January 15, 2025January 15, 2025 hooknfly

2024 Retrospective: The Satisfying, The Surprising, The Scary And Slightly Senescent

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!

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.

September 30, 2024October 1, 2024 hooknfly

Seven Savvy Small Stream Fishing Tips

October 2024

INTRODUCTION:

As my fishing friends and readers know, I am a small stream aficionado and devotee. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against big waters like the Arkansas River near my cabin outside Salida, Colorado, despite the float boat hatch in summers that is maddening for those of us who prefer to wade rather than row. I just prefer the solitude and wild nature of the small streams I like to search out, not to mention eager fish. Okay, Okay…being shallower and smaller, I must admit they are also easier for a shambling septuagenarian like me to navigate.

But while small streams can be easier to navigate and their denizens usually cooperative, they come with their own special challenges—tight casting quarters, plentiful snags, and shallow and clear water with spooky fish just to mention a few. Here are some tips that will help ensure successful outings and hopefully help build the constituencies to protect these often lesser known, but precious waters.

Tip #1: Before plunging into the water, take time to check out the insect life in and around the stream.

Because of their diminutive size and often remote locations with challenging environments ranging from high elevations to deep canyons, small streams often have a more limited and specialized selection of the victuals trout prefer. That’s why while walking to the creek a smart angler will keep an eye out for terrestrials like grasshoppers and ants. In the summer hoppers are an especially delectable and popular treat, providing a good meal for the smaller fish usually found in small streams.

Clacking Of Grasshoppers = Trout Dinner Bell

Next, instead of casting immediately in that first pool, wade out downstream and check under rocks for aquatic bugs like caddis, mayfly, and stonefly larvae and nymphs. Then choose the fly or flies that are reasonable facsimiles.

A good example is a recent trip to upper Grape Creek near Westcliffe, Colorado. I usually use a green- colored caddis larva dropper on Grape Creek to match the abundant green caddis larva lurking in the stream bed. But in this new section I hadn’t fished before, I found cream-colored caddis larva in abundance, not green. I dug into my fly box and was lucky to find a couple of cream-colored beadhead flies that were reasonable facimiles. I tied one on , and on the very first cast it was gulped down by a nice brookie. More soon followed. Would a green-colored larva worked? Maybe, but a little investigation paid off.

Cream Vs. The Typical Green Caddis Larva

Tip #2: Stay out of the stream if possible—avoid those bad vibrations.

Unlike larger rivers where the angler must often plunge in and wade to reach the best pools/runs, in small streams the most inviting and productive water can often be reached with a short cast without getting your waders wet—a good strategy illustrated by a recent experience on tiny Archuleta Creek in southern Colorado. I was hiking on a ridge above the stream, which has always been challenging but productive, planning to cut down to the water in a little gully ahead. But another old guy had beaten me to the punch, so before pushing on downstream a good distance, I decided to take a break and watch him fish. I was a bit surprised to see him wading in and up the creek, then saw his water buffalo wading technique was literally sending shock waves upstream into the bend pools he was targeting. On a good stretch I had done well on in the past, in over 15 minutes he hooked just one fish. His sloshing around had sent out bad vibrations. It was a reminder to think Beach Boys—sending out good vibrations to the fish with succulent flies and minimum ripples, creating some excitation instead of miniature tidal waves. After watching the show, I proceeded downstream for a quarter mile and started fishing back up. Thirty minutes later I hit the stretch the other senior gent had plowed through and had a ball carefully fishing the water and catching a half dozen nice brownies, one scaling 14 inches.

A recent outing on a stream in the San Luis Valley loaded with Rio Grande Cutthroats teaches the same lesson. The water was clear and extremely low, but my fishing buddy Tom Palka managed to catch (and release) three beautiful cutties from a postage-stamp sized pool by creeping carefully to a hidden spot in the grass below the pool then executing backhand casts from a sitting position. If he had stood up instead, the trout would have likely fled to the next county!

Cautious Approach And Low Profile Casting…

Tip #3: Stoop to conquer…

Avoiding bad vibrations is just one advantage of staying out of the water and being careful when casting from the shoreline. The best holding lies in small creeks are often shallower than in big rivers, and if the water is clear and you are wading standing upright either on the shoreline or in the stream it’s guaranteed the fish have a good chance of seeing you moving or will spy your shadow. What’s the remedy? KNEEL!! Where the stream is especially small or water very clear consider kneeling on the shoreline or in the water before casting. Keep in mind the famous line from the Oliver Goldsmith play from the late 1700s: “She stoops to conquer,” meaning someone who accepts behavior being viewed as beneath one’s abilities or station in life but achieves some greater purpose as a result.

If savvy septuagenarian anglers, creaky knees and all, have learned to kneel to conquer–so can you!

But you say, what of your aching knees on those sharp, hard streambed rocks? I am sympathetic, and that’s why I buy Dry Plus waders at Cabela’s—one of few that comes with handy dandy knee pads built in as a standard feature. Try them, you will see the advantages plus you won’t have to spend a wad of money for these durable and reasonably priced waders.

Tip #4: Use a shorter rod and shorter leaders/droppers, especially with creeks featuring heavy streamside vegetation or overhanding trees and bushes.

Like most anglers, the standard rod I use in rivers is a light-to-medium weight 8.5-foot wand. I also opt for it on smaller waters like Saguache Creek that don’t have a lot of streamside vegetation. But increasingly on small streams where I will be casting in close quarters with overhanding trees or tall shoreline brush and grass and other vegetation, my choice is a short 7.5-footer. The shorter rod allows me to backcast with less chance of hangups and avoid the cloying branches and bushes the longer rod seems to enjoy.

The same is true of leaders and dropper size. In small streams with tight quarters, there is simply not much room to false cast or even just flip the fly out with a quick flick of the rod. Similarly, long droppers that work on big water to get to bottom where the big fish are will elicit expletives on smaller streams as your fly alights perfectly in the target pool but the dropper ends up in tall bristly grass, rose bushes, etc., etc!

But I would be disingenuous if I did mention the tenkara lesson I received from friend Tom Palka. We were fishing a tiny backcountry creek that was barely three feet wide in many places and lined with grass and assorted snags three feet high. I was having the devil of a time casting even with my smaller rod without hanging up in the streamside vegetation. But with his 10-foot tenkara rod young Mr. Palka (only 50 or so years of age) could simple reach out over streamside grass and gently his parachute his fly easily into the best holes. As he landed three fish to my every one, this cheeky youngster schooled me.

Tenkara Tom Gets Close To Fish With
10-foot Rod!

Same story with leaders. Long leaders and droppers that often work best on big rivers to reach big fish in deeper holes will often end up in streamside grass and handing from snags on smaller streams. I find that 7.5-foot 5X or 6X leaders with shorter 18-inch dropper work fine.

Tip #5: Learn the light-touch twister tug and snap roll cast to save your fly from snags

Before I learned a little trick from my fishing buddy, Bob Wayne, my normal response to getting my fly entangled in streamside branches or grass, in addition to uttering expletives, was to give my rod a sharp upward jerk in hopes that it would rip the fly out of the grasp of the dastardly snag. My success rate was about 20% at best. Then one day I watched Mr. Wayne rescue fly after fly deposited in streamside vegetation by errant casts. Instead of yanking the rod straight up as seems natural, he would aim his rod directly at snag, tighten the line taught, and then twist his wrist as he gave it a gentle tug or two straight back. Twist and tug! His success rate in saving his flies was an astounding 50%! It was amazing how often the embedded, seemingly doomed fly came loose.

Master Angler Robert Wayne, Esq., Gets Ready To Execute His Patented Twist And Tug Manuever To Extricate Yet Another Errant Cast

Now I don’t claim to be as accomplished as Bob in employing this technique but have saved many flies over the past few years thanks to him.

But what if your fly is hung up on a rock or branch in the stream? My solution is to execute a short roll cast towards the snag powered with a strong downward snap of the wrist. Often this technique will work because the rolling line will pull the stuck fly upstream away from the snag rather than digging it in further as is the case if you give the line a pull downstream. Don’t be surprised if you save your fly with this simple maneuver without having to wade out to retrieve the fly and spoil the pool.

Tip #6: For the small stream hot spots, focus on twisting creek bends, undercut banks, and shallows depending on water temperature and sunlight. Don’t forget your stream thermometer to help figure out where the fish will be.

Several years ago, I learned an important lesson about small stream fish and water temperature. I was fishing a small remote stream in the upper reaches of the San Luis Valley in south central Colorado in August that had always treated me well. The creek wove sinuously through a meadow with alluring clear water deep pools at every bend. But in the first trio of pools I drew a goose egg despite my fly and dropper floating through perfectly. Frustrated, I waded into the bend pool up to my waist to reconnoiter up close. I didn’t see or spook a singled fish. A little further upstream, I again struck out and waded in to see what was up. Again, the pool seemed empty.

Then I hit a very shallow straighter stretch above a beaver pond, only a foot or so deep. To my amazement, I could see three brook trout finning nonchalantly in the thin water. I crept within casting distance and knelt carefully. My Chubby Chernobyl dry alighted five feet in front of the trio, and one darted forward and gulped in the faux grasshopper like it was his first call for breakfast. After landing the colorful brookie I continued upstream towards the next bend pool.

Where Are The Trout Likely To Be Hiding–Deep Water In Beaver Pond Or Skinny Water Above??

But it too was barren. However, in the rocky shallows next to the bend I pulled out another brawling brook trout. What gives I thought?

Then it dawned on me that after several days of unseasonably cold weather with temperatures plunging into the lower forties, the fish needed warmth. While under normal conditions the deeper bend pool would provide warmth, after an extended cold spell it was less hospitable. And now with the sun beating down, the shallows were warming up more quickly and drawing the fish like a magnet.

This was part of my education that fish in smaller streams are especially sensitive to air and water temperature because water is typically shallower than in big rivers, even the deeper bend pools. It will usually cool off faster and warm up more quickly. On a hot day small stream fish will retire sooner to deeper bend pools or undercut banks where the water is cooler. By same token, if the water is very cold then don’t be surprised if bigger fish are out in open in shallower water early on a sunny day warming up. The optimum feeding temperature range for most stream trout is from around 52-64 degrees. When the air temperature gets near or below 40 degrees followed by a sunny day, the conditions are right for the fish to seek out sunny shallow stretches.

The moral of the story: To assess where the most likely hiding spots are on any given day, especially after a change in the weather and air temperature, don’t forget your stream thermometer and use it when getting started to improve your “luck.”

Stream Thermometer–Don’t Leave Home Without It!

Tip #7: Fish those back eddies

These are probably the most overlooked honey holes on small streams. A back eddy is a section of a creek where part of the current reverses direction and flows upstream. Typically, an eddy forms when the main current is obstructed by a rock, tree, or bank and is pushed to one side and in the reverse direction of the main current. Use video. Usually, the water in a back eddy is quiet and brings food right to the smart fish waiting there, who will be facing downstream into the flow of the back eddy.

Big Small Stream Trout Love Lounging In Back Eddies For Easy Meals

To fish a back eddy, I normally use a short cast towards the beginning of the reverse flow while high sticking my rod to keep most of the line from dragging in the main current. I then let the fly float slowly upstream, often in a foam line. Usually only my leader will be on the water to avoid the fly from being dragged downstream by the main current. I also don’t shy away from letting the fly float to the top of the back eddy which is often covered with a layer of foam. It’s not unusual that the biggest fish in the back eddy will be lying patiently under the shadow of the foam, dining at his leisure.

BONUS TIP: As a reward for the stalwarts who finished reading the entire article, here’s a bonus tip: Fish out your casts—more so than in big water, fish will often pursue a fly downstream on a small creek. Why?The current in most small creeks is not anywhere nearly as strong as in a big river like the Arkansas or Gunnison. This allows the hungry trout to leave his holding lie, give chase to the fleeing faux insect for some distance, have a quick meal, and easily and quickly swim back to safety. Give it a try and you will see.

June 24, 2024July 13, 2024 hooknfly

Mobile Fish Camp Shakedown Cruise: The Bad, the Good, and the Fish In Two Acts

June 2024

For Fishing Act Two, see https://hooknfly.com/2024/07/02/mobile-fish-camp-shakedown-cruise-the-fishing-act-2/

Prelude:

I am back in Colorado getting ready for another trout fishing season. I have fished for more than six decades, starting with catfish and bullhead in Kansas rivers and graduating to bluegill and bass on a fly rod in lakes then to trout. The mobile fish camp of the day with my Dad was a hulking blue 1951 DeSoto car.

Dad would sleep in the front seat and me in the back seat on a special platform he built over the huge drive shaft hump on the floor. Great memories as we explored the rivers and lakes of central Kansas.

Getting ready for those trips–gathering our gear, bedding, food, and other paraphernalia–was something akin to a religious ritual. It felt even more so that way now as I loaded up my little travel trailer for dry camping in the boondocks of the Rocky Mountains. Of course, being June most rivers around my cabin near Salida are blown out and the high mountain lakes are still iced in. I have already tried the local beaver ponds with reasonable success, but I am now itching to try some new waters, and maybe even find a creek that’s fishable or some new beaver ponds. With my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly and her daddy Matthew off to Las Vegas to visit family there, I have some time on my hands and decide to take a chance and explore. With a Yuengling Amber Beer in hand, I sit on my front porch near Salida, Colorado, and contemplate my options.

A tailwater creek or river would be a viable option during runoff as the flow would be more controlled and the water clearer. One with some big beaver ponds in the vicinity would be a bonus. Central and southern Colorado where I do most of my angling has several famous tailwaters below big lakes like the South Platte flowing out of Antero and a series of other reservoirs, the Blue River below Dillon Reservoir, and the Arkansas River below Pueblo Reservoir. But those waters with their relatively easy access and proximity to big population centers are typically overrun with anglers during runoff. Not my cup of tea. But there are other options further south and west like La Jara Creek below La Jara Reservoir (near Alamosa), Grape Creek below Deweese Reservoir (near Westcliffe), North Clear Creek below Continental Reservoir (near Creede), Tarryall Creek below Tarryall Reservoir (near Lake George) and Archuleta Creek below the Dome Lakes (near Gunnison). Several of them also feature productive beaver ponds nearby.

After some digging and rumination, I chart a five-day trip focused on the contiguous Cochetopa and Dome Lakes State Wildlife Areas about 75 miles southwest of my cabin and 45 miles southeast of Gunnison. I have camped and fished this area before.

It is remote, but not too remote, high but at “only” 9,500 feet not so high as to be iced in, very scenic and it’s unlikely there will be many anglers around this early in the season. The gravel roads in the area are usually in good condition, and Gunnison is only 45 minutes away in case I need fuel, food, or whatever. Little Archuleta Creek flows out of Lower Dome Lake, a true tailwater that joins Cochetopa Creek a mile or so below the dam. Several tributaries of Cochetopa Creek above the Dome Lakes also sport some excellent beaver ponds.

I figure it will be good preparation for more ambitious trips in the July-to-October prime trout season in the Rockies. I can get everything organized and in ship shape—the proverbial shakedown cruise.

I can avoid problems later when in the wilds. As it turns out, it was a good practice run as I made some rookie mistakes that could have been real disasters in the more remote backcountry. Here are a few I can laugh at now, especially since the fishing, the description of which follows a summary of these memorable rookie mistakes, was excellent!

Rule #1: Always thoroughly test the trailer water, propane gas, batteries, and solar panels before you shove off. Double check the gas! I 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 filled the propane tanks 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 tested the solar panel that 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 Western Tanagers, Black-Headed Grosbeaks, and assorted hummingbirds on the bird feeders when I heard a cheeping 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 bird that frequents the area.

Next morning when I awakened, I heard the phantom towhee who was continuing to cheep 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 on in the cabin. The note on the box said it should be replaced every years, and my trailer just turn 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! It was turned to the lowest setting when I tested it, but apparently I had not shut it off completely and 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!!

Rule #2: Always check the hitch, lights, tires, and inside of the trailer one last time after you drive it a short distance. The driveway down from my cabin to the nearest county road is a tad rough. I take it slowly and always stop at the bottom of the driveway just before turning onto the county road to check things. Everything looked good from the outside, but when I opened the door, I was met by a river of white liquid that was oozing out of the refrigerator and across the floor to the door. I tiptoed around the white flow and opened the refrigerator. Inside was a frothing lake of white milk covering most everything. Turns out I had not tightened the cap sufficiently on the quart milk box, and it proceeded to leak out over everything below it—lunch meat, fruit, tomatoes, corn on the cob, you name it! AARRGGHH! Quite a mess, but fortunately I caught it before it coated the entire frig interior not to mention the floor of the trailer.

Rule #3: Double check the trailer brakes and 4WD before hitting the main highway. As noted, my 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 give it a little test. Unfortunately, in the hubbub over the spilled milk, 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 appear to have dodged a bullet as the 4WD performed flawlessly throughout the trip in more suitable terrain at acceptable speeds.

Rule #4: Always set blocks under the trailer tires before unhitching from the SUV. 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 hitch 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 new trailer jack pronto.

Day 1—Archuleta Creek Headwaters

Surely things had to get better after this auspicious debut!! And they did. Although the wind continued to howl, blowing hard from the northeast at 20-30 mph, after a quick lunch I was able to find some shelter from it on the headwaters of nearby Archuleta Creek which lays in a wind shadow of the magnificent Cochetopa Dome. The dome is a fascinating geological feature that dominates the valley. It is the center of an extinct giant volcano that collapsed millions of years ago. The caldera of the collapsed volcano, now a vast landscape of sage and prairie vegetation, was an incredible 20 miles wide!

Cochetop Caldera With Cochetopa Dome Marked CO

Tiny Archuleta Creek arises from the hills of the Cochetopa Caldera to the south of Upper Dome Lake where it is dammed a mile or so down the valley. It’s so small in its headwaters that even a septuagenarian can easily to jump across in places. Surely there can’t be fish here. Indeed over a period of 15 years exploring this area, I have never seen another angler on upper Archuleta—just bovine visitors grazing in the meadow. But appearances are definitely deceiving. The narrow runs between the big bends are often two-to-three feet deep, and the bend pools provide perfect habitat for the trout—brookies, browns, rainbows, and tigers. Indeed, it is possible to score a mountain trout grand slam here in a day. The casting under the best of conditions is extremely challenging and stealth is mandatory given the size of the stream. The wind gusts were going to make things even more interesting.

I park my SUV about a quarter mile south of the turn onto CR NN14 that separates the creek from the backwaters of Upper Dome Lake. Before hopping over a low section of the barbed wire fence that parallels the road and heading downstream, I pause to soak in the beautiful scene—the majestic peaks of the rugged eastern San Juan Mountains in the background.

Archuleta Creek Framed By The High Peaks Of The East San Juan Mountains

The terrain is soft and marshy. I am wearing chest waders and carrying my wading staff, but hip boots would probably do as well. I know from previous experience there are caddis in these waters, so tied on a #16 green sparkle caddis larva below a #16 Royal Stimulator that is a decent caddisfly or grasshopper imitation—although I don’t see any flies on the water or risers. There is a smattering of small grasshoppers in the grass.

Three Flies Will Do The Trick All Week–A Royal Stimulator, Chubby Chernobyl, And Sparkle Caddis Larva

The water is high, but i, and only slightly discolored, with visibility at about one foot deep. On my third cast a spunky brook trout inhales the dry fly as it floats down into a bend pool and puts up a worthy battle before sliding in my next for a quick photo.

That starts two hours of steady action as I move carefully upstream. Soon in a narrow, deep run a bit further up, a colorful rainbow nails the caddis dropper.

Surprisingly, most of the fish which run from 10-12 inches prefer the dry fly. My audience of cows and calves do not seem to be impressed and trotted off insouciantly. Before long, I come to an irrigation drop structure with a wide deep pool below it. I cast to the top of the pool and watched as the dry floats jauntily in the foam line along the shoreline–before something big busts it in a showy splash. It looks like a brown trout. He cavorts around the pool but before long I am easing him towards the net as I think of the bragging I will be able to do over the photo with my fishing pals…until he manages to snarl the line on an unseen subsurface snag and twist off. He is easily the biggest of the day, probably 15 inches. My bruised ego is quickly salved, however, by a couple of 12-inch plus rainbows in the same pool that inhale the Royal Stimulator. I fish upstream another 15 minutes or so upstream, catching a few more brookies, before deciding to call it a day. I am tuckered out after all the trailer hi-jinks and the thought of taking it easy in a lounge chair with a libation while enjoying the views back at camp of Dome Lake and the Cochetopa Dome is irresistible. So that’s what I do.

Later, after dinner as the sun sets, I relish the changing colors on the Cochetopa Dome and the dancing colors as the sun sets to the west. Not a bad first day.

Day Two: Upper Dome Lake And Middle Archuleta Creek

I rise early the next morning, courtesy of the wind gusts shaking the trailer. I peer out the window and see whitecaps churning on the lake. This doesn’t look like a day for flyfishing to say the least, on either Upper or Lower Dome Lakes or the tailwater section of Archuleta Creek below. To make matters worse, when I check my phone I discover that the USB charging port in the trailer isn’t working and my cell battery is perilously close to dead. Damn! How am I going to take photos of all those big fish and the wonderful scenery?? But wait, I remember I just bought a portable power bank that lets me recharge the phone on the go. Congratulating myself on my perspicacity, I plug in the phone and in less that 30 minutes it is fully recharged, as if by magic.

‘The power bank will be a life saver, recharging my phone each night with enough juice left for one or two more.

But after the battery incident and in the face of gale force winds, what does any self-respecting fly fisher do? Tie some flies? Clean his fishing line? Pout?

Spin Fishing Heresy!!

Heck NO, he gets out is trusty ultra-light spincast outfit from a secret hiding place in the trailer, grabs a box of lures, and heads down to the lake where the dam provides a small shadow of quieter water. I tie on an old-reliable silver/blue Kastmaster spoon, and the fun begins immediately.

I throw a long cast out to a spot where I see some swirls in the water, let it sink a few feet, then begin a herky-jerky retrieve. As the lure nears the shoreline rocks, I see a silvery flash and feel a good hit. I set the hook, and my rod bends perilously. It’s a nice 13-inch shiny rainbow who takes to the air several times before coming ashore.

He will be the first of a dozen or so cooperative bows that make for a fun and lively morning. A flight of striking violet-green swallows adds to the scene as they dip and dart over the water, gobbling down tiny insects for breakfast.

Graceful Violet-Green Swallows Fly Over Upper Dome Lake Feasting On Lake Bugs

After lunch, the wind ebbs a tad, so off I go to fish Archuleta Creek below the dams, a true tailwater that is running a little high but crystal clear. As I make the circuit around Upper Dome Lake in my SUV and then turn downstream, I am pleased to see my Florida White Pelican fan club has followed me up from the Everglades where I spend the winter chasing snook and tarpon. They are clearly expecting to receive some fishy treats like a ladyfish or snapper that often nail our offerings down there.

The Archuleta Creek tailwater can be divided into three sections. The first extends about a quarter of a mile below Lower Dome Lake to a high barb wire fence a few hundred upstream of a turnout (Marked in red.) on CR NN14. The middle stretch extends from the big fence past the turnout that is marked by an informational sign with fishing regulations. Just below the turnout is a stile that allows anglers to climb over another barbed wire fence that parallels the road and then fish either upstream to the high barbed wire fence noted above at the bottom of the first stretch or walk downstream into the third stretch. The third stretch starts about a quarter mile downstream from the turnout and continues to the confluence with Cochetopa Creek. All three stretches are serpentine, marked by deep bend pools.

Stretch 1 From Dam To Just Above Turnout Marked With Red Point

As I come to the turnout, I high am surprised to see another angler downstream who looks to be an older gent like me. Perched high above the creek, I watch him cast and hook a trout. He continues working upstream, wading right down the middle of the creek with the grace of a water buffalo. Even at a distance, I can see wakes of fish fleeing before him. These tailwaters are crystal clear, with shallow runs interspersed with alluring bend pools.

Bend Pools Alternate With Shallow Stretches

Stealth is mandatory, and I try to stay out of the water whenever possible. Indeed, I often find myself kneeling to maintain a low profile when casting. If you don’t, you will spook the fish in the shallow stretches hiding undernearth aquatic vegetation, and they will flee wildly upstream leaving prominent wakes as they alert their brethren to the intruder.

With the middle stretch occupied I opt to fish the upper section and turn my vehicle around and head back up to Lower Dome Lake where I leave the SUV in a parking area next to the lake.

Then I hike downstream about a 10 minutes until I come to the imposing barbed wire fence that extends from the road to the creek, marking the upper boundary of the middle stretch. I will work back upstream from here, giving the older gent plenty of room. It is about 2:30 p.m. as I approach the stream. The tall hills to the northeast of the creek are providing some shelter from the wind. That will make casting a little easier. The water is a tad high, up in the shoreline vegetation in some stretches, but not too bad. The creek is crystal clear and registering at 62 degrees on my thermometer. I see fish dimpling the surface. As I prepare to cast, one spies me and jets downstream. Slow down, I say to myself! I let things calm down and then check some streambed rocks to see what the menu of the day looks like. The rock is loaded with caddis cases. I squeeze one and a little bright green larva appears.

Looks like sparkle green caddis dropper time with the Royal Stimi on top.

On my second cast to the bend pool above, a good fish intercepts the caddis larva and erupts into the air when I set the hook. Soon a beautiful golden brown comes to the net, measuring almost 14-inches. A good start.

The action is steady on both the surface and the dropper as I continue upstream. The casting in this section can be tricky in parts as the creek winds in and out of a barbed wire fence that parallels the water to the north.

Before long, I come to another tempting bend pool. Looks like a can’t miss…and it is. On my first cast, a big trout, his side glinting gold in the sun, inhales the dry as it floats into the pool. The battle is on, the trout tearing downstream right at me. I stand and stomp my boot foot in the water. The trout sees me, does an abrupt 180, and jets back to the pool. He tries to flee upstream round the bend, but I put on the pressure with my 8 ½ foot, 4# rod, and succeed on turning the fish. He’s a big handsome 16-inch brown trout covered head to tail with striking spots set against his yellow-gold body. He soon is swimming back to his lair, shimmering in the sun as he goes.

I continue to work up stream carefully, concentrating on the bend pools. Every one yields a fish or two, and I start to pick up some fat brookies that add to the pleasure.

By the time I reach my SUV it’s almost 4:30. In a bit under two hours I have fooled 20 or so fish, predominantly brown trout with most on the dry, including two that break the 16-inch mark. Afternoon delight!! Can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.

For the rest of the story, See The Fishing: Act 2 (COMING SOON)

January 14, 2024January 22, 2024 hooknfly

Hiking The Mellow Yellow Trail (Gate #3) In The Fakahatchee Preserve And Stumbling On A Haunted House!!

For some of my other hikes in the preserve see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/12/15/hiking-the-fabulous-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-the-south-main-tram/; http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/; http://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/

December 2023

The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park has an array of hikes to explore the wonders of the Everglades. Its most popular trails like the East and West Tram are several miles long—intriguing treks, but maybe a little too much for some. Fortunately, there are several inviting shorter walks, especially for little tykes and seniors, that offer plenty of natural wonders. One of my favorites, called the Yellow Trail, starts at Gate 3 on Janes Scenic Drive about 2.8 miles from the mile zero marker at the park entrance gate.

Like many of the park’s trails, it follows a railroad tram line from old logging days, this one a short spur into the wild heart of the strand where it peters out near a reputedly haunted cabin! The trail is flat and mostly open with calf-high vegetation and thorny vines in spots, calling for long pants.

A sign with the #3 on the dual entry posts marks the turnout on the right side of the road that makes for easy parking.

Keep an eye out for the Great Egret gatekeeper who maintains a close watch over the slough at the entrance to the Yellow Trail.

With all the rain we have had recently in the so-called “dry season,” I have to do a hop and skip to ford the shallow flowage running across the trail. A school of minnows darts wildly about, a perfect stopping point if my granddaughter Aly was along. Be sure to bring a little net for the kiddies for some play time.

I take a few steps up the trail and am immediately buzzed by a couple of striking Zebra butterflies having lunch on some white Beggartick blooms. The Beggarticks are an important source of food for butterflies, bees, and insects. I snap away with my phone camera and then continue on.

Zebra Butterfly Feasts On Beggartick Flower

The trail is bracketed by two troughs where mucky soil was dug out and piled up for the tram line road bed when the spur was built over 75 years ago. It is filled with slow moving water. I stop at each opening in the vegetation to peer into the swamp jungle, a veritable botanical park. Just keep an eye out for alligators! At one point I spy a stand of big Bull-tongue Arrowhead plants immersed in the water. They are an important cog in the swamp ecosystem, providing food for many critters and shelter for smaller ones.

Above are dozens of graceful epiphytes clinging to their host trees. They use their hosts as secure foundations, but are not parasites, living instead by taking water and nourishment from the air! In spring my favorite known as a Cardinal Airplant will burst into bloom with distinctive, showy red and purple flowers.

Other plants like Virginia Creeper, a member of the grape family, also cling to tree branches and trunks. Earlier in the year they have fragrant flowers that give way to blue-colored berries, then to beautiful reddish orange leaves in the fall. Their tendrils have adhesive pads allowing them to cling to mostly anything! Then there’s the prickly ivy called Saw Greenbrier. Watch out for those thorns! Interestingly, those needle-sharp spikes don’t keep wild turkeys, squirrels, and songbirds from munching on the leathery, triangular leaves.

As I continue north, it becomes clear that this trail gets far less foot traffic than the major trails—a welcome harbinger. I won’t see another soul all morning. The other thing that catches my eye is that the trail isn’t framed by giant sword ferns that dominate elsewhere in the preserve, but by shiny green wild coffee plants that carry the appropriate scientific name of Psychotria nervosa. I spot a few that haven’t been stripped of their bright red berries by birds.

Suddenly the quiet is interrupted by a hubbub ahead just off the trail in the slough—maybe a gator?? No, it’s a beautiful Great Egret that soars into the air, somehow dodging all the overhanging branches. He’s followed by a loudly squawking Green Heron, also known as a chucklehead for its distinctive cry.

I keep my eyes peeled for birds and reptiles as I get further into the jungle. I spot something creating a disturbance in the brush along the trail. Maybe a lizard? Turns out it’s one of my favorite insects, a big Eastern Lubber Grasshopper.

Sporting striking orange, yellow, and other colors, they grow up to three inches long. Eastern Lubbers colorful garb might attract attention from hungry birds, but they secrete a noxious dark thick foam from their thorax when disturbed—not very tasty!! It will definitely stain your fingers. He poses for a quick photo and is kind enough not to douse me with what as kids we called tobacco juice, then hops merrily into the thicket.

As I walk into a small clearing, I am greeted by, of all things, a plastic chair. I think I must be getting close to the haunted cabin!! I hike on a few minutes, keeping my eyes peeled for ghosts, and come to a big circular clearing with a rusting propane gas tank peeking out of the brush at one end. But there is no sign of any cabin or other human habitation of this world or otherworldy.

Two trails split off the clearing, and I take the one to the right (east) because it looks most intriguing. It soon narrows, and then I am sloshing in some shallow water. No worries, I have on my waterproof hiking boots. Here and there are animal and bird tracks, and I can hear a ruckus ahead, but can’t see any wild things. A few minutes further on, the trail opens up into a stand of striking bald cypress. But that’s as far as I can go—the trail drops off into a foot of water.

I snap a few photos of the lovely jungle and head back to the opening. On the way, I see something glinting in the sunlight just off the trail—a big snail shell. It looks to be a Florida apple snail, although there are three very similar apple snails that are invaders from other countries.

I trace my way back to the clearing with the gas tank and take the other fork. As I amble up the trail I am stopped short in my boots—dead ahead I see something of the trail obscured by a tangle of trees, vines, and bushes that looks out of place. I creep forward cautiously. A shiver runs up my spine when I realize it’s a big dark opening in what looks to be that spooky cabin I have heard stories about.

I snap a few photos and a video for my little granddaughter Aly back in Colorado, keeping my eyes open for any ghosts or goblins.

I make my way warily to the hole where a window used to be and peer in. It looks like a tornado has swirled through the cabin. There’s a mattress and springs that appear have been used by somebody or something.

Then I hear a crash as something smacks down on the roof. I don’t wait to find out what it is as I turn tail and hustle out of there back to the trail.

After my nerves calm down, I continue up the trail, peering behind me from time-to-time just to make sure I am not being followed. It’s obvious the path north of the cabin, thick with vegetation, doesn’t see many hikers. Very soon the path gets very wet—I have to broad jump over and tippy-toe around water trickling across the trail. Finally, I have to call it quits when I reach a stretch where the water is higher than the tops of my boots.

Hopefully as the dry season takes hold I will be able to return in a few weeks and explore further up. Google Maps shows a distinct line that extends another mile or so to the north. Who knows what I might find….or what might find me!!

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

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Hiking The Mellow Yellow Trail (Gate #3) In The Fakahatchee Preserve And Stumbling On A Haunted House!!