The Flatwoods Trail in Collier-Seminole State Park near Naples in southwest Florida is an excellent hike for families with kids as well as a good easy trip for bicyclists. It utilizes a wide, mowed park service road for 3/4ths of its 2.5-mile length and a short well-marked and maintained segment of the Florida Trail for the rest that is easy to navigate by foot.
Despite its proximity to urban conglomeration of Naples, the trail is lightly used because visitors must register at the park headquarters and obtain a combination to the gated trailhead. It is a great trip after a rain or early in the winter dry season when many other trails in the area are soaked, requiring wading and slip sliding through the muck. And even if the service road has some puddles after a rain, they are easy to skirt without getting wet. As a bonus, just a few miles from the city it offers quiet, true wilderness on the edge of the Everglades that is a great way to get to know a range of Glades environments from prairie to slash pine forests that transition into bald cypress strands and mangroves. There’s a chance to see deer, bear, and even Florida Panthers but also a host of other interesting smaller critters like shrews and tree snails as well as beautiful birds such as large pileated woodpeckers.
Pileated Woodpeckers-The Largest in North America- Call The Flatwoods Home
There are also splendid wildflowers starting to pop out in early spring that attract colorful, exotic looking butterflies. On top of all that, there’s a small pond that offers anglers a chance to fish for bass and colorful cichlids.
Getting There And Getting Started
The trail can be accessed from either east or west along the well-maintained US Highway 41, the Tamiami Trail. The gated entry to the trail is located just east of the main gate to Collier-Seminole State Park and about 30 minutes from downtown Naples. From Everglades City to the east, the drive is about 23 miles and 30 minutes.
Because the trailhead is gated—which is one reason the trail is only lightly used—visitors must first check-in at the ranger shed just inside the well-marked entrance to the state park off US 41. There visitors pay a park entrance fee or show a state parks pass and will receive the combination to the trailhead gate lock. Then it’s on to the Flatwoods trailhead (also known as the Adventure Trail) which is located at a turnout to the north off of US 41 about ¾ mile east of the main park entrance.
Entry Gate To the Flatwoot and Adventure Trails
The Hike
Once inside the gate off US 41, which should be closed and relocked after passing through, it is a short drive to the trailhead where there is ample parking at the service road gate along the small scenic pond. I recommend hiking along the park service road from here although there is an option to use a narrower trail as depicted on the trailhead sign. That path will intersect with the service road to the north in about ¼ mile.
Ample Parking At TrailheadAlternative Route For More Ambitious Hikers
This first segment is through a slash pine forest that provides good habit for deer, bear, and panthers.
Off We Go On The Park Service Road
Slash pine are a native evergreen conifer with bark that looks like it has been slashed with an ax. But my local friends tell me the word “slash” also means “swamp” in the south, hence pine trees that can grow and thrive in wet conditions. They grow rapidly and live for about 200 years. Slash pine forests tend to have an open canopy that allows light to penetrate to the forest floor which encourages growth of vegetation for denizens of the forest to dine upon and seek shelter. Pine flatwoods typically grow in low, flat land with sandy soils.
Slash Pine Forest Slash Pine TrunkSlash Pine Needles
You can see scorched trees here and there, this being a fire-dependent ecosystem where regular burning, both natural and prescribed, is required to maintain an open plant community.
Fires–Natural and Prescribed–Are Essential To A Healthy Habitat
I find the key to really enjoying this environment is to not only look up and into the trees to spot birds and large wildlife but also to keep an eye focused on the ground close by looking for little things—flowers, tree snail shells, interesting small critters like shrews and lizards. Kids are often better at that than adults. Right on cue, I soon I see some lovely wildflowers like the bright yellow tickseeds and dainty blue-eyed grass that the colorful and intricately marked Buckeye and White Peacock butterflies can’t resist.
Boldly marked Buckeye ButterflyShowy Yellow TickseedsDainty White Peacock Butterfly
In about 15 minutes and a half mile in, you will come to a fork in the road—stay right and continue hiking through the slash pine woods.
Stay Right At Road Fork
Soon you will start to see some bald cypress to the east, marking the transition to a wetter environment. They are one of the few conifers that drop their needles every fall and put out new ones in the spring. During the rainy summer season, the cypress trees to the east will be standing in ankle-deep water and maybe more, one of the few trees that can grow and actually thrive in the wet environment. Hiking is a real adventure then!
Bald Cypress Love WaterNew Springtime NeedlesSoft Feathery Bald Cypress Needles
Continue on for another 15 minutes and quarter mile–about a mile from the trailhead—where the suggested route veers left off the service road and continues on to the northwest on a well-marked and maintained stretch of the Florida Trail.
Off The Park Road Onto The Florida Trail Stretch
While it is a tad more challenging for kids, it’s still an easy hike and provides a great opportunity to ramble through a prairie environment that is a surprise to many who associate the Everglades with swamps, tall saw grass, and alligators.
On To The Florida Trail
Here you will see winsome wildflowers and birds like the small white-eyed vireo and the raucous gray catbird. Later in the spring the flashy Eastern Lubber Grasshopper makes its appearance.
Eastern Lubber Grasshopper
Before starting up the Florida Trail, you can take a little side trip as I did and continue up the service road where it dead ends at the park boundary in another quarter of a mile. It’s always surprising to see what you find on these peregrinations. This time I came across a little shrew that had apparently breathed its last not long ago and a blue crab claw. I puzzled over the fate of that little critter that is still soft to the touch or how that claw got way back here away from any water.
(As an aside, I caution against taking the turnoff to the Florida Trail that heads southeast to the right and circles back to the trailhead. This section will be much wetter most of the year, and the time I hiked it in February of 2025 a portion had been bisected and obliterated in part by a vehicle access road for fire fighters. I ended up losing the trail and wandering into a marshy area further south. If you choose to take this route, be sure to check with the state park rangers about its condition.)
The Florida Trail section of the hike that I recommend weaves in and out of the prairie and the slash pine woods for about a third of a mile. I enjoy the wildflowers and changing vegetation like the saw palmetto stand fringed by delicate looking yellow flowers poking through the prairie grass then into a mixed slash pine/bald cypress stand.
Happy Hiker!Saw Palmetto Fringed By WildflowersFrom Prairie Into Forest
Soon the trail emerges into an opening and where it intersects with the west fork of the park service road that will take me back to the trailhead.
Out Of The Prairie and Back On The Service Road
I stop to take a drink and get my bearings, then turn left to the southeast off the Florida Trail. Now the fun begins. Around the bend is a small puddle of water on the road ahead of me, and I see a large bird swoop down for a drink. First I think vulture, but then see a patch of red its head—what a surprise, a pileated woodpecker on the ground, very unusual. I creep up slowly for a photo, but of course the big shy bird—the biggest of the woodpecker clan in North America that measures up to twenty inches with a wingspan of 30 inches– flees to a tree back in the woods.
Pileated Woodpecker Getting DrinkElusive Bird Keeps His DistancePhoto Credit: Wikipedia
There he hides while chastising me with his loud staccato call. I sneak behind a nearby stand of saw palmetto, and soon the curious bird peers around the tree for a look. I manage to get a good telephoto profile shot before he spots me and flies off.
I am still chuckling at his antics as I continue down the road where I see another big bird ahead. This one really is a vulture, and he is feasting on something. I snap a few long-distance photos then move up to inspect. It looks like some animal has made a meal of a small wading bird, maybe a green heron or a cattle egret—or could even be a woodpecker—and the vulture is getting leftovers.
Feasting VultureDinnerRacoon Tracks
I see some racoon tracks, but the pesky coons aren’t likely big enough to take down a bird that size. Maybe a bear or a panther? The circle of life.
Next some big, odd-looking fungi catch my eye. One that resembles a mushroom a bit and has a striking geometric design. It is attached firmly to a stump. It’s called Polyporaceae and is reportedly poisonous. Another nearby with the moniker mouthful of Sparassidaceae is also known as cauliflower fungus! Aptly named!
Poisonous Poly FungusCauliflower Fungus
Continuing on the short jaunt back to the fork in the road, I spy spring flowers starting to emerge. Dainty Ontario lobelia, salt marsh aster, puffy narrowleaf silkgrass, and milkweed, a butterfly favorite.
Ontario LobeliaSaltmarsh AsterSilk GrassMilkweed
From the fork on the short distance back south to the trailhead, I enjoy a gentle breeze beneath a warm sunny sky. I haven’t seen a sole on the trail except for the friendly squadron of park fire fighters in their pickups. It’s been delightful to be immersed in nature with all its surprises and savor the quiet of the wilderness so close to a sprawling urban area. Next time I will remember to bring my fishing rod!!
2024 has been an interesting year to say the least. As I look back and take stock, one of the most satisfying developments personally has been the readership of this blog. From a humble start in 2015, readership has bloomed to over 50,000 visitors and over 100,00 views in 2024. Many thanks to all of you!! It’s been an interesting and fun ride.
And I am pleased to report that the most read article was again Best Fishing Books Of All Time, garnering over 7,000 visits and in the process dispelling the notion that people don’t actually read much anymore. As you might expect, most of the views were from English-speaking countries. But then there were some wild cards, like 243 from Martinique in the Caribbean, where French is the official language and most residents also speak Martinican Creole. Not to mention 62 from China! Go figure!!
Particularly gratifying are the kind words and comments from readers like this one: “Yet another great article! As an aspiring young fly angler, your informative writing style has helped me grow leaps and bounds. You are one of the few magicians willing to reveal their secrets I hope one day I get to see you on the water. Cheers! Nick.”
Family time on the water with my sweetheart granddaughter Aly and my son Matthew was also a highpoint, from Aly catching a feisty bass canoeing in Florida to Matthew landing a big brown trout in Colorado with able net assistance from Aly. They also helped me celebrate my…gasp…76th birthday with a big, delectable cake and a beautiful gift of a book covering Aly’s artwork over the past few years.
The party was actually delayed for a few weeks as on my actual birthday I came down with Covid after dodging the rascal virus since 2019 and despite having all my shots. It took a couple of weeks to get my energy back, but fortunately no long-term effects. It also did my heart good to see Aly take up basketball, one of my favorite sports, which allowed me to show off my flashy windmill layup (formerly dunk) moves. She’s already dribbling circles around me.
SWISH!!
Off the water I kept busy writing articles for American Fly Fishing and Florida Sportsman. I think my favorite fly-fishing piece was about returning to a stream of my youth, Clear Creek, high in the mountains of southern Colorado. Decades earlier as an aspiring angler I caught my first trout in the crystalline waters of this wild stream. Life goes full circle.
I was also pleased that an article on kayak fishing in the Everglades was featured in the annual national publication Kayak Fishing Fun. (For a link to the article see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/07/07/kayak-fishing-fun-article/ )
Two fly fishing articles will be published soon in 2025, one on the Tuckasegee River in southwest North Carolina co-authored with my fishing buddy Steve “Mop Fly” Keeble and the other on Jim and Torsido Creeks, hidden in the mountains of southern Colorado where my intrepid photographer Jody Bol showed off her gymnastic skills to catch that perfect shot of remote Rio Grande Cutthroat waters.
And speaking of fishing buddies, I am fortunate that in addition to the aforementioned Mr. Keeble, I have three other astute and accomplished angling pals, Messrs. Wayne, Mitchell, and Palka to explore with. Thoughtful gentlemen all who have shared their fishing knowledge with me, they are also gracious enough to let me outfish them occasionally.
Mr. KeebleMr. WayneMr. MitchellMr. Palka
While I managed to dodge rafters and float fishermen one terrific fall day on my former home water, the Arkansas River near Salida, Colorado, and catch six muscular brown trout, small creeks continue to bring me the greatest joy and satisfaction. The clear waters of tiny Archuleta Creek in the shadow of a huge volcanic dome near the Continental Divide in southern Colorado yielded some surprisingly sizeable brownies pushing 16-inches while the streams of the Wet Mountains in southern Colorado helped me garner a Grand Slam featuring some beautiful Rio Grande Cutthroats along with feisty rainbows, brookies, and browns. My search of remote streams that might hold the rare Rio Grande Cutts in Colorado continued with a trek to East Middle Creek near Saguache. After navigating and huffing and puffing up some steep switchbacks to the stream’s headwaters, I was rewarded with a beautiful 12-inch fish finning in the cloistered water, marking the northernmost stream in the state where the cutts have survived and even flourished. Catching and releasing that exquisite specimen was a near-religious experience.
Rio Grande Cutthroats were also part of the aforementioned Wet Mountain Valley Grand Slam—catching and releasing four different kinds of trout over one weekend in the fall. I netted rainbows, browns, and brookies in various reaches of Grape Creek and put icing on the cake with some colorful cutthroats from Medano Creek high in a remote valley between the Wet Mountains and the soaring Sangre De Cristos.
Wild Medano Creek Rio Grande Cutthroat
Saltwater kayak fishing in my winter haunt near Everglades City continued to be exciting, dodging alligators and hungry sharks to net high-jumping tarpon and muscular snook. But equally satisfying were several freshwater lakes in the Glades that served up some big largemouth bass, toothy antediluvian gar, and scads of hungry Mayan cichlids and colorful Oscars.
However, not all my best outings were of the piscatorial pursuit variety. I had a grand time on several swamp and prairie hikes in the Fakahatchee Strand State Park Preserve and the Big Cypress National Preserve. On those outings I saw rare Everglades Mink, scads of wading birds like Great Egrets and Wood Storks, gorgeous swamp and prairies wildflowers, and of course big gators closeup. Did I mention the hidden haunted house I showed Aly and my son Matthew on a swamp tour when they visited during March Spring school break or the fabulous shelling beach and frolicking dolphin Capt. Craig of Everglades Boat Adventures shared with us?
Captain Craig and the Duerksen Crew
The Surprising
Without a doubt, the most surprising angling episode of 2024 involved hiking a little-visited trail in the Fakahatchee Strand near Everglades City with two college buddies, discovering a hidden pond absolutely loaded with hungry Oscars, a non-native fish I liken to bluegill on steroids, snagging and breaking off the soft plastic curly tail lure that was absolutely slaying them, realizing I had forgotten to bring extra tails along leading to me throwing a tantrum, then recovering by inventing a hot new lure I call the Band-Aid Fly. Not pretty but effective. Necessity was indeed the mother of invention. I am working on a patent right now. (For the inside skinny on the Band-Aid Jig Fly see: (http://hooknfly.com/2024/04/09/angling-trauma-try-a-band-aid-jig-fly/ )
Band-Aid Jig FlyThe Proof It Works!!
In Colorado, an amiable spin fisherman I met while camping along Upper Dome Lake southeast of Gunnison taught me a lesson in humility. In Colorado I am a devoted flies-only angler, occasionally turning my nose up when I see someone so backwards and uncouth as to spin fish. I had just finished a long and successful day before on Archuleta Creek and decided to take the day off by fly fishing for eager trout from the dam on Upper Dome Lake. Throwing some long double-haul casts with a long fly rod, I soon fooled and released some nice rainbow. But when the wind kicked up, creating white caps on the water, the fly was soon being blown back in my face. I hastily beat a retreat to the comfort of my mobile fish camp. As I downed a cup of hot tea to warm up, I noticed a fellow camping in an RV a short distance away was walking along the banks of the lake casting a lure with his spin rod. With some frequency his rod seemed to be bending double. Must be getting snagged I reasoned. Later that day at lunch I moseyed over to his camp to see how he had done. I learned he had caught dozens of truculent tiger trout with short casts on a small marabou jig not more than 10 feet from the shoreline. That afternoon with the wind still howling, I ate a piece of spiced pride and grabbed my little ultra-light spincast outfit I keep in reserve for fishing overgrown beaver ponds.
I rigged it with a Blue Vibrax spinner lure, heaved it out over the water through the gale, and on the very first cast I caught a spunky rainbow that was soon followed by several more. What more can I say!!
On that same trip I got another big surprise. I decided to spend a day hiking to a series of big beaver ponds on Chavez Creek that flows out of the La Garita Wilderness area about 20 miles above Dome Lake. Those ponds had produced Brobdingnagian brown trout for me in the past, some pushing 20-inches, but it had been several years since I had made the hour hike downstream from the trailhead to fish them. I also wanted to fish upstream in a meadow stretch that had produced plentiful brownies in the past until last year when I was not only skunked but mysteriously had nary a strike.
The hike down was a memorable one with beautiful wildflowers lining the trail and close encounters with antelope and deer. Soon I spied a big new beaver pond, but resisted the urge to sample the alluring waters and continued downstream.
Wild IrisCurious PronghornAlluring New Beaver Pond
My fishing fever was rising as I caught glimpses of the ponds downstream from my vantage point on the trail above. I finally reached the lower pond and bushwhacked down to the water. And what to my wondering eye should appear…but a blown-out beaver dam with only a shallow stream of water coursing its way through the leftover pond muck through a breach in the dam.
Heartbreaker!!
After a few choice expletives, I trudged resolutely upstream to the next dam and pond. But the scene was disappointingly the same. Not one to quit, I clawed my way through brush to the next dam and clambered up through the mass of branches and sticks only to be greeted again by another blown-out pond.
Another Pond Bites The Dust….er Flood!
OK, enough is enough I thought and headed back up to the trail and upstream. Just as I was about to throw in the towel, I came to the new pond I had seen earlier, glistening in the sunlight below. I decided to have lunch to calm my growling stomach and mind, then descended to the water, where I immediately saw some trout rising at the stream inlet. I navigated around some small trees now inundated by several feet of water and flipped a backhand cast into the flow above. BANG, no sooner had the flies hit the water than they were sucked under. Immediately a brook trout splashed to the surface, came in for a quick photo, and then scurried away. This would be the start of an hour of non-stop fun catching colorful and cooperative brook trout, a few pushing 12-inches.
Feeling revived I worked my way upstream to another small dam and pond that had been productive in the past and immediately hooked a nice 14-inch brownie and many more brookies.
Solitary Brown Trout
Then it was on to the meadow section to solve the mystery of the missing browns upstream. On the way, I managed to scare up a big mama moose and her two calves that had been hiding in willows lining the creek. Fortunately, she ran up Perfecto Creek, a tributary of Chavez that veered to the west.
When I reached the open meadow stretch, I knelt carefully and cast into a bend pool that a couple of years ago produced a dozen brownies, naming it then the Big 12 Pool.
The Mystery Of The Meadow Continues
Immediately something inhaled the dry and the fight was on. Soon a brookie was slipping into my net. For the next hour I had a silly good time catching dozens of hungry brookies, but nary a brown. What happened to all those fatties? Maybe 2025 will reveal the secret?!?
The final surprise of 2024 involved my annual fly-fishing trip with my buddy from Florida, Robert Wayne, Esq. We set up camp in Del Norte, Colorado, in September to sample creeks in the surrounding high country. We had a banner day on remote Jim Creek above La Jara Reservoir for colorful Rio Grande Cutthroats, and Bob notched a whopper of a brown trout on Saguache Creek to the north. I prepared Bob for a grand finale on Clear Creek near Creede where I had several outstanding days earlier in the summer. We traversed the very steep trail into lower Clear Creek in an impressive fashion for two septuagenarians and exchanged high fives when we reached the beautiful waters in the canyon.
Everything looked great—plenty of water thanks to ample August rains that broke a long drought. It would be the last of our smiles. Turned out there was way too much water. Wading was tough, and the good pools were all washed out. Here and there we would spy a trout fleeing was we pushed up stream in the torrent. Two hours later Bob actually hooked a fish in a fast run that immediately jumped and sent the fly flying. We looked at each other and decided, despite the ignominy of a SKUNK, that was a sign–the first goose egg either of us had experienced in years. Over lunch we drowned our sorrows in some good libations and victuals, surrounding by beautiful fall colors.
Post-Skunk Libations And Victuals
I usually head to Florida for the winter right after Halloween and a fun evening of trick or treating with my sweetheart Aly, but this fall I took on an interesting assignment to assist Saguache County, home of several of my favorite trout streams, in dealing with proposals it was grappling with to build huge industrial-scale solar energy facilities. Because the San Luis Valley is one of the sunniest locales in Colorado, it is a magnet for these facilities that can cover hundreds of acres with significant impacts on wildlife, agricultural areas, and scenic vistas. With generous support of the Gates Family Foundation out of Denver, I teamed with a bright, hard-working law professor, Jonathan Rosenbloom, to produce a detailed report recommending regulations to ensure the facilities are properly sited and operated to address potential adverse impacts while still accommodating these energy sources so essential to reducing carbon emissions and grappling with climate change.
That meant I was still around for the big surprise November snow in Colorado, with 15 inches dumped at my cabin and necessitating shoveling snow off my cabin porch, which convinced me to head to Florida right after Thanksgiving!
Time To Head To Florida!!
Glad I did. My first two kayak outings, one on a freshwater lake in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park that produced epic fishing for largemouth bass and Oscars and the other in the saltwater of the Everglades National Park around Chokoloskee Bay where hungry speckled sea trout couldn’t resist my offerings, including one rod-bender that went 21-inches, reminded me why I enjoy winters in the Glades.
Feisty Speckled Sea Trout
The Scary and Slightly Senescent
Not all was fun and games in 2024. On returning to Colorado in mid-May, I was greeted by my sweetheart granddaughter Aly waiting patiently for me in the driveway on her new bike. She was ready to roll, so I found my bike helmet in the garage and borrowed my son’s bike and off we went.
We practiced driving on the street with only one hand and then no hands before taking off down one of the gravel bike trails that weave in and out of the houses and open space. I saw a group of ladies walking towards us so, as a gentleman, steered off the trail into an adjacent cul-de-sac with Aly close behind. We pedaled a wide circle in the cul-de-sac as the walkers passed by then I headed back towards the trail. But the sun was glaring directly in my eyes and I didn’t see the gutter was elevated above a drain and drove smack into it. My fat tires crunched into the drain, and the bike instantly came to a dead stop while I flew headfirst over the handlebars and landed ten feet away. The ladies came running back and wanted to call the EMS, but I said I was fine, if a bit sore. Luckily the helmet saved my hard head, but later I would learn at the doctor’s office a few days later that I had two broken ribs! Painful, but there isn’t really much one can do except take it easy let it heal. I was fishing within two weeks!
The real scary stuff took place a month later. A shakedown cruise in June in my travel trailer (aka mobile fishing camp) reminded me to take my time and be methodical in trip preparation, especially when you are a septuagenarian and possibly slightly senescent!
Getting Ready For Shakedown Cruise
I had dutifully drained the antifreeze in the water system on my travel trailer, flushed it out and refilled the water tanks. I tested the new water pump, and it hummed efficiently. Next, I checked to make sure the propane tanks were full and carefully tested each of the three gas burners on the stove. They all functioned perfectly, and then I ran the gas furnace and checked the gas connection that would run the little refrigerator. The batteries were next. I charged them up and checked the solar panel which would keep them humming in the boondocks, allowing me to have light in the trailer and recharge my cell phone after the daily quotient of photos of the scenery, wildflowers, wild animals, and big fish. After all that activity, I retired to the front porch to enjoy the view and have a glass of wine.
I was admiring the gaudy Western Tanagers, Black-Headed Grosbeaks, and assorted hummingbirds visiting my bird feeders when I heard a chirping noise coming from out back beyond the trailer among the pinon trees and sage. Maybe a new bird for my list?? I crept quietly around the cabin in the direction of the cheeping but couldn’t see anything. The chatter continued. I slyly pulled out my cell phone and opened the Merlin bird app from the Cornell School of Ornithology and held it high in the air. It identifies birds by their calls. I could tell the app was struggling, but it finally identified the call of a spotted towhee, a shy handsome bird that frequents the area. I never did get a glimpse of the bashful guy.
Secretive Spotted Towhee
Next morning when I awakened, I heard the phantom towhee who was continuing to chirp merrily away. After finishing breakfast, I snuck outside to see if I could spot him. Then I realized the call was coming from my travel trailer. I opened the door and sure enough a little black box near the floor under a window was sounding off. I unplugged the device and found it was a propane gas detector.
LIFESAVER!!
But there was nothing using gas. The note on the box said it should be replaced every 5 years, and my trailer just turned seven, so I thought it must be defective and was ready to toss it into the trash when I happened to glance over to the stove….and saw that one burner was not fully off and not lit! I had apparently turned it to the lowest setting when testing but had not shut it off completely so it had been running all night long! I quickly turned it off and bailed out of the trailer. Since propane gas is odorless, no telling what might have happened if it had continued to slowly leak gas into the trailer and I had lit a match! Yikes!!
Enough of this nonsense! It was time to hit the road. My long driveway is bumpy and steep, always reminding me to test the trailer brakes and put the SUV into four-wheel drive to slow the descent while I give the brakes a little test. Unfortunately in my haste to hit the road, I forgot to switch back into 2WD and proceeded to drive for 45 miles in 4WD at speeds to 60 mph before noticing my error. The owner’s manual cautions never to drive in 4WD over 55 mph. Luckily, I seem to have dodged a bullet as the 4WD performed flawlessly throughout the trip in more suitable terrain at acceptable speeds.
When I got to Upper Dome Lake where I would be camping in a state wildlife area, I was anxious to get on a nearby creek which appeared to be high but fishable. I unlocked the trailer ball and cranked it down from the hitch receiver on the SUV. I moved the SUV forward and went about leveling the trailer. But before I could finish the job, a huge gust of wind, probably more than 40 mph, swept over the trailer and BANG, pushed the trailer jack/hitch off the block of wood it was resting on. The trailer skidded forward a half dozen feet, coming close to crashing into the SUV. I had to struggle for 30 minutes to get the trailer hitch jacked up high enough to reconnect it back to the trailer ball on the SUV and then maneuver the trailer back into position. This would have been easily avoided by the simple act of setting the tire blocks first before unhooking the trailer. Lesson learned.
Block Those Tires!
Unfortunately, I didn’t realize till later that the trailer jack had been damaged. Fortunately, the jack crank still worked, if barely. I was able to hitch the trailer up to the SUV when I headed home a few days later and get a new trailer jack pronto.
I partially redeemed myself, however, when the phone charging outlet in the trailer went dead, meaning no camera and no way to contact anyone except with my emergency satellite phone. Fortunately, fighting off senescence, I had purchased a portable power block that I was able to use to recharge the phone three times during the trip.
Power Block Saves The Day!!
The next few months were relatively peaceful and safe until the last day of my quest for the aforementioned Wet Mountain Valley grand slam. The target was the Rio Grande Cutthroats that thrived in remote Medano Creek, tucked in a hidden valley between the rugged Wet Mountain and Sangre de Cristo ranges. The challenge would be getting to the creek from my campground near Westcliffe in the Wet Mountain Valley over the gnarly road that went over Medano Pass. For safety’s sake, my fishing buddy Tom Palka drove over from Salida to join me. Always good to have a 50-something youngster with you when the going gets tough.
I had made the trek over Medano Pass several times, and the two-track road seemed to get worse every trip. This one was no exception.
Heavy rains earlier in August had gouged out mini-canyons all along the route. In several stretches where the road split around trees or big boulders, Tom would jump out of the SUV and check things out. All was going well as my new AT tires were performing nicely. As we neared the pass and the descent into the Medano Creek Valley where things would get a lot easier, we came to another split in the road. Tom reconnoitered and signaled me to take the track to the right. I was a little skeptical as I had tried that course several years ago and found it too rocky. But now it looked smoother. As Tom gave me the go-ahead signal, I lurched forward and made a turn up a steep stretch. But in just a few feet, my tires started to slip and spin wildly, kicking up big rocks that barely missed Tom who was standing to the side below. I slammed on the brakes as I started to slide backwards, but to no avail. I gunned forward again but kept sliding backwards with increasing speed. I could see a wall of big trees looming up behind in my rearview mirror. My only hope was to steer the vehicle to firmer ground on the left, so I spun the steering wheel gingerly in that direction which resulted in the SUV tilting dangerously as it swung around. Miraculously, it didn’t tip, allowing me to stop and then inch forward VERY slowly turning the steering wheel to the right to get the vehicle facing downhill. Tom jumped back in and we retreated to the split and took the other fork which was rough but not life-threatening. The good news is that we had a banner day catching and releasing those brilliantly colored cutts of Medano Creek to complete the Grand Slam.
The last scary moment of 2024 occurred with Bob Wayne as we hiked down the very steep slope on a trail featuring plenty of loose rocks to fish the lower reaches of Clear Creek in a beautiful canyon. We were picking our way carefully down the track when Bob stopped to take a breather. I clambered back up to rest with him and was mesmerized at the view down a narrow, very steep, and snag-filled side canyon.
I immediately pulled my phone out to snap a photo, but in my hurry, hooked it on my fishing vest and watched in absolute horror as it flew from my hand and started to bounce down the slope…one bounce, two bounces…and on the third bounce at the edge of the precipice it miraculously hung up on a small patch of vegetation, leaning precariously into the abyss. Trembling, I crawled down the slope about ten feet, held my breath, and scooped up the phone.
Phone Rescue Mission Underway!!
Its screen cover was cracked at the bottom with fractures emanating from it, but otherwise it was fine. And continues to be. I haven’t replaced the screen cover yet, leaving it as a reminder to take it easy!
Last Laughs
Being a fun-loving senior citizen, it would not be acceptable to end this retrospective of a tale of the almost annihilated iPhone. Some of the best laughs of 2024 came as I trick or treated with granddaughter Aly on Halloween. Dressed up like a maniac clown, I had a blast jumping out from behind bushes and scaring the daylights out of passing teenagers as Aly knocked on neighborhood doors.
Ready For Halloween Fun!!
And being the proverbial eternal optimist, I successfully shook off recurrent worries about the future staring me in the face and fears about how much longer an aging septuagenarian like me could paddle and pedal a kayak for 8 hours in the wilds while dodging pesky gators to catch feisty snook, tarpon, and (being a confirmed ladies’ man) those beloved ladyfish. Or hike into a steep canyon to chase wild trout…and survive the climb back out in one piece. Then thanks to a birthday card from a cheeky, impudent female friend, everything was put into perspective. Clearly with my up-to-date sartorial inclinations (Okay, okay so the pix is 10 years old!), I have not yet entered the final and likely deadly phase of the male pants cycle as she seemed to be intimating! Many good years are clearly still ahead until I break out the suspenders, other than those used for fishing waders, and hike my pants up above my belly button!
My holy quest for a trout grand slam continues. So far so good–browns, rainbows, and brookies checked off on Days 1 and 2. Now for the toughest one—a native Rio Grande Cutthroat. My destination today is Medano Creek, hidden in a beautiful valley between the soaring peaks of the Wet Mountain and Sangre de Cristo ranges. Medano Creek flows south into the Great Sands Dune National Park where it disappears into the sand.
Medano Creek Flows Into Then Disappears In The Thirsty Sands of the National Park To the Delight of My Granddaughter Aly.
But don’t be fooled! Before it does, it flows free and cold, high in the mountains above and is one of the best cutthroat waters in Colorado.
Miles Above the Great Sand Dunes, Rio Grande Cutthroats Thrive in the Clear, Pure Waters of Medano Creek
Kudos go to the folks at Colorado Parks and Wildlife for this treasure. Over a decade ago, they prepared the creek for cutthroats to survive and flourish by poisoning out invasive species like brown trout and then stocking it with Rio Grande Cutthroats, which were on the verge of being listed as endangered. The cutts proliferated, a great success story. Fishing for the cutthroats is allowed, but catch and release is the rule.
Having fished the creek a couple of times, I know the cutts are thriving and hungry. The question is–can I get there over the very rough Medano Pass road? In the best of conditions, it’s a teeth-jarring, bone-rattling drive, but with all the rain we have had in July and August it is likely to be in worse shape. It doesn’t see a road grader very often that’s for sure, especially on the east side of the pass.
For safety’s sake, it’s good to have someone with you on this trip, so I invite my fishing buddy from Salida, Mr. Tom P. to join me. I call him Tenkara Tom. Tenkara is a simple, traditional Japanese style that uses a very long rod, a short light line, and typically only one wet fly. It has only become popular in the USA in the last 15 years. It works best on small streams because of the short line that is simply flipped out with the fly without any false casting as with traditional fly casting. Tom is a master at it, as he demonstrated by outfishing me last year on a small creek in the San Juan Mountains. I am hoping to deliver his well-deserved comeuppance on Medano Creek.
I meet him in Westcliffe at 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday for the two-hour drive over Medano Pass, our goal being a series of beaver ponds and open creek stretches several miles below. Don’t be fooled by the Google Maps that portrays this as a one hour and five-minute drive. It will take about two hours if you avoid any mishaps. The first part of the drive is down CO 69 highway, which is a good paved road, about 25 miles to the turnoff on gravel road 559 which leads to Medano Pass. Be sure to keep your eyes peeled for the Medano Pass turnoff sign. Don’t follow the circuitous route suggested by Google Maps
Follow the Signs On CO 69 For the Turnoff To Medano Pass
The trip is a very scenic one that often features herds of elk or buffalo with the striking Wet Mountains framing the view.
The first five miles or so on road 559 are decent, skirting a big lake on private property before beginning the ascent to the pass. But from there things can get gnarlier by the mile as Tom and I soon discover. The road clearly hasn’t seen a grader for some months as witnessed by the eroded channels coursing down the two-track carved out by recent rains.
Every mile or so where the road splits to avoid a big boulder or stand of trees, Tom jumps out and evaluates the better route, which works well until we decide to go right to avoid a stretch to the left with some sharp rocks protruding from the roadway. The right fork is steeper, but the roadbed looks to be in better shape. I line up to gun up the grade as Tom steps to the side. I am in 4-wheel drive with some new AT tires, so don’t expect what happens next. I lurch a few feet forward, then my tires start to spin wildly getting no traction, and my SUV begins to slide backwards with the tires kicking up baseball-sized rocks. I turn the wheel slightly hoping to avoid sliding into some big trees behind, but that maneuver results in the SUV starting to tilt on its side. Luckily I get the vehicle stopped before I roll it. I sit there shaking for a minute, having survived what felt like a near-death experience. It probably wasn’t that bad, but the look on Tom’s face says it all. We soon regroup, back up and take the rocky looking stretch which proves to not be as bad as it looked. But you get the picture–this is a route for 4WD vehicles with high clearance only and drivers with substantial experience on rough backcountry roads. Indeed, a better route may be through the Great Sand Dunes National Park. While there are some challenges with that way as well, such as several deep creek crossings and the notorious Sand Pit that can swallow unsuspecting vehicles and requires you to deflate your tires before proceeding then reinflate when you hit solid roadbed, at least you are closer to civilization if you need to walk out or get help.
Beware The SUV-Eating Sand Pit
Most Creek Crossings Are Navigable Except After Heavy Rains
Once over Medano Pass, however, we breathe much easier and can enjoy the spectacular fall scenery. The road in the National Park and Preserve proves to be much better maintained than in the national forest on the east side of Medano Pass.
The only challenges are a couple of stream crossings, but unless there has been a big rain they are easy in a high-clearance SUV. Within a few miles down off the pass, we come to a series of beaver ponds and a hidden stretch of open creek water below where I have done well on earlier trips.
That’s where we pull over and suit up. I am wearing chest waders and Tom his wet-wading knee-high outfit. Tom rigs up his 9-foot tenkara rod with a #14 soft hackled pheasant tail he will fish wet. It’s a pattern I have seen him catch numerous fish on. I have my short 7.5 foot 3# wand ready to go with a #18 Chubby Chernobyl dry and a #18 Dirk’s Delight green caddis larva dropper. By 9:45 we are bushwhacking towards a nice open stretch of the creek hidden downstream of the big beaver ponds. But as we reach our destination we find the busy beavers have been hard at work—they have built a series of small beaver dams that make casting very difficult. The dams have backed up water into the overhanging trees and bushes, and the new ponds are too deep or mucky to wade.
Fortunately, we can see the fish, some rising insouciantly beneath the overhanging bushes. Tom boldly fords the creek and crashes further downstream. Soon he is hooting and hollering that he has a good one. “First fish of the day—a cutt over 12 inches!” he shouts. Likely story I think! And he never snaps a photo or produces any other evidence of the event.
We head upstream and finally come to an open stretch that was a hot spot last year. The water is very low and clear, but with a careful approach we get within casting distance of the pool and have some fun sight fishing. We can see a half dozen fish looking upstream waiting for their next meal to float by. I give Tom first chance, and he immediately snaps off his pheasant tail in some bushes behind us. I wait patiently while he searches for a replacement in his fly box, but all he comes up with is a bushy #18 caddis dry fly. I have to stifle my chuckle, but then on his first cast he connects immediately. A beautiful small cutthroat.
Then it’s my turn, and on my first cast a colorful cutty nails the dry! Grand Slam!!
Beautiful Rio Grande Cutthroat Completes The Grand Slam!
From then on, it’s non-stop action for the beautiful natives. In a few minutes Tom manages to fool a gorgeous one, sporting a namesake bright reddish-orange slash on its throat, that goes almost a foot, one of the biggest of the day.
We continue on upstream and come to a challenging bend pool guarded by snags mid-stream. On previous trips it has produced some good-sized, feisty fish for me.
Tricky, Snag-Filled Bend Pool Holds Muscular Cutts
Being the gentleman fly fisherman, I motion for Tom to go first. He shows off his stealthy moves by creeping up to a spot on the opposite shore where he can flip his fly out without spooking the fish and still reach the honey hole between the snags. He sits quietly to let things settle down, then flicks a backhand cast that results in his fly alighting perfectly between the snags. In a flash, he’s onto a good fish. He lands that one and then fools two more from the same pool. Good show Mr. T!!
We continue upstream and come to my favorite long, open stretch of the creek just below an old big beaver dam. But of course, things have changed since last year. The beaver have constructed another big dam—almost 4 feet high–that has flooded the creek all the way up to the foot of the old beaver dam, creating a long linear pond 20 or so feet across. My heart sinks as I utter a few choice words. But hope springs eternal, so I begin to scale the new dam, a bold move by a septuagenarian. I manage to get near the top so I have enough clearance to cast but still keep low enough not to spook the fish….if there are any in the new pond.
I throw a long cast into the slow current, let the flies settle, then give my line a twitch. The water explodes as a good cutt gulps down the dry. He cavorts back and forth around the pond, then something almost jerks the rod out of my hand. Low and behold, another trout surfaces with the caddis larva in its jaw. He goes one way, the dry fly guy the other. It’s a fun battle, and I beam as I lift my line out of the water with two fish wriggling wildly. Soon they are swimming back to their pals.
Not to be denied, Tom hikes around the dam to get into the action from the shoreline. Together we get another couple dozen in short succession before we decide to take a lunch break around 12:30. We will hit the old beaver ponds above after feasting on the comestibles.
But the weather has other ideas. As we lounge over lunch, some ominous looking clouds start to roll in from the west along with gusty winds. Instead of flying the white flag, however, we decide to hustle back to the ponds and give them a try…and soon are catching more eager cutthroats in the new narrow pond where I scored the double. Next we do a highwire act along the old dam upstream till we come to an open spot were we can cast. Bingo, the fun continues! Tom, sans waders, has a little trouble reaching the best spots in deeper water offshore with his short line Tenkara rig, but I boldly wade in and am able to cast to some risers out of his reach and net a couple more. Retribution completed!
By now, however, the clouds start to spit rain and the wind is howling, sending us scurrying back to the SUV. It’s about 2:30 when we hit the road back to Westcliffe.
Rain Clouds and Gusty Winds Signal The End To A Fantastic Day
Again we enjoy the scenery with the aspen showing off their fall colors from bright yellow to flaming orange. And now that we know the rough spots on the road from the travails of the morning, the drive back going downhill from Medano Pass is definitely easier and more pleasant, especially with the Grand Slam accomplished. It’s been an enjoyable three days pursuing these beautiful fish in magical, remote surroundings, topped off with a good dose of camaraderie with Tenkara Tom today. After all, that’s what fly fishing is really all about.
As my fishing friends and readers know, I am a small stream aficionado and devotee. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against big waters like the Arkansas River near my cabin outside Salida, Colorado, despite the float boat hatch in summers that is maddening for those of us who prefer to wade rather than row. I just prefer the solitude and wild nature of the small streams I like to search out, not to mention eager fish. Okay, Okay…being shallower and smaller, I must admit they are also easier for a shambling septuagenarian like me to navigate.
But while small streams can be easier to navigate and their denizens usually cooperative, they come with their own special challenges—tight casting quarters, plentiful snags, and shallow and clear water with spooky fish just to mention a few. Here are some tips that will help ensure successful outings and hopefully help build the constituencies to protect these often lesser known, but precious waters.
Tip #1: Before plunging into the water, take time to check out the insect life in and around the stream.
Because of their diminutive size and often remote locations with challenging environments ranging from high elevations to deep canyons, small streams often have a more limited and specialized selection of the victuals trout prefer. That’s why while walking to the creek a smart angler will keep an eye out for terrestrials like grasshoppers and ants. In the summer hoppers are an especially delectable and popular treat, providing a good meal for the smaller fish usually found in small streams.
Clacking Of Grasshoppers = Trout Dinner BellBig Trout Want A Meal, Not Just A Snack
Next, instead of casting immediately in that first pool, wade out downstream and check under rocks for aquatic bugs like caddis, mayfly, and stonefly larvae and nymphs. Then choose the fly or flies that are reasonable facsimiles.
A good example is a recent trip to upper Grape Creek near Westcliffe, Colorado. I usually use a green- colored caddis larva dropper on Grape Creek to match the abundant green caddis larva lurking in the stream bed. But in this new section I hadn’t fished before, I found cream-colored caddis larva in abundance, not green. I dug into my fly box and was lucky to find a couple of cream-colored beadhead flies that were reasonable facimiles. I tied one on , and on the very first cast it was gulped down by a nice brookie. More soon followed. Would a green-colored larva worked? Maybe, but a little investigation paid off.
Cream Vs. The Typical Green Caddis LarvaTurning Over A Streamside Rock Results In Good Brookie
Tip #2: Stay out of the stream if possible—avoid those bad vibrations.
Unlike larger rivers where the angler must often plunge in and wade to reach the best pools/runs, in small streams the most inviting and productive water can often be reached with a short cast without getting your waders wet—a good strategy illustrated by a recent experience on tiny Archuleta Creek in southern Colorado. I was hiking on a ridge above the stream, which has always been challenging but productive, planning to cut down to the water in a little gully ahead. But another old guy had beaten me to the punch, so before pushing on downstream a good distance, I decided to take a break and watch him fish. I was a bit surprised to see him wading in and up the creek, then saw his water buffalo wading technique was literally sending shock waves upstream into the bend pools he was targeting. On a good stretch I had done well on in the past, in over 15 minutes he hooked just one fish. His sloshing around had sent out bad vibrations. It was a reminder to think Beach Boys—sending out good vibrations to the fish with succulent flies and minimum ripples, creating some excitation instead of miniature tidal waves. After watching the show, I proceeded downstream for a quarter mile and started fishing back up. Thirty minutes later I hit the stretch the other senior gent had plowed through and had a ball carefully fishing the water and catching a half dozen nice brownies, one scaling 14 inches.
A recent outing on a stream in the San Luis Valley loaded with Rio Grande Cutthroats teaches the same lesson. The water was clear and extremely low, but my fishing buddy Tom Palka managed to catch (and release) three beautiful cutties from a postage-stamp sized pool by creeping carefully to a hidden spot in the grass below the pool then executing backhand casts from a sitting position. If he had stood up instead, the trout would have likely fled to the next county!
Cautious Approach And Low Profile Casting……Results In Beautiful Rio Grande Cutthroats
Tip #3: Stoop to conquer…
Avoiding bad vibrations is just one advantage of staying out of the water and being careful when casting from the shoreline. The best holding lies in small creeks are often shallower than in big rivers, and if the water is clear and you are wading standing upright either on the shoreline or in the stream it’s guaranteed the fish have a good chance of seeing you moving or will spy your shadow. What’s the remedy? KNEEL!! Where the stream is especially small or water very clear consider kneeling on the shoreline or in the water before casting. Keep in mind the famous line from the Oliver Goldsmith play from the late 1700s: “She stoops to conquer,” meaning someone who accepts behavior being viewed as beneath one’s abilities or station in life but achieves some greater purpose as a result.
If savvy septuagenarian anglers, creaky knees and all, have learned to kneel to conquer–so can you!
But you say, what of your aching knees on those sharp, hard streambed rocks? I am sympathetic, and that’s why I buy Dry Plus waders at Cabela’s—one of few that comes with handy dandy knee pads built in as a standard feature. Try them, you will see the advantages plus you won’t have to spend a wad of money for these durable and reasonably priced waders.
Tip #4: Use a shorter rod and shorter leaders/droppers, especially with creeks featuring heavy streamside vegetation or overhanding trees and bushes.
Like most anglers, the standard rod I use in rivers is a light-to-medium weight 8.5-foot wand. I also opt for it on smaller waters like Saguache Creek that don’t have a lot of streamside vegetation. But increasingly on small streams where I will be casting in close quarters with overhanding trees or tall shoreline brush and grass and other vegetation, my choice is a short 7.5-footer. The shorter rod allows me to backcast with less chance of hangups and avoid the cloying branches and bushes the longer rod seems to enjoy.
Tight Quarters Call For Shorter Rod
The same is true of leaders and dropper size. In small streams with tight quarters, there is simply not much room to false cast or even just flip the fly out with a quick flick of the rod. Similarly, long droppers that work on big water to get to bottom where the big fish are will elicit expletives on smaller streams as your fly alights perfectly in the target pool but the dropper ends up in tall bristly grass, rose bushes, etc., etc!
But I would be disingenuous if I did mention the tenkara lesson I received from friend Tom Palka. We were fishing a tiny backcountry creek that was barely three feet wide in many places and lined with grass and assorted snags three feet high. I was having the devil of a time casting even with my smaller rod without hanging up in the streamside vegetation. But with his 10-foot tenkara rod young Mr. Palka (only 50 or so years of age) could simple reach out over streamside grass and gently his parachute his fly easily into the best holes. As he landed three fish to my every one, this cheeky youngster schooled me.
Tenkara Tom Gets Close To Fish With 10-foot Rod!
Same story with leaders. Long leaders and droppers that often work best on big rivers to reach big fish in deeper holes will often end up in streamside grass and handing from snags on smaller streams. I find that 7.5-foot 5X or 6X leaders with shorter 18-inch dropper work fine.
Tip #5: Learn the light-touch twister tug and snap roll cast to save your fly from snags
Before I learned a little trick from my fishing buddy, Bob Wayne, my normal response to getting my fly entangled in streamside branches or grass, in addition to uttering expletives, was to give my rod a sharp upward jerk in hopes that it would rip the fly out of the grasp of the dastardly snag. My success rate was about 20% at best. Then one day I watched Mr. Wayne rescue fly after fly deposited in streamside vegetation by errant casts. Instead of yanking the rod straight up as seems natural, he would aim his rod directly at snag, tighten the line taught, and then twist his wrist as he gave it a gentle tug or two straight back. Twist and tug! His success rate in saving his flies was an astounding 50%! It was amazing how often the embedded, seemingly doomed fly came loose.
Master Angler Robert Wayne, Esq., Gets Ready To Execute His Patented Twist And Tug Manuever To Extricate Yet Another Errant Cast
Now I don’t claim to be as accomplished as Bob in employing this technique but have saved many flies over the past few years thanks to him.
But what if your fly is hung up on a rock or branch in the stream? My solution is to execute a short roll cast towards the snag powered with a strong downward snap of the wrist. Often this technique will work because the rolling line will pull the stuck fly upstream away from the snag rather than digging it in further as is the case if you give the line a pull downstream. Don’t be surprised if you save your fly with this simple maneuver without having to wade out to retrieve the fly and spoil the pool.
Tip #6: For the small stream hot spots, focus on twisting creek bends, undercut banks, and shallows depending on water temperature and sunlight. Don’t forget your stream thermometer to help figure out where the fish will be.
Several years ago, I learned an important lesson about small stream fish and water temperature. I was fishing a small remote stream in the upper reaches of the San Luis Valley in south central Colorado in August that had always treated me well. The creek wove sinuously through a meadow with alluring clear water deep pools at every bend. But in the first trio of pools I drew a goose egg despite my fly and dropper floating through perfectly. Frustrated, I waded into the bend pool up to my waist to reconnoiter up close. I didn’t see or spook a singled fish. A little further upstream, I again struck out and waded in to see what was up. Again, the pool seemed empty.
Then I hit a very shallow straighter stretch above a beaver pond, only a foot or so deep. To my amazement, I could see three brook trout finning nonchalantly in the thin water. I crept within casting distance and knelt carefully. My Chubby Chernobyl dry alighted five feet in front of the trio, and one darted forward and gulped in the faux grasshopper like it was his first call for breakfast. After landing the colorful brookie I continued upstream towards the next bend pool.
Where Are The Trout Likely To Be Hiding–Deep Water In Beaver Pond Or Skinny Water Above??Brookie Abandons Safety of Beaver Pond For Warmer Shallow Stretch
But it too was barren. However, in the rocky shallows next to the bend I pulled out another brawling brook trout. What gives I thought?
Then it dawned on me that after several days of unseasonably cold weather with temperatures plunging into the lower forties, the fish needed warmth. While under normal conditions the deeper bend pool would provide warmth, after an extended cold spell it was less hospitable. And now with the sun beating down, the shallows were warming up more quickly and drawing the fish like a magnet.
This was part of my education that fish in smaller streams are especially sensitive to air and water temperature because water is typically shallower than in big rivers, even the deeper bend pools. It will usually cool off faster and warm up more quickly. On a hot day small stream fish will retire sooner to deeper bend pools or undercut banks where the water is cooler. By same token, if the water is very cold then don’t be surprised if bigger fish are out in open in shallower water early on a sunny day warming up. The optimum feeding temperature range for most stream trout is from around 52-64 degrees. When the air temperature gets near or below 40 degrees followed by a sunny day, the conditions are right for the fish to seek out sunny shallow stretches.
The moral of the story: To assess where the most likely hiding spots are on any given day, especially after a change in the weather and air temperature, don’t forget your stream thermometer and use it when getting started to improve your “luck.”
Stream Thermometer–Don’t Leave Home Without It!
Tip #7: Fish those back eddies
These are probably the most overlooked honey holes on small streams. A back eddy is a section of a creek where part of the current reverses direction and flows upstream. Typically, an eddy forms when the main current is obstructed by a rock, tree, or bank and is pushed to one side and in the reverse direction of the main current. Use video. Usually, the water in a back eddy is quiet and brings food right to the smart fish waiting there, who will be facing downstream into the flow of the back eddy.
Big Small Stream Trout Love Lounging In Back Eddies For Easy Meals
To fish a back eddy, I normally use a short cast towards the beginning of the reverse flow while high sticking my rod to keep most of the line from dragging in the main current. I then let the fly float slowly upstream, often in a foam line. Usually only my leader will be on the water to avoid the fly from being dragged downstream by the main current. I also don’t shy away from letting the fly float to the top of the back eddy which is often covered with a layer of foam. It’s not unusual that the biggest fish in the back eddy will be lying patiently under the shadow of the foam, dining at his leisure.
BONUS TIP: As a reward for the stalwarts who finished reading the entire article, here’s a bonus tip: Fish out your casts—more so than in big water, fish will often pursue a fly downstream on a small creek. Why?The current in most small creeks is not anywhere nearly as strong as in a big river like the Arkansas or Gunnison. This allows the hungry trout to leave his holding lie, give chase to the fleeing faux insect for some distance, have a quick meal, and easily and quickly swim back to safety. Give it a try and you will see.
Prelude: The comeback story of the endangered Rio Grande Cutthroat is an encouraging one. Once found in waters throughout the Rio Grande River drainage in southern Colorado and northern New Mexico and even in the Pecos River in Texas, its range had shrunk to less than ten percent of the historic area due to a variety of causes like habitat destruction and introduction of invasive species like rainbow and brook trout. But a cooperative effort by government agencies like the federal Fish and Wildlife Service and Colorado Parks and Wildlife as well as conservation groups such as Trout Unlimited has brought this stunningly beautiful fish back from the brink.
One of the pure delights of the angling adventures of this aging septuagenarian fly fisher has been to sample several of the streams in the San Luis Valley like Medano Creek in the Great Sand Dunes National Preserve and the Adams and Lake Fork of the Conejos River that provide safe harbor for this striking, rare fish. I am infatuated with its gorgeous colors and as much by the wild country where the Rio Grande Cutts survive and thrive, streams that you have to work to get to and offer quiet solitude upon arrival.
Rio Grande Cutthroat From A Remote Creek In The San Luis Valley
Given its status, I am extra cautious in following any applicable state regulations (e.g., flies only, catch and release) and handle each catch with extreme care before returning the fish to the water.
Recently, in doing some on-line research about the current status of recovery efforts, I stumbled on a couple of interesting reports from 2008 and 2016 entitled “The Range-Wide Status of Rio Grande Cutthroat Trout.” The 100-page plus studies, put together by a team of state and federal wildlife and land management agencies and the Jicarilla Apache Tribe, identified a host of smaller, little known creeks and streams that were documented as having viable Rio Grande Cutthroat populations along with summaries of efforts to protect and improve habitat for the trout. Illustrative maps depicted the stretches of these waters that held viable Rio Grande Cutthroat populations.
Three caught my eye in Saguache County, Colorado, that marked the northern most range of the Rio Grande Cutthroat—Jacks, Cross, and East Middle Creeks, lying just south of the Continental Divide and the range of the Greenback Cutthroats over the mountains in the Arkansas River drainage. All three are in the drainage of Saguache Creek, on of my favorite trout streams. The reports stated that there were decent populations of the fish—from 150 to 400/mile–in each water with fair but suitable habitat. In one—East Middle Creek, a tributary of Middle Creek—the reports noted the existence of a stream barrier high in the upper sections of the creek such as waterfall or a small dam/drop structure to protect cutthroat populations from intrusion by invasive species like brook trout from below. (cp004 in the map below) These creeks are located close together about a dozen miles or so west of the small town of Saguache and just over an hour’s drive from my cabin near Salida, Colorado. Who could resist exploring? Do those streams still hold the rare Rio Grande Cutthroats?
On Day One of my quest in July, I reconnoitered Cross, Jacks, and Middle Creeks. It was an enjoyable outing, and the brook trout were very cooperative on Middle Creek. (For Day 1Follies, see http://hooknfly.com/2024/08/25/colorados-san-luis-valley-stronghold-of-the-rare-rio-grande-cutthroat/ ) But the cutthroat proved elusive. I started to question whether any of the cutts existed this far north in the San Luis Valley. Supposedly they survived high up in East Middle Creek, several miles above the confluence with Middle Creek, but I was beginning to have my doubts. The only way to find out was to break out the hiking boots and fly rods and hit the trail.
Day 2: Searching for the Elusive East Middle Creek Cutthroats
A month later in early August, I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. In a disturbing dream I had fished for days on end nonstop on East Middle Creek, searching for the elusive Rio Grande Cutthroats reputed to be there, but had been skunked time and again. A true angler’s nightmare. From past experience, I knew the only antidote was to plan a trip post haste to East Middle Creek to prove the cutts are really there. And I would need a witness, so in the morning I rang my ace photographer friend Jody Bol to accompany me and document their existence.
A couple of weeks later we are bouncing up CR 38FF towards the Middle Creek trailhead. The road is rougher in spots than last month and pocked by occasional mudholes from all the rain the area has been getting during the so-called monsoon season—maybe a grand total of a couple of inches, which is substantial for this high mountain valley desert. I have checked the State Of Colorado on-line flow gauge for Saguache Creek downstream as none exist for Middle or East Middle Creeks. It shows that Saguache Creek is running high which may be a good indicator that there will be enough water in the smaller tributaries that are shallow this time of year under normal circumstances.
Soon we come to the trailhead and prepare our gear for what will be a day-long outing of about eight miles roundtrip to the supposed cutthroat lair and back.
Middle Fork Trailhead
I am going to wet wade today so pull on my new Simms Flyweight fishing boots designed for hiking as well as wading. I will be carrying only one rod, a short 7.5 foot wand that should be easier to cast with in the tight quarters of East Middle Creek. I have rigged it with a #16 bushy Royal Stimulator that produced well back in July. It’s a reasonable facimile of the grasshoppers clacking loudly as the flitter about, and more importantly it floats like a battleship and can be seen easily by aging eyes.
We hit the trail around 9:30 a.m. for the first mile of hiking along Middle Creek to the confluence with East Middle where the cutthroat allegedly swim.
Photographer Jody Bol On The Trail
The weather is 60 degrees under a beautiful cloudless Colorado bluebird sky. The trail is a bit damp in spots and lined with an abundance of gorgeous wildflowers—blue asters, dwarf mountain goldenrods, and lupines.
Blue AstersDwarf Mountain GoldenrodLupines
Jody disappears from time-to-time to snap photos. In a herculean exhibition of will, I refrain from sneaking down the slope to Middle Creek where I can see fish rising in the alluring beaver ponds that yielded many will brook trout on my last trip up here in July.
Iron Will Resists MIddle Creek Beaver Pond Temptation
We cover the route to the confluence in about 45 minutes and come to the spot above the confluence where the trail crosses East Middle Creek and then splits. The water is running a bit lower than a month ago but is clear and cold. We decide to take a quick break and a sip from our water bottles. Of course, now I can’t resist at least one cast…ok, maybe a few…into the inviting bend pool! Back in July I caught a scrappy brookie here, but maybe there’s a cutthroat in there fraternizing with the invaders from the eastern USA. My first cast is a bit short, and the fly skirts the edge of the pool in water only a few inches deep. No dice. I lengthen my line a few feet and recast. This time the Stimi alights close against the bank above the pool and swirls enticingly into the deeper water. There’s a flash, and I am onto an lively fish, but alas I can see from its orange trimming that it’s a brook trout.
Colorful Brookie Kicks Off The Trip
After some quick pix of the spunky fish, we cross over the water and follow the trail a short distance where it splits. To the left would take us to the west back to where the trail intersects and then follows Middle Creek to the north. We turn to the right and hike the trail as it parallels East Creek upstream to the reputed cutthroat water. The hike is a pleasant one with a generally modest grade and a cool breeze blowing. The wildflower show seems to get even more incredible as we climb, carpeting the edges of the trail and slopes with gentle beauty.
Wildflowers Carpet The Landscape
Our plan is to descend to the creek whenever we spy a relatively open stretch with sufficient depth and that isn’t overgrown so I can safely cast a fly and that might hold some prized cutthroats. For the first half hour or so, they are few and far between. Most of the creek is hidden in thickets of willows, tree branches, and fallen logs. But where I can find a stretch that has some pools that will provide a hideout for trout and I can manage to thread my casts over logs and dodge overhanging branches or have enough elbow room to try an unorthodox downstream float, the trout are there and hungry. Every short stretch produces two or three. Unfortunately, they are not cutthroats, but chunky brookies that can’t resist the Stimi that they mistake for one of the grasshoppers buzzing about everywhere.
Tight Quarters!Another Brookie!!
We continue on for another mile, sampling the stream whenever we find a decent-sized opening in the thicket. But it’s more brookies which have taken over the creek en masse. Then just when I am getting despondent about the chances of finding any cutthroats we come to a picture-perfect active big beaver pond complete with a photogenic beaver lodge.
Trout are rising steadily in the center of the pond. The dam is definitely large and high enough that it could be the barrier that stops the brookie invasion. Fearlessly, I start to work my way across the beaver dam to get within casting distance of the risers, all the while doing do my best imitation of a tight-rope walker. To make things more dicey, the beaver have chinked the top of the dam with mud to stop any leaks. Somehow I survive the gooey mess and carefully unfurl a cast that astonishingly avoids snagging in the trees that are lined up below the dam. I let the fly settle then strip it in slowly across the surface. A couple of twitches and the water explodes as a decent-sized fish tries to devour the fly. He misses. I reload and throw another cast that is intercepted in the clutches of a dastardly willow tree behind me. I issue some choice expletives then miraculously pull the offending branch close enough that I can wriggle the fly loose. A good omen, as my next offering alights near where a good fishing has been rising, and he immediately gulps down my offering. My rod bends nicely as the fish jumps then dives for safety of a pile of submerged logs. In preparation for a celebratory cutthroat trout, I do my patented sashaying 360 degree pirouette retrieve, and after a good battle, he relents.
Fish On!!Patented 360 Pirouette Celebratory Retrieve
My blood pressure spikes as I await the verdict…. brookie or cutthroat?. Aarghh!! Another chunky brookie has eaten the Stimi!
Weight Watchers Candidate
Five casts and five fish later—all brook trout—I dejectedly begin navigating back across the beaver dam, an impressive high-wire act reminiscent of the famous Flying Wallendas, to renew the search for cutthroats further upstream.
Septuagenarian Death Wish
Soon the high peak of Mount Antora, an almost 14-teener, peeks above the horizon signaling the headwaters of East Middle Creek can’t be far ahead.
Mount Antora Above On The Continental Divide
In another half mile the creek hangs a turn to the south and heads up a steep ravine flanked by the trail high above. My resolve is wavering on whether to continue further up a series of switchbacks when I come to a sign from Colorado Parks and Wildlife featuring a handsome Rio Grande Cutthroat and catch and release regulations. Has to be an good omen so I continue up the switchbacks that climb up the steep slope. Hope springs eternal!
A Sign From The Fishing Gods??
The climb in my heavy wading/hiking boots is no picnic in my now soaking wet, so-call flyweight wading boots. But I can hear the creek roaring over a hundred feet below and can see a series of enchanting clear pools.
Huffing And Puffing Up The Switchbacks (Disclaimer: That’s My Waterproof Phone Gear Around My Waist, Not A Belly Fat Roll!)Cutthroat Sanctuary?
Then in the canyon below I spot what we have been looking for—the brook trout barrier in the form of a four-foot waterfall that probably is high enough to stop the invaders.
Brook Trout Barricade!
After the series of steep switchbacks, the trail soon reaches a plateau at almost 10,000 feet elevation then descends a short distance down an easy slope to the creek which is nestled in a small valley above the waterfall. The gradient here is much gentler, and the creek is less overgrown. The casting will still be in tight quarters and there are big logs toppled into the water here and there, but mercifully more open water without the heavy bushwhacking I had to do downstream of the waterfall.
The first pool looks promising and immediately a fish pushing at least two inches bumps the fly with her nose repeatedly, nibbling away. I have to laugh—talk about eyes being bigger than her stomach. I carefully recast a little further up in the pool. This time the fly disappears as a good trout smacks it and dives.
Cutthroat Hideout??
It’s a stout fighter and as it thrashes on the surface looks to be a veritable leviathan of 10-11 inches! The battle continues and I catch a silvery glint as the fish rolls—something you wouldn’t expect from a brook trout. BINGO! As the fish slides closer, I see the hallmark orange slash along its throat, a wild, grand Rio Grande Cutthroat!! I’m beaming—all that trudging and bushwhacking has paid off. A quick photo, and the cutthroat scoots back to his lair.
The Beautiful, Elusive Rio Grande Cutthroat
Now I pause and reflect. It feels like a near-religious experience to gently cradle such a beautiful, rare creature in my hand in the northern most reaches of his kind.
Appreciating The Beauty And The History, Contemplating The Future
I think of his lineage, a long line of ancestors that have plied these waters through the centuries. Of the Utes and other Native Americans who were stewards of this land and water and how they and the cutthroat trout lived together for decades in a balanced nature before the white man intruded. I take consolation that there is a strong coalition of conservation groups and federal and state agencies like Colorado Parks and Wildlife that are successfully protecting the Rio Grande Cutthroats today and rebuilding its numbers in dozens of waters throughout its range in Colorado and New Mexico. I tip my hat to them and look forward to reporting more in the future about how their handiwork is paying off here on remote East Middle Creek and elsewhere in the San Luis Valley, a gift to future generations.
