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!

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.

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.

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