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!!

June 8, 2023June 8, 2023 hooknfly

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.

February 7, 2023February 12, 2023 hooknfly

Looking Back On 2022: The Best, The Befuddling, And The Bungled

January 2023

January 2022 dawned sunny and bright, with me salting margaritas down in the Everglades instead of sidewalks in Colorado and, better yet, wrestling snook instead of shoveling snow! Covid was finally in the rearview mirror for the most part and promises for a bountiful piscatorial year are looking good. So how did it turn out? Here’s a look back at the best of 2022 and some bungled episodes as well.

It’s hard to believe that I hadn’t fished in the Everglades–or anywhere in Florida for that matter like the Keys—in the winter for almost two years! Despite that hiatus and fewer articles about fishing in the Sunshine State being posted in 2022, I was grateful my readers stuck with me and that the number of visitors and views stayed steady at the peak levels established in 2020. Many thanks!

Fishing Buddies And Family

As I age (slowly and gracefully), the connections angling brings with fishing buddies and family become ever more important and treasured. I had some fun and productive outings in Florida with Jim Cannon (former owner of the renowned Blue Quill Anglers in Colorado), my Colorado neighbor Charlie Cain, Esq., Steve Keeble, Robert Wayne, Esq. (who lives in Naples, FL), and my old college roomie Morris Douglas Martin.

We had a lot of laughs together while we boated a lot of fish, and better yet, I learned some new tricks and tips from them. You ought to see Cannon and Keeble fly cast from a kayak—impressive! In Colorado during the summer the fish parade continued with good friends Bob Wayne and Steve Spanger as we chased trout in the Colorado wilds. I also enjoyed fishing with new friends Tom Palka, who writes the newsletter for our local Trout Unlimited Chapter, and Kim LeTourneau, an accomplished guide for my local fly shop Ark Anglers who also covers fishing for the Mountain Mail newspaper.

Whether in Florida or in the Rockies, they all had the chutzpah to outfish me!!

In March my son Matthew came down for a week to soak some rays and relax. The day we spent in the Everglades backcountry together warmed this father’s heart. It was a smorgasbord of feisty fish—snook, sea trout, ladies, jacks, and even a gafftopsail catfish that put up a great fight before sliming us when we wrestled with him to remove the hook. The video says it all.

This proud papa was thrilled when Florida Sportsman published a short article in the fall that I wrote about fishing the Tamiami Trail country around Everglades City. It featured a couple of great photos of Matthew and yours truly with some nice snook.

Come summer back in Colorado my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly showed off her casting skills while catching some nice rainbows in a high mountain lake along with her Daddy Matthew. The mile walk in and out to the lake was a great nature hike featuring beautiful wildflowers and a close encounter with a big buck mule deer.

Most Popular Posts And Published Articles

The continuing popularity of a series of five blog posts I penned in 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books Of All Time” is remarkable. It garnered over 3,000 views this year and on Google searches for ‘best fishing books’ has become the most popular link on that subject, even outpacing Amazon’s sponsored ads. Take that Zuckerberg!

What is really gratifying is seeing that level of interest in angling books, from serious literature to technical how-to works, remains high in this age of videos and on-line reading. Here is a link of you want to take a look: http://hooknfly.com/2020/08/01/the-best-fishing-books-of-all-time/

Another surprise was that the most popular post overall was one entitled “Taking A Hike In The Everglades…And Stumbling On A Hidden Bass Lake.” Focused mainly on hiking in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park near Everglades City, it garnered about 4,500 views. Here is a link to the post: http://hooknfly.com/2022/04/16/taking-a-hike-in-the-everglades-and-stumbling-on-a-hidden-bass-lake/

As a result, I decided to branch out a bit and write about hiking around my winter home base as well as fishing. My next effort, the first in a series about hiking the main trails in the park, appeared in December. Click on the link to read the post: http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/

The most read angling posts, with almost 4,000 views, were again a quartet about finding and fishing for rare Rio Grande Cutthroat trout in southern Colorado. For my latest foray on the fab forks of the Conejos with my photographer Jody Bol, see: http://hooknfly.com/2022/08/15/conejos-river-capers/

The post on kayak and wade fishing around Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys again took the top spot for saltwater. See for the latest post on Bahia Honda: http://hooknfly.com/2019/06/08/bahia-honda-state-park-post-irma/

Now that I am back in Florida for the winter and spring, you can bet I will be getting out on the water and sharing new trips and tales. I have already made plans for a two-week fishing trip to the Florida Keys in late April.

When the weather was uncooperative or the winds howling, I hunkered down and continued to write articles for American Fly Fishing and Florida Sportsman. The article about fishing in South Park, Colorado, was titled “Mission Impossible: Searching For Fish And Solitude.”

Fishing The Hidden Waters Of South Park: Under The Radar

It was the lead featured piece in the July issue of American Fly Fishing and focused on finding hidden and remote creeks in the famous valley near Denver, home of the South Platte River, Dream Stream, and other popular waters and lakes that sometimes feature combat fishing. http://hooknfly.com/2022/07/21/south-park-under-the-radar/

Florida Sportsman ran two of my articles in 2022. The first was a fun one in which I discussed the very controversial gar conversion therapy. Under the heading “In Defense Of The Antediluvian Gar,” I stood up for this hard-fighting, oft-underestimated fish while documenting the successful conversion of a tarpon aficionado to gar fishing in the Everglades. http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/19/gar-conversion-therapy/

Bob Wayne Undergoing Gar Conversion Therapy

The second piece, noted above, recounted the variety of angling opportunities along the Tamiami Trail between Naples and Miami.

Most Rewarding Trips

One of my favorite streams close to home is a remote twenty mile stretch of Grape Creek between Westcliffe and Canon City, Colorado. Over the past decade I have had many memorable trips into the canyon where the creek runs, chasing plentiful and hungry browns and rainbows. But disaster struck a couple of years ago when two giant flash floods only a few weeks apart scoured the canyon and practically wiped out all insect life in the upper reaches. Without food, the fish abandoned the stretches I frequented. After a couple of fruitless trips, I decided to wait a couple of years to see if Grape Creek would recover. Thankfully, it did, and I was rewarded with my biggest trout of the year—a 19-inch brown—during a July trip.

A bonus was that some healthy foot-long rainbow trout had apparently migrated down from the tailwaters of DeWeese Reservoir and helped provide non-stop action. http://hooknfly.com/2022/08/05/grape-creek-comeback/

Another trip up the headwaters of the Conejos River high in the mountains of southern Colorado provided some unexpected and mostly pleasant surprises. Exploring the five forks of the Conejos River is on my bucket list. I have had terrific days on the Lake and Adams Fork chasing beautiful, rare Rio Grande Cutthroats. This year I had my eye on fishing the Middle and North Forks, both of which can be reached as they branch off the Upper Conejos River about two miles above Platoro Reservoir. Being remote streams, I expected a plethora of feisty fish including cutthroats that I had found on the nearby Adams Fork. But after pounding the lower reaches of each for an hour, I was beginning to have my doubts. I decided to try one last pool on the Middle Fork that looked particularly inviting and struck a bonanza. On my first cast I watched transfixed as a huge brown trout rose slowly from the depths and inhaled my fly. Then it was off to the races, trying to run down the rascal who had managed to fly by me and head downstream into a brush pile. Somehow I managed to extricate that big brownie and followed that miracle by catching his large mate on the very next cast.

Given that result, I decided I’d better retrace my steps and go up higher on the North Fork. However, I only managed a few small browns on that stretch before it disappeared into a ravine above the valley. Needless to say, I was perplexed. Why so few fish on the Middle and North Forks, albeit big ones on the Middle Fork? The revelation would come as I fished back down on the Upper Conejos below the fork to the trailhead where my SUV was parked. Here on a mile stretch I caught a passel of brown trout, most over 15-inches. The answer?? As confirmed by a local angler at the general store in Platoro, the big fish migrate out of Platoro Reservoir into the Upper Conejos and grow fat and sassy eating all the little guys. Of course, now I must return in 2023 to confirm this theory!

Prospecting For Trout On The Fab Forks Of The Conejos River: #3 and #4—The Middle And North Forks

The Scary And Amusing, The Sad And The Confusing

In 2022 I thankfully avoided any scary incidents with moose, mountain lions, sharks and the like that I have had in the past. But the year’s most blood-curdling incident was self-inflicted, with an alligator playing the villain. Normally the many gators I encounter during my trips into the Everglades backcountry bolt at the first sign of my kayak or Gheenoe. Once in a great while a young gator will venture too close when I am catching lots of fish, attracted out of curiosity to all the jumping and splashing. Usually smacking a paddle on the water sends him scurrying for cover. Alligators that are aggressive down here tend to be ones fed by humans, mainly tourists.

My most memorable gator encounter for 2022 took place on a sunny day in March when I took my college buddy Morris on a trip along the historic Loop Road near Everglades City. I figured we would take a break from the serious day-long fishing trips into the backcountry and find some easier targets in the bass and cichlids in the canal along the gravel road as it winds its way through the swamp. The alligators were everywhere. Being teenage boys at heart, we couldn’t resist tossing one of the small fish we caught to a big gator lounging in the slough near a big culvert.

The fish bounced a few feet down the slope but didn’t make it to the water. All of a sudden, the docile reptile came rocketing out of the water at warp speed to gobble down the fish. His momentum carried him up the incline almost onto the road. It must have been comical to watch two old coots scrambling back towards their SUV in utter terror, but thankfully no one was there to record the incident. Lesson relearned: DO NOT FEED THE GATORS!!

The biggest bummer of the year followed in the wake of Hurricane Ian that struck southwest Florida in late September. I had dutifully rigged my Gheenoe, a motorized canoe, under my house on Chokoloskee Island near Everglades City as advised by old salts down here. Following that advice, my boat had survived in good condition a five-foot flood tide that swept over Chokoloskee during Hurricane Irma in 2017. Unfortunately, either because I didn’t insert the bilge plug or the ropes anchoring the boat and trailer to the building pillars were too tight to allow them to float, saltwater surged a couple of feet deep into the boat and destroyed the electrical system.

When I returned to Florida in early November, I took the boat to my local marina in Naples and got the bad news. A month and $5,000 later everything was put back in order, and fortunately the damage was mostly covered by my boat insurance. The big relief was that the motor was undamaged. Whew!

In the category of confusing was an exploratory trip to find brook trout and maybe some cutthroats reputedly swimming in a remote creek in the Colorado high country south of Del Norte. One of the best angling guidebooks for exploring secluded waters around my neck of the woods in Colorado is 49 Trout Streams of Southern Colorado by Williams and McPhail. They sang the praises of Torsido Creek, a tributary of La Jara Creek south of Del Norte, Colorado. I had fished La Jara Creek below La Jara Reservoir a number of times with great success, so was anxious to explore the upper La Jara and Torsido Creek. After a long and bone-jarring ride over a narrow, bumpy gravel road that hadn’t seen a grader for some time, I made it to the lake and drove to its upper reaches where La Jara Creek flows in. Trouble was, the creek was next to invisible in the expansive meadow above the reservoir, and it wasn’t clear where it was joined by Torsido Creek. To exacerbate matters, I had run off and left my detailed maps of the area in my travel trailer back in Del Norte and the GPS on my cell phone wasn’t working. No worries I thought. Torsido had to be out there somewhere. But after wandering about for almost two hours, marching through muck, dodging a big bull, and clambering over a couple of barbwire fences in my waders, I flew the white flag and turned tail back to my SUV. Fortunately, on the way back I had to cross upper La Jara Creek, and serendipitously where I did some trout were rising. That was the start of an epic afternoon of catching not only some fat, beautiful brook trout, but also some muscular, truculent tiger trout that apparently are stocked in the reservoir and run up the creek to eat. http://hooknfly.com/2022/10/24/taming-the-tigers-of-torsido-and-upper-la-jara-creek-near-del-norte-co/

Not until I got back to camp did I discover the confluence with Torsido Creek is hidden in the gap in a ridge about a quarter mile from where I stopped fishing that day. Darn, guess I will have to schedule a return engagement in 2023!

Persistence Pays Off

Like many things in life, persistence pays off in angling. Two years ago I experienced a particularly humbling experience at the hands of brook trout on the upper reaches of the Huerfano (Wear-fano) River in the wilds of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado. Fishing in one of the most scenic valleys I’ve ever set foot in, I was sure this was going to be a banner day when in the first pool I came to I spied nice brook trout finning in the depths. However, three hours and 20 expletives later, I flew the white flag. I had scored nary a bite the whole time as the spawning brookies made clear amore was more important than eating. With the air redolent of skunk, I slunk back to my SUV. Now fast forward to the summer of 2022. I decided to return to the scene of the skunking for a measure of revenge. But this time things looked even worse when I hit the water after navigating the rough road to the Lily Lake trailhead. It was mid-summer, and the brook trout weren’t spawning. Indeed, none of the alluring pools seemed to hold any fish. So after two hours of flailing the water, I started back to the SUV, tail between my legs. Luckily, I had to cross a very narrow, but fast-flowing tributary of the Huerfano in the meadow to the west of the river. As I did, I happened to see what appeared to be a rise at a bend below me in the creek. What the heck, I thought, and threw my fly downstream. It floated a few feet, then was sucked in by what turned out to be a chunky brook trout. So that’s where the little devils were hiding. That was the first of more than a dozen nice brookies from what I have dubbed the West Fork of the Huerfano. You won’t see it named on a map, but believe me, it and the fish are there. Indeed, persistence pays off.

And speaking of stick-to-it-of-ness, a case of avian persistence opened my eyes. I am a confirmed amateur birdwatcher, especially at my mountain cabin in Colorado where a steady cavalcade of western tanagers, evening grosbeaks, hummingbirds, and many others at my birdfeeders provides a steady stream of pleasure. But those bird feeders have also attracted pinon jays and Clark’s Nutcrackers, drawing me into a never-ending battle with these noisy, wily, and voracious, albeit handsome, birds. Imagine their fright when I come storming out on the front porch hurling expletives till the Colorado sky turns even bluer. I did some research on-line to see if there were any better strategies to deal with these smart, raucous marauders, and in the process learned that because of habitat loss, notably destruction of pinyon trees they rely on for food, and climate change, these iconic western birds are declining precipitously.

Clark’s Nutcracker Feasting
On Pinyon Nuts

Indeed, one report estimated the pinyon jays have declined 85% of the past 50 years and that there are only 700,000 left worldwide (versus 8 billion humans)! All of this made me realize I need to focus closer to home on saving the world. That will mean nurturing the pinyon trees already growing on my land and planting new ones. It will also mean biting my tongue when the raiders come to my bird feeders and dutifully hanging another suet cake when they take their leave. My thanks to them for their persistence and opening my eyes.

On The Horizon: Looking Forward to 2023

So what’s on the agenda for 2022? First and foremost is to get back down to Florida to get my saltwater chops back. I arrived in Everglades City a couple of months ago, got the kayak and Gheenoe ready to go, and started executing that plan. A 24-inch snook on my first yak outing led the fish parade not to mention a 33-inch leviathan out in my Gheenoe with buddy Steve Keeble in the New Year!

More stories and tall tales to come from the Everglades backcountry! I also want to explore some of the remote brackish canals east of Naples, Florida, that are impossible to access except with a kayak. Big snook are rumored to hide out there along with the gators! Fishing some remote islands in the Florida Keys is also on the agenda.

On the writing front, my article on fishing the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park in the Everglades is scheduled for publication soon in an issue of Florida Sportsman to be followed by a piece on the top ten tackle, gear, and techniques tips for kayak anglers in the Everglades. On the trout side, American Fly Fishing will carry an article this spring about my adventures this past summer on La Garita and Carnero Ceeks, two remote high-country streams in Colorado, to be followed later in the year by shorter pieces on upper La Jara and Tarryall Creeks, also in Colorado.

In the keep it under your hat category, I am also in initial negotiations with Kevin Kostner for a new TV series now that it looks as if he’s dropping out of “Yellowstone.” It will tentatively be called “Tales of a Zombie Fisherman” and will be based on my 2022 shenanigants on Halloween night when I went trick-or-treating with my favorite little witch Aly. Stay tuned!!

Of course, I will chase some trout with my sweetheart Aly and find Torsido Creek at long last.

January 24, 2022January 24, 2022 hooknfly

2021 Retrospective: The Best, The Botched, And The Blood-Curdling

January 2022

What can you say about 2021? It certainly was another interesting and challenging year. Despite the vicissitudes and travails that all of us went through, it was rewarding overall with plenty of delights, fun times, and frisky fish. Here goes, taking a look back at the best and some busted times as well.

An unexpected and wonderful delight was the extra time I got to spend with my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly. Because of day-care problems associated with Covid, I drove to Denver every week for 8 months starting in October 2020 to take care of her for two days, just her and me, what she called “Grandpa days.” Boy did we have fun exploring creeks, catching crawdaddies, and fooling some fish in metro Denver lakes!

I was also happy to welcome an expanding group of readers from all over the USA and internationally. It’s been a treat getting to know several better, trading fish stories and becoming friends. Thanks to Jim, Bill, Jason, Ed, Jerry, Tim, Brian and the rest of the gang. Despite Covid which led me to remain in Colorado all of 2021 and only spending two weeks in Florida with only one new post, readership stayed steady at the high level established in 2020–over 86,000 views.

In a typical year, new Florida posts account for a quarter of all views. Now that I am back in Florida for the winter and spring, you can bet I will be getting out on the water and sharing new trips and tales.

Like most senior citizens, I can’t let the opportunity pass to gripe about various aches and pains. In October 2020 I came down with a severe case of sciatica due to a couple of ill-advised back-to-back hikes into rugged canyons in search of trout. It was so bad—had me hobbling with a cane–that I began contemplating a life without the hiking, kayaking, and fishing remote backcountry areas that I love. Fortunately, I was referred to a wonderful doctor of physical therapy who correctly assessed the problem in my aging back and put together an exercise routine that has me feeling better than ever and ready for more adventures exploring this beautiful Earth.

Most Popular Posts And Published Articles

By a wide margin, the most popular articles were a quartet about fishing for rare Rio Grande Cutthroat trout in southern Colorado. The series garnered over 5,300 views, including the single most-read article —exploring Medano Creek in the Great Sand Dunes National Preserve, with 2,700 views.

Day Two Exploring The Hidden Streams of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains: Medano Creek (in the Great Sand Dunes Preserve near Alamosa, Colorado)

Perhaps the most rewarding response to any post was the continuing popularity of a five-part series I wrote in late 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books Of All Time.” It garnered over 1,600 views in 2021, and several times was featured in the daily Google News post as the leading article on the subject. It was particularly popular around Christmas time as people searched for gift ideas.

THE BEST FISHING BOOKS OF ALL TIME

For saltwater angling, the article I wrote several years ago on fishing around Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys continues to lead the pack with almost 1,600 views. I am planning to get back down there in May for some additional piscatorial research and updating.

Bahia Honda Grab Bag: Kayak And Wade Fishing Around Bahia Honda State Park (Florida Keys)

Covid has been particularly tough on national fishing publications. One of the first angling magazines I wrote for back in the 1990s, the venerable American Angler, folded in 2020, and in 2021 one of my favorites, Southwest Fly Fishing, was consolidated with five other similar magazines by the same publisher into just one called American Fly Fishing. The new one is excellent, but the competition to get something published is tougher.

Despite all of that, I was pleased to have two articles come out in 2021. The first, in Florida Sportsman, is a bit of an oddity for me–fishing for Peacock Bass in the freshwater canals of a big residential development near Naples, Florida. I’m mainly a saltwater, backcountry fishing devotee when I come to Florida, but had a good time learning new tricks while catching in a suburban setting these big, colorful exotic fish from South America.

Golden Gate Peacocks…Bass, That Is (near Naples, Florida)

The second article, which I am particularly proud of tackled the looming catastrophic impact of climate change on the insects trout subsist on and what can be done about it. Entitled “Insect Armageddon,” it appeared in the May 2021 issue of American Fly Fishing.

Anglers: It Better Bug You–The Coming Insect Armageddon

Another article I wrote for American Fly Fishing, “Mission Impossible?? Searching For Fish And Solitude In South Park, Colorado,” will be coming out in early 2022.

Perhaps the biggest bummer in the realm of publishing came with my Everglades kayak fishing guide that was to be published by Wild Adventures Press in Montana. I completed a draft of the guidebook and was well into the editing process when the company ran into staffing issues as well as production problems linked to its printer in South Korea. Because the press was unlikely to be able to publish the guidebook anytime soon, I parted company with it and am searching for a new more reliable publisher. Any thoughts?

One last note, I was honored to be asked by two fishing clubs, one in Florida and one in Colorado, to make Zoom presentations to their members. The one in Florida focused on kayak fishing in the Everglades and the Colorado meeting on beaver pond fishing savvy. Give me a buzz if you’d like me to make a presentation to your club. Always fun!

Most Rewarding Trips

An expedition to explore the remote Adams Fork of the Conejos River in southern Colorado turned out to be the most rewarding trip of the year for a couple of reasons. First, I was able to successfully test my recovery from the aforementioned bout with debilitating sciatica. I hiked in about three miles then down a steep slope into the canyon below and out again with no ill effects. Better yet, the beautiful, rare Rio Grande Cutthroats, the native trout that is making a comeback in southern Colorado, were very cooperative. What a day!!

Prospecting For Trout on the Fab Five Forks Of The Conejos River: #2–The Adams Fork

Close behind was another hidden gem in the South Luis Valley of southern Colorado, La Garita Creek, that flows out of a gigantic volcano caldera. Accessed only by a rough 4-WD road, La Garita Creek is loaded with eager brown trout, but only if you can find an opening in the overgrown stream to make a decent cast. Can’t wait to return next summer.

I also had what I call ten fin-filled, fun days in late summer on two separate trips with old fishing buddies, Bob Wayne and Steve Spanger. We fished seven different rivers and streams in those ten days ranging from the South Arkansas to the Chama River including waters like Saguache Creek and the Adams Fork and the Gunnison River in between. Fortunately, the fish were sympathetic to us old geezers, and we had a blast.

Most Humbling Trip, Burst Bubbles, And The Blood-Curdling

Without a doubt, the most humbling angling experience of the year was fishing the beaver ponds of Trout Creek near Buena Vista, Colorado. I fancy myself a beaver pond maven, but in May almost lost all my mojo to the lock-jawed brownies of Trout Creek. I flailed the water for an entire day, spooking many fish and landing only three despite heroic efforts that included sloshing through beaver pond marshes in knee-deep muck, fighting willows for my flies, and scaling steep slopes to get to hidden ponds. Nothing worked!

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

Fortunately, I got a measure of revenge and partially rejuvenated my mojo with trips several weeks later to tackle the beaver ponds of Pass Creek not far from my cabin near Salida, Colorado. I managed to catch dozens of nice browns and brookies including a 14-inch beautiful brownie.

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

With my mojo partially patched up, I am planning a return encounter this summer with the baffling Trout Creek denizens!

Another particularly humbling experience came in the fall at the hands of brook trout on the upper reaches of the Huerfano (Wear-fano) River in the wilds of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado. Fishing in one of the most scenic valleys I’ve ever set foot in, I was sure this was going to be a banner day when in the first pool I came to I spied nice brook trout finning in the depths. However, three hours and many epithets lates, I flew the white flag. I had scored nary a bite the whole time as the spawning brookies made clear amore was more important than eating. With the air redolent of skunk, I slunk back to my SUV and headed back downstream where I managed to salve my bruised ego and rid the myself of the scent of skunk with a dozen or so nice brown trout. Sometimes persistence pays off!

Exploring The Hidden Creeks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains: Day 1 On The Huerfano (Orphan) River

On the blood-curdling front, in the past close encounters with alligators and moose have topped the list. This time it was a close-encounter of the cougar kind. Picture bushwhacking through heavy, tall brush along a creek to fish a beaver pond, stepping out on a sand bar, and seeing the fresh tracks of a mountain lion! That’s what happened to me on Pass Creek last summer.

Needless to say the last few hairs on my follicle-challenged head stood straight up! I hadn’t seen or heard a thing, but had no doubt the cat was watching me. Fortunately he must have thought my skinny, old body wouldn’t be much of a snack. I made plenty of noise the rest of the day, and had my knife close at hand just in case. A 14-inch brown trout made the fright worthwhile!

Most Surprising

For every Huerfano River or Trout Creek debacle, there always seems to be one or two pleasant surprises each year where I discover a new, unexpectedly good water to fish. Upper Tarryall Creek in South Park, Colorado, wins the award for 2021. I stumbled onto the creek in June when I stopped with my sweetheart granddaughter Aly to have lunch and explore a “haunted house” at the Cline Ranch State Wildlife Area on the way from Denver to my cabin outside Salida, Colorado.

When I pulled into the parking area, I noticed that the four spaces were all prominently numbered. On a nearby sign I read that each parking space was assigned an exclusive “beat” on nearby Upper Tarryall Creek, a beautiful small stream. It reminded me of the beat system the English use on their rivers where waters are divided into beats or stretches and the number of anglers allowed on each limited to help spread out the fishing pressure. I made a mental note to return, which I did several weeks later. After parking in one of the designated spots, I walked north to the corresponding upper beat and had a fabulous day fishing for nice browns in the creek and several big beaver ponds. All of this not much more than a stone’s throw from traffic whizzing by US 285. And I had the water to myself all day in South Park that is sometimes overrun with anglers from Denver and Colorado Springs. What a smart idea!

GET ON THE BEAT AT UPPER TARRYALL CREEK (In South Park, Colorado)

On The Horizon: Looking Forward to 2022

So what’s on the agenda for 2022? First and foremost is to get back down to Florida to get my saltwater chops back. I arrived in Everglades City a couple of weeks ago, got the kayak and Gheenoe ready to go, and started executing that plan. A 24-inch snook on my first yak outing led the fish parade. More stories and tall tales to come from the Everglades backcountry!

I also want to explore some of the remote brackish canals east of Naples, Florida, that are impossible to access except with a kayak. Big snook are rumored to hide out there along with the gators!

While in Florida, I hope to get the Everglades Kayak Fishing Guide back on track and will be sending out the manuscript to several publishing houses.

I’ll be hauling one of my pedal kayaks with me on the way back to Colorado in May so I can stop at Port O’Connor, Texas, and fish that wonderful inshore water inside the barrier island for redfish and sea trout in my kayak. The yak will also come in handy as I try to explore some high-mountain lakes in Colorado that are accessible with my 4-WD SUV.

Also high on my list when I return to Colorado for the summer will be to fish another remote tributary of the Conejos River, the Middle Fork up in the high country not too far from the Adams Fork. I also want to explore the upper, wild reaches of the Rio Chama near the New Mexico border.

Of course, I will chase some trout with my sweetheart Aly!!

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.

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

Chaffee county fishing

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

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

Looking Back On 2022: The Best, The Befuddling, And The Bungled

2021 Retrospective: The Best, The Botched, And The Blood-Curdling

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