August 25, 2024September 9, 2024 hooknfly

Colorado’s San Luis Valley: Stronghold Of The Rare Rio Grande Cutthroat

July 2024

For Day 2 of the quest for rare Rio Grande Cutthroats in Colorado’s San Luis Valley,see http://hooknfly.com/2024/08/28/the-search-for-the-elusive-san-luis-valley-rio -grande-cutthroats-continues/

For a sampling of another of my Rio Grande Cutthroat adventures in the San Luis Valley, see http://hooknfly.com/2021/09/14/prospecting-for-trout-on-the-fab-five-forks-of-the-conejos-river-2-the-adams-fork/

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 its 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 Cutthrout From A Remote Creek In The San Luis Valley

Given its status, I am extra cautious in following all applicable state regulations (e.g., flies only, catch and release) and handle each catch with extreme care before returning them 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 mark 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. Better yet, they are only an hour’s drive from my cabin near Salida, Colorado.

From The Reports: CP030 and CP 004 Mark Jack, Cross, and East Middle Creek In Saguache County, CO

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—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. These creeks are located close together about a dozen miles or so west of the small town of Saguache, Colorado. Who could resist exploring? Do those streams still hold the rare Rio Grande Cutthroats?

Day 1: Exploring Cross, Jacks, and Middle Creeks

In early July I decide to do a little reconnoitering so headed south from my cabin early one morning towards Saguache on US Highway 284 over Poncha Pass then west on Colorado 114 until the turnoff to the north on Saguache County Road EE 38. I opt first to take a look at Jacks Creek and its tributary Cross Creek to the northwest before heading up the 10-mile stretch on CR 38FF to the Middle Creek Trailhead from where I could hike up to the confluence with East Middle Creek.

I gun up the good gravel road pushing the speed limit of 40 miles an hour, anxious to see these two Rio Grande Cutthroat bastions. I slow as I cross over Cross Creek—beautiful and clear and definitely with enough water to float some cutties. Just ahead to the west I spy a faint two-track that parallels Cross Creek to the north and turn off to explore. Around a bend I go a short distance only to be met by a stout barbed wire fence announcing it is private property. Ok, maybe Jacks Creek will offer more. (I’ll later learn from Colorado Parks and Wildlife staff that the Rio Grande Cutthroats are doing well in Cross Creek.)

I retrace my route back to the county road and continue upstream paralleling Jacks Creek which is several hundred yards south from the road at this point. As I continue west, I am confused a bit by what looks to be a lot of wood cuttings/piles in the valley. In another mile or so the creek swings close to the road so I stop and jump out to explore. The creek is so tiny as to be invisible. Then it dawns on me those wood piles are trees that have been washed down the valley by a tremendous flood in the last year or two. In one spot a tangle to branches and trunks is jammed up over 10 feet high against a stand of big aspen trees on what had been the banks of the creek. The creek bed itself is scoured and completely washed out in long stretches, with the sad remains only a few feet across and a few inches deep. I don’t see a fish anywhere.

Jacks Creek Wipeout

I continue upstream until I come to a fork in the road. Here a see a herd of cattle tromping in the creek, adding to the habitat destruction.

Uncontrolled Grazing By Cattle Has Added To The Jacks Creek Carnage

Soon I cross over Jacks Creek and again the damage is evident. I do see a couple of minnow-sized fish darting into one-foot-deep hole, but again as a viable trout habitat it has been destroyed. I can only shake my head thinking of the carnage wreaked on the cutthroats by that torrent plus the cattle. This devastation on Jacks Creek underscores the importance of the efforts to protect Rio Grande Cutthroat habitat. Floods, wildfires, overgrazing, and development can all snuff the life out of a stream in no time flat.

Back on the main road I drive further northwest until I came to a gate and private property sign blocking the route. Whether anything of Jacks Creek above survives I can’t tell, but I am not optimistic. I turn and head back towards the junction with the road to East Middle Creek, CR38FF, hoping for the best there.

The route to the Middle Creek trailhead (where the mile hike to the confluence with East Middle Creek begins) is about 10 miles over a good gravel road. The first five miles are on public land, but the last five snake through private property starting with the historic Middle Creek Ranch. Here and there ranch buildings and corrals can be seen, then views old cabins and new second homes pop up along the drive. When I arrive at the trailhead, I am surprised to find it empty on a holiday weekend and even more so with the relatively posh flat and shady camp site with a picnic table and deluxe pit restroom facilities nearby.

I ease out of my SUV and to size things up walk over to the steep slope that plunges down to Middle Creek to the west. I immediately spy some big beaver ponds below and good-looking stretches of stream water that I can’t resist.

I decide to fish my way up to East Middle Creek and on the way see if any cutthroats are hiding in Middle Creek. The sky is clear and sun is bright but still a cool 60 degrees at 9:30 as I suit up in my chest waders. I will carry two rods, a 7.5 foot, 3# wand with just a single dry fly, a #16 Royal Trude, and an 8.5 foot rod rigged with a #16 Royal Stimulator and a #16 green caddis larva dropper of my own creation—the famous Dirk’s Delight.

Soon I am heading north up the good trail that wends through a ponderosa pine forest and offers occasional views of Middle Creek and beaver ponds below.

I walk ten minutes or so upstream then cut down the slope when I see openings in the dense willow thicket along the stream and catch glimpses of open stretches and beaver ponds on the west side of the valley. After some vigorous bushwhacking I break through into more open territory. When I get to the creek I wade in stealthily and overturn a few streambed rocks to see what the trout might be dining on. I find some caddis cases and a few mayfly nymphs, but not the abundant food supply I expected. I take the water temperature, which registers a cold 42 degrees.

Is a lack of food and icy water a bad sign?? But any misgivings are immediately dismissed in the first open run as a nice fish smacks the Royal Trude. He cartwheels out of the water then heads upstream. The small rod bends perilously but is up to the fight and soon a chunky 10-inch brown trout slides into my net. Not a bad start!

From there the action is steady with a few fish feasting on the caddis, but most on top. And after catching one more brownie a tad bigger than the first, the brook trout take over. Most go 8-10 inches, and all are healthy and frisky. Interestingly, the large majority of the fish are initially finning in shallow runs, not the more alluring deeper bend pools in the creek where I would usually expect to find them. I figure the fish must be warming up with a little sunbathing.

Soon I come to a series of beaver ponds and see a few rises here and there, maybe bigger fish I’m thinking. I cautiously work up on the beaver dams keeping a low profile and loft a cast into a foamy flow skirting some deeper water in the pond. All of a sudden, the dry disappears as a brookie inhales the caddis. After a short tussle, I land a six-inch leviathan!

Several more quickly follow. That will be the scene in most of the ponds I sample upstream—only a few fish succumb to the dry and most are smaller than in the creek. Go figure.

As the air temperature rises and I work upstream, the action gets hotter, with every open stretch producing three or four brookies, a couple pushing 12 inches. No cutts and only one more brownie materialize. Often, I am able to cast to fish finning casually in the crystal-clear current above, and it’s great fun to watch them size up the faux insect then quietly rise and inhale it.

Other times the brookies will jet out from an undercut bank to nail the dry midstream in a splashy show. Some of the best spots turn out to be the plunge pools just below the beaver dams. In one I hook a muscular, colorful brookie that looked to be the biggest of the day–over 12 inches–but I execute a long-distance release before confirmation. Fortunately, he is followed by a half dozen hungry buddies of his that don’t escape.

Plunge Pools Below Beaver Dams Are Hotspots

By now the sun is high and my stomach is growling. Visions of an RC Cola are dancing in my head. I think about heading back to that picnic table but decide to hike up just a bit further to the confluence with East Middle Creek, the supposed lair of the Rio Grand Cutthroats. I snake up valley for a few minutes then the trail turns east and soon intersects the stream. Here I find a pretty little pool with a bend that reeks fish! I kneel and carefully flick the Royal Stimi into the run above the pool. The fly swirls downstream and is quickly intercepted by a lightning-bolt-quick fish that the flees back to the depths. I think it looks like a cutt, lighter on the back than a brookie. My heart pounds!! But my old eyes have deceived me. It turns out to be another spunky brookie, but I have to laugh.

I remember now that the map of the barrier installed by the wildlife folk to stop the brook trout from intruding on the cutthroat habitat showed it being a mile or more upstream on East Middle Creek. It’s been a blast catching the spunky brookies on Middl Creek, but guess I will have to come back and work harder to find the prized fish! (Day Two Article Coming Soon!)

That cinches the deal for a stroll back to the picnic table, lunch, and my cold RC. Along the way I enjoy a profusion of wildflowers—winsome wild roses, splashy skyrockets, bold Black-Eyed Susans, and a Rocky Mountain Bee Plant complete with a Checkered While Sulphur Butterfly. The veritable icing on the cake of a lovely day on the water.

March 2, 2024March 4, 2024 hooknfly

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

February 2024

It was early January 2023 and I was just back from Christmas in Denver with my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly. A nice farewell snowstorm reminded me why I am now a confirmed snowbird.

But it only took me a few days of 80-degree temperatures to thaw out, and I was itching to hit the water. My chosen inaugural 2023 trip was kayaking on the Barron River, the namesake of the famous Barron Collier, founder of Everglades City. The tidal river skirts the northern edge of the small town, running out of the Everglades wilderness into the Ten Thousand Islands, a chain of islands and mangrove islets just off the coast. That first trip was a sweet one!!

THE SWEET

I launched early from below the bridge at the town’s entryway, but 30 minutes after fighting a strong falling tide and scoring nary a fish, the odor of skunk was wafting in the air. With a stiff upper lip, I continued pedaling upstream and rounded a bend in the river so I could work a deep channel that opened up into a lagoon where I had scored before. And no sooner did my gold curlytail lure hit the water than something smacked it hard. I saw a flash of silver and thought “SNOOK.” The fight was on, my rod bending double. The fish made a hard run then erupted out of the water in a spectacular jump. But it wasn’t a snook, but a high-stepping ladyfish!!

Putting The Squeeze On A Sultry Ladyfish!

Now many of my angler friends would be bummed out by this turn of events, but not me. What’s not to like about these sleek beauties? For starters, they are close cousins to one of the most revered gamefish, the much larger tarpon, known as silver kings, which can grow to five feet in these waters. They have big, forked tails like the tarpon and no teeth to bite you when you release them, unlike females of certain other species. Ladyfish are also feisty fighters like tarpon and incredible jumpers as well. I have had them vault clear over my kayak in a spectacular aerial display on several occasions! To cap things off, they eagerly eat artificial lures. An hour later, after luring dozens of the finned creatures, no wonder I had reaffirmed my reputation as an accomplished ladies’ man!! For the lubricious story of this romance, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/01/15/ladys-man-bares-intimate-secrets-on-barron-river/

A few weeks later, my friend from Georgia, Steve Keeble, came to town. He’s the quintessential fishing buddy, an amiable, low-key, and knowledgeable gent who’s a pleasure to spend a day with on the water. I am happy to share secret spots and techniques with him as I know I will learn from him new angling tricks and the location of what he calls chicken holes where the fish flourish. The term “chicken holes” apparently comes from the practice of good ole southern boys to chuck a dead chicken carcass into a deep spot in a river to lure unsuspecting fish for easy pickings. On our first day out, I took him to one of my hidden spots with the more civilized name of a honey hole, the headwaters of a remote narrow creek far up in the Everglades backcountry. There under my sagacious tutelage, and displaying some impressive angling skills, Steve managed to hook and land a massive 33-inch mama snook in tight quarters fringed by menacing mangrove roots.

Big Mama Snook Meets Her Match In Mr. Keeble

Later in the year in Colorado, he exhibited his piscatorial prowess by catching ten beautiful brown trout out of a single pool in one of my favorite mountain streams. I was particularly impressed with his crawling ability in reaching my favorite chicken holes!

I was lucky in 2023 to hook up with a couple of new fishing chums, both veritable youngsters (defined by this septuagenarian as anyone under 55). My new neighbor on Chokoloskee Island close to Everglades, Mark Mitchell, is a wealth of knowledge and energy when it comes to fishing the far-flung reaches of the Everglades Waterway that stretches 99 miles from Everglades City all the way to Flamingo. Later in the year he would lead me to a spot where I fooled my largest snook of 2023—a 33-inch beauty.

On the freshwater front, my new buddy is Tom Palka who lives near me in Salida, Colorado, where I spend the summer in the Colorado mountains. He has an insatiable curiosity and energy that is invigorating to everyone around him and a keen eye for assessing new waters like a hidden access trail to a remote section of my home water in Colorado, Saguache Creek.

Tom Palka With Colorful Brookie From Secret Creek

Family time on the water was another highlight of 2023. During their annual spring trip to Florida to visit me, I took my son Matthew and Aly kayak/canoe fishing on a freshwater lake near Everglades City. Matthew caught a boatload of largemouth bass and Mayan Cichlids while Aly fooled a monster Oscar then brought it in all by herself.

Scads of graceful birds including herons, egrets, osprey, and black vultures plus some curious gators made for an interesting ecotour. A few months later Matthew’s good friend Blaine and his family spent a weekend with us at my mountain cabin. I had the enjoyable assignment of teaching Blaine how to fly cast on the South Arkansas River, one of my favorite mountain streams. Not only was he a perspicacious student, but proceeded to catch a respectable brown trout on what was his maiden fly fishing trip. What a treat to watch him make that perfect cast, manage a good float, and fool that fish that glinted gold in the sun as I swept it up in the net.

New waters are also a treat to explore, and 2023 was a banner year in that regard. I was able to score a freshwater slam on two tributaries of La Jara Creek–Torsido and Jim Creeks–not far from Antonito, Colorado. After several false starts in 2022, I finally located Torsido Creek, finding it hiding coyly between two ridges far off the beaten path above where in flowed into La Jara Creek. There I had a ball catching dozens of beautiful brookies and several flamboyantly colored tiger trout.

A few days later I survived a bone-rattling 4WD two-track rocky road that led to Jim Creek, where native and rare Rio Grande cutthroats reputedly thrived. The rumors were true, and I had a ball catching and releasing many cutts, including some tackle-busting brutes that pushed 15-inches.

Hats off to Trout Unlimited and its partner organizations for bringing this stream back from near oblivion with a host of rehabilitation tricks like bottomless culverts. Articles on both will be coming out in American Fly Fishing in 2024.

I was excited to revisit another water that had treated me kindly on one of my first trout fishing trips over 50 years ago. I am happy to report fishing is as good if not better today. I managed a grand slam of brookies, cutthroat, browns, and rainbows on the three branches of Clear Creek, not to mention a 19-inch plus monster rainbow that I managed to land on a wisp of a wand.

On the saltwater side, I had a beautiful day exploring around a little-known island in the Florida Keys—Shell Key Preserve and bird sanctuary. Carefully surrounded by no-combustion motor zones and with special steps to protect sea grasses, Shell Key shared its bounty with me and Steve Keeble. Being a confirmed Cuda Buddha, I had a blast catching dozens of barracuda while Steve had multiple shots at tarpon and caught some mangrove snapper before he relented and joined the cuda caper. See the following for the full story: http://hooknfly.com/2023/09/24/lignumvitae-and-shell-keys-no-motor-zone-fishing-magic-in-the-florida-keys/

One of the most satisfying endeavors of 2023 was expanding my horizons and writing articles that focused on terra firma, several hiking trails in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park, the largest in Florida. A critical piece of Everglades habitat located near Everglades City, the reserve offers a range of fascinating habitats from slough swamps, pine hammocks, bald cypress stands, to marl prairie. Did I mention a half dozen freshwater lakes loaded with truculent largemouth and peacock bass? These habitats provide shelter for two endangered species, the Florida Panther and tiny Florida Mink as well as rare orchids and other exotic plants not to mention bear, deer, myriad birds, and, of course, alligators. These articles garnered almost 3,000 views, hopefully helping more people appreciate and enjoy this fascinating and unique place. For my articles on hiking and fishing the Fakahatchee Strand from Florida Sportsman, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/07/31/a-hidden-gem-fakahatchee-strand-state-preserve-park-florida/ ; http://hooknfly.com/2024/01/26/hiking-in-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-dont-overlook-the-jones-grade-trail/ ; http://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/ .

Overall, the numbers of readers stayed at peak levels with over 40,000 visitors. The most popular article was one I wrote back in 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books of All Time” which garnered 3,400 views. If you Google “best fishing books” it pops up near the top of the list of sources to explore. It does my heart good that people still read books, especially of the angling variety. On the trout fishing side a trio of articles on exploring the Conejos River in southern Colorado logged over 4,000 views, and the favorite saltwater article was one on kayak and wade fishing around the popular Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys

No 2023 retrospective of sweet spots would be complete without noting my great joy and satisfaction in watching my partner in angling escapades, Jody Bol, reach new heights with her photographic skills. At times risking injury to get the perfect shot (like clambering on top of my SUV along Jim Creek), Jody managed to bring my stories to life with stunning photos.

In that light, I forgive her for double crossing me by shooting a scene of me falling butt first into a hole in a beaver dam, a photo that made the Parting Shots photo on the inside back cover of a national flyfishing magazine that shall remain nameless as I plot my revenge against Ms. Bol and the editor of that august publication.

I was also particularly gratified that I had three articles published in popular fishing magazines. Florida Sportsman carried my pieces on fishing on the tidal rivers and freshwater lakes of the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve mentioned above, and American Fly Fishing featured an article on chasing trout on the remote La Garita and Carnero Creeks in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. 2024 got off to a good start with a tale in American Fly Fishing about my adventure chasing wild trout on Noontootla Creek in northern Georgia, a new trout fishing locale for me.

THE SOUR

2023 was a terrific year from an angling perspective. And while I am usually a Pangloss Pescador, not all was rosy. Early in the year a January cold wave in Florida with temperatures dipping into the 30s killed thousands of fish plus a few manatees and even gators. Most of the deceased were invasive Mayan Cichlids and Oscars which are a blast to catch, but even some snook and tarpon fell victim.

The chilly temperatures put fishing into the deep freeze for several weeks as well as my moods. On the bright side, this experience with plummeting temperatures led me to dig deep into the question of what water temperatures my favorite finned quarry prefer and what cold water readings they flee. The silver lining to these climatological vicissitudes is that Florida Sportsman will be publishing the results of my research in an article in early 2024.

I had another good reason to be crabby in 2023, notably when the prop of my little Gheenoe motor boat that I rely on to explore the far-flung Everglades backcountry was snarled up in a sunken crap trap anchor rope. The trap had no marker buoy as required, likely the work (or lack thereof) by an amateur crabber who did not check his cage often as he should have or had abandoned it. The result was a Gordian Knot that had me leaning over the stern of the boat hacking away at the thick rope with a knife while simultaneously filling the sky blue with expletives.

Things went more smoothly for the next few months until I ran into a real mystery on one of my favorite high-country trout streams, Chavez Creek. In preparation for my Florida fishing buddy Bob Wayne’s annual fishing trip to Colorado, I made a special trip to make sure Chavez was up to snuff. I found the brook and brown trout famished plus some hungry lunker brownies in several deep bend pools in the serpentine meadow section of this beautiful stream.

A few weeks later, I confidently guided Bob to the best stretches. On the lower section where the valley narrows and beaver have created some beautiful small ponds, Mr. Wayne had his way with the willing brook trout who seemed to fight over his fly on every cast.

That, I thought, would be just a prelude to a grand finale in the upstream meadow stretch where the brown trout ruled. Think again. We saw nary a fish there, let alone coaxed any rises. What had happened to the big boys and girls was a mystery. After flailing the water for almost an hour we flew the white flag. Was it the cattle that had appeared on the scene as part of an early fall roundup since my last trip that were the culprits? Certainly, they had damaged the creek in some reaches, but hard to believe they had driven all the fish away. Did some poacher get out a seine and do his dirty work?? We are still scratching our bald pates over this mystery. I hasten to add that on the morose trip back home we decided to fish little Archuleta Creek, and it saved the day. We both fooled some nice rainbows up to 15-inches, preserving our sterling angling reputations.

The final sour note of the year came when I did my annual migration back to Florida. When I arrived in November, my buddies were singing the blues about the big drought gripping the region during the summer and early fall “wet” season that was putting the quietus on decent fishing for snook, tarpon, and redfish. But as soon as I arrived at the start of the normal “dry” season, the heavens let loose. Continuing waves of rain, cold weather, and blustery winds made fishing a real conundrum, even for Everglades old timers and guides. An active and powerful El Nino was widely blamed for the contrary weather. Luckily I was able to find fish on most of my trips by kayaking into tidal creeks that most motor boats could not reach or using my Gheenoe that can run in six inches of water to get far from the madding crowds. However, on one day-long trip with buddy Mark Mitchell on Halfway Creek, an old reliable favorite of mine, we got a measly six strikes and landed only three fish—one snook and two Mayan Cichlids. Yikes!!

THE SURPRISING

Surprisingly, I had also run into a surfeit of water back in Colorado during the summer. In May and early June, normally dry Colorado got lots of rain and by the time I got there my favorite streams were all blown out. Not to worry, I consulted with the wizards of gnaws and their beaver ponds. Most sane fly anglers take to pitching big streamers in these conditions and avoid beaver ponds like the plague given the touch of insanity it takes to tackle these often maddening waters. One must be ready to do a high-wire act on the beaver dam, slosh through knee-deep muck, and execute perfect casts to avoid the clutching branches of surrounding trees and bushes to have any chance at success. In other words, one must be a tad daft. But that didn’t stop me, and I wracked up a string of excellent days on hidden ponds near my cabin in the Colorado high country, netting several brown trout in excess of 16-inches, veritable leviathans. But in the process, I got my waders nearly scared off me. Here’s what happened.

I hacked my way into the creek below one of my favorite beaver ponds, up the hill on the far slope, then descended along a game trail to the pond. I came to a nice firm sandbar and noticed quite a few elk tracks where the beasts apparently came down for a drink. Then I froze. A couple of feet in front of me were the fresh tracks of a mountain lion. The few remaining hairs on my head stood at attention.

With my heart pounding, I scanned the surrounding thicket for any sign of the cat. Not seeing anything I then backed carefully out of the water and picked my way cautiously back up the slope till I came to a clearing where I could get a better view of the surrounding landscape. Seeing nothing after several minutes, I then beat a hasty retreat to my SUV. Luckily, I can report that I had good luck at a string of beaver ponds about a mile up the road, but it was a reminder that I wasn’t the only predator on this stream. I was also gratified to see that as the summer proceeded the movement to protect and even emulate beaver ponds throughout the West was gaining momentum. Based on scientific research, it is becoming clear how important beaver ponds are to recharging local aquifers, protecting water quality, and providing important habitat for fish, particularly on smaller streams. An excellent book entitled Eager Beavers Matter by Ben Goldfarb makes for a good read for any fly fisher between angling trips. For more on my beaver pond peregrinations, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/06/08/solving-the-runoff-riddle-off-to-see-the-wizards-of-gnaws/

My next surprise in the summer, one much more pleasant, was the phenomenal recovery of Grape Creek, a tributary of the Arkansas River, near Westcliffe, Colorado. Two monumental floods about five years earlier had scoured this favorite trout stream of mine of all fish and fish food. Before the floods I would routinely catch dozens of fish on every outing into the rugged canyon through which the creek flows—mainly browns, some over 18-inches, plus some nice feisty rainbows. On my first trip after the floods, I couldn’t find a caddis larva anywhere and came up skunked! So, I waited a couple of years before trying again. Boy, am I glad I did. The browns were back in numbers, including one that went over 18 inches, and they were joined by scads of rambunctious rainbows in the 10-to-13 inch range. But where had those rainbows come from? Maybe migrated down from DeWeese Reservoir upstream where they are stocked? Or natural recovery like the brownies? With a little digging I found out the renaissance was due to a smart, methodical restocking program of 8-10 inch fish throughout the river for miles below the reservoir by the fine, hardworking crew at Colorado Parks and Wildlife. They told me the browns can usually recover on their own after a flooding disaster, but the rainbows need a little help. As a result, the fishing in Grape Creek is as good if not better than before. For the full story of Grape Creek’s comeback, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/08/28/grape-creek-the-curious-case-of-the-rambunctious-rainbow-resurgence/

And talking about rainbow trout, the nearly 20-inch Brobdingnagian specimen I caught in little Clear Creek was noted above was definitely a surprise of the best kind!

On the medical and health side of things, I was surprised to learn I had contracted the deadly mangrove madness disease. Fortunately, I was able to find the cure—the drug was the tugs….on fish on my line.

I did have to chuckle that some of my readers were hoodwinked for a few minutes before they realized I was pulling their legs. For the full story on this medical emergency, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/12/16/emergency-health-warning-issued-for-sw-florida-saltwater-anglers/

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all in 2023 was being introduced by Mr. Keeble to the non-descript Mop Fly that he employed to embarrass and outfish me decisively on his home water, the Tuckasegee River in the Great Smokey Mountains. Never has such an ordinary looking and frankly uninspiring looking concoction produced such a bountiful catch for him while I nursed a skunk. After being subjected to his withering and relentless taunts, I finally relented and joined the fish parade. I will be using this secret weapon on western trout this summer.

I must mention, however, I schooled Mr. Keeble the next day on nearby Deep Creek by introducing him to the Two-Bit Hooker, a renowned fly from the Mountain West.

Lastly, and perhaps my most satisfying surprise was catching a 14-inch rare native Rio Grande Cutthroat in the headwaters of Carnero Creek in southern Colorado. To fool this beauty required me casting blindly around a bend in the tiny creek which up that high was small enough to jump across with ease. I heard a splash and set the hook, then had to take off running to keep up with the big boy before bringing him to the net for a quick photo and release.

Headwaters of Carnero Creek Shelter Elusive Cutts

For my adventures on Carnero and LaGarita Creek, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/09/14/into-the-wilds-exploring-la-garita-and-carnero-creeks-in-s-colorado/

So here’s to an remarkable and sometimes a tad frustrating 2023, the sweet, the sour, and the surprising. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world!!

April 12, 2023April 12, 2023 hooknfly

The Bountiful Blackwater River (Collier-Seminole State Park, Florida)

Early April 2023

For my earlier exploratory trip on the Blackwater River, see http://hooknfly.com/2019/04/26/collier-seminole-state-park-surprise-serendipitous-snook/

After months of drought, with nary a drop of rain in January in Everglades City and not much more in February and March, the forecast is for the rainy season to begin in earnest later this week–rain every day along with winds gusting to 25 mph. I figure I’d better get out soon before I hunker down, and tomorrow the rain is supposed to hold off till 5 p.m. I have my sights set on the Blackwater River in Collier-Seminole State Park outside Naples. I haven’t fished the river for almost three years, courtesy of Covid followed last fall by Hurrican Ian which blasted the park and shut it down till recently. My last trip the fish were cooperative, so it’s time for some serious ichthylogical investigation to see how the finned creatures have fared.

March 3, 2023March 7, 2023 hooknfly

Where The Wild Fins Want To Be: Solving The Water Temperature Conundrum

Florida–Early March 2023

As a young farmboy in Kansas, I was raised on catching freshwater catfish in the Little Arkansas (ARE-Kansas) River near my hometown. It was easy. When the river was up, the catfish went on the feed and liked the live leapfrogs we suckered them with. But the more I chase snook, reds, and tarpon in saltwater (and just about anything that will bite), the more complicated angling seems to have become. Some days my head spins thinking about how the tides, salinity, wind, moon phase, depth, bait, currents, and time of day are going to affect my next outing fishing inshore and in the backcountry of the Everglades and Ten Thousand Islands near Everglades City. Periodic cold fronts that have blasted through the area this winter have made water temperature an even bigger factor, often trumping everything else.

In late December and then again in mid-January air temperatures fell precipitously from the 80s during the day into the low 40s for several nights in a row. That dropped water temperatures into the 50s. On one trip soon after the December cold snap, I saw literally thousands of Oscars and Mayan Cichlids killed on the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve’s East River. The piles of dead fish made for vulture heaven.

Post Cold Snap Vulture Feast

Fortunately, I saw only a couple of dead baby tarpon and no snook. However, other angling friends sadly reported seeing dead sportfish in the backcountry as well as manatee.

Mercifully for us snowbirds, a couple of weeks post-cold front, things started to recover. Inshore the fish had the luxury of retreating into deeper water of the Gulf during the frigid weather, and then the tides coming in from the nearby Gulf warmed things up quickly. But in the Everglades backcountry where I like to explore, the story was different. I was surprised to find that a temperature difference of five degrees between 60 and 65 or 65 and 70 in locations not far from one another made a big difference, making fishing a real challenge. The problem was that the temperatures at my launch in Chokoloskee were usually warmer than in the backcountry which made predicting where to go a crap shoot–or even whether I should venture out at all. Here is an example of the conundrum I was grappling with. In early January, my fishing buddy Steve Keeble, drove down from Georgia to thaw out and chase some snook. The water temperature in Chokoloskee Bay was pushing 70 degrees, so things looked good when we plotted our backcountry trip, within the comfort range for snook and redfish according to a handy-dandy temperature table I had cobbled together based on some on-line research.

FISH	PREFERRED WATER TEMPERATURE (IN DEGREES)	KILLER TEMPERATURE
SNOOK	70-82	45-50
REDFISH	61-90	Below 40
TARPON	75-90	Below 55
SPECKLED SEA TROUT	69-80	Below 48
LADYFISH	52-95	45-50
JACK CREVALLE	70-85+	Avoids Temps Below 65
GOLIATH GROUPER	73-82+	Avoids Temps Below 60
LARGEMOUTH BASS	61-84	Seeks Deeper Water Below 40
OSCARS/MAYAN CICHLIDS	74-81	55

But when we motored into the backcountry in my Gheenoe, we were skunked with nary a bite in one tidal creek where the water temperature was 65 degrees. I was ready to give up but decided to try another nearby creek, and there we found hungry fish, including a big mama snook that Mr. Keeble adroitly landed after some mangrove mayhem–despite the water temperature being just over 60.

After some head scratching, we concluded the difference apparently was depth. The first creek being only three feet deep and the second having narrower channels where the depth was four-to-five feet which gave the fish a sanctuary to retreat to during the earlier cold snap, warmer than the surface temperature. Now the puzzle was how to predict water temperatures in the backcountry more accurately before I headed out.

A few weeks later Mr. Keeble, back north freezing his derrière off, sent me an email that clued me in on a valuable tool that has helped me gain some insights into the water temperature conundrum—an obscure website with the bureaucratically inspired name of National Data Buoy Center (NDBC). A part of NOAA (the federal National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration), the center bills itself as “the premier source of meteorological and oceanographic measurements for the marine environment”—and it is! The NDBC maintains hundreds of buoys around the United States.

Instructions For Navigating The NDBC Site On-line

Fortunately, the NDBC maintains four information gathering sites near Everglades City within Everglades National Park. They are: 1) CNBFI-Cannon Bay, (2) LMRFI—Lostmans, (3)WLFI—Watson’s Place, and (4) WIWFI—Willy Willy. The Willy Willy site is particularly relevant for my backcountry peregrinations because it is farther away from the waters of the Gulf than the other three and located in a tidal creek rather than a wide tidal river or big bay—not a foolproof indicator by any means, but certainly better than flying blind.

Now before any trip into the Everglades backcountry, I open the NDBC web page, click on the four sites, and get the inside skinny on water temperatures and other data. Then when I get to the areas in my motorboat I have decided to explore, I check the water temperature and depth displays carefully on my Garmin Echomap to home in on the most likely spots.

If out in my Hobie Outback kayak, I go more rudimentary, dropping a water thermometer overboard (tied to my yak!) for a temperature reading and extend my collapsible paddle to full length to determine the depth. Temperature is also important in freshwater lakes in the Everglades for tracking down bass and cichlids.

I assiduously record this information in the journal I maintain for every fishing trip which allows me to feed it all into the giant mainframe computer I maintain at home that spits out exact spots to fish next time out with 100% reliability. I wish. But having this information does often provide a leg up and leads me into the likely areas without a lot of fruitless experimenting by hoping from place-to-place.

Things will be different during the summer around Everglades City when the shallow backcountry waters heat up rapidly, exceeding the upper comfort limits of many sportfish. Then the most likely fishing spots will be inshore among and just off the Ten Thousand Islands closer to the cooler waters of the Gulf, but the process of checking the NDBC site will be the same. Of course, all the other variables—tides, wind, currents, moon phase, etc.—have to be factored into the equation….but that’s what makes fishing, and hopefully catching, such fun and provides anglers with ample excuses to get out on the water and figure it all out.

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.

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

Chris Duerksen

Colorado’s San Luis Valley: Stronghold Of The Rare Rio Grande Cutthroat

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

The Bountiful Blackwater River (Collier-Seminole State Park, Florida)

Where The Wild Fins Want To Be: Solving The Water Temperature Conundrum

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