upper Archuleta—just bovine visitors grazing in the meadow. But appearances are definitely deceiving. The narrow runs between the big bends are often two-to-three feet deep, and the bend pools provide perfect habitat for the trout—brookies, browns, rainbows, and tigers. Indeed, it is possible to score a mountain trout grand slam here in a day. The casting under the best of conditions is extremely challenging and stealth is mandatory given the size of the stream. The wind gusts were going to make things even more interesting.

I park my SUV about a quarter mile south of the turn onto CR NN14 that separates the creek from the backwaters of Upper Dome Lake. Before hopping over a low section of the barbed wire fence that parallels the road and heading downstream, I pause to soak in the beautiful scene—the majestic peaks of the rugged eastern San Juan Mountains in the background.

Archuleta Creek Framed By The High Peaks Of The East San Juan Mountains

The terrain is soft and marshy. I am wearing chest waders and carrying my wading staff, but hip boots would probably do as well. I know from previous experience there are caddis in these waters, so tied on a #16 green sparkle caddis larva below a #16 Royal Stimulator that is a decent caddisfly or grasshopper imitation—although I don’t see any flies on the water or risers. There is a smattering of small grasshoppers in the grass.

Three Flies Will Do The Trick All Week–A Royal Stimulator, Chubby Chernobyl, And Sparkle Caddis Larva

The water is high, but i, and only slightly discolored, with visibility at about one foot deep. On my third cast a spunky brook trout inhales the dry fly as it floats down into a bend pool and puts up a worthy battle before sliding in my next for a quick photo.

That starts two hours of steady action as I move carefully upstream. Soon in a narrow, deep run a bit further up, a colorful rainbow nails the caddis dropper.

Surprisingly, most of the fish which run from 10-12 inches prefer the dry fly. My audience of cows and calves do not seem to be impressed and trotted off insouciantly. Before long, I come to an irrigation drop structure with a wide deep pool below it. I cast to the top of the pool and watched as the dry floats jauntily in the foam line along the shoreline–before something big busts it in a showy splash. It looks like a brown trout. He cavorts around the pool but before long I am easing him towards the net as I think of the bragging I will be able to do over the photo with my fishing pals…until he manages to snarl the line on an unseen subsurface snag and twist off. He is easily the biggest of the day, probably 15 inches. My bruised ego is quickly salved, however, by a couple of 12-inch plus rainbows in the same pool that inhale the Royal Stimulator. I fish upstream another 15 minutes or so upstream, catching a few more brookies, before deciding to call it a day. I am tuckered out after all the trailer hi-jinks and the thought of taking it easy in a lounge chair with a libation while enjoying the views back at camp of Dome Lake and the Cochetopa Dome is irresistible. So that’s what I do.

Later, after dinner as the sun sets, I relish the changing colors on the Cochetopa Dome and the dancing colors as the sun sets to the west. Not a bad first day.

Day Two: Upper Dome Lake And Middle Archuleta Creek

I rise early the next morning, courtesy of the wind gusts shaking the trailer. I peer out the window and see whitecaps churning on the lake. This doesn’t look like a day for flyfishing to say the least, on either Upper or Lower Dome Lakes or the tailwater section of Archuleta Creek below. To make matters worse, when I check my phone I discover that the USB charging port in the trailer isn’t working and my cell battery is perilously close to dead. Damn! How am I going to take photos of all those big fish and the wonderful scenery?? But wait, I remember I just bought a portable power bank that lets me recharge the phone on the go. Congratulating myself on my perspicacity, I plug in the phone and in less that 30 minutes it is fully recharged, as if by magic.

‘The power bank will be a life saver, recharging my phone each night with enough juice left for one or two more.

But after the battery incident and in the face of gale force winds, what does any self-respecting fly fisher do? Tie some flies? Clean his fishing line? Pout?

Spin Fishing Heresy!!

Heck NO, he gets out is trusty ultra-light spincast outfit from a secret hiding place in the trailer, grabs a box of lures, and heads down to the lake where the dam provides a small shadow of quieter water. I tie on an old-reliable silver/blue Kastmaster spoon, and the fun begins immediately.

I throw a long cast out to a spot where I see some swirls in the water, let it sink a few feet, then begin a herky-jerky retrieve. As the lure nears the shoreline rocks, I see a silvery flash and feel a good hit. I set the hook, and my rod bends perilously. It’s a nice 13-inch shiny rainbow who takes to the air several times before coming ashore.

He will be the first of a dozen or so cooperative bows that make for a fun and lively morning. A flight of striking violet-green swallows adds to the scene as they dip and dart over the water, gobbling down tiny insects for breakfast.

Graceful Violet-Green Swallows Fly Over Upper Dome Lake Feasting On Lake Bugs

After lunch, the wind ebbs a tad, so off I go to fish Archuleta Creek below the dams, a true tailwater that is running a little high but crystal clear. As I make the circuit around Upper Dome Lake in my SUV and then turn downstream, I am pleased to see my Florida White Pelican fan club has followed me up from the Everglades where I spend the winter chasing snook and tarpon. They are clearly expecting to receive some fishy treats like a ladyfish or snapper that often nail our offerings down there.

The Archuleta Creek tailwater can be divided into three sections. The first extends about a quarter of a mile below Lower Dome Lake to a high barb wire fence a few hundred upstream of a turnout (Marked in red.) on CR NN14. The middle stretch extends from the big fence past the turnout that is marked by an informational sign with fishing regulations. Just below the turnout is a stile that allows anglers to climb over another barbed wire fence that parallels the road and then fish either upstream to the high barbed wire fence noted above at the bottom of the first stretch or walk downstream into the third stretch. The third stretch starts about a quarter mile downstream from the turnout and continues to the confluence with Cochetopa Creek. All three stretches are serpentine, marked by deep bend pools.

Stretch 1 From Dam To Just Above Turnout Marked With Red Point

As I come to the turnout, I high am surprised to see another angler downstream who looks to be an older gent like me. Perched high above the creek, I watch him cast and hook a trout. He continues working upstream, wading right down the middle of the creek with the grace of a water buffalo. Even at a distance, I can see wakes of fish fleeing before him. These tailwaters are crystal clear, with shallow runs interspersed with alluring bend pools.

Bend Pools Alternate With Shallow Stretches

Stealth is mandatory, and I try to stay out of the water whenever possible. Indeed, I often find myself kneeling to maintain a low profile when casting. If you don’t, you will spook the fish in the shallow stretches hiding undernearth aquatic vegetation, and they will flee wildly upstream leaving prominent wakes as they alert their brethren to the intruder.

With the middle stretch occupied I opt to fish the upper section and turn my vehicle around and head back up to Lower Dome Lake where I leave the SUV in a parking area next to the lake.

Then I hike downstream about a 10 minutes until I come to the imposing barbed wire fence that extends from the road to the creek, marking the upper boundary of the middle stretch. I will work back upstream from here, giving the older gent plenty of room. It is about 2:30 p.m. as I approach the stream. The tall hills to the northeast of the creek are providing some shelter from the wind. That will make casting a little easier. The water is a tad high, up in the shoreline vegetation in some stretches, but not too bad. The creek is crystal clear and registering at 62 degrees on my thermometer. I see fish dimpling the surface. As I prepare to cast, one spies me and jets downstream. Slow down, I say to myself! I let things calm down and then check some streambed rocks to see what the menu of the day looks like. The rock is loaded with caddis cases. I squeeze one and a little bright green larva appears.

Looks like sparkle green caddis dropper time with the Royal Stimi on top.

On my second cast to the bend pool above, a good fish intercepts the caddis larva and erupts into the air when I set the hook. Soon a beautiful golden brown comes to the net, measuring almost 14-inches. A good start.

The action is steady on both the surface and the dropper as I continue upstream. The casting in this section can be tricky in parts as the creek winds in and out of a barbed wire fence that parallels the water to the north.

Before long, I come to another tempting bend pool. Looks like a can’t miss…and it is. On my first cast, a big trout, his side glinting gold in the sun, inhales the dry as it floats into the pool. The battle is on, the trout tearing downstream right at me. I stand and stomp my boot foot in the water. The trout sees me, does an abrupt 180, and jets back to the pool. He tries to flee upstream round the bend, but I put on the pressure with my 8 ½ foot, 4# rod, and succeed on turning the fish. He’s a big handsome 16-inch brown trout covered head to tail with striking spots set against his yellow-gold body. He soon is swimming back to his lair, shimmering in the sun as he goes.

I continue to work up stream carefully, concentrating on the bend pools. Every one yields a fish or two, and I start to pick up some fat brookies that add to the pleasure.

By the time I reach my SUV it’s almost 4:30. In a bit under two hours I have fooled 20 or so fish, predominantly brown trout with most on the dry, including two that break the 16-inch mark. Afternoon delight!! Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.

For the rest of the story, See The Fishing: Act 2 (COMING SOON)

April 9, 2024April 9, 2024 hooknfly

Angling Trauma? Try A Band-Aid Jig Fly

April 2024

All experienced anglers have suffered serious fishing-related trauma. The agony associated with the dreaded skunk (aka being shut out and not catching any fish) and resulting bruised ego come to mind. Or losing that favorite fly or lure to a nasty snag while the fish are biting like crazy but with no replacement in the fly or tackle box. What to do?!? Try this new, hot Band-Aid Jig Fly in an emergency…or any time you want to catch loads of fish.

Jig flies have become all the rage in the angling community. Basically, they are flies tied on a hook featuring a jig head.

Jig flies are supremely versatile, able to cover the water column from top to bottom in a realistic, alluring fashion that fish just can’t seem to resist. But the Band-Aid Jig Fly is in a class by itself. It reminds me of the story of the eponymous Mop Fly dreamed up by famous angler Jim Estes of North Carolina for southeastern trout streams. In the 1990s Estes walked into a Dollar General Store where he spied a chartreuse-green mop head with small spongy worm-like strands on the shelf. He figured it looked like a fuzzy caterpillar that trout doted on in his favorite streams so snipped off one of the strands. He used it as the abdomen on a fly hook with a black chenille collar coupled with a small brass bead.

The rest is history as trout after trout fell victim to his concoction, making it one of the most famous new flies of the 21st Century. Mop Fly mania swept the country. The Band-Aid Jig Fly promises to be of the same class. Here’s the creation story behind this amazing brand-new innovation along with detailed instructions on how to tie it up.

Recently on one fine Spring Day in the Everglades, I was guiding two of my visiting college buddies Lance Miller and Joe Perez on a backcountry hiking trip in the Everglades.

Within a mile of the trailhead, we came to a hidden freshwater pond I had serendipitously stumbled onto on an earlier exploratory trip. Then I found it alive with fish busting the surface as they eagerly downed a meal. I’d never seen anything like it in the more than 60 years I have been chasing the finned creatures, but unfortunately I had not thought to bring a fishing rod along.

Fortuitously, at the last minute before leaving home on this trip with my buddies I had grabbed a fishing rod just in case the fish were still hungry and we might be able to wet a line. I had tied on an old-favorite, reliable lure, a curlytail plastic mounted on a small red jig head, a combo that imitates a small wriggling fish when retrieved.

When we got to the pond, on the very first cast Lance made a hungry fish smacked the lure and nearly pulled the rod out of the his hands. He hung on for dear life and finally hauled the truculent piscatorial prize in for a photo and quick release. It was a feisty, chunky Oscar, a cichlid from South America that had been imported into the US in the 1950s as an aquarium fish, escaped into the canals of Miami, and has spread all over southern Florida.

Next it was Joe’s turn. The cast flew across the pond, and before Joe could crank the reel handle a couple of turns the lure disappeared in a giant vortex of water leaving Joe’s rod bending double. After an epic battle that went back and forth as the fish dove for freedom under some overhanging branches, Joe muscled the finned demon to shore.

Five casts later, five more fish came to the net. We were all ecstatic, laughing and prancing around like a bunch of teenagers, instead of the somber, serious, and wise septuagenarians that we are. But then tragedy struck. Joe slowed his retrieve a bit after a subsequent cast, and the lure sank deeper…right into a nasty snag of hidden submerged tree limbs. Lance and I chastised Joe severely, and I used every trick I knew to get the lure loose while simultaneously turning the sky blue with expletives. It was the only lure I had brought with me. I gave the line one last tremendous jerk, and voila’, the jig came flying back at me at supersonic speed. Relying on my cat-like quickness, I ducked and avoided being impaled. I was all grins as I walked over to pick up the jewel, but gasp when I saw that all that was left was the jig head hook—the curlytail was lost somewhere in the depths.

Lance and I fumed, toying with the idea of chucking Joe into the pond where a gator had recently been attracted by all the commotion.

But cooler heads prevailed, mainly because Joe was stronger than us and much more pugnacious. But now the issue was what to do!! I started pawing around inside my daypack, hoping to find something to replace the curlytail. Maybe I could cut some strips off an old yellow poncho I found buried in the bowels of the pack and tie them to the jig head to imitate a fleeing fish as they waved in the water when retrieved. No, they were so thin they would likely tear off when a fish hit. I kept digging and finally found the answer in my little red first aid kit—a band-aid tucked between the ibuprofen bottle and some little blue pills in a plastic bag. I peeled away the outer wrapper of the band-aid, which was a monumental challenge for old fingers, and removed the sticky covering. Next I shaped one end into a reasonable facsimile of a fish tail fin. I then ran the hook through the cotton pad in the middle of the band-aid so it wouldn’t pull out when it was yanked into the lips of the unsuspecting fish. It wasn’t the most attractive of jig flies, but necessity has to be the mother of invention. It certainly beat nothing. Man was I in for a pleasant surprise!!

Necessity Is The Mother Of Invention: The Revolutionary Band-Aid Jig Fly

It was with great trepidation that I arched a cast with this new odd-looking jig fly on my line to the far side of the pond. It landed right on target where the fish had been feeding with abandon minutes before Joe’s faux pas. I paused to let the fly sink a bit so the band-aid tail would pulsate alluringly. Suddently the water erupted in a small geyser as a big Oscar pounced on it

The Band-Aid Jig Fly Strikes

After this test run, I cast and handed the rod to Lance and as soon as the Band-Aid Fly hit the water it was pounced on by another Oscar. Lance adroitly fought the tough cookie and worked it into the net, another victim of the enticing Band-Aid Jig Fly.

Lance Becomes A Devotee Of The Band-Aid Jig Fly

Lance handed the rod to Joe and he was soon tusseling with another Oscar, successfully reeling it in without getting it snagged–much to our relief!

Joe Keeps The Fishs Parade Rolling

Joe’s catch would be the second of a dozen more fish that couldn’t resist the enticing Band-Aid Jig Fly. Needless to say, my buddies were smiling and celebrating as they took turns landing fish after scrappy fish.

Fast forward a few months. On subsequent outings, the Band-Aid Jig Fly had proved irresistible to every species of fish in the Everglades, freshwater and saltwater. Bass, snook, gar, tarpon, or redfish, it made no difference. Now positive reports are streaming in from around Florida and beyond. Reportedly trout in Colorado and other Rocky Mountain States can’t get enough of the alluring Band-Aid Jig Fly.

Lance Demonstrates The Band-Aid Jig Fly Works On
Big Lakes As Well

Quickly the word has gotten out about the inimitable Band-Aid Jig Fly, whispered from angler-to-angler throughout the Everglades and far beyond. As a consequence of my big mouth, I have come under intense pressure to reveal the recipe for this new creation and toyed with the idea of seeking a patent, thinking of the nice cushion it would create in my retirement funds as the money flowed in. But I have decided as a gift to my fellow anglers I will share the bounty just as Jim Estes did with the Mop Fly and reveal the secret recipe for it as set forth below, accompanied by a step-by-step photo guide. Just remember to take along extra band-aids on your next fishing trip as they may save the day, practice catch and release of those fish that are entranced by the Band-Aid Jig Fly, and leave no trace. Oh, and don’t believe everything you read! Tight lines….

STEP–BY-STEP INSTRUCTIONS FOR CREATING THE BAND-AID JIG FLY

The Main Ingredients–Band-Aid and Small Jig Head Hook

BAND-AID JIG FLY RECIPE

Hook: Size 6-10 beadhead hook or 1/8 ounce or smaller jig head on Size 2 or smaller hook.

Hackle: One end cut into strips and flared around the jig head.

Body: Band-aid pad

Tail: Other end of band-aid pinched together to form a paddle tail that will wriggle when fly is retrieved.

March 6, 2024March 9, 2024 hooknfly

Noontootla Creek–Exploring A Rare Wild Georgia Trout Stream

May 2023

Come join me and explore one of the only wild trout streams in Georgia. Click on the link below for my latest article from the winter 2024 issue of American Fly Fishing.

Noontootla Creek AFF article Download

March 2, 2024March 4, 2024 hooknfly

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: http://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: http://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: http://hooknfly.com/2023/07/31/a-hidden-gem-fakahatchee-strand-state-preserve-park-florida/ ; http://hooknfly.com/2024/01/26/hiking-in-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-dont-overlook-the-jones-grade-trail/ ; http://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: http://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: http://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: http://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: http://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: http://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/; http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/; http://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: http://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.