January 2025

The Satisfying

2024 has been an interesting year to say the least.  As I look back and take stock, one of the most satisfying developments personally has been the readership of this blog.  From a humble start in 2015, readership has bloomed to over 50,000 visitors and over 100,00 views in 2024. Many thanks to all of you!! It’s been an interesting and fun ride.

 

And I am pleased to report that the most read article was again Best Fishing Books Of All Time, garnering over 7,000 visits and in the process dispelling the notion that people don’t actually read much anymore.  As you might expect, most of the views were from English-speaking countries.  But then there were some wild cards, like 243 from Martinique in the Caribbean, where French is the official language and most residents also speak Martinican Creole.  Not to mention 62 from China!  Go figure!!

Particularly gratifying are the kind words and comments from readers like this one:  “Yet another great article!  As an aspiring young fly angler, your informative writing style has helped me grow leaps and bounds.  You are one of the few magicians willing to reveal their secrets  I hope one day I get to see you on the water. Cheers!  Nick.”

Family time on the water with my sweetheart granddaughter Aly and my son Matthew was also a highpoint, from Aly catching a feisty bass canoeing in Florida to Matthew landing a big brown trout in Colorado with able net assistance from Aly.  They also helped me celebrate my…gasp…76^th birthday with a big, delectable cake and a beautiful gift of a book covering Aly’s artwork over the past few years.

The party was actually delayed for a few weeks as on my actual birthday  I came down with Covid after dodging the rascal virus since 2019 and despite having all my shots.  It took a couple of weeks to get my energy back, but fortunately no long-term effects.  It also did my heart good to see Aly take up basketball, one of my favorite sports, which allowed me to show off my flashy windmill layup (formerly dunk)  moves.  She’s already dribbling circles around me.

Off the water I kept busy writing articles for American Fly Fishing and Florida Sportsman.  I think my favorite fly-fishing piece was about returning to a stream of my youth, Clear Creek, high in the mountains of southern Colorado.  Decades earlier as an aspiring angler I caught my first trout in the crystalline waters of this wild stream.  Life goes full circle. 

(For a link to the article in American Fly Fishing see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/07/31/clear-creek-co-a-return-to-nirvana/ )

I was also pleased that an article on kayak fishing in the Everglades was featured in the annual national publication Kayak Fishing Fun. (For a link to the article see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/07/07/kayak-fishing-fun-article/ )

Two fly fishing articles will be published soon in 2025, one on the Tuckasegee River in southwest North Carolina co-authored with my fishing buddy Steve “Mop Fly” Keeble and the other on Jim and Torsido Creeks,  hidden in the mountains of southern Colorado where my intrepid photographer Jody Bol showed off her gymnastic skills to catch that perfect shot of remote Rio Grande Cutthroat waters. 

 

  

 And speaking of fishing buddies, I am fortunate that in addition to the aforementioned Mr. Keeble, I have three other astute and accomplished angling pals, Messrs. Wayne, Mitchell, and Palka to explore with.  Thoughtful gentlemen all who have shared their fishing knowledge with me, they are also gracious enough to let me outfish them occasionally.

While I managed to dodge rafters and float fishermen one terrific fall day on my former home water, the Arkansas River near Salida, Colorado, and catch six muscular brown trout,  small creeks continue to bring me the greatest joy and satisfaction.  The clear waters of tiny Archuleta Creek  in the shadow of a huge volcanic dome near the Continental Divide in southern Colorado yielded some surprisingly sizeable brownies pushing 16-inches while the streams of the Wet Mountains in southern Colorado helped me garner a Grand Slam featuring some beautiful Rio Grande Cutthroats along with feisty rainbows, brookies, and browns.    My search of remote streams that might hold the rare Rio Grande Cutts in Colorado continued with a trek to East Middle Creek near Saguache.  After navigating and huffing and puffing up some steep switchbacks to the stream’s headwaters, I was rewarded with a beautiful 12-inch fish finning in the cloistered water, marking the northernmost stream in the state where the cutts have survived and even flourished.  Catching and releasing that exquisite specimen was a near-religious experience.

(To read the full story of the search see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/08/28/the-search-for-the-elusive-san-luis-valley-rio-grande-cutthroats-continues/ )

Rio Grande Cutthroats were also part of the aforementioned Wet Mountain Valley Grand Slam—catching and releasing four different kinds of trout over one weekend in the fall.  I netted rainbows, browns, and brookies in various reaches of Grape Creek and put icing on the cake with some colorful cutthroats from Medano Creek high in a remote valley between the Wet Mountains and the soaring Sangre De Cristos.  

Saltwater kayak fishing in my winter haunt near Everglades City continued to be exciting, dodging alligators and hungry sharks to net high-jumping tarpon and muscular snook.  But equally satisfying were several freshwater lakes in the Glades that served up some big largemouth bass, toothy antediluvian gar, and scads of hungry Mayan cichlids and colorful Oscars. 

However, not all my best outings were of the piscatorial pursuit variety.   I had a grand time on several swamp and prairie hikes in the Fakahatchee Strand State Park Preserve and the Big Cypress National Preserve.  On those outings I saw rare Everglades Mink, scads of wading birds like Great Egrets and Wood Storks, gorgeous swamp and prairies wildflowers, and of course big gators closeup. Did I mention the hidden haunted house I showed Aly and my son Matthew on a swamp tour when they visited during March Spring school break or the fabulous shelling beach and frolicking dolphin Capt. Craig of Everglades Boat Adventures shared with us?

The Surprising

Without a doubt, the most surprising angling episode of 2024 involved hiking a little-visited trail in the Fakahatchee Strand near Everglades City with two college buddies, discovering a hidden pond absolutely loaded with hungry Oscars, a non-native fish I liken to bluegill on steroids, snagging and breaking off the soft plastic curly tail lure that was absolutely slaying them, realizing I had forgotten to bring extra tails along leading to me throwing a tantrum, then recovering by inventing a hot new lure I call the Band-Aid Fly.  Not pretty but effective.  Necessity was indeed the mother of invention.  I am working on a patent right now. (For the inside skinny on the Band-Aid Jig Fly see: (http://hooknfly.com/2024/04/09/angling-trauma-try-a-band-aid-jig-fly/ )

In Colorado, an amiable spin fisherman I met while camping along Upper Dome Lake southeast of Gunnison taught me a lesson in humility.  In Colorado I am a devoted flies-only angler, occasionally turning my nose up when I see someone so backwards and uncouth as to spin fish.  I had just finished a long and successful day before on Archuleta Creek and decided to take the day off by fly fishing for eager trout from the dam on Upper Dome Lake. Throwing some long double-haul casts with a long fly rod, I soon fooled and released some nice rainbow.  But when the wind kicked up, creating white caps on the water, the fly was soon being blown back in my face.  I hastily beat a retreat to the comfort of my mobile fish camp.  As I downed a cup of hot tea to warm up, I noticed a fellow camping in an RV a short distance away was walking along the banks of the lake casting a lure with his spin rod.  With some frequency his rod seemed to be bending double.  Must be getting snagged I reasoned.  Later that day at lunch I moseyed over to his camp to see how he had done.   I learned he had caught dozens of truculent tiger trout with short casts on a small marabou jig not more than 10 feet from the shoreline.  That afternoon with the wind still howling, I ate a piece of spiced pride and grabbed my little ultra-light spincast outfit I keep in reserve for fishing overgrown beaver ponds. 

I rigged it with a Blue Vibrax spinner lure, heaved it out over the water through the gale, and on the very first cast I caught a spunky rainbow that was soon followed by several more.   What more can I say!!  

On that same trip I got another big surprise.  I decided to spend a day hiking to a series of big beaver ponds on Chavez Creek that flows out of the La Garita Wilderness area about 20 miles above Dome Lake.  Those ponds had produced Brobdingnagian brown trout for me in the past, some pushing 20-inches, but it had been several years since I had made the hour hike downstream from the trailhead to fish them.  I also wanted to fish upstream in a meadow stretch that had produced plentiful brownies in the past until last year when I was not only skunked but mysteriously had nary a strike. 

The hike down was a memorable one with beautiful wildflowers lining the trail and close encounters with antelope and deer. Soon I spied a big new beaver pond, but resisted the urge to sample the alluring waters and continued downstream. 

My fishing fever was rising as I caught glimpses of the ponds downstream from my vantage point on the trail above.  I finally reached the lower pond and bushwhacked down to the water.  And what to my wondering eye should appear…but a blown-out beaver dam with only a shallow stream of water coursing its way through the leftover pond muck through a breach in the dam.

After a few choice expletives, I trudged resolutely upstream to the next  dam and pond.  But the scene was disappointingly the same.  Not one to quit, I clawed my way through brush to the next dam and clambered up through the mass of branches and sticks only to be greeted again by another blown-out pond.

OK, enough is enough I thought and headed back up to the trail and upstream.  Just as I was about to throw in the towel, I came to the new pond I had seen earlier, glistening in the sunlight below.  I decided to have lunch to calm my growling stomach and mind, then descended to the water, where I immediately saw some trout rising at the stream inlet.  I navigated around some small trees now inundated by several feet of water and flipped a backhand cast into the flow above.  BANG, no sooner had the flies hit the water than they were sucked under.   Immediately a brook trout splashed to the surface, came in for a quick photo, and then scurried away.  This would be the start of an hour of non-stop fun catching colorful and cooperative brook trout, a few pushing 12-inches. 

Feeling revived I worked my way upstream to another small dam and pond that had been productive in the past and immediately hooked a nice 14-inch brownie and many more brookies. 

Then it was on to the meadow section to solve the mystery of the missing browns upstream.  On the way, I managed to scare up a big mama moose and her two calves that had been hiding in willows lining the creek.  Fortunately, she ran up Perfecto Creek, a tributary of Chavez that veered to the west. 

When I reached the open meadow stretch, I knelt carefully and cast into a bend pool that a couple of years ago produced a dozen brownies, naming it then the Big 12 Pool. 

Immediately something inhaled the dry and the fight was on.  Soon a brookie was slipping into my net.  For the next hour I had a silly good time catching dozens of hungry brookies, but nary a brown.  What happened to all those fatties?  Maybe 2025 will reveal the secret?!?

The final surprise of 2024 involved my annual fly-fishing trip with my buddy from Florida, Robert Wayne, Esq.  We set up camp in Del Norte, Colorado, in September to sample creeks in the surrounding high country.  We had a banner day on remote Jim Creek above La Jara Reservoir for colorful Rio Grande Cutthroats, and Bob notched a whopper of a  brown trout on Saguache Creek to the north.  I prepared Bob for a grand finale on Clear Creek near Creede where I had several outstanding days earlier in the summer.  We traversed the very steep trail into lower Clear Creek in an impressive fashion for two septuagenarians and exchanged high fives when we reached the beautiful waters in the canyon. 

Everything looked great—plenty of water thanks to ample August rains that broke a long drought.  It would be the last of our smiles.  Turned out there was way too much water.  Wading was tough, and the good pools were all washed out.  Here and there we would spy a trout fleeing was we pushed up stream in the torrent.  Two hours later Bob actually hooked a fish in a fast run that immediately jumped and sent the fly flying.  We looked at each other and decided, despite the ignominy of a SKUNK, that was a sign–the first goose egg either of us had experienced in years.  Over lunch we drowned our sorrows in some good libations and victuals, surrounding by beautiful fall colors.

I usually head to Florida for the winter right after Halloween and a fun evening of trick or treating with my sweetheart Aly, but this fall I took on an interesting assignment to assist Saguache County, home of several of my favorite trout streams, in dealing with proposals it was grappling with to build huge industrial-scale solar energy facilities.  Because the San Luis Valley is one of the sunniest locales in Colorado, it is a magnet for these facilities that can cover hundreds of acres with significant impacts on wildlife, agricultural areas, and scenic vistas.  With generous support of the Gates Family Foundation out of Denver, I teamed with a bright, hard-working law professor, Jonathan Rosenbloom, to produce a detailed report recommending regulations to ensure the facilities are properly sited and operated to address potential adverse impacts while still accommodating these energy sources so essential to reducing carbon emissions and grappling with climate change.

That meant I was still around for the big surprise November snow in Colorado, with 15 inches dumped at my cabin and necessitating shoveling snow off my cabin porch, which convinced me to head to Florida right after Thanksgiving! 

Glad I did.  My first two kayak outings, one on a freshwater lake in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park that produced epic fishing for largemouth bass and Oscars and the other in the saltwater of the Everglades National Park around Chokoloskee Bay where hungry speckled sea trout couldn’t resist my offerings, including one rod-bender that went 21-inches, reminded me why I enjoy winters in the Glades.

The Scary and Slightly Senescent

Not all was fun and games in 2024. On returning to Colorado in mid-May, I was greeted by my sweetheart granddaughter Aly waiting patiently for me in the driveway on her new bike.  She was ready to roll, so I found my bike helmet in the garage and borrowed my son’s bike and off we went. 

We practiced driving on the street with only one hand and then no hands before taking off down one of the gravel bike trails that weave in and out of the houses and open space.  I saw a group of ladies walking towards us so, as a gentleman, steered off the trail into an adjacent cul-de-sac with Aly close behind.  We pedaled a wide circle in the cul-de-sac as the walkers passed by then I headed back towards the trail.  But the sun was glaring directly in my eyes and I didn’t see the gutter was elevated above a drain and drove smack into it.  My fat tires crunched into the drain, and the bike instantly came to a dead stop while I flew headfirst over the handlebars and landed ten feet away.  The ladies came running back and wanted to call the EMS, but I said I was fine, if a bit sore.  Luckily the helmet saved my hard head, but later I would learn at the doctor’s office a few days later that I had two broken ribs!  Painful, but there isn’t really much one can do except take it easy let it heal.  I was fishing within two weeks!

 The real scary stuff took place a month later.  A shakedown cruise in June in my travel trailer (aka mobile fishing camp) reminded me to take my time and be methodical in trip preparation, especially when you are a septuagenarian and possibly slightly senescent!

I had dutifully drained the antifreeze in the water system on my travel trailer, flushed it out and refilled the water tanks.  I tested the new water pump, and it hummed efficiently.  Next, I checked to make sure the propane tanks were full and carefully tested each of the three gas burners on the stove.   They all functioned perfectly, and then I ran the gas furnace and checked the gas connection that would run the little refrigerator.  The batteries were next.  I charged them up and checked the solar panel which would keep them humming in the boondocks, allowing me to have light in the trailer and recharge my cell phone after the daily quotient of photos of the scenery, wildflowers, wild animals, and big fish.  After all that activity, I retired to the front porch to enjoy the view and have a glass of wine.

I was admiring the gaudy Western Tanagers, Black-Headed Grosbeaks, and assorted hummingbirds visiting my bird feeders when I heard a chirping noise coming from out back beyond the trailer among the pinon trees and sage.  Maybe a new bird for my list??  I crept quietly around the cabin in the direction of the cheeping but couldn’t see anything.  The chatter continued.  I slyly pulled out my cell phone and opened the Merlin bird app from the Cornell School of Ornithology and held it high in the air.  It identifies birds by their calls.  I could tell the app was struggling, but it finally identified the call of a spotted towhee, a shy handsome bird that frequents the area.  I never did get a glimpse of the bashful guy.

Next morning when I awakened, I heard the phantom towhee who was continuing to chirp merrily away.  After finishing breakfast, I snuck outside to see if I could spot him.  Then I realized the call was coming from my travel trailer.  I opened the door and sure enough a little black box near the floor under a window was sounding off.  I unplugged the device and found it was a propane gas detector.  

But there was nothing using gas.  The note on the box said it should be replaced every 5 years, and my trailer just turned seven, so I thought it must be defective and was ready to toss it into the trash when I happened to glance over to the stove….and saw that one burner was not fully off and not lit!  I had apparently turned it to the lowest setting when testing but had not shut it off completely so it had been running all night long!  I quickly turned it off and bailed out of the trailer.  Since propane gas is odorless, no telling what might have happened if it had continued to slowly leak gas into the trailer and I had lit a match!  Yikes!!

Enough of this nonsense! It was time to hit the road. My long driveway is bumpy and steep, always reminding me to test the trailer brakes and put the SUV into four-wheel drive to slow the descent while I give the brakes a little test.  Unfortunately in my haste to hit the road, I forgot to switch back into 2WD and proceeded to drive for 45 miles in 4WD at speeds to 60 mph before noticing my error.  The owner’s manual cautions never to drive in 4WD over 55 mph.  Luckily, I seem to have dodged a bullet as the 4WD performed flawlessly throughout the trip in more suitable terrain at acceptable speeds. 

When I got to Upper Dome Lake where I would be camping in a state wildlife area, I was anxious to get on a nearby creek which appeared to be high but fishable.  I unlocked the trailer ball and cranked it down from the hitch receiver on the SUV.  I moved the SUV forward and went about leveling the trailer.  But before I could finish the job, a huge gust of wind, probably more than 40 mph, swept over the trailer and BANG, pushed the trailer jack/hitch off the block of wood it was resting on.  The trailer skidded forward a half dozen feet, coming close to crashing into the SUV.  I had to struggle for 30 minutes to get the trailer hitch jacked up high enough to reconnect it back to the trailer ball on the SUV and then maneuver the trailer back into position.  This would have been easily avoided by the simple act of setting the tire blocks first before unhooking the trailer.  Lesson learned. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize till later that the trailer jack had been damaged.  Fortunately, the jack crank still worked, if barely. I was able to hitch the trailer up to the SUV when I headed home a few days later and get a  new trailer jack pronto.

I partially redeemed myself, however, when the phone charging outlet in the trailer went dead, meaning no camera and no way to contact anyone except with my emergency satellite phone.  Fortunately, fighting off senescence, I had purchased a portable power block that I was able to use to recharge the phone three times during the trip.

The next few months were relatively peaceful and safe until the last day of my quest for the aforementioned Wet Mountain Valley grand slam.  The target was the Rio Grande Cutthroats that thrived in remote Medano Creek, tucked in a hidden valley between the rugged Wet Mountain and Sangre de Cristo ranges.  The challenge would be getting to the creek from my campground near Westcliffe in the Wet Mountain Valley over the gnarly road that went over Medano Pass.  For safety’s sake, my fishing buddy Tom Palka drove over from Salida to join me.  Always good to have a 50-something youngster with you when the going gets tough.

I had made the trek over Medano Pass several times, and the two-track road seemed to get worse every trip.  This one was no exception. 

Heavy rains earlier in August had gouged out mini-canyons all along the route.  In several stretches where the road split around trees or big boulders, Tom would jump out of the SUV and check things out.  All was going well as my new AT tires were performing nicely.  As we neared the pass and the descent into the Medano Creek Valley where things would get a lot easier, we came to another split in the road.  Tom reconnoitered and signaled me to take the track to the right.  I was a little skeptical as I had tried that course several years ago and found it too rocky.  But now it looked smoother. As Tom gave me the go-ahead signal, I lurched forward and made a turn up a steep stretch.  But in just a few feet, my tires started to slip and spin wildly, kicking up big rocks that barely missed Tom who was standing to the side below.  I slammed on the brakes as I started to slide backwards, but to no avail.  I gunned forward again but kept sliding backwards with increasing speed.  I could see a wall of big trees looming up behind in my rearview mirror.  My only hope was to steer the vehicle to firmer ground on the left, so I spun the steering wheel gingerly  in that direction which resulted in the SUV tilting dangerously as it swung around.  Miraculously, it didn’t tip, allowing me to stop and then inch forward VERY slowly turning the steering wheel to the right to get the vehicle facing downhill.  Tom jumped back in and we retreated to the split and took the other fork which was rough but not life-threatening.  The  good news is that we had a banner day catching and releasing those brilliantly colored cutts of Medano Creek to complete the Grand Slam.

(For the full story of the Grand Slam, see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/11/08/the-quest-for-a-wet-mountain-valley-trout-grand-slam-day-3/ )

The last scary moment of 2024 occurred with Bob Wayne as we hiked down the very steep slope on a trail featuring plenty of loose rocks to fish the lower reaches of Clear Creek in a beautiful canyon.  We were picking our way carefully down the track when Bob stopped to take a breather.  I clambered back up to rest with him and was mesmerized at the view down a narrow, very steep, and snag-filled side canyon. 

I immediately pulled my phone out to snap a photo, but in my hurry, hooked it on my fishing vest and watched in absolute horror as it flew from my hand and started to bounce down the slope…one bounce, two bounces…and on the third bounce at the edge of the  precipice it miraculously hung up on a small patch of vegetation, leaning precariously into the abyss.  Trembling, I crawled down the slope about ten feet, held my breath, and scooped up the phone. 

Its screen cover was cracked at the bottom with fractures emanating from it, but otherwise it was fine.  And continues to be.  I haven’t replaced the screen cover yet, leaving it as a reminder to take it easy!

Last Laughs

Being a fun-loving senior citizen, it would not be acceptable to end this retrospective of a tale of the almost annihilated iPhone.  Some of the best laughs of 2024 came as I trick or treated with granddaughter Aly on Halloween.  Dressed up like a maniac clown, I had a blast jumping out from behind bushes and scaring the daylights out of passing teenagers as Aly knocked on neighborhood doors. 

And being the proverbial eternal optimist, I successfully shook off recurrent worries about the future staring me in the face and fears about how much longer an aging septuagenarian like me could paddle and pedal a kayak for 8 hours in the wilds while dodging pesky gators to catch feisty snook, tarpon, and (being a confirmed ladies’ man) those beloved ladyfish.  Or hike into a steep canyon to chase wild trout…and survive the climb back out in one piece.  Then thanks to a birthday card from a cheeky, impudent female friend, everything was put into perspective.  Clearly with my up-to-date sartorial inclinations (Okay, okay so the pix is 10 years old!), I have not yet entered the final and likely deadly phase of the male pants cycle as she seemed to be intimating!   Many good years are clearly still ahead until I break out the suspenders, other than those used for fishing waders, and hike my  pants up above my belly button!