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

August 2022

For my earlier outings on the Adams and Lake F ork of the Conejos, see: and

I’m on my annual trip to fish the Conejos River country in southern Colorado.  The Conejos is a mid-sized river that harbors big brown and rainbow trout that fatten up on its abundant insect life.  Even though there is plenty of public water between Antonito and Platoro Reservoir, solitude can be a little hard to find.  So I’ve done a little sleuthing and discovered the Conejos actually has five alluring forks—the North, South, Middle, Lake, and Adams—that are all remote waters requiring some hiking to get to. 

A couple of years ago I had a stellar day on the Lake Fork, a three-mile hike into a high-mountain meadow paying off with a bonanza of gorgeous Rio Grande Cutthroats, several going better than 15-inches.  After a year of missing fishing the Conejos because of the extreme drought in the area, last summer I sampled the Adams Fork above Platoro Reservoir, 40 miles west of Antonito.  I had the water to myself and another banner day catching wild Rio Grande Cutthroats.

On that trip, I scouted the upper Conejos River and Middle Fork above Platoro Reservoir and liked what I saw. 

The upper Conejos runs through a steep canyon before emptying into the lake and to reach the Middle and North Forks takes a good two-mile hike from the trailhead.  That’s a perfect formula for the kind of angling solitude I like.  I began to hatch a plan for a trip the next year to explore two more of the fabulous five Conejos River forks. 

The wildcard in any trip to fish the Middle and North Forks is the long, rough drive from the campgrounds near Antonito where I usually stay when fishing the Conejos. It’s a 40-mile drive that takes a good two hours to the trailhead.  The first 20 miles on paved Colorado 17 are smooth and scenic.  But after that, tighten your seat belts!  The next 20 miles are up CR 250, widely known for eating tires and various other vehicle parts.  So this year I decided to see if I track down some overnight accommodations in the little historic community of Platoro below Platoro Reservoir that would allow me to spend a couple of days on the upper Conejos and Middle Fork.  This would let me avoid making a long, tiring round trip to Antonito every day and maybe sneak in a return performance on the Adams Fork. 

Platoro was founded in the late 1800s as a mining town. Its name in Spanish—plata for gold and oro for silver—tells the story. Rich veins of silver created a short-lived boom, but by 1913 Platoro was on the way to being a ghost town.

Platoro Reservoir built in 1951 helped spawn a comeback based on recreation.  Today Platoro is a resort town that caters to anglers, hunters, hikers, and other assorted visitors.  ATVs (aka Average Texan Vehicles) roam the streets and backroads.  At an elevation of 10,000 feet, the town folds up in late fall for winter when it’s buried in snow and cold. 

After some searching, I lucked out and was able to book a few days in a reasonably priced cabin, a former ranger station that the US Forest Service rents in Platoro. (For information on this cabin, Google Rio Grande National Forest—Platoro Cabin 1. Note that the cabin is all electric, not gas as described by the USFS site). Nothing fancy but perfectly fine for a short stay.

U.S. Forest Service Cabin #1 In Platoro

I reach the cabin in Platoro around noon, get unpacked and settled, then head out to the Three Forks Trailhead for a little reconnoitering.  The water level below Platoro Reservoir on the state water gauge is a decent 110 cfs, so I figure there should be plenty of water above. (Levels between 90 and 120 cfs usually mean fishable water in the Middle and Adams Forks above the reservoir.)

When I arrive at the trailhead, I find a dozen or so vehicles in the parking lot, but won’t see anyone with a fishing rod all day.  Most are hikers headed to Blue Lake for an overnight stay, high above the Middle Fork.  Thinking I’ll probably find foot-long browns and maybe some cutthroats in the upper Conejos and Middle Fork, I have opted to use my 7.5 foot, 3-weight wand and go sans waders for this short exploratory trip.  The hike along the canyon and into the valley is fairly flat, although muddy due to recent monsoon rains and a thorough stomping by cattle.  I execute several impressive gymnastics moves to avoid the soupy mess as well as big mushy cow pies.  Staying high above the canyon until I break into the valley in about an hour or so,  I then cut down to the river below and find a game trail through the thicket to the water of the upper Conejos. 

Another mile above, the Middle and North Forks join the El Rito Azul to form the Conejos.  That will be my destination tomorrow.

Because of the thick, tall vegetation crowding the river and the fact I’m wearing my hiking boots instead of waders, I’m forced to leap onto a river rock three feet offshore.  I perch precariously on the big rock and throw a long backhand cast upstream. 

Using a #16 Royal Trude with a #18 caddis larva pattern of my own creation that I call Dirk’s Delight as a dropper, I aim for a likely looking quiet spot behind the big boulder that splits the river.

The Trude swirls slowly in the current, then I see a flash below it.  Looked like a sizeable brown, but then my old eyes might have been deceived.  I try again and this time there is no doubt—the Trude is walloped by a big brown.  I set the hook, and the battle is on.  But the little rod is no match for the leviathan, and he’s soon free.  That pattern will be repeated at the next two pools above.  Without waders, I am forced to make long casts into the best-looking pools, but don’t have enough backbone in the rod to set the hook or wrestle these beefy trout.  Oddly, I don’t see or raise any small fish to the flies.  Lesson learned—I shall return better equipped tomorrow. 

Later that afternoon back at camp, I stop in the nearby Platoro general store and kibbutz with the clerk who is an avid angler.  I learn that my experience isn’t unusual.  Apparently big brownies have migrated out of the reservoir into the upper Conejos.  He says the fishing can be spotty.  Maybe because the big boys are eating all the smaller ones? 

Next morning I’m up early and at the trailhead by 8:30 a.m.  It’s a cool 55 degrees but will warm up to 70 by noon under a blue sky with some puffy white clouds.  The wind is light.  I pull on my chest waders, and resisting the urge to fish the Conejos canyon, I make the two-mile hike to the upper valley that will bring me to the Three Forks confluence where the Middle Fork, the North Fork, and the El Rito Azul creek meet.

Three Forks Confluence Ahead

Along the way I come across some lovely waterfalls and carpets of wildflowers that make for some nice breaks to photograph.

Suprise Waterfall

Above the Three Forks sign I take the trail to the left and soon cross the North Fork, which is barely a trickle (I’ll later find the main branch of the North Fork joins the Middle Fork further upstream). In 10 minutes, I come to a wide stretch of water where the tiny El Rito Azul and Middle Fork join. I get my rod ready to cast, then head up the Middle Fork.

The Middle Fork Above Its Confluence With the El Rito Azul

The Middle Fork looks inviting, clear and with a good flow, about 30 cfs. But after 15-minutes of thrashing the water, I haven’t had a strike or even seen a fish. So far, there’s not much holding water where a big trout could hide. Dejectedly, I continue upstream and finally see some decent looking water ahead where the creek executes a big bend. I juice up the Trude to make sure it will float high and dry, and execute a perfect cast into the current just above the bend pool. The flow carries the fly into the deep pool where I can’t see the bottom. It lazily circles in a little quiet eddy…then suddenly disappears. I set the hook and all hell breaks loose. The big brown flies high into the air then heads directly downstream towards me. I head him off at the pass, and he retreats into the deep pool where I can feel him shaking his head in the depths. I move up towards the pool, net at the ready. We tussle for another minute, and finally the bruiser starts to relent and reluctantly comes towards the net. But when he sees me, the trout hits the afterburners and rockets past me downstream and dives into a massive snag along an undercut bank. I howl, unleashing an ungentlemanly barrage of expletives as my line goes limp. Dolefully, I wade towards the snag and grab my leader….and am shocked to feel the fish still on the line. Suddenly he spurts out from under the snag, somehow having untangled my line. Then he turns abruptly downstream again and jets by me through a riffle into another pool below, with me hard on his heels…uh, fins. Now the tide turns my way as he rests in the depths. He makes a couple of more runs, but with the stouter rod I manage to turn him and finally ease the brownie into my net…but just barely. He’s over 18-inches long and a hefty, dark golden beauty. After a quick photo and release, I sit down for a bit to calm my nerves.

Big Brownie Starts The Day!

In a few minutes, I start back upstream and decide I might as well run the flies through the bend pool again even though the commotion will have probably scared the daylights out of any other fish in the vicinity.  Wrong!  No sooner does the Trude slide into the pool, and it disappears.  I lift the rod sharply and am fast onto another big brownie.  I can see it’s a female, perhaps the beau of the big boy getting ready for some amorous adventures since it’s nearing fall spawning time.  She heads deep then makes some slashing runs up and downstream.  I scramble to block her exit and succeed in herding the lass back into the pool.  Soon she slides into the net, a respectable 16-inches!  However, the finny beauty gets the last laugh. I kneel and remove the hook, but as I grab my phone from my vest for a quick photo, she does a frenetic dance and slips out of my grip.   She wriggles wildly in the thin shoreline water in a bid for freedom with me in hot pursuit on my knees.  I lunged for her, but too late.  Sprawled in the shallows, I have to laugh, thankful no one is there to take a video!

Confidently, I proceed upstream, looking for the next lunker pool.  I spot a good run with some depth along the shoreline above, but it’s no dice. Next I come to where the main stem of the North Fork joins the Middle Fork, creating a good-looking pool.  Again I fail to raise a fish and don’t see any trout when I wade into the pool to spy.  I follow the Middle Fork up a few hundred yards without any luck, then soon come to a long overgrown stretch where casting is impossible, so retreat to the North Fork.

The North Fork is smaller than the Middle Fork, with a fast shallow current.  And where it slows, bushes crowd its banks, making casting impossible. 

The North Fork

I hike upstream about a quarter mile, looking for a fishable stretch.  Just before the stream enters a narrow, overgrown canyon, it butts into a steep slope, creating a nice bend pool.  I kneel quietly and throw a short cast up against the far shoreline where the flow is deeper.  Immediately a brown trout smacks the Trude, but I miss him.  I make several more casts, but come up empty.  Continuing on, I come to a beautiful stretch where the creek executes a hard turn, creating a deep pool.  Problem is, the cloying branches of a spruce tree overhang the pool, and to make matters more challenging, a big fir tree has crashed down across the water above, making casting even tougher.  I size things up and figure my only hope is to make a short, low sidearm cast so the flies alight below the downed tree, then let the faux edibles float in the current under the spruce branches.  With nerves of steel, I wind up to make the first cast, and grimace as the flies alight daintily on the dastardly branches.  I grit my teeth and give the rig a gentle pull, and miraculously it comes loose.  My second cast is more on target, narrowly avoiding getting snagged on the big log then floating perfectly under the spruce branches into the deep shoreline run.  BAM!  A brownie nails the Trude and quickly comes to the net, a nice 12-incher. 

North Fork Brownie

I manage another adroit cast and another brown trout, a double of the first, sucks in the caddis larva dropper.  Now fully confident, I target my third cast and of course it goes awry, snagging in the spruce branches.  Blue spruce trees do not give up their prey easily, and I finally throw up my arms and wade in to free the imprisoned flies.  I take that as a sign to retreat down the valley, especially as I see some ominous clouds boiling up to the south.

I retrace my steps to the Three Forks confluence and decide to work back down the upper Conejos to the stretch that I fished yesterday, just above where the river enters a narrow canyon before flowing into Platoro Reservoir.  I have to do some bushwhacking along the river, but at least have the place to myself except for the bovine spectators.   The first three or four pools I sample result in a goose-egg, but things get better a quarter mile downstream where the river runs headlong into a rocky outcropping, creating a deep, slower moving stretch.  As I size things up from above, I see a couple of trout rising steadily.  I work my way down into casting range and throw a short line just above the risers.  One immediately sucks in the Trude and the fight is on.  After a good tussle, the brown gets the upper hand with a nice jump that throws the fly.  I try again, and another brown smacks the dry, and just as quickly I execute a long-distance release. 

The Upper Conejos Below The Three Forks Confluence

Resolutely, I move down to the bottom of the pool and manage to flub a couple more strikes.  Licking my wounds, I yell insults at the audience of cattle that have witnessed my ineptitude.

Fortunately, my luck changes just around the bend where the river executes a hard turn to the west, creating a series of beautiful runs where I manage to fool several 14-inch brown trout.  Before long I am at the pool where I had hooked and lost the big bruiser brown yesterday.  Today with waders on, I am able to get across the swift, deep current and into a much better position to probe the depths below the rapids.  After a couple of tries, I finally get a good float below the rapids into some quieter water.  On cue, the Trude disappears and I set the hook on a good fish.  He is strong, and thrashes around in the big pool, to and fro.  But today my rod is up to the task, and I slide a respectable 14-inch brown into my net. 

Respectable Brownie Concludes An Interesting Day

I turn and eye the canyon water downstream, but it’s now almost 4 p.m., and while I am tempted to continue into the gorge with its alluring plunge pools, I still have another hour of hiking to get back up to the trail then to the trailhead.  So, I end the day by tipping my hat to the Middle Fork and upper Conejos River, knowing I’ll be back to explore next year.

As I walk out enjoying the scenery, I puzzle over the waters I have fished today. The Middle Fork and the upper Conejos formed by the three forks are so unlike the Lake and Adams Fork. My conclusion is if you want shots at some very substantial brown trout up to 20-inches and likely more, then the upper Conejos and Middle Fork are the ticket—but don’t expect many fish of all sizes or in substantial numbers like the Lake and Adams Forks. And who knows what you might find by venturing into that wild canyon water. As to the little North Fork, it holds a few promising runs and pools for 10 to 12-inch browns, but bring you’re A-casting game if you go.

Conejos River Capers

Early August 2022

Neither rain nor hail shall keep the ardent angler from his appointed trail!! A great, if occasionally damp, weekend doing piscatorial research for an article on the high country headwaters of the scenic Conejos River in southern Colorado. Caught and released some bellicose brown trout and gorgeous, scrappy native Rio Grande Cutthroats. Six miles hiking roundtrip in waders and wading boots two days in a row. Not bad for a septuagenarian. Pinot Grigio elixir sped recovery. 😎 Article with details to follow.

Drought Officially Over!
Slip Sliding Away!
Lair Of The Big Brownie—Upper Conejos River
Middle Fork Conejos
Another Nice Brown
Conejos North Fork
Three Forks Valley
Adams Fork Canyon

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

For my article on the Lake Fork of the Conejos in 2020, see:

Lake Fork Of The Conejos River: Solitude In A Sanctuary For Rare Rio Grande Cutthroat Trout

For my recent outing on the nearby upper Rio Chama, see:

Mid-August 2021 near Antonito, Colorado

I’m on my annual trip to fish the Conejos River and surrounding waters.  The Conejos is a middle-sized river that harbors big brown and rainbow trout that fatten up on its abundant insect life.  Even though there is plenty of public water between Antonito and Platoro Reservoir, solitude can be a little hard to find.  So I did a little sleuthing and discovered the Conejos actually has five alluring, forks—the North, South, Middle, Lake, and Adams—that are all remote waters requiring some hiking to get to. 

A couple of years ago I had a stellar day on the Lake Fork, a three-mile hike into a high-mountain meadow paying off with a bonanza of gorgeous Rio Grande Cutthroats, several going better than 15-inches.  After a year of missing fishing the Conejos because of the extreme drought in the area, I have set my sights on the Adams Fork above Platoro Reservoir, 40 miles west of Antonito.  This year thanks to timely July monsoon rains, all the rivers and creeks around the area have decent water levels.  I’m intrigued when I can find very little online about fishing the Adams Fork.  There are several posts by hikers who mention the Adams Fork trail, but no indication they sampled the river.  Fortuitously, a few weeks before the trip a reader of my blog mentioned he had caught some nice cutthroats there in July.  Say no more!  I’m sold.

It’s mid-August and at 7:00 a.m. I’m leaving my mobile fish camp at the first-rate Canon Bonito RV park near Mogote.  It’s a 40-mile drive that will take a good two hours to the trailhead above Platoro Reservoir. 

The Adams Fork Above Platoro Reservoir In The South San Juan Wilderness

The first 20 miles on paved Colorado 17 are smooth and scenic.  But after that, tighten your seat belts!  The next 20 miles are up CR 250, widely known for eating tires and various other vehicle parts.  It’s a rough washboard road where you should take the 25 mph speed limit seriously.  The scenery is spectacular, so ease off on the accelerator and take your time.

Around 9 a.m. I am bouncing by the little historic resort community of Platoro, founded in 1945. It’s an eclectic mix of old cabins, new log houses, rental units, and a venerable hotel.   Above the hamlet I hang a left onto FR 247, a decent gravel road that snakes along high above Platoro Reservoir.

Looking South Out Over Platoro Reservoir Towards The South San Juan Wilderness Area

Unfortunately, like most reservoirs in the West it is drought-stricken, sporting a big white bathtub ring.  In a few miles I come to the official trailhead for the Adams Fork. The parking area is empty, a good sign!

I suit up in my lightweight breathable chest waders and carry just one rod today, my new super light four-weight TFO that goes 8½ feet. It’s a beautiful sunny morning with light winds, with a balmy temperature of 70 degrees to come this afternoon at 10,500 feet.  The first section of the trail is steep, so I am soon huffing and puffing, my septuagenarian body complaining about the weight of my as-usual overstuffed fishing vest.

Before long I come to a switchback that crosses the first of several feeder creeks that add their waters to the Adams Fork on the way to my target area, a series of open meadows a couple of miles up the valley.

Main Adams Fork Trail Crosses First Feeder Creek

For the most part from here the trail is fairly flat, with a few ups and downs where it intersects those small feeder creeks.  The wildflowers put on a showy display for me, so I stop and take some photos for my granddaughter Aly, who loves to help me identify them with the help of a terrific free app called PictureThis.  Scarlet skyrockets, fringed gentians, savoryleaf asters, and arrowleaf groundsel abound.  I can hear the river roaring several hundred feet below in its rugged canyon, but can’t see it. 

In about a mile, I come to a downed sign and turn it over. It’s a marker for the boundary of the South San Juan Wilderness Area.

Into The Wilds

In a short distance beyond the boundary marker, I run into a series of steep grassy slopes and meadows that descend steeply to the Adams Fork, which has finally revealed itself. For the next several miles, the access improves as the valley widens. I finally spot a likely looking stretch of water with fewer rapids and more bends and pools.

Gripping my wading staff tightly, I start zig-zagging carefully down the steep incline. The footing is decent, but when I slip on some loose dirt a couple of times, I remind myself to take it easy. As I take a breather half way down, I look out over the sun-soaked tall grass. Suddenly I think I hear Julie Andrews singing her iconic song “the hills are alive to the sound of hoppers!” The whole meadow is whirring with amorous grasshoppers. As I drop down further the noisy insects flee in front of me.

It’s about 10:15 when I emerge on a rocky bar below a good-looking pool. 

“Can’t Miss” First Pool

Naturally I break out my trusty Royal Trude in #16 which is an excellent imitation of the small grasshoppers in the meadow.  When I check under the rocks in the river, I’m surprised to find some small stoneflies, so tie on a #18 Tung Teaser as my dropper.  The water is crystal clear and flowing about 10-15 cfs, a bit low but eminently fishable. 

With great confidence borne of my friend’s glowing report, I loft a beautiful cast that lands perfectly in a foamy run.  Nothing.  Not even a looker.  Several more throws with the same result.  It’s puzzling.  Everything looks perfect.  Have I been hoodwinked??  I walk up to the next good-looking pool and on the way spook a couple of decent-sized fish.  A good sign, but again, no bites.  Now I’m smelling the distinct odor of skunk.  Did the July monsoon rains bring floods that wiped things out, something not unheard of on these small creeks? I try to keep the faith and continue working upstream, and at approximately 10:45 a.m. a small, but celebrated 10-inch cutthroat breaks the spell.  He’s taken the nymph.  Then another follows on the next cast.  Well, I think, I can live with a day of small fish. 

Highly Celebrated First Fish Of Day

Soon I come to a small postage-stamp sized pool featuring an overhanging branch that will surprise me.  It turns out to be the first honey hole of the trip. 

Sometimes Size Does Not Matter–Tiny Honey Hole

I manage to execute a cast that drops my flies delicately above the branch, and as they float under a big trout swirls at the dry, then follows and chomps down on the nymph. He wrangles with me for a while then finally comes to the net, a beautiful, stout 14-inch Rio Grande Cutthroat. That’s more like it. Three more 12-inchers quickly follow, attendants at the king’s court.

First Big Cutt Of The Day

Then just as I think there can’t possibly be any more in the pool, or at least ones that haven’t been put off by the mayhem, a real bruiser surfaces on the next cast and nails the dry.  He puts up a terrific battle, flashing his brilliant colors as he bids for freedom.  When he finally is subdued, the gorgeous fish measures 16-inches, a true leviathan for such a small water.

Adams Fork Leviathan!!

After all the excitement, I relax on a streamside rock, drinking in the scene.  Wildflowers cover the slope and bench above.  Butterflies are fluttering everywhere. A stand of bright yellow mountain goldenrods catch my eye, covered with striking black and white butterflies—obviously enjoying a late summer love-in. 

Butterfly Love-In

I look down and instead of boot marks see dozens of hoof marks, including several giant ones left by moose and elk.  I wonder if some are watching me.

Reenergized, I work cautiously upstream, being careful not to spook the cutthroats I can see finning in the deeper pools, oblivious to my presence.  Every pool seems better than the last, each yielding several cutts, usually with a big one mixed in.

Beautiful Pools Abound

But after an hour of unbridled success, I hit a dry spell.  I get steady rises to the Trude dry, but the fish take a close look and then bump the fly or just turn up their noses and drop back slowly to their holding positions.  I have never had that happen on remote streams, where the bushy Trude seems to always ring the dinner bell.  I do catch several on the Tung Teaser nymph, but they tend to be smaller fish.  Reluctantly, I decide to change flies, tying on a smaller profile #16 Wilcox dry that, while designed to mimic a mayfly, is a great imitation of tiny hoppers often found around high-altitude streams.  The results are immediate.  I drift the fly along a bank that just drew refusals on the Trude, and a good-sized cutt intercepts it with not hesitancy in a showy rise. 

Wilcox Dry Fly Fires Up Action Again

From then on the action is hot again with most strikes on the surface and in sun-drenched pools.  Those in shadows or deep don’t produce.  Obviously the cutts are sun-bathing, and who can blame them with the already cold nighttime temperatures at this altitude–over 10,000 feet!

Just after noon, my stomach starts to growl so I make one more cast in another photogenic pool before breaking for lunch.  No sooner does the Wilcox alight than it is blasted by a giant fish.  I set the hook and the scuffle is on.  It’s to and fro for a minute, but I finally gain the upper hand and start to ease the big boy into my net.  But when he gets a glimpse of his fate, the cutt jets to the top of the pool, through the rapids above, making like a wild salmon, and into the next pool.  Now he has the advantage with so much of mine line stripped out, giving him leverage, and sure enough he shakes off with an acrobatic jump.  He looked to be 18-inches or more, the biggest trout of the day. 

I sulk for a minute or two, then start casting again, resolute not to end the morning a loser.  As if by magic a few minutes late a muscular 15-inch cutt helps soothe my bruised ego as he smacks the dry and puts up a worthy fight. 

Colorful 15-Inch Cutt Salves Loss Of Big One That Got Away

After lunch the good action continues and by 2 p.m. I’m tuckered out.  It will take me three hours to get back to camp so I swear this cast will be my last.  Three fish later I net a scrappy one in a plunge pool and decide it really is time to head back. 

Scrappy Cutt Closes Out Wonderful Day

As I get to the bench above the river I turn and tip my hat to another fab fork of the Conejos. 

One Last Photo And Tip Of The Hat To The Adams Fork

What an uncommon treat to catch and release such beautiful rare fish.  Then I chug up the slope towards home, already planning a return trip.

CAVEATS:   Ignoring my own caveat, I exceed the 25 mph speed limit on the way back to pavement and end up with a flat tire! Second caveat–I fished the Adams Fork a month later in early September and found it very low with extremely skittish fish, particularly in the crystal-clear deeper pools with slow-moving water where the cutts could scrutinize the faux hopper.  It was still a successful outing, but my advice is to make sure the Conejos River downstream at Mogote is flowing at least 100 cfs which would indicate the Adams Fork probably has a decent flow.  Also, avoid the Adams Fork area after September 1 when it is overrun with amiable bow hunters, some of whom also fish!

2019 Hooknfly High-Water Marks: The Best, The Bummers, and the Blood-Curdling

Late December 2019

Greetings to all my friends and readers. I hope your holidays have been peaceful, and here’s wishing you the best for a great 2020. It’s been a very interesting and rewarding year writing my blog. In addition to providing an admitted excuse to go fishing and explore remote places and share them with my friends, my main goal continues to be helping reinforce and building the constituency to preserve and protect these wild and wonderful places fish inhabit. Given the current state of politics in the country and multiple threats to our environment and natural resources, it’s more important than ever to take a stand and do whatever we can to protect Mother Nature and her finny denizens.

I was especially gratified to have some of my piscatorial peregrinations published by Florida Sportsman magazine in an article about kayak fishing in the Everglades. You can find a link to it in my October post.

It was also great to see that by late December, the Hooknfly blog has had over 53,000 views and over 23,000 visitors, a 40%+ increase over 2018An added and very satisfying benefit has been connecting with people and making new friends around the USA and the world.

Among them are readers from over 60 nations.  Now it’s easy to figure out why people who follow my blog are mainly from English-speaking countries, but who am I to ask why anyone from Belarus, Ukraine, or Russia would read my articles.  Hmmm, but on second thought perhaps there is indeed a common thread here—could it be I’m on Putin’s watch list after posting a not-so-flattering wise crack and photo of him in a 2018 article on upper Saguache Creek:

“By now it’s nearly 2 p.m., and the sun is beating down and things are heating up.  I decide to shed some clothing and strip off my long-sleeve fishing shirt and polypro T under it, reveling in my bare-chestedness in the mountain air with no prying eyes.  Visions of Vladimir Putin, similarly bare-chested and buff, riding over the ridge float through my mind.  No wonder Agent Orange couldn’t resist him at Helsinki! What a hunk!!”

Agent Orange’s Dreamboat

But seriously, as the year comes to a close it gives me great pleasure to look back on the best, the bummers, and the blood-curdling moments of 2019 from an angling perspective. It’s been a treat to have you with me! Here we go…

Continue reading

Solving The Conejos River Conundrum

Early September 2019

Conundrum:  “A confusing and difficult problem; vexatious.”

See also my article on fishing the Lake Fork of the Conejos for rare Rio Grande Cutthroats.

I have fished most of the big Colorado trout waters—the Arkansas, Colorado, Gunnison, South Platte, Rio Grande, and Yampa.  Like many of my fishing friends and readers, I fancy myself a fair-to-middling do-it-yourself angler that can figure out any river and its piscatorial denizens on my own.  I learned the hard way a decade ago that isn’t the case with the beautiful Conejos River in southern Colorado near Antonito.  The word vexatious comes to mind when I think of the Rabbit River.  It’s one river I now always hire a guide on my first day of my annual trip to the Conejos—and give the same advice to anyone headed that way.  I have found the best flies and successful techniques can vary dramatically year-to-year and from section-to-section of the stream.  Biologists tell us it’s one of the most fertile rivers in the state, a veritable smorgasbord of stoneflies, mayflies, caddis, and assorted other bugs, not to mention a good grasshopper hatch.  Indeed, scientists say there are more varieties of stones in the river that any in Colorado!

Conejos Stonefly Feast

The trout just have so many choices to munch on, which results in a weird assortment of fly patterns that rule here, many of which I have never either heard of let alone used:  the McGruber, Jig Assassin, Sparkle Green Body Elk Hair Caddis, Purple and Chartreuse Psycho Prince,  Lightning Bug.

Conejos Flies
Conejos Mystery Flies

The list goes on depending on the month, water levels, etc., etc.  But despite these angling vicissitudes, the Conejos’ big trout, gorgeous scenery, miles of public water, and absence of annoying rafters, kayakers, paddleboarders, and other insolent intruders, I keep coming back.  I was reminded again this year not to fool with the Conejos on my own.

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