Solving The Runoff Riddle: Off To See The Wizards Of Gnaws

Early June 2023

I am back in Colorado from Florida just in time for the annual spring runoff that blows out all my favorite rivers and creeks. Saguache Creek in the San Luis Valley that fishes well at 40-50 cfs is a rambunctious 260 cfs. And the Big Ark near Salida that I can just wade safely across at 400 cfs is rolling at 2200 cfs. To complicate matters, most of my preferred high alpine lakes are still frozen or inaccessible because of deep snow drifts on the trails up. So, what to do? I could break out my float tube and drive over to Antero or Spinney Reservoirs in South Park near Fairplay and join the pontoon flotilla and motorboat brigade—and probably catch some giant trout. But that’s not my scene. For my money, a better option if you are seeking solitude and wild fish (and even some surprisingly big ones) is beaver ponds.

Pursued by the Spanish and Pilgrims, then trapped to near extinction in the US in the mid-1800s, beavers have staged a remarkable recovery. That history, from pre-colonial times to the present, is chronicled in an engrossing book entitled Eager Beavers Matter by Ben Goldfarb.

Beavers are particularly important in the dry western US where they create wetlands, help conserve water, AND as an added bonus for anglers, fashion inviting habitat for trout–a true foundational species in many areas. As Professor Tom Lovejoy, a former colleague of mine at the World Wildlife Fund, wrote in review, “Eager is the stunning story of beavers—so integral to early human landscapes of North America—and their function in support of people and later the American economy. Literally nature’s “Corps of Engineers,” beavers today play vital roles in restoring watersheds, landscapes, and flood control throughout the continent. To view them just as a cute animal with a flat tail is to trivialize the central player in both history and modern-day landscape ecology.”

Now admittedly, to catch trout in beaver ponds can be a real challenge, both physically and mentally, but offers great rewards. I have learned this through the school of hard knocks over the past five decades and have shared some tips and rules for fishing beaver ponds in earlier posts, such as always approaching a beaver pond from below the dam. (For more beaver pond fishing tips, see my earlier article from 2019: http://hooknfly.com/2019/07/06/beaver-pond-perspicacity-solving-the-puzzle/. I will have great days and some not so good, but isn’t that trout fishing in a nutshell? Fortunately, almost every region in Colorado has its share of productive beaver ponds. Around Salida in south central Colorado we are lucky to have a surfeit—Silver, Pass, Fooses, Greens, and Little Cochetopa Creeks to name just a few.

Now having spent several days unloading my SUV after from my annual migration from Florida, tidying up my cabin, and the bird feeders full, I figured have earned a day on the water. I do a little recon on a creek only a few miles from my house, and things look good. Through the thicket along a bumpy gravel road that parallels the creek, I catch glimpses of several beaver ponds that seem to be in good shape despite a lot of runoff and rain this spring. And because the mornings have been cold in the 40s, I won’t have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

After a leisurely breakfast, I arrive at the chosen location around 9:30 a.m., a turnout that is a short walk to an opening in the brush and trees that according to Google Maps will lead to the series of nice-looking beaver ponds that have been good to me in the past.

I slip on my chest waders—beaver ponds can have deep and mucky holes and it’s much too cold for wet wading this time of year. The water will register a chilly 42 degrees when I break out my thermometer later in the morning.

As I head into the thicket, wild rose bushes grasp at my waders (Leave the expensive Simms ones at home!), and the sharp thorns of the currant bushes prick my arms. I march on resolutely down the increasingly steep slope, my wading staff saving me from a couple of ignominious falls. Soon I am smiling when I see water shimmering in a pond below. But when I emerge from the tangle, my heart sinks. The big dam has been blown out, draining the pond that now only has a few inches of water over what was a deep pool.

I mope about hoping to spot a fin, but nary a trout remains to be seen. I shake my head. The dam and pond have apparently been victims of a huge storm and flood that hit the area late last August that blew out culverts in the valley below. I look upstream and see that all may not be lost. As the little creek cascades from the narrows above, it swirls around a couple of rocks and creates some small pools that just may harbor a fish. I’ll give it a try.

I’m using short 7.5 foot, 3-weight fly rod rigged with a #16 Crystal Royal Stimulator dry fly and a #16 red bead head San Juan Worm dropper. The water is stained from the runoff, and I will try other droppers throughout the day—from tiny zebra midges to bushy olive wooly buggers, but the San Juan Worm will rule.

The first two casts the flies float down the middle of the foam line in the narrow creek. But on the third I nudge the dry closer to the quiet postage-sized backwater behind one of the rocks and just out of the fast current. WHOOSH! A silvery fish rockets out of the water and smashes the Stimi. Startled, I still manage to set the hook after a slight hesitation that I attribute to a slight case of rustiness due to six months away from a trout stream. Obviously could have nothing to do with aging reflexes! The trout cavorts upstream to a little waterfall then reverses course and rushes back to his hideaway. I slowly work him out from behind the rock and ease him into the net where he pushes 12-inches—a respectable start!

I continue bushwacking upstream following the creek up the slope to another beaver dam that I can see through the tangle of brush and downed tree branches. When I finally emerge, the warm glow from that first fish evaporates—damn, another blown out dam, wrecked just as thoroughly as the first although Google Maps depicts it as brim full! Tip: Google Maps satellite photos are notoriously out of date in remote areas like this. Ground-truthing mandatory.

I resolutely press on and find the third pond also to be a mere shadow of its former self. And to make matters worse, the thicket above this one appears impenetrable. I’m going to have to detour up the slope on the opposite side of the dry pond where the vegetation appears to open up a bit. After some grasping, grunting, and clawing up the hill, I manage to find a route upstream that appears less suicidal. Along the way I take a short rest surrounded by a carpet of beautiful yellow wild sweet peas that are buzzing with bumble bees.

Then I spot an odd brown spherical shape in the forest floor that turns out to be a giant puffball of the Sclerodermataceae family of fungi.

When I poke it, the puffball emits a cloud of brown spores that waft away in the gentle breeze. Like Clinton, I didn’t inhale.

I continue on and in a few minutes, I am looking down at a beautiful dam that actually has a pond with a decent amount of water behind it. I gingerly zig-zag down the steep slope with the help of my trusty wading staff and emerge onto a muddy sandbar that I see some big elk have recently traversed to get themselves a drink of water from the pond.

Then I see it—another big track in the mud. I think first “bear” but then see it 4 toes instead of 5 and a big palm pad, which means mountain lion.

My skin starts to prickle as I survey the surrounding forest for the cat. This county reportedly has more cougars than any in Colorado, but I have set to see one in the wild. Not that I want to!

When my nerves settle down, I inch up towards a foam line that spills into a deeper hole where I can’t see the bottom.

On my second cast in the foam line, the dry is yanked under as something eats the San Juan Worm. It’s a frisky little brown trout, but I figure something bigger has to be lurking around that dead tree stump jutting from the bottom.

After releasing the little tyke I cast again into the foam line above the deep hole. The dry drifts near the stump and suddenly it’s gone. I set the hook and my rod bends double. A big brown trout rolls on the surface and dives towards the snag. I put the brakes on him and after a worthy battle, the brownie slides into the net, pushing 14-inches!

He will be the biggest of the day. Score another for the San Juan Worm.

I make a dozen more casts in the pond, but come up empty, so start bushwhacking upstream again. I soon am scrambling up on another beaver dam that has backed up a decent looking pond with a nice foam line coursing down its middle.

There are plenty of signs of beaver activity.

I fish the entire foam line thoroughly and am surprised not to spark any interest. The water just doesn’t have enough depth as it did a year ago. My guess is the dam was blown out and then rebuilt by the indefatigable beavers, but the fish haven’t yet returned. I’m about to continue upstream, but then spot what appears be a side channel on the other side of the pond and deftly wade across to discover a beautiful waterfall that I hope will be a stairway to angling heaven.

The creek has split and cascades steeply downhill into a couple of captivating small ponds with all the makings of honey holes. I pick my way carefully down the slope and then kneel to cast towards the deeper water at the foot of the small dam. Again, after multiple casts, nothing doing.

I reverse course and climb back up the waterfall and continue to the last two ponds that are a short trek upstream.

When I mount the first dam, again I am flummoxed. Both dams have been breached in the middle, and the ponds aren’t not deep enough to float a duck. Looks like the end of the day as I climb the slope to my waiting SUV.

But wait! After recharging with a can of RC Cola elixir and a hearty lunch, I refuse to give in and decide to drive upstream a mile or so to another set of beaver ponds with big dams that may have been able to survive last year’s torrent. As I round the bend just above a couple of the ponds, I see indeed they have and are in good shape, showing signs of recent beaver activity.

Beaver Pond Nirvana

The first dam is so big I decide not to risk scaling it but opt to skirt around its south side.

This requires clambering up a steep slope with occasional crawling, then sliding down to the pond oh so gracefully on my derriere. But it pays off. The pond is plenty deep and features a tempting foam line below the next dam upstream.

On my very first cast, an eager little brook trout nails the San Juan Worm.

Three more follow quick succession, then I start to work a good-looking spot just above two converging foam lines. The Royal Stimulator alights daintily just below the outreaching tentacles of several overhanging branches.

Promising Quiet Slot Between Two Foam Lines

Pinpoint casting, I congratulate myself on, although admittedly luck may have had something to do with it. Then I notice the Stimi is gone and set the hook. I hefty fish has taken the dropper and erupts into the air. He tears downstream with me in hot pursuit. I hit a muddy stretch, and my wading boots refuse to move. So I stand there up to my knees in muck and gradually wear down the hard-fighting critter. It turns out to be a colorful brookie, almost 13-inches long, a veritable leviathan in these waters.

I continue to probe the two foam lines just below the dam, and low and behold, soon hook and land a surprise brown trout in this brookie haven. After a good battle he slides into my net, another fish pushing 12-inches.

I fool a couple more willing brookies up close against the dam before the action quiets and I head upstream. The next pond has a beautiful foam line that breaks around a stand of dead trees where the bottom drops off. On the first cast I land another brownie and follow that with a half dozen spunky brookies.

Then I spot some fish rising on the opposite shoreline in a foam line that slides under some nasty looking branches. Who can resist. The pond is too deep to wade straight across, so I wade back downstream and perform a high-wire act across the dam to the other side successfully. The Flying Wallendas aerialists have nothing on me!

Then I bushwhack into position and carefully cast my rig into the maze of sticks and branches. My old eyes have a hard time seeing the white wing of the Royal Stimulator in the foam line, but a hard jerk on my line lets me know something has dined on one of my flies. It’s a nice brookie that surfaces with the San Juan Worm in its mouth.

On the next cast, I push my luck too far and get snagged on one of the grabby branches. Fortunately, when I give my line one last hard tug, the branch breaks and my rig comes back in one piece with both flies. I try again, and this time the flies some how dodge the snags, and immediately another brook trout nails the San Juan Worm. And then another.

I’m thinking I should call it a day and not tempt fate by messing any further with the water thicket above but succumb and head up to the little pool just below the next dam that looks like it can’t miss. I slide into place to throw a short cast up against the dam, and sure enough, another brookie just can’t resist. But just as I reach for my net, I feel my left boot start to sink further into the muck, while my right boot refuses to move. The result is a slow-motion fall sideways into a mud-covered sandbar. There is no danger as the water is shallow, and I have to laugh while the cold water seeps into my waders as my left elbow sinks into the muck. After a few tries, I manage to extricate and right myself. But the brookie has won her freedom. This is definitely a sign that I should leave the next pond above featuring a big dam and shoreline completely surrounded by a mass of dead trees and branches, for another day.

This one has been a good one where persistence (or hard-headed stubbornness) has paid off. As I leave, I tip my hat to the inimitable Wizards of Gnaws!! They have had the answer to the runoff riddle.

June 27, 2021June 27, 2021 hooknfly

Beaver Pond Saga, Chapter 3: Return Of The Mojo (Pass Creek Near Salida, CO)

Early June 2021

For my recent befuddling foray on the Trout Creek beaver ponds see: https://hooknfly.com/2021/05/23/__trashed/

For my more successful first outing on the Pass Creek beaver ponds see: https://hooknfly.com/2021/06/24/beaver-pond-saga-chpt-2-mojo-rejuvenation-on-pass-creek-near-salida-co/

and for some tips and techniques for beaver pond angling see: https://hooknfly.com/2021/05/27/runoff-blues-try-a-beaver-pond/

At the close of day after a successful late May Pass Creek beaver pond rehab mission I ventured another mile upstream in my SUV to check out prospects there and stumbled onto a picture-perfect beaver pond with the requisite beaver lodge. I immediately booked Step Two of the mojo rehab treatment for early June, figuring after another good day on the Pass Creek ponds I’d be fully recovered and ready to tackle those snooty Trout Creek brownies.

So a week later in mid-afternoon I am trundling up the bumpy road that parallels the creek towards the aforementioned alluring beaver pond. Unlike the ones I fished in late May, this pond is visible from the road with easy access. Even better, when I stroll down towards the big pond, I discover there is a second large pond hiding just downstream. I hustle back to my SUV and and get suited up in my chest waders and grab my trusty wading staff. Both are essential for navigating and thoroughly fishing beaver ponds where the going is often difficult due to rough and/or mucky terrain and for doing the often necessary high-wire dance along the beaver dam to access the entire pond. I am carrying my two-rod beaver pond special combo—one an 8.5 foot, 4-weight fly rod and the other a 5-foot ultralight spincast outfit for fishing in tight spots where fly casting is not possible.

The fly rod is rigged with a #16 Rio Grande Trude attractor with a #20 red zebra midge nymph dropped about two-feet below. On the spincast rod are a #18 Two-Bit Hooker nymph and #16 red San Juan Worm along with a BB split shot, a good combination when the water is high and clear as is now the case or there are deep pools in a pond.

With my fishing fever rising and my mojo in good shape, I charge down the slope and head downstream to get below the second pond. I find an opening in the thicket that leads down to the creek below the dam. There’s a nice little pool here, but the short stretch is entirely overgrown above and below, making fly casting impossible.

Instead I pull out the spincast outfit and use a pendulum cast to flip the nymphs under the overhanging branches and am immediately rewarded with a feisty little brook trout.

I release the trout and move downstream, trying to peer beyond the branches and vines. I’m surprised to find there is actually another tiny beaver pond just around the bend, completely hidden from sight above.

Surprise Hidden Postage-Stamp Size Beaver Pond

I carefully move through the thicket and see there is another deeper, longer arm to the pond up against the south bank. I flip a backhand cast with the spincast rig and as soon as it hits the water above the pool a nice-sized trout rockets from under some downed timber above, chases the nymphs, and nails the San Juan Worm. I awake from my momentary trance and set the hook. Battle on. The fish runs directly for cover towards the dam and its nasty snags, but when he catches sight of me reverses course and jets back upstream. Fatal mistake, as I now have room to fight the frisky critter. Soon a well-fed brown trout topping 13-inches is sliding into my net for a quick pix and release.

After checking the flies, I throw a second cast into the exact spot, and the theatrics are repeated as another big brownie zooms from his hiding place above. But this time I yank too quickly and pull the fly right out of this mouth. Grrrr! Still, not a bad beginning. Oddly these will be the only brown trout I will see all day as brook trout dominate from here on up.

The way up to the next beaver pond is completely blocked by another impenetrable thicket so I have to scramble out of the water and navigate the steep slope on the south side of the valley. I slowly and carefully move around broken branches and thorny bushes using my wading staff to keep my aging frame from tumbling down into the undergrowth. Finally I reach an opening in the lower big pond I had spotted earlier, and am delighted to see it is much larger than I had expected. Better yet, there are risers dimpling the surface. If I stand on the dam I have enough room behind me to cast a fly.

I wait till a riser reveals himself at the edge of a shallow flat in the middle of the pond. My cast alights delicately a few feet away from the dimple he has left, and immediately something hits the little midge nymph, dragging the dry under. I set the hook and a miniature brook trout jumps in the air in an impressive show of aeronautical skill. Soon another frisky 8-incher comes in for a photo opportunity.

For the next 30-minutes I circumnavigate the pond, first by prancing carefully along the dam, then wading through the mucky shallows on the upper end. All the while the brookies cooperate. Interestingly, all fall for the nymph and turn their noses up at the attractor dry. A second fly rod with a midge dry probably would have done the trick, but two rods is plenty to try to carry in thickets or while walking on top of a mess of sticks and logs on top a beaver dam.

The action finally cools, and I start trudging up to the big photogenic dam that got me here in the first place. There’s a little pond just below the big one, but it’s too shallow to hold anything, so I creep up carefully to the big dam. Up close it’s even more breathtaking than from above.

The dam is a huge half-moon structure, creating a deep pool above it. The beaver lodge is the punctuation point. I try a dozen casts with the fly rod but nothing is interested. However, when I throw out the double nymph rig and let it sink into the deeper water, I immediately get a strong hit and soon land a beautiful little brookie on the San Juan Worm.

I circle the pond, casting from the dam then around to the other side near the beaver lodge. Trout usually like to stack up around the lodges with the deeper channels the beaver have dug for access, and this one is no different. The big pond has yielded about a dozen fish, all brookies in the 8-10 inch category.

Mojo Rejuvenation Treatment Nearly Complete

It’s getting late, so I start back to the SUV, but the sound of rushing water above catches my ear. I bushwhack upstream and am surprised to find another series of beaver ponds stepping up the hill.

More Bushwhacking And Mucking About Reveals More Ponds Above

I can’t control my piscatorial urges, and a beautiful rushing pool below the first one yields four brookies, one on the dry fly and the rest on the red zebra midge.

The pond just above looks so inviting, but before I can scramble up on the dam and make a cast, a loud clap of thunder from the dark clouds that have been rolling in argues otherwise.

Not wanting to tempt one of the lightning bolts dancing on a ridge to the west, I pick my way carefully back to the SUV through downed logs and branches with a big smile on my face. Trout Creek brownies BEWARE!! My angling mojo has returned!

June 24, 2021June 24, 2021 hooknfly

Beaver Pond Saga, Chpt. 2: Mojo Rejuvenation on Pass Creek (near Salida, CO)

Late May/Early June 2021

For my recent befuddling foray on the Trout Creek beaver ponds see: https://hooknfly.com/2021/05/23/__trashed/

and for some tips and techniques for beaver pond angling see: https://hooknfly.com/2021/05/27/runoff-blues-try-a-beaver-pond/

Beaver ponds are my go-to alternative when my favorite rivers and creeks in Colorado are blown out from spring runoff. This year I decided to try some inviting new waters close to home that I had overlooked for years. Based on decades of experience, mostly in the school of hard knocks, I fancy myself a fair-to-middling beaver pond angler. However, as documented in a recent blog post in May (See link above.), my first beaver pond outing of the season on a stream near Buena Vista, Colorado, one with a very promising name—Trout Creek—left me bewildered and despondent. After some four hours of hacking my way through a willow jungle and numerous casts on picture-perfect ponds, I netted only three modestly-sized fish! Needless to say, my piscatorial mojo was severely depleted. Undaunted, I promised I would return to take on the insolent critters, but decided first I better get some semblance of my full mojo back. To do so, I settled on a series of beautiful beaver ponds that dot Pass Creek, a small stream only a mile from my cabin near Salida, Colorado, as a potential antidote.

Pass Creek originates high up near the Continental Divide at the foot of 12,850-foot Chipeta Mountain, flowing out of beautiful Pass Creek Lake which holds some gorgeous cutthroats.

Pass Creek Lake With Chipeta Mountain Above

It then cascades some eight miles to its confluence with Little Cochetopa Creek just below my cabin. I had fished the lake and upper four miles of the creek a number of times over the years and had a ball catching some nice cutts in the lake and smaller cutts and brookies in the creek below, with a few surprise out-sized cutts mixed in. However, further down below the remnants of a little mining ghost town, I hadn’t given the stream much attention, primarily because it is heavily overgrown in its lower stretches or runs through private land.

In 2020 curiosity had finally gotten the best of me, and I sampled a couple of the beaver ponds a mile or so above the Little Cochetopa Creek confluence, landing several hefty brownies.

Alas, sometime in the past year those little waters had been blown out by the runoff, which often happens with beaver ponds. Fortunately, one fine winter’s day in 2021, I had decided to get some fresh air and drove up the bumpy gravel road that parallels the creek to do some recon. And what to my wondering eyes should appear but a series of beaver ponds that had been invisible all those years, hidden by a thicket of bushes, vines, and trees.

Winter Recon Pays Off With Sighting Of Hidden Beaver Ponds

I marked the location on Google Maps and then bided my time. Now that time had arrived with my beaver pond mojo needing some readjustment!

On a sunny afternoon in late May I was bouncing up CR (County Road) 212 that winds above the creek. The breeze was light and temperature in the 70s. I could see the creek was high from the runoff but reasonably clear and definitely fishable. I drove up about two miles up from the junction of CR 210 and 212 and pulled over at a turnout in the road where I had spotted the ponds earlier, then walked about a quarter mile back down just below where I estimated I would find the last of the ponds in this stretch.

The ponds were completely hidden, but relying on my keen navigational skills and some prayers, plunged into the thicket for a serious bushwhacking session.

Soon the wild roses and other assorted thorny bushes were grasping at my waders, and just as I was about to utter some choice expletives, I spied what looked to be a pond and could hear the rush of the creek.

I navigated carefully around a waterfall above the pond, but despite my stealthy approach, sent a squadron of small trout in the shallows scurrying for cover. Well, I thought, at least the fish are here. I decided to let the denizens of the pond settle down and fish the creek right below the waterfall. I checked some stream rocks and found them loaded with small mayfly and caddis nymphs. Caddis and mayflies along with midges were also flitting around in the air above the water. All signs were looking good! I was carrying two rods, one a 7.5-foot three-weight fly rod that I rigged with a bushy #16 Rio Grande King Trude attractor below which I tied on a #18 red Two-Bit Hooker to imitate the mayfly nymphs. The other, blasphemously, was a 5-foot ultralight spincast outfit that I figured I might need to be able to cast in the overgrown stretches above where fly casting would be impossible or to get down deep in the ponds. It was rigged with a beadhead sparkle caddis nymph and a #20 red zebra midge.

Dynamic Duo Is Good Combo To Tackle Overgrown Beaver Ponds

I knelt carefully on a sandbar 20-feet below the waterfall and targeted my cast at the foam line along the grassy undercut bank. The trude floated jauntily down the little run and promptly disappeared. I set the hook and was on to a trout that scampered back and forth in the small pool. Finally a Lilliputian brown came to the net.

Given my baffling experience on the aforementioned Trout Creek, I celebrated with a victory dance. Never has there been such rejoicing over an eight-inch fish as there was for this little guy.

Now I was ready to tackle the beaver pond. I concentrated on the darker, deeper water near the dam, but came up empty. Next I proceeded cautiously up the long south arm of the pond. Despite my stealth, again I scared the daylights out of a school of small trout that promptly jetted to safety above, no doubt alerting their brethren. Cracks began to appear in my still fragile, recovering mojo.

I retreated to the north arm of the pond and climbed back around the waterfall. Above, the creek narrowed, requiring me to claw through the overhanging branches and brush to reach open water. But the effort was worth it as I emerged just below the next good-looking beaver pond.

I crouched below the dam to avoid spooking any fish in the pond, and had just enough room to make a short backcast. As soon as the dry hit the water it was inhaled by a spunky brown pushing 9-inches. That was more like it! Surprisingly, however, a dozen more casts came up empty. I decided to mount the beaver dam and use the spincast outfit to probe the deeper water with the double-nymph rig to which I had added a split shot. No sooner had the flies sunk out of sight into the dark pool than something hit hard. It was another brown enticed by the zebra midge, this one a little bigger.

Now the action turned fast and furious, and I quickly fooled five more. The mojo meter was inching steadily up! As I worked to the upper end of the pond where the trees and brush receded, I switched back to the fly rod and fooled several more browns on the Two-Bit Hooker.

As I continued wading upstream I stepped out on a sandbar for easier going and immediately saw some fresh animal tracks. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I realized they were those of a mountain lion. Yikes.

Chaffee County is reputed to have one of the largest cougar populations in the state, but I have yet to see one here. I had the feeling something was watching me, but fortunately didn’t see or hear anything the rest of the afternoon if the big cat was indeed spying on me. He probably figured there wasn’t much worth gnawing on this old grizzled body.

From here on up, the going thankfully got easier as the ponds were spaced more closely together. The next one featured a big dam and plenty of casting room for the fly rod on the south side. I carefully scaled the south end of the dam and worked my way to an open spot where I knelt carefully in the shoreline grass. A few fish were rising along the opposite shoreline where the water was deepest. I unfurled a long cast that alighted delicately near the risers and was rewarded with an immediate strike on the dry. I set the hook and was onto the biggest fish of the day. He immediately headed towards the safety of the deepest part of the pool up against the dam and its riot of sticks and branches. My little rod was bent double as I tried to horse the trout away from danger. It was nip and tuck, but he finally relented and came in—a 14-inch beauty!

After my nerves calmed down, I made several more long casts with the dry/dropper rig but to no avail. So out came the spincast outfit. I cast across the pond again and let the nymphs descend to the depths of the pool. I cranked the reel handle a couple of times and was jolted by a hard strike. Another good-sized brown had inhaled the red zebra midge. He would also go near 14-inches!! This was definitely the honey hole, and three other brownies over 12-inches soon followed. My mojo meter was spinning wildly!!

When things quieted down, I proceeded to the next pond immediately above that was smaller and required a tricky backhand, sidearm cast to squeeze the flies into the main current under some overhanging dead branches. My first two casts were just out of the flow, but the third swung in gracefully just below the little waterfall created by the dam above and glided under the twigs. BAM! There was a miniature explosion as another nice brown that would measure 13-inches gulped down the dry. He dove for the undercut bank but I was able to winch him out into open water and into my net.

This would be the last of the good-sized fish, but who can complain.

The next pond upstream turned out to be shallow, yielding only a couple more diminutive trout. From there I ventured back into the fast-running creek upstream. As my flies floated pell-mell past a little brush pile at a bend in the stream, several miniature browns came flashing out in hot pursuit. I decided to have a little fun and made several more casts. They tried fearlessly again and again to nail the little imitations, but to no avail. Nothing like ending the day with a good laugh, a smile on my face, and the mojo meter recharged.

Eager Little Brownies In Fast Run Help End Good Day With A Chuckle

After I bushwhacked my way back up the slope to the SUV and had shed my waders, I quaffed a good NA beer. With another hour or so of daylight, it entered my trout-addled brain that maybe I should drive another mile upstream to where the creek flowed out of a stretch of private land to see if there were any more decent looking ponds up that way. Look what I discovered that some busy beavers had built since my last sojourn up here a couple of years ago.

Guess I’ll have to sample them next week…somebody has to so might as well be me, and maybe I’ll supercharge my angling mojo for the return bout on Trout Creek. I think I’ll need it.

May 23, 2021May 23, 2021 hooknfly

Bewitched, Bothered, And Bewildered By The Beguiling Beaver Ponds Of Trout Creek

Mid-May Near Buena Vista, Colorado

I’m wild again, beguiled again….

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered…am I.

1957 Classic Frank Sinatra Song

It’s that time of year in Colorado when the runoff starts, wiping out most of my favorite creeks. It’s then my thoughts turn to beaver ponds that actually seem to get better with the higher flows. For almost 25 years as I drove from my cabin near Salida, Colorado, to Denver I sped by little Trout Creek along US Highway 285 just east of Buena Vista, not paying much attention to the new beaver ponds popping up here and there close by. With each trip I became more intrigued, and my appetite was further whetted when some recon on Google Maps revealed over a dozen in a short two-mile stretch. I finally resolved to stop and give them a try in 2021.

Then to stoke my curiosity further, I heard from the good gentlemen at my local fly shop in Salida, ArkAnglers, that before a flash flood hit the canyon a decade or so ago, some sizeable brown trout called the waters home. Now thoroughly bewitched, I planned an exploratory expedition.

It was a warm spring day in May when I took the bait. The view from a turnout on US 285 made it look easy, some of the ponds literally a stone’s throw away, and what appeared to be a decent jeep trail paralleling the creek below. Duck soup!!

The Beguiling Beaver Ponds Of Trout Creek

I bumped down the dirt road into the canyon, parked my SUV, and began to suit up. Daydreaming of trout to come, it took me a while to realize I had driven over a big ant hill and was under an attack by a voracious army of big black and red denizens thereof. They were already advancing to the top of my waders when I broke for freedom, slapping wildly at the truculent critters. My quick retreat to the front of the SUV was fortunately successful. As I caught my breath, I hatched my plan of attack: I would walk down the trail about a quarter mile then work my way back up to the SUV for lunch, then continue upstream in the afternoon.

Soon I was hustling down the two-track trail carrying two rods. One was a 7 ½ foot three weight good for casting in tight quarters in channels between ponds and the other an 8 1/2 foot four weight good for longer casts required on big ponds. It was easy going. When I rounded a bend a marmot scurried across the road as he objected to my presence. Then I came face-to-face with the WALL—an apparently impenetrable thicket of eight-foot high willows probably more effective than that other, more famous one of recent vintage. With a barbed wire fence and very steep slope to my right, there was no way of getting around it so I plunged forward holding my rods high above my head pointed towards the sky and all the while muttering to myself.

After several minutes of bushwhacking and increasingly loud protestations I finally broke out into a little clearing and spied a narrow bench just above the willows that was not completely overgrown. I clawed my way up the steep slope and continued my journey. Soon I was at the big beaver pond I had targeted from the highway turnout above. It was picture perfect, framed by the towering Mt. Princeton in the distance.

And I noticed a swirling mass of midges hovering over the water so I tied on a red #20 red zebra midge below a #18 black caddis dry. All systems appeared to be go!

Picture-Perfect Beaver Pond–Who Can resist?

As I waded in carefully, I snipped off a cattail for my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly who loves to blow mightily to scatter the fluffy seeds. But as I got closer my excitement started to wane—most of the pond except for a few feet of dark green water above the dam was shallow, only a foot or so deep in most places. I took one more stealthy step out into the pond and was surprised by three nice brownies, that had been hiding along the shoreline, jetting by at light speed down to the dam pool. I figured that would end any hope of fish out of this pond, and it did. Despite a couple of dozen casts towards the dam pool and upstream, I came up empty.

Undeterred, I finally started up through the firm-bottomed upper end of the pond to target the pool below the dam above. I knelt in the current and pinpointed a cast right into the plunge pool where the water spilled over the brushy obstruction, then watched my fly float jauntily down in the current. Five casts later I was still skunked.

I moved up slowly and peered over the dam and saw one little dink rise to take a midge. Swallowing any semblance of pride, I targeted the Lilliputian. My flies landed gently near the riser, but did not rate even a look. More casts, same result. I then mounted the dam carefully to scope out the pool, but even though it was an alluring green and least three feet deep, there was nary a fish in sight.

I carefully slithered into the pool to continue upstream and moved towards the water’s edge to work up to the next dam and pond just above. I jammed my trusty wading staff into the shoreline muck and pulled my old frame up. Unfortunately, my legs slid in the opposite direction and I executed a nice full-frontal dunking. Fortunately the water was sufficiently shallow that I did not take in any water down my waders, only managing to coat myself with mud. It would be the first of three graceful dunkings I would accomplish during the day.

Impervious to the ignominy, I continued upstream. After two more unproductive ponds, I began to wonder if there were any fish here at all. I decided one more dam and pool and then it might be time to fly the white flag. This pond was a little different. There was indeed the nice deep, but small pool just above the dam, then a long stretch of shallow water, and a short run below the dam above. I worked the deep pool with several casts, but it was no dice again. I then mounted the dam and threw some long casts towards the shoreline in the shallow midsection, hoping that some trout might be sunning themselves there as was the case in the first pond. Not to be, although I did manage to hang up my line several times in the damn dam sticks and twigs.

Then I noticed there was a second current coming into the pond from a side channel to the north that appeared deeper than the one above near the dam. I crept slowly into casting position, and after my flies alighted delicately, starting stripping them in slowly. KERCHUNK went the caddis dry as something nailed the zebra midge. I feisty brownie soon came to the net. Never has an eleven-inch fish been so wildly celebrated.

It was then I could see that he had been lying at the bottom of a crystal clear three-foot deep pool fed by a nice flow from the north channel. Probably more fish in there I thought, which was confirmed after I took one more step to get into a better casting position and spooked a half dozen trout, including a couple of larger ones, that were ensconced five feet below where I had hooked the first.

From there, my circumstances only deteriorated, and I became increasingly bothered as the main creek channel and ponds became increasingly narrow and overgrown. Casting was next to impossible because of overhanging branches, and when I would wade up into the uncastable pools below the dams, inevitably I would scare a good fish or two. Finally I came to the end of the road….or dams I should say. Beyond this beautiful but constricted pond was another impenetrable wall of willows where the creek split into several channels and disappeared.

I carefully slid up towards the dam and unfurled a lovely cast that somehow avoided the overhang branches, possibly more a testament to luck than skill. No sooner did the flies hit the water than something nailed the midge and the battle was on. The trout romped wildly back and forth across the narrow pool as I tried to horse it away from one shoreline then the other. Finally the fish had pity on me and came to the net, a beautiful 13-inch well-fed brownie.

By now it was almost 1:30 p.m., and my stomach was growling. Fortunately I found a tight escape route through the willows where elk or deer had crashed through. Although I did snap one fly off somewhere in the tangle, I made it out and back to my vehicle in one piece. On the way I scurried up a ridge above the two-track trail I had come in on and spied what looked to be a couple of comely ponds that had been invisible from the trail.

I instantly scrapped my plan to head home and decided to subject myself to further perplexity after lunch. But an important lesson was learned: Whenever possible get up high to get a look down at the ponds and potential approaches. Google Maps satellite shots are often outdated, and as I would soon find out, the best venue on this stretch of the creek is on the steep slope south of and above the creek. It affords a birds-eye and relatively close-up view of the water and string of ponds below in the upper part of this section. Also there is no willow thicket on the south side to crash through to get to the water.

So that’s where I headed right after lunch. I strolled a couple of hundred yards back east up the trail looking for a route that would let me get to that south slope where I could get a better look. Luckily I found a break in the willows and brush than let me scamper down a short steep incline to a broad wet meadow that borders the creek. I strolled up to the shallow upper end of the first pond on this stretch and promptly scared the daylights out of a half dozen trout, several approaching 15-inches, all of whom retreated far downstream! I could only shake my head. Must have been sunning themselves—the water barely covered them. I fished the creek above but with no luck then waded across and ascended the steep south slope, relying on my wading staff to help pull me up. A stunning view downstream greeted me, revealing a series of textbook beaver dams and pools.

I continued to carefully pick my way west along the steep slope towards the last of the beaver ponds. On the way I admired the beautiful rock formations and colorful outcroppings of granite and pure white quartz deposits. I took a small piece of the quartz for Aly, what she calls a treasure.

A Quartz Treasure For My Little Sweetheart

When I neared the last pond I gingerly descended the slope, using the wading staff to slow my descent, and slipped into the water below the dam. Everything looked perfect.

My cast over the dam was delicate. I let the water settle then started a slow retrieve. A couple of short strips and something yanked hard on the line. I set the hook, and the fish went deep then ran straight towards me and the dam which would no doubt entangle the line in the clutter of branches. I lifted the rod hard to stop the rush, and the trout rolled on the surface. It was a big, golden-hued brownie that was 16-plus inches. That was the last I saw of him as the fly pulled loose.

Now I was ready for some steady action, having solved the equation. But it wasn’t to be. I flogged the water of the ponds above with nary a strike or look. I saw a few fish and a rise, but struck out completely. And as if to add to the injury and insult, I managed to work in another fall on the slippery shoreline where I narrowly avoided impaling my hand on some sharp stubby willow gnawings left courtesy of the local beaver cabal. Color me bewildered!

When I got back to my SUV and peeled off my waders, I reflected on what was one of my most challenging days of fishing in years. Yes the scenery was terrific, and it had been a nice ecotour with gold finches, ducks, geese, and some noisy, nosy red-wing blackbirds playing hide and seek with me. But maybe I should have done more reconnoitering in person from above to better understand the waterscape rather than just looking on-line before plunging in. Probably should have experimented with more flies, maybe the old reliable beaver pond offering the zug bug or even a leech or streamer pattern. But as I chastised and flagellated myself, I couldn’t help but take a gander on Google Maps of the next incredible series of beaver ponds just a short drive upstream. That’s when I started planning the return of the sly septuagenarian!

February 28, 2021February 28, 2021 hooknfly

Beaver Pond Recon: The Perfect Antidote For Post-Covid Second Shot Fishing Fever

February 28, 2021

While being a septuagenarian has increasingly few benefits, one major exception is jumping to the head of the line to get the coveted Covid vaccinations. After scoring my second one last week, I didn’t suffer from any serious side effects–except found myself nursing a mild case of fishing fever in its wake. No one warned me about that!! What to do?? Fortunately I found the perfect antidote: A two-hour recon mission scoping out the beaver ponds on a little creek near my cabin just outside Salida, Colorado, that produced some good brownies last spring.

And with spring just a few weeks away so must the spring thaw that will let this small stream aficionado get on back on the waters he loves. What I found definitely lifted my spirits but oddly only stoked my fishing fever. What’s an angler to do??

It was a bright and sunny day when I embarked on my exploratory mission, albeit a brisk 29 degrees at 8,000 feet.

Nevertheless, the first big pond I came to that produced that nice brown trout was already showing some open water! And in the creek up above I even heard and then caught a glimpse of running water!!

To further stoke the fever, a mile upstream I stumbled on a promising series of beaver ponds, replete with a picturesque lodge, that had been hidden by overgrown vegetation last time I was up that way. Got to be some decent fish in there!

Hopefully it won’t be long before I am boasting about my piscatorial acumen accompanied by photographic proof of my beaver pond exploits. To all my fly fishing friends out there, keep the faith—winter is about over!!

Off-The-Beaten Path Adventures and Eclectic Musings Of An Itinerant Angler

Beaver Pond fishing

Solving The Runoff Riddle: Off To See The Wizards Of Gnaws

Beaver Pond Saga, Chapter 3: Return Of The Mojo (Pass Creek Near Salida, CO)

Beaver Pond Saga, Chpt. 2: Mojo Rejuvenation on Pass Creek (near Salida, CO)

Bewitched, Bothered, And Bewildered By The Beguiling Beaver Ponds Of Trout Creek

Beaver Pond Recon: The Perfect Antidote For Post-Covid Second Shot Fishing Fever