What a treat this past week to be able to celebrate my son Matthew’s 33rd birthday with a fishing trip into the Everglades backcountry! He was in from Denver for a few days of R&R. Early one morning we pushed off from Chokoloskee in my Gheenoe and were met with eerie fog-enshrouded water that conjured up visions of ghosts who had called this land home hundreds of years before our presence. The fog slipped away quietly, stealthily as the sun rose up, giving way to a beautiful sunny day. We probed deep into the wilds, and the fish cooperated on que. My young lad exhibited some excellent casting skills and caught a smorgasbord of fish including a poor man’s slam–snook, sea trout, jack, and ladyfish. Even Pops fooled a few. Did I mention the sail cats?!? What fun! Nothing like a father-son fishing trip to boost the spirits of an old codger! And to top it off my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly washed off the boat for us!
I’m pleased to report that the August/September 2021 issue of Florida Sportsman, in the “Hidden Gems” section, features my recent article about chasing exotic Peacock Bass in the freshwater canals of Golden Gate Estates with Guide Mark Rose and my fishing buddy Bob Wayne. See below to read or download the article:
One distinct pleasure of my 72 years on this good Earth has been finding remote canyons deeply incised by an untrammeled trout stream. The thrill of standing on a canyon rim and gazing down with anticipation on a picture-perfect creek is hard to equal. But as the population of the West continues to boom it is becoming harder and harder to find these gems…but not impossible. It takes some sleuthing on-line and studying Google Maps’ satellite images as well as topo maps. And you must be prepared to be disappointed when you get in the field and strike out like I did a couple of years ago exploring the upper reaches of the Lake Fork of Cochetopa Creek, which looked so good on Google Maps but in reality hardly had enough water to float a minnow.
The wild card now for me is whether my achey breaky body is up to the hike down that steep slope to trout nirvana, and more importantly, will it hold up so I can make it out. I reached the point a couple of years ago where I seriously started to wonder, so I swallowed my pride and purchased an Garmin InReach emergency satellite phone.
This handy dandy device can get service just about anywhere and with one press of the emergency button will alert the closest rescue cavalry that I need help.
To keep these gloomy feelings at bay I vow each year to ferret out another candidate remote water or two. Just such an opportunity presented itself a few months ago when, after some investigation, I discovered a way to access a new stretch of water that I had never laid eyes on in a deep canyon of a familiar creek. It would require a rough 4WD ride to the canyon rim, but Google Maps seemed to reveal an access route, albeit steep, from the top down to the stream that I might be able to navigate, if just barely.
With the days growing shorter, I figured I better get going. After a bone-rattling drive I got to the canyon rim around 9 a.m. I assumed correctly that there wasn’t a need to get going at the crack of dawn as the cliffs sheltering the creek would keep the water in shadows and cold till later in the morning. Canyon trout definitely wake up when the sun shines on them. I jump out of my SUV, check the tires for any damage, and then walk to the edge to take a look. The creek below looks fantastic!
But I blurt out a Holy **** when I focus on a nearly vertical route that had looked so promising on Google Maps, one that would require criss-crossing several scree fields of loose rock and gravel down a narrow gulch to reach the creek.
Thinking no way, I spend 15 minutes walking back and forth along the rim searching for a better path, maybe a trail local wildlife use, but come up empty. I decide to ignore my misgivings and go for it.
I get suited up in my waist high waders that make for easier walking than chest-high models, unfurl my collapsible wading/hiking staff that will help slow my descent, and double check my satellite phone to make sure it’s fully charged. I start down the chute gingerly carrying my rod and lunch satchel in my left hand and the hiking staff in my right. I make it down to the first scree field I have to cross and immediately lose my footing, slip down on my arse, and go sliding down the steep slope feet first. I jam the staff into the loose rocks to slow my descent, but it’s going to take more. I toss my rod to the side in a bush then jettison the lunch satchel, which goes careening down the slope at warp speed. It makes for quite a show as half way down a can of Squirt in the satchel explodes and spews forth a geyser of the tasty elixir before the bag comes to rest against a pine tree only a few feet from the creek. But with my left hand now free I’m able to grab another bush and put the brakes on. After taking a deep breath I crawl back up the slope to retrieve my rod, which has miraculously survived unscathed.
Question now is whether to abandon the quest. I’m maybe a third of the way down and what remains, if I continue, is one of the most dangerous slopes I have ever been foolhardy enough to tackle. But then my eyes rove to the gorgeous pools up and down the creek, so close and alluring. They are like lovely Sirens tempting me. I can’t resist and continue my mission, traversing back and forth across the slope very slowly, grabbing bushes and clumps of grass and jabbing my hiking staff into the ground to slow my descent. Ten minutes later I am standing next to the creek, pristine and crystal clear. I see a dipper bird on a shoreline rock, another good sign—dippers feed on subsurface nymphs and their presence means plenty of trout food.
But when I turn around, reality sets in as I gaze on the route I just took–it will be next to impossible to climb out on.
Not to worry, I think, at least for now. I have several hours to find a better exit track. And lo and behold, I discover my lunch is mostly intact except for the now empty can of Squirt. I stow the satchel under the shade of a pine tree and take off upstream, full steam ahead. My plan is to fish upstream for about three hours, come back and have lunch, then three more hours of fishing downstream. As I do, I’ll be keeping my eyes peeled for a better route out.
I’m on the water and casting by 10:15. The water is clear and ice cold. I’ve scared up a few grasshoppers as I walked upstream and a quick check of rocks in the streambed reveals throngs of small mayfly nymphs and caddis cases. I rig up with a #16 Royal California Trude dry that with its yellow body (as opposed to a Royal Coachman Trude’s red body) is a reasonable facsimile of the small hoppers I saw. Trailing beneath it is a #18 Tung Teaser nymph that has worked well on other stretch of this creek.
The first bend pool I come to looks like a sure hideout for a good-sized trout….and it proves to be just that.
I cast above the bend, and as the dry fly floats down close to the undercut bank, it is intercepted by a nice trout that jets downstream, then up then back again and executes a couple of athletic jumps before I can get him to the net. He’s a beautiful muscular 14-inch brownie. I score several more fish before moving on.
For the next couple of hours I have a ball catching and releasing several dozen 10-14” browns, most favoring the nymph over the dry by about a 4:1 ratio, not surprising as there are no hatches going. Some I find hiding under mid-stream vegetation while others are concealed in quiet water behind boulders just off deep, fast runs.
The variety of pools and holding water where I found the fish make for an interesting morning, each requiring a different approach. I’ve also spotted a few exit routes on the north side of the creek that look easier and less death-defying than my initial one. Around 12:30 I head back downstream to my lunch and a short break in the shade. When I set out this morning the temperature was hovering in the mid-30s. Now it’s in the 70s.
By 1 p.m. I’m bushwhacking my way downstream where the canyon narrows and the creek picks up some speed. My goal is the big pool I spotted this morning just below some pinnacles.
Twenty minutes later I wriggle through a stand of head-high willows and emerge just below the prospective honey hole. It doesn’t disappoint.
It’s deep with three distinct channels pouring water in from above. I can see fish finning in two of them where they flow into the pool. In the run closest to me I spy a couple of 15-inch plus fish nonchalantly picking off bugs just below the surface. I creep up carefully on the gravel bar below them then cast from a kneeling position. I muff the first cast, dropping the fly right on their heads, but miraculously they don’t flee. My second cast alights on target about six feet above them and a few feet to the side. As the Trude slides down towards them, one of the big boys glides over with his mouth open and inhales the dry. I set the hook and he’s on….but only for a second. I flubbed and yanked a second too soon before he had really clamped down on the fly. I let the pool rest for a few minutes and then try for his buddy. I get another good float, but he ignores it. Then, just as I begin to lift the fly 10 feet below at the bottom of the run, a smaller fish flashes up and nails the trailing Tung Teaser. He’s on for a second, but I manage to execute another long-distance release. I try another half dozen casts but finally spook the second big trout who disappears into the depths.
Now I focus on the second run at the top middle of the pool. I can see another good trout feeding actively in the shallower water just below where the current pours in. I make a perfect cast above him a few feet, but the trout immediately rockets to the next county. I then humbly fix my sights on the third run on the opposite side of the pool that against a boulder has created a big, slow-moving back eddy a kind of spot that often shelters big fish. My flies land gently at the bottom of the eddy then slowly float back upstream along a foam line as I had planned. Suddenly the Trude disappears, and I set the hook. My rod bends, and a heavy trout thrashes to the surface, shaking his head to throw the fly…and he succeeds! Aarrgghh! The fishing gods have forsaken me!! I flail the pool for another 15 minutes, but to no avail. As I stand and walk up the gravel bar to do some reconnaissance for a possible future trip, I see four large fish, probably brownies, hugging the bottom, all with a case of lock jaw. I smile and curse softly, letting the scoundrels know that I’ll be back and maybe the story will have a different ending then. The good news is I think I have spotted a possible escape to get me back safely to my SUV later in the afternoon.
By now it’s almost 2 p.m. and I decide to work my way back upstream to get my lunch satchel, fishing along the way. I manage a couple of more nice brown trout in a plunge pool, but this lower section is shallower and too fast to hold many fish.
I grab my lunch and head back down to my chosen escape route, but on my way run into a little trouble. My wading staff breaks, leaving me with a short remnant to work with to steady me and help pull my old body up the steep incline.
When I reach the bottom of the incline I say a little prayer and begin the climb out, criss-crossing back and forth on the steep slope.
It’s tough going, but easier than the way in because there are no scree fields and loose rocks to contend with. I pause several times to catch my breath, and snap photos to remind myself that I was a bit daft to do this.
But then again I can see some sweet looking pools just downstream that call out to be sampled in the future!
Fortunately, my broken wading staff is still just long enough that I can jab it into the soil above me just far enough to help pull my body up slowly but surely. In 15 minutes I am back at my SUV, tuckered out but already starting to think about another trip using an easier access point I spotted further downstream.
That night afters doses of wine and ibuprofen, I fall asleep quickly and have a vivid dream about what my fishing future might be like circa 2030. I wonder if they make walkers that could work on a steep canyon slope??
It’s the last day of my Sitka salmon spree trip, and the forecast is for a steady rain all day. I toy with the idea of calling my guide Tad Kisaka and begging off. My idea of a good day fishing doesn’t include water dripping off my nose. But miraculously, after breakfast I look out my hotel window and see the rain has stopped, and the sun is making a valiant attempt to break through the clouds shrouding Baranoff Island where Sitka is situated.
So I suit up in my warm neoprene waders, pull on 3 layers on top, and descend downstairs to meet with Tad. Our destination today is the Katlian River, only a short half hour run to the northeast.
Like the first two days, the boat ride in is spectacular. As we motor into Katlian Bay, we see rugged peaks lining the shoreline that is cloaked in a mist, conjuring up images in my mind of the Tlingit (p. Clink-It) war chief Katlian leading his fierce warriors into battle against the invading Russians just over two centuries ago.