November 8, 2024November 9, 2024 hooknfly

The Quest For A Wet Mountain Valley Trout Grand Slam—Day 3

Fall 2024

For Days 1 and 2 of my Grand Slam quest, see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/10/22/the-quest-for-a-wet-mountain-valley-trout-grand-slam-day-1/ and http://hooknfly.com/2024/11/05/the-quest-for-a-wet-mountain-valley-trout-grand-slam-day-2/

My holy quest for a trout grand slam continues. So far so good–browns, rainbows, and brookies checked off on Days 1 and 2. Now for the toughest one—a native Rio Grande Cutthroat. My destination today is Medano Creek, hidden in a beautiful valley between the soaring peaks of the Wet Mountain and Sangre de Cristo ranges. Medano Creek flows south into the Great Sands Dune National Park where it disappears into the sand.

Medano Creek Flows Into Then Disappears In The Thirsty Sands of the National Park To the Delight of My Granddaughter Aly.

But don’t be fooled! Before it does, it flows free and cold, high in the mountains above and is one of the best cutthroat waters in Colorado.

Miles Above the Great Sand Dunes, Rio Grande Cutthroats Thrive
in the Clear, Pure Waters of Medano Creek

Kudos go to the folks at Colorado Parks and Wildlife for this treasure. Over a decade ago, they prepared the creek for cutthroats to survive and flourish by poisoning out invasive species like brown trout and then stocking it with Rio Grande Cutthroats, which were on the verge of being listed as endangered. The cutts proliferated, a great success story. Fishing for the cutthroats is allowed, but catch and release is the rule.

Having fished the creek a couple of times, I know the cutts are thriving and hungry. The question is–can I get there over the very rough Medano Pass road? In the best of conditions, it’s a teeth-jarring, bone-rattling drive, but with all the rain we have had in July and August it is likely to be in worse shape. It doesn’t see a road grader very often that’s for sure, especially on the east side of the pass.

For safety’s sake, it’s good to have someone with you on this trip, so I invite my fishing buddy from Salida, Mr. Tom P. to join me. I call him Tenkara Tom. Tenkara is a simple, traditional Japanese style that uses a very long rod, a short light line, and typically only one wet fly. It has only become popular in the USA in the last 15 years. It works best on small streams because of the short line that is simply flipped out with the fly without any false casting as with traditional fly casting. Tom is a master at it, as he demonstrated by outfishing me last year on a small creek in the San Juan Mountains. I am hoping to deliver his well-deserved comeuppance on Medano Creek.

I meet him in Westcliffe at 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday for the two-hour drive over Medano Pass, our goal being a series of beaver ponds and open creek stretches several miles below. Don’t be fooled by the Google Maps that portrays this as a one hour and five-minute drive. It will take about two hours if you avoid any mishaps. The first part of the drive is down CO 69 highway, which is a good paved road, about 25 miles to the turnoff on gravel road 559 which leads to Medano Pass. Be sure to keep your eyes peeled for the Medano Pass turnoff sign. Don’t follow the circuitous route suggested by Google Maps

Follow the Signs On CO 69 For the Turnoff To Medano Pass

The trip is a very scenic one that often features herds of elk or buffalo with the striking Wet Mountains framing the view.

The first five miles or so on road 559 are decent, skirting a big lake on private property before beginning the ascent to the pass. But from there things can get gnarlier by the mile as Tom and I soon discover. The road clearly hasn’t seen a grader for some months as witnessed by the eroded channels coursing down the two-track carved out by recent rains.

Every mile or so where the road splits to avoid a big boulder or stand of trees, Tom jumps out and evaluates the better route, which works well until we decide to go right to avoid a stretch to the left with some sharp rocks protruding from the roadway. The right fork is steeper, but the roadbed looks to be in better shape. I line up to gun up the grade as Tom steps to the side. I am in 4-wheel drive with some new AT tires, so don’t expect what happens next. I lurch a few feet forward, then my tires start to spin wildly getting no traction, and my SUV begins to slide backwards with the tires kicking up baseball-sized rocks. I turn the wheel slightly hoping to avoid sliding into some big trees behind, but that maneuver results in the SUV starting to tilt on its side. Luckily I get the vehicle stopped before I roll it. I sit there shaking for a minute, having survived what felt like a near-death experience. It probably wasn’t that bad, but the look on Tom’s face says it all. We soon regroup, back up and take the rocky looking stretch which proves to not be as bad as it looked. But you get the picture–this is a route for 4WD vehicles with high clearance only and drivers with substantial experience on rough backcountry roads. Indeed, a better route may be through the Great Sand Dunes National Park. While there are some challenges with that way as well, such as several deep creek crossings and the notorious Sand Pit that can swallow unsuspecting vehicles and requires you to deflate your tires before proceeding then reinflate when you hit solid roadbed, at least you are closer to civilization if you need to walk out or get help.

Most Creek Crossings Are Navigable Except After Heavy Rains

Once over Medano Pass, however, we breathe much easier and can enjoy the spectacular fall scenery. The road in the National Park and Preserve proves to be much better maintained than in the national forest on the east side of Medano Pass.

The only challenges are a couple of stream crossings, but unless there has been a big rain they are easy in a high-clearance SUV. Within a few miles down off the pass, we come to a series of beaver ponds and a hidden stretch of open creek water below where I have done well on earlier trips.

That’s where we pull over and suit up. I am wearing chest waders and Tom his wet-wading knee-high outfit. Tom rigs up his 9-foot tenkara rod with a #14 soft hackled pheasant tail he will fish wet. It’s a pattern I have seen him catch numerous fish on. I have my short 7.5 foot 3# wand ready to go with a #18 Chubby Chernobyl dry and a #18 Dirk’s Delight green caddis larva dropper. By 9:45 we are bushwhacking towards a nice open stretch of the creek hidden downstream of the big beaver ponds. But as we reach our destination we find the busy beavers have been hard at work—they have built a series of small beaver dams that make casting very difficult. The dams have backed up water into the overhanging trees and bushes, and the new ponds are too deep or mucky to wade.

Fortunately, we can see the fish, some rising insouciantly beneath the overhanging bushes. Tom boldly fords the creek and crashes further downstream. Soon he is hooting and hollering that he has a good one. “First fish of the day—a cutt over 12 inches!” he shouts. Likely story I think! And he never snaps a photo or produces any other evidence of the event.

We head upstream and finally come to an open stretch that was a hot spot last year. The water is very low and clear, but with a careful approach we get within casting distance of the pool and have some fun sight fishing. We can see a half dozen fish looking upstream waiting for their next meal to float by. I give Tom first chance, and he immediately snaps off his pheasant tail in some bushes behind us. I wait patiently while he searches for a replacement in his fly box, but all he comes up with is a bushy #18 caddis dry fly. I have to stifle my chuckle, but then on his first cast he connects immediately. A beautiful small cutthroat.

Then it’s my turn, and on my first cast a colorful cutty nails the dry! Grand Slam!!

Beautiful Rio Grande Cutthroat Completes The Grand Slam!

From then on, it’s non-stop action for the beautiful natives. In a few minutes Tom manages to fool a gorgeous one, sporting a namesake bright reddish-orange slash on its throat, that goes almost a foot, one of the biggest of the day.

We continue on upstream and come to a challenging bend pool guarded by snags mid-stream. On previous trips it has produced some good-sized, feisty fish for me.

Tricky, Snag-Filled Bend Pool Holds Muscular Cutts

Being the gentleman fly fisherman, I motion for Tom to go first. He shows off his stealthy moves by creeping up to a spot on the opposite shore where he can flip his fly out without spooking the fish and still reach the honey hole between the snags. He sits quietly to let things settle down, then flicks a backhand cast that results in his fly alighting perfectly between the snags. In a flash, he’s onto a good fish. He lands that one and then fools two more from the same pool. Good show Mr. T!!

We continue upstream and come to my favorite long, open stretch of the creek just below an old big beaver dam. But of course, things have changed since last year. The beaver have constructed another big dam—almost 4 feet high–that has flooded the creek all the way up to the foot of the old beaver dam, creating a long linear pond 20 or so feet across. My heart sinks as I utter a few choice words. But hope springs eternal, so I begin to scale the new dam, a bold move by a septuagenarian. I manage to get near the top so I have enough clearance to cast but still keep low enough not to spook the fish….if there are any in the new pond.

I throw a long cast into the slow current, let the flies settle, then give my line a twitch. The water explodes as a good cutt gulps down the dry. He cavorts back and forth around the pond, then something almost jerks the rod out of my hand. Low and behold, another trout surfaces with the caddis larva in its jaw. He goes one way, the dry fly guy the other. It’s a fun battle, and I beam as I lift my line out of the water with two fish wriggling wildly. Soon they are swimming back to their pals.

Not to be denied, Tom hikes around the dam to get into the action from the shoreline. Together we get another couple dozen in short succession before we decide to take a lunch break around 12:30. We will hit the old beaver ponds above after feasting on the comestibles.

But the weather has other ideas. As we lounge over lunch, some ominous looking clouds start to roll in from the west along with gusty winds. Instead of flying the white flag, however, we decide to hustle back to the ponds and give them a try…and soon are catching more eager cutthroats in the new narrow pond where I scored the double. Next we do a highwire act along the old dam upstream till we come to an open spot were we can cast. Bingo, the fun continues! Tom, sans waders, has a little trouble reaching the best spots in deeper water offshore with his short line Tenkara rig, but I boldly wade in and am able to cast to some risers out of his reach and net a couple more. Retribution completed!

By now, however, the clouds start to spit rain and the wind is howling, sending us scurrying back to the SUV. It’s about 2:30 when we hit the road back to Westcliffe.

Rain Clouds and Gusty Winds Signal The End To A Fantastic Day

Again we enjoy the scenery with the aspen showing off their fall colors from bright yellow to flaming orange. And now that we know the rough spots on the road from the travails of the morning, the drive back going downhill from Medano Pass is definitely easier and more pleasant, especially with the Grand Slam accomplished. It’s been an enjoyable three days pursuing these beautiful fish in magical, remote surroundings, topped off with a good dose of camaraderie with Tenkara Tom today. After all, that’s what fly fishing is really all about.

November 5, 2024 hooknfly

The Quest For A Wet Mountain Valley Trout Grand Slam—Day 2

Fall 2024

For Day 1 of the Quest, see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/10/22/the-quest-for-a-wet-mountain-valley-trout-grand-slam-day-1/

After a long, successful day yesterday on my holy quest, I decide to stick closer to camp on Day 2. After all, I am halfway to a coveted grand slam—browns and rainbows already accounted for– and can relax a bit and chase some eager brookies just a few minutes from my camp.

I am roughing it in gentleman’s style, ensconced in my Keystone travel trailer at the outstanding Grape Creek RV park just south of Westcliffe, Colorado, a quiet campground with great views.

An added attraction is that a stretch of upper Grape Creek above DeWeese Reservoir runs right through the RV park. It’s only a few hundred yards down a slope from my camp site, and even better, it’s private water. I have fished here a couple of times in past years and know it harbors feisty, but skittish brookies. Grape Creek here is only a dozen feet wide and shallow in most stretches.

So after a leisurely breakfast and some lounging in the morning sun reading John Gierach’s Even Brook Trout Get The Blues, I saunter down to do some reconnaissance. After sizing things up creekside, I plan to drive the short distance into Westcliffe to scope out its shops and historic landmarks plus have lunch at one of my favorite establishments, Bootlegger’s Bistro.

It’s only a 10-minute stroll to the water. As I amble down the slope, I immediately spook some healthy, fine-looking deer—a mama and her yearling—hiding in the tall grass and bushes in a field to the north.

I snap a couple of photos before they prance away, then continue on down to check in with some equine buddies that expect some grassy cuisine for allowing me to pass through their corral to the creek.

Equine River Keepers

I emerge from the corral just downstream of a big beaver dam to find the water low and clear with small fish skedaddling to safety in a pool below the dam. I mount the dam carefully and continue upstream along the west shoreline, trudging through shallow water. I spot fish hiding under thick mats of aquatic vegetation and in small shady areas created by overhanging trees in a few scattered spots along the banks. This is going to be more challenging than I expected. I also pause to overturn some rocks on the creek bottom and find them crawling with caddis larva, which I expected, but not the cream-colored variety that I find.

Usually caddis larva on Grape Creek are the normal bright green variety which I imitate with my Dirk’s Delight green hotwire CDC beadhead concoction. That was certainly the ticket on lower Grape Creek yesterday. Fortunately when I get back to the trailer I confirm I have some reasonable facsimiles of the cream ones—Caddis Poobah Cream Beadheads–tucked in a big plastic box containing hundreds of spare flies, most of which I rarely use. Then it’s off to town.

Poobah Creem-Colored Caddis Larva Matches Local Bug

Westcliffe has a fascinating history, and a good place to start exploring is at the Custer County Welcome Center in the bustling downtown just one block south of the intersection of Main Street and Highway 69.

It’s only open Thursday through Saturday, but my timing is impeccable. I’m greeted by a friendly lady who tells me she is a summer resident/snowbird who volunteers at the center. After some pleasantries, she hands me a copy of the handsome Wet Mountain Valley guidebook, Custer County Past & Present.

I find it to be well-written and profusely illustrated, a veritable treasure trove of information, a Bonanza that’s free! Historic ranches like the fabled Beckwith spread, which is open to visitors, are covered in one section while others delve into the history of Custer County’s other towns–Wetmore and nearby Silver Cliff—plus offering a walking tour of Westcliffe’s historic buildings and landmarks. Another page chronicles the many famous western movies filmed in the valley with a closing page extolling the efforts preserve the striking night sky whose brilliant stars and constellations are astonishing. Then I am off on the tour, seeing historic sites like the Jones Theater that began as a saloon and pool hall in the 1800s and the Westcliffe jail, a calaboose built in 1888 for the princely sum of $330.

When my stomach starts to growl just after noon, I head for the Bootlegger’s Bistro on Main Street just around the corner from the welcome center.

I’m in luck and get a good table on the patio in the sun. My order is for the establishment’s famous Reuben sandwich along with a local brew from the great selection offered by the restaurant called Colorado Native Amber. Then it’s off to catch a brook trout.

Back at camp I rig up my light weight 7.5-foot wand with a #18 cream-colored Poobah caddis larva dangling 18 inches below a #18 Royal Stimulator, then descend to the creek under a warm, sunny sky. In that first pool below the beaver dam, a few fish dart away as I get close. So I kneel and throw a cast just below where the creek cascades around the dam into the pool.

Immediately the Stimi disappears, and I am onto a veritable leviathan—a 12-inch brookie erupts on the surface then cavorts around the pool, bending my three-weight rod double. But before long the colorful beauty is sliding into my net and posing for a quick pix.

Whew, the grand slam pressure is off—I am three quarters of the way home! Next cast, same result. Over the ensuing 15 minutes I catch another half dozen spunky brookies before the pool goes quiet.

Now I am ready for more hot action above in the beaver pond so I scale the dam and unfurl my line, expecting it to be lights out. But of course, I get nothing. Turns out the water in the pond is still with no obvious current. So I move on upstream to the mats of green aquatic vegetation where I see some nice brookies hiding in the shadows. But a dozen casts fail to lure them from their hiding places.

Green Aquatic Mats (In Foreground) Provide Good Impenetrable
Hiding Places For Brookies

I continue upstream above the underwater vegetation. It is a long shallow stretch I scouted this morning punctuated by a couple of small trees that overhang the water creating shaded pools with some depth. And right on time, I spot a couple of risers as I move carefully into position. My first cast falls short, but the second manages to elude the clutches of the branches and settles daintily at the upper end of the pool.

Streamside Trees Provide Shady, Cool Refuges For Wary Brookies

The Stimi glides gracefully down the current, under the branches, and into the shadows and deeper water. BAM, a brookie smacks the Stimi and is soon joined by one of his buddies who can’t resist the caddis dropper zipping around the pool—a fun double. I catch a couple more before moving up to the next shady spot against the bank. Like the first, it is challenging to avoid the snags, but whenever I lay one in there, a brookie feasts.

I continue upstream and hit a couple more shady spots and catch a few more, smaller brookies, then come to the fence on the upper boundary of the property. It’s 3:30 p.m. so decide to end the day, take a shower, and grab a little nap, knowing I just need a cutthroat to complete the slam. If I can survive the bone-jarring, teeth-rattling treacherous drive over Medano Pass tomorrow, I know my odds are good for catching a native Rio Grande Cutthroat in Medano Creek hidden deep in the reaches of the Wet Mountains at the south end of the valley. That will give me some things to think about tonight and prepare for as I enjoy a glass of wine and watch the sunset….and the moon rise over the Wet Mountain Valley.

August 28, 2024 hooknfly

The Search For The Elusive San Luis Valley Rio Grande Cutthroats Continues

August 2024

For Day 1 of my most recent search for elusive San Luis Valley cutthroats, see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/08/25/colorados-san-luis-valley-stronghold-of-the-rare-rio-grande-cutthroat/

For a sampling of some other of my Rio Grande Cutthroat adventures in the San Luis Valley, see http://hooknfly.com/2019/09/27/lake-fork-of-the-conejos-river-solitude-in-a-sanctuary-for-rare-rio-grande-cutthroat-trout/ ; http://hooknfly.com/2021/09/14/prospecting-for-trout-on-the-fab-five-forks-of-the-conejos-river-2-the-adams-fork/

Prelude: The comeback story of the endangered Rio Grande Cutthroat is an encouraging one. Once found in waters throughout the Rio Grande River drainage in southern Colorado and northern New Mexico and even in the Pecos River in Texas, its range had shrunk to less than ten percent of the historic area due to a variety of causes like habitat destruction and introduction of invasive species like rainbow and brook trout. But a cooperative effort by government agencies like the federal Fish and Wildlife Service and Colorado Parks and Wildlife as well as conservation groups such as Trout Unlimited has brought this stunningly beautiful fish back from the brink.

One of the pure delights of the angling adventures of this aging septuagenarian fly fisher has been to sample several of the streams in the San Luis Valley like Medano Creek in the Great Sand Dunes National Preserve and the Adams and Lake Fork of the Conejos River that provide safe harbor for this striking, rare fish. I am infatuated with its gorgeous colors and as much by the wild country where the Rio Grande Cutts survive and thrive, streams that you have to work to get to and offer quiet solitude upon arrival.

Rio Grande Cutthroat From A Remote Creek In The San Luis Valley

Given its status, I am extra cautious in following any applicable state regulations (e.g., flies only, catch and release) and handle each catch with extreme care before returning the fish to the water.

Recently, in doing some on-line research about the current status of recovery efforts, I stumbled on a couple of interesting reports from 2008 and 2016 entitled “The Range-Wide Status of Rio Grande Cutthroat Trout.” The 100-page plus studies, put together by a team of state and federal wildlife and land management agencies and the Jicarilla Apache Tribe, identified a host of smaller, little known creeks and streams that were documented as having viable Rio Grande Cutthroat populations along with summaries of efforts to protect and improve habitat for the trout. Illustrative maps depicted the stretches of these waters that held viable Rio Grande Cutthroat populations.

Three caught my eye in Saguache County, Colorado, that marked the northern most range of the Rio Grande Cutthroat—Jacks, Cross, and East Middle Creeks, lying just south of the Continental Divide and the range of the Greenback Cutthroats over the mountains in the Arkansas River drainage. All three are in the drainage of Saguache Creek, on of my favorite trout streams. The reports stated that there were decent populations of the fish—from 150 to 400/mile–in each water with fair but suitable habitat. In one—East Middle Creek, a tributary of Middle Creek—the reports noted the existence of a stream barrier high in the upper sections of the creek such as waterfall or a small dam/drop structure to protect cutthroat populations from intrusion by invasive species like brook trout from below. (cp004 in the map below) These creeks are located close together about a dozen miles or so west of the small town of Saguache and just over an hour’s drive from my cabin near Salida, Colorado. Who could resist exploring? Do those streams still hold the rare Rio Grande Cutthroats?

On Day One of my quest in July, I reconnoitered Cross, Jacks, and Middle Creeks. It was an enjoyable outing, and the brook trout were very cooperative on Middle Creek. (For Day 1 Follies, see http://hooknfly.com/2024/08/25/colorados-san-luis-valley-stronghold-of-the-rare-rio-grande-cutthroat/ ) But the cutthroat proved elusive. I started to question whether any of the cutts existed this far north in the San Luis Valley. Supposedly they survived high up in East Middle Creek, several miles above the confluence with Middle Creek, but I was beginning to have my doubts. The only way to find out was to break out the hiking boots and fly rods and hit the trail.

Day 2: Searching for the Elusive East Middle Creek Cutthroats

A month later in early August, I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. In a disturbing dream I had fished for days on end nonstop on East Middle Creek, searching for the elusive Rio Grande Cutthroats reputed to be there, but had been skunked time and again. A true angler’s nightmare. From past experience, I knew the only antidote was to plan a trip post haste to East Middle Creek to prove the cutts are really there. And I would need a witness, so in the morning I rang my ace photographer friend Jody Bol to accompany me and document their existence.

A couple of weeks later we are bouncing up CR 38FF towards the Middle Creek trailhead. The road is rougher in spots than last month and pocked by occasional mudholes from all the rain the area has been getting during the so-called monsoon season—maybe a grand total of a couple of inches, which is substantial for this high mountain valley desert. I have checked the State Of Colorado on-line flow gauge for Saguache Creek downstream as none exist for Middle or East Middle Creeks. It shows that Saguache Creek is running high which may be a good indicator that there will be enough water in the smaller tributaries that are shallow this time of year under normal circumstances.

Soon we come to the trailhead and prepare our gear for what will be a day-long outing of about eight miles roundtrip to the supposed cutthroat lair and back.

I am going to wet wade today so pull on my new Simms Flyweight fishing boots designed for hiking as well as wading. I will be carrying only one rod, a short 7.5 foot wand that should be easier to cast with in the tight quarters of East Middle Creek. I have rigged it with a #16 bushy Royal Stimulator that produced well back in July. It’s a reasonable facimile of the grasshoppers clacking loudly as the flitter about, and more importantly it floats like a battleship and can be seen easily by aging eyes.

We hit the trail around 9:30 a.m. for the first mile of hiking along Middle Creek to the confluence with East Middle where the cutthroat allegedly swim.

The weather is 60 degrees under a beautiful cloudless Colorado bluebird sky. The trail is a bit damp in spots and lined with an abundance of gorgeous wildflowers—blue asters, dwarf mountain goldenrods, and lupines.

Jody disappears from time-to-time to snap photos. In a herculean exhibition of will, I refrain from sneaking down the slope to Middle Creek where I can see fish rising in the alluring beaver ponds that yielded many will brook trout on my last trip up here in July.

Iron Will Resists MIddle Creek Beaver Pond Temptation

We cover the route to the confluence in about 45 minutes and come to the spot above the confluence where the trail crosses East Middle Creek and then splits. The water is running a bit lower than a month ago but is clear and cold. We decide to take a quick break and a sip from our water bottles. Of course, now I can’t resist at least one cast…ok, maybe a few…into the inviting bend pool! Back in July I caught a scrappy brookie here, but maybe there’s a cutthroat in there fraternizing with the invaders from the eastern USA. My first cast is a bit short, and the fly skirts the edge of the pool in water only a few inches deep. No dice. I lengthen my line a few feet and recast. This time the Stimi alights close against the bank above the pool and swirls enticingly into the deeper water. There’s a flash, and I am onto an lively fish, but alas I can see from its orange trimming that it’s a brook trout.

After some quick pix of the spunky fish, we cross over the water and follow the trail a short distance where it splits. To the left would take us to the west back to where the trail intersects and then follows Middle Creek to the north. We turn to the right and hike the trail as it parallels East Creek upstream to the reputed cutthroat water. The hike is a pleasant one with a generally modest grade and a cool breeze blowing. The wildflower show seems to get even more incredible as we climb, carpeting the edges of the trail and slopes with gentle beauty.

Our plan is to descend to the creek whenever we spy a relatively open stretch with sufficient depth and that isn’t overgrown so I can safely cast a fly and that might hold some prized cutthroats. For the first half hour or so, they are few and far between. Most of the creek is hidden in thickets of willows, tree branches, and fallen logs. But where I can find a stretch that has some pools that will provide a hideout for trout and I can manage to thread my casts over logs and dodge overhanging branches or have enough elbow room to try an unorthodox downstream float, the trout are there and hungry. Every short stretch produces two or three. Unfortunately, they are not cutthroats, but chunky brookies that can’t resist the Stimi that they mistake for one of the grasshoppers buzzing about everywhere.

We continue on for another mile, sampling the stream whenever we find a decent-sized opening in the thicket. But it’s more brookies which have taken over the creek en masse. Then just when I am getting despondent about the chances of finding any cutthroats we come to a picture-perfect active big beaver pond complete with a photogenic beaver lodge.

Trout are rising steadily in the center of the pond. The dam is definitely large and high enough that it could be the barrier that stops the brookie invasion. Fearlessly, I start to work my way across the beaver dam to get within casting distance of the risers, all the while doing do my best imitation of a tight-rope walker. To make things more dicey, the beaver have chinked the top of the dam with mud to stop any leaks. Somehow I survive the gooey mess and carefully unfurl a cast that astonishingly avoids snagging in the trees that are lined up below the dam. I let the fly settle then strip it in slowly across the surface. A couple of twitches and the water explodes as a decent-sized fish tries to devour the fly. He misses. I reload and throw another cast that is intercepted in the clutches of a dastardly willow tree behind me. I issue some choice expletives then miraculously pull the offending branch close enough that I can wriggle the fly loose. A good omen, as my next offering alights near where a good fishing has been rising, and he immediately gulps down my offering. My rod bends nicely as the fish jumps then dives for safety of a pile of submerged logs. In preparation for a celebratory cutthroat trout, I do my patented sashaying 360 degree pirouette retrieve, and after a good battle, he relents.

My blood pressure spikes as I await the verdict…. brookie or cutthroat?. Aarghh!! Another chunky brookie has eaten the Stimi!

Five casts and five fish later—all brook trout—I dejectedly begin navigating back across the beaver dam, an impressive high-wire act reminiscent of the famous Flying Wallendas, to renew the search for cutthroats further upstream.

Septuagenarian Death Wish

Soon the high peak of Mount Antora, an almost 14-teener, peeks above the horizon signaling the headwaters of East Middle Creek can’t be far ahead.

Mount Antora Above On The Continental Divide

In another half mile the creek hangs a turn to the south and heads up a steep ravine flanked by the trail high above. My resolve is wavering on whether to continue further up a series of switchbacks when I come to a sign from Colorado Parks and Wildlife featuring a handsome Rio Grande Cutthroat and catch and release regulations. Has to be an good omen so I continue up the switchbacks that climb up the steep slope. Hope springs eternal!

The climb in my heavy wading/hiking boots is no picnic in my now soaking wet, so-call flyweight wading boots. But I can hear the creek roaring over a hundred feet below and can see a series of enchanting clear pools.

Huffing And Puffing Up The Switchbacks (Disclaimer: That’s My Waterproof Phone Gear Around My Waist, Not A Belly Fat Roll!)

Then in the canyon below I spot what we have been looking for—the brook trout barrier in the form of a four-foot waterfall that probably is high enough to stop the invaders.

After the series of steep switchbacks, the trail soon reaches a plateau at almost 10,000 feet elevation then descends a short distance down an easy slope to the creek which is nestled in a small valley above the waterfall. The gradient here is much gentler, and the creek is less overgrown. The casting will still be in tight quarters and there are big logs toppled into the water here and there, but mercifully more open water without the heavy bushwhacking I had to do downstream of the waterfall.

The first pool looks promising and immediately a fish pushing at least two inches bumps the fly with her nose repeatedly, nibbling away. I have to laugh—talk about eyes being bigger than her stomach. I carefully recast a little further up in the pool. This time the fly disappears as a good trout smacks it and dives.

It’s a stout fighter and as it thrashes on the surface looks to be a veritable leviathan of 10-11 inches! The battle continues and I catch a silvery glint as the fish rolls—something you wouldn’t expect from a brook trout. BINGO! As the fish slides closer, I see the hallmark orange slash along its throat, a wild, grand Rio Grande Cutthroat!! I’m beaming—all that trudging and bushwhacking has paid off. A quick photo, and the cutthroat scoots back to his lair.

The Beautiful, Elusive Rio Grande Cutthroat

Now I pause and reflect. It feels like a near-religious experience to gently cradle such a beautiful, rare creature in my hand in the northern most reaches of his kind.

Appreciating The Beauty And The History, Contemplating The Future

I think of his lineage, a long line of ancestors that have plied these waters through the centuries. Of the Utes and other Native Americans who were stewards of this land and water and how they and the cutthroat trout lived together for decades in a balanced nature before the white man intruded. I take consolation that there is a strong coalition of conservation groups and federal and state agencies like Colorado Parks and Wildlife that are successfully protecting the Rio Grande Cutthroats today and rebuilding its numbers in dozens of waters throughout its range in Colorado and New Mexico. I tip my hat to them and look forward to reporting more in the future about how their handiwork is paying off here on remote East Middle Creek and elsewhere in the San Luis Valley, a gift to future generations.

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.

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.

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.

July 2, 2024July 13, 2024 hooknfly

Mobile Fish Camp Shakedown Cruise: The Fishing–Act 2

June 2024

My trip to the Cochetopa Creek/Dome Lake State Wildlife Areas continues with a day on Lower Archuleta Creek and another day hunting for trout upstream in the tributaries of Cochetopa Creek. For Act 1/Days One and Two see http://hooknfly.com/2024/06/24/mobile-fish-camp-shakedown-cruise-the-bad-the-good-and-the-fish-in-two-acts/

Day Three: Lower Archuleta Creek

I am up early the next morning to greet Mr. Sol. I am anxious to try the lower section of Archuleta that has been good to me in the past. But with the temperature in the low 40s and the wind still kicking up, I judiciously decide to await the warming rays of the sun to do their job.

Sunrise Over Campsite And Upper Dome Lake

By 9:00 a.m. things are looking better, and I strike out. I wave to my Florida white pelican fan club as I cruise around Upper Dome Lake and then head downstream on CR NN14. I pass the turnout where I reconnoitered yesterday and continue another quarter mile or so where I park on the side of a wide spot in the road. Soon I am suited up in my waders, and today I carry two rods, the 4# rod rigged with the just the Royal Stimulator that has been a hit with the trout and the shorter 3# rod with a #16 Royal Trude and a sparkle caddis larva dropper just in case they aren’t hitting the dry today.

Day Three; The Chosen Three Flies–Royal Stimulator, Chubby Chernobyl, And Sparkle Caddis Larva Nymph

I slide down the steep bank and begin to gracefully tiptoe through the barbed wire fence that is tilted at a precarious angle just barely off the ground. My long legs should have no problem I think as I step adroitly over a couple of strands. Soon I am congratulating myself on my gymnastic ability, but then I notice a rip in my waders about knee high where a sharp barb has done its silent dirty work. Grrrr! The rip is about a half inch long, indicating the potential for wet socks in the not-too-distant future.

Shaking off this inauspicious start, I head downstream through the boggy terrain to the confluence of Archuleta with the larger Cochetopa Creek. While I know Cochetopa is high, I am not prepared for the turbulent, raging torrent that greets me.

Confluence Of Archuleta (on left) And Cochetopa Creeks

I have often waded easily across Cochetopa just below the confluence, which would now be a risk of life adventure. The good news is that the wind has died down a bit and while annoying from time-to-time today, casting won’t be a major hassle.

I unfurl the 4# rod and flick the Stimi upstream into a quiet pocket in Archuleta Creek just above the confluence. Pandemonium ensues as a dozen or more fish hiding in the pocket spy me and start darting in and out of their hideaway. I had gotten careless and didn’t kneel or stand back from the bank. After a period of self-flagellation, I calm down, kneel down, and flick my fly 20 feet upstream into a nice run below a riffle.

Looking Upstream On Archuleta Creek Above Confluence

A substantial brown trout gulps down the Stimi like he is starving, no hesitation whatsoever. Two more follow in quick succession. The action is fast as I continue upstream, but I must move cautiously as the water is crystal clear.

I come to a long shallow stretch and am about ready to cross over the stream to get a better casting angle at the upcoming bend pool when I see something big rise and gobble something down against the opposite shoreline in a dark little depression no more than a couple of feet long. My first cast is a flub, too far out in the thin current, but my second alights just a few inches from the shoreline, and my dry swirls into the dark spot. The denizen pounces on the Stimi as I watch transfixed. He disappears back into the shadow as I wake up and set the hook. The trout erupts into the air and blasts off upstream. My reel is screaming as I bail into the water in hot pursuit. Trout are scattering every which way in front of me as I apply the brakes and force the muscular brownie to reverse course. Before long I ease him into my net. He goes a tad over 16-inches, a nice trophy in this small water.

Big Brownie From Against Far Shoreline In Shallow Stretch

I release the handsome fish, then decide it’s time to enjoy the scene and have a little snack. Beautiful yellow wild sweet peas are blooming in profusion along the bank, and wild iris dot the wet meadow.

I spot some pronghorn grazing up above on the slopes of the Cochetopa Dome. All is framed by a brilliant blue bird Colorado sky. But before long the next bend pool beckons.

I decide to try the dry/dropper rig, and catch a few on the sparkle caddis larva, but the Stimi continues to rule. Another bend pool looms ahead, but this one will be tricky as a couple of overhanging bushes will demand a pinpoint cast to drop the fly into the current along the far shoreline without getting snagged. I carefully gauge the distance, execute a couple of false casts, and send the dry to alight daintily right in the upper bush. I utter a few expletives, but instead of jerking the line hard, a give it the lightest of tugs, and the fly falls delicately right into the honey hole.

Brownie Bush!!

It immediately disappears in a small geyser of water as another big brownie dines noisily. The trout bores deep into the hole, but I manage to ease him away from the snags and soon he relents, a 15-incher.

It’s approaching noon by now and my stomach is growling, but I decided to fish another pool before breaking out the beef stick, granola bar, and peanuts. There’s a riffle midstream above that cascades into a good-looking pool with some depth. I throw my cast upstream of the riffle and watch the fly bounce jauntily through the turbulent water. Then it disappears in a swirl. I raise the rod quickly and the fish is hooked. It’s a chunky brook trout, the first I see today.

I continue fishing post snack until about 2 p.m., when I come to the stile below the turnout. It’s taken me a good four hours to work only about a half mile of intriguing winding water up from the confluence. As I scramble up the slope to the road, I turn and tip my hat to the wonderful waters of Archuleta Creek. Later this afternoon I will be heading to Gunnison to gas up the SUV for the trip tomorrow and partake of my annual chicken fried steak dinner there.

Day Four: Exploring Four Fine Finny Tributaries of Cochetopa Creek

With Cochetopa Creek blown out, running at over 130 cfs, I decide to devote my last day of fishing exploring one of its major four tributaries between my campsite on Dome Lake and the Eddiesville South Trailhead 20 plus miles upstream to the west—Pauline, Perfecto, Chavez, and Nutras Creeks. Several have good meadow sections, but I am particularly interested in checking out the big beaver ponds they harbor, all of which have been productive on past trips. Can you figure out which one I choose??

I am up early and on the road by 8 a.m. I drive up CR 14DD, the Eddiesville Road that once was a major route over the mountains to Lake City and other booming gold and silver mining areas in the 1870s. I am in my 4WD SUV, but the road is usually in good enough condition to be negotiable by a sedan—except after heavy rains.

I start out being treated to an incredible sight of thousands of sheep moving across a meadow of the Quarter Circle Ranch, replete with a sheep wagon that houses the flock’s sheepherder.

Soon I cross the bridge over raging Cochetopa Creek and then a hundred feet further on the brim-full Pauline Creek just above the confluence of the two waters. Then it’s up a steep uphill where I am greeted by a couple of pronghorn bucks grazing nonchalantly in a meadow. Before long I come to the turnoff to Pauline Creek canyon where I have had good days on some big beaver ponds.

I decide to continue, thinking maybe I will come back later after my recon is complete. Soon I dip down into the valley above the canyon and cross the upper stretch of Pauline which is running hard but clear.

A few miles further up the road I am treated to magnificent views of the snow-covered peaks of the eastern San Juan mountains—San Luis at 14,022 feet and Steward at 13,983 feet.

Then I drop down into another valley where I see the enticing beaver ponds of Perfecto Creek but keep going. Before long I cross Chavez and Nutras Creek, both looking good with strong, clear flows and featuring some alluring beaver ponds. What’s an angler to do??

I ponder a bit then head to the chosen creek. I turn off the Eddiesville Road onto a rough two track that leads to a ridge overlooking the curvaceous creek below in a broad valley. I suit up and start the descent, heading downstream where I know there are a series of five big beaver ponds that harbor 20-inch brown trout.

I follow a game trail on the west side of the valley that soon narrows, now flanked by some impressive rock walls with steep pine covered slopes across on the east side. I get a nice early surprise when I look down and see a new beaver pond with signs of recent activity courtesy of the wizards of gnaws. I decide to catch it on my way back upstream after hitting the big beaver ponds below.

I feel the joy of wilderness and solitude as I continue on. There isn’t a boot mark on the narrow game trail, only hoof prints of deer, antelope, and maybe moose. The aspen are just popping, spring coming late in the high country. Showy wild iris are blooming wherever there is a wet spot along the trail.

Suddenly I hear the clatter of hoofs up above the trail and turn just in time to see two big buck pronghorn skedaddling the opposite direction. I do my best imitation of a crow, and that stops one of the curious boys in his tracks. He turns slowly to size up the intruder. I smile and snap a couple of photos as he slowly walks closer. I ask him how things are going. He wheels and jets away.

The trail edges higher up the slope and gives me a glimpse of the five beaver ponds stair-stepping down into the canyon. My fishing fever is boiling over as I step up the pace. In a half mile I am above one of the ponds and bushwhack my way down to the water, but a big surprise awaits. There’s a major gap in the dam where a flood has blown it out. The water in the pond is barely knee deep, and I don’t see a fish anywhere. I make a few casts here and there where the water looks deeper, but it’s no dice. So I work my way upstream to the next dam where the scene is repeated. This one is a real heartbreaker–when I last trekked here five years ago it was one of the most scenic beaver ponds I had ever seen, complete with a picturesque lodge. And I had caught a 20” brown standing on the dam that is now breached in a couple of spots. Nary a fish is in sight as I wade up the current throwing a cast here and there with little hope.

The Heartbreak Of Blown Out
Beaver Ponds

It takes me almost hour to work my way back up to the first pond I had spotted at the start of my hike that looked to be of recent construction. Three other ponds had met the same fate as the lower two, gaps ripped in the dams leaving very little holding water. I had failed to spot a fish the whole time, either in the leftover puddles or creek stretches in between the breached dams.

But then I see a rise in the new pond–hope springs eternal. I decide to forego lunch for the time being and navigate down the slope to the water. I wade in carefully between the trees and brush that appear to have been inundated only recently.

The bottom is unusually firm for a beaver pond, another indication that the dam is fairly new. I choose my shorter rod that will make it easier to avoid all the limbs and branches around me when casting and flip out the Stimi/sparkle caddis dry/dropper rig a few feet while adjust my drag and lengthen my line. WHAM, something immediately gulps down the caddis dropper and tugs away. Of course I miss the eager fish, but I can’t help chuckle. I wade out a tad further and flip the flies upstream into the inlet flow. Immediately the dry is yanked under as another fish eats the caddis dropper. It’s a frisky brook trout pushing 12 inches. He jumps and dives, but eventually relents. The first fish of the day, the skunk vanquished. I quickly release and reload and this time another brookie, a bit smaller, nails the dry. Then another.

I throw a couple of long casts across the current down towards the dam where the water appears darker and deeper. I slowly coax the flies back into the current and watch a bigger brookie poking after the dry, but he won’t take. I also see a couple of rises by the dam but can’t reach the spot from this angle because of all the intervening trees and bushes. Beaver ponds are never easy! If I want to reach that sweet looking water I will have to wade across the inlet stream above, navigate around some bushes at the upper end of the pond, clamber up a steep slope around a thicket, then slide back down to the water near the dam. Exhibiting some impressive septuagenarian gymnastic moves, I succeed in navigating to the opposite side of the pond with only minor scratches and bruises.

The water is indeed deeper on this side as discover when it laps at my waist only 10 feet from the shoreline. I decide to rerig my 4# rod with a beadhead olive wooly bugger with a Psycho Prince dropper. The weighted olive bugger will make sure the flies get down deep where I suspect the bigger fish are hiding. And they are. On the first cast towards the dam, I let the flies sink to the count of six and something immediately intercepts with a light tug before I start the retrieve. I miss connecting. It takes me awhile to get the hang of it with these fish, but soon a nice almost foot-long brookie is coming to the net, having succumbed to the allure of the Psycho Prince.

I have to be ready to set the hook whenever there is the slightest tug or even just a momentary tightening of the line. Oddly for brookies, only a few strikes are hard and bold. The brookies seem to like both the wooly bugger and prince equally, and before long I have caught and released more than a dozen of the spunky fish, including a couple of bigger ones. They were hiding in the deeper water that was flowing across the face of the dam to the outlet at the east corner of the pond. Interestingly, I don’t catch any brown trout that used to dominate the ponds in the canyon. Washed away in the floods that breached the dams??

It’s early afternoon now and my thoughts are turning to the cold RC Cola back across the pond in my little cooler bag. I start working back across the pond and pick up a couple more brookies at the inlet stream on the Stimi and sparkle caddis larva. I also spot what looks to be a beaver lodge in the early stages of construction amongst a tangle of flooded trees. Freshly cut branches litter the ground around it. I have never seen a lodge built in such a concealed location and will be interested to see what it looks like the next time I am here and the beaver have completed their new home.

The sun is hot now, and I climb towards a cliff on the west side of the canyon that will provide a some welcome shade. On the way up I run into two grasshoppers making whoopie. It seems early in the season to see hoppers, but I decide after lunch I will try a Chubby Chernobyl dry fly in the meadow above the canyon. The little nook in the cliff turns out to be a good spot to relax, with a peaceful view up and down the valley and a bonus of rock art work thanks to a colony of fungus.

After lunch I continue upstream along the trail for five minutes then cut down to where I can hear the creek gurgling and gushing. I get lucky and emerge just below a narrow section where the remains of a beaver dam have backed up water in a nice pool below a bend in the creek. I start to cast and out of nowhere a mama moose and two calves come crashing out of the thicket of willows and bushes just above the pool. Fortunately, the big mama decides to run away upstream rather than confronting the intruder. I wait a few minutes to let my nerves settle, then aim a cast at the head of the pool where the current spins in. A nice brook trout nails the Chubby and puts up a scrappy battle. I get a few more looks and flashes in the pool, but no solid hits.

I ease around the pool and start casting upstream in the rushing creek. Fortunately the Chubby is so buoyant that it floats like a battleship and is easy to see with its big white wing. Apparently the fish can see it as well because a burly brown laying in a foam line below a riffle smashes the fly. It’s a respectable 13-inch fish and will be the only brownie I catch all day. The brook trout have taken over since my last visit!

I continue to pick up brookies here and there as I emerge from the canyon, out of the thicket, and into a broad meadow. I have been singing loudly the whole time to make sure I don’t surprise the mama moose, which can be exceedingly truculent when protecting their calves. My ditty went something like this (to the tune of Be Kind To Your Fine Feathered Friends Cause a Duck Maybe Somebody’s Mother): “Be kind to your silver-haired friends, because an old codger may be somebody’s grandpa.” Well definitely not a top 40 hit, but it scared the mama moose and her babies out of the thicket, into the open, then tearing back down the valley.

I continue into the meadow which is sop and wet from the creek which is overflowing its banks in spots from the runoff, but still fairly clear and fishable. The meadow is carpeted with wild iris and striking white marsh marigolds.

I approach the first bend pool stealthily and using my #3 weight short rod with only the Chubby dry fly cast from my knees. The faux hopper swirls into the deepest part of the pool and is promptly wolfed down by a hungry brook trout that goes about 10 inches. Over the next half hour another dozen or so scrappy brookies cannot resist what looks to be a good meal.

However, nary a brown joins the feast in that pool and several that followed upstream—a stretch that produced many just early last summer. I am still puzzling over that. I am contemplating spending another hour on the stream when I hear some thunder coming from the dark clouds that have scudded over the mountains. A few drops of rain start to fall, so I decide I better hightail it back to the SUV just at the top of the hill. The wind kicks up but the rain doesn’t amount too much.

Rain Clouds And Thunder Threaten But Pass On By

Soon I am back on the Eddiesville Road heading to camp. On the way I admire the lupines that are showing their colors all along the road, and right on que another antelope scoots into view to bid me adieu.

It’s been a relaxing and fun four days, notwithstanding the rookie-type mistakes with the mobile fish camp. The angling Gods have been beneficient.