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)

March 2, 2024March 4, 2024 hooknfly

2023 Ruminations–The Sweet, The Sour, and The Surprising

February 2024

It was early January 2023 and I was just back from Christmas in Denver with my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly. A nice farewell snowstorm reminded me why I am now a confirmed snowbird.

But it only took me a few days of 80-degree temperatures to thaw out, and I was itching to hit the water. My chosen inaugural 2023 trip was kayaking on the Barron River, the namesake of the famous Barron Collier, founder of Everglades City. The tidal river skirts the northern edge of the small town, running out of the Everglades wilderness into the Ten Thousand Islands, a chain of islands and mangrove islets just off the coast. That first trip was a sweet one!!

THE SWEET

I launched early from below the bridge at the town’s entryway, but 30 minutes after fighting a strong falling tide and scoring nary a fish, the odor of skunk was wafting in the air. With a stiff upper lip, I continued pedaling upstream and rounded a bend in the river so I could work a deep channel that opened up into a lagoon where I had scored before. And no sooner did my gold curlytail lure hit the water than something smacked it hard. I saw a flash of silver and thought “SNOOK.” The fight was on, my rod bending double. The fish made a hard run then erupted out of the water in a spectacular jump. But it wasn’t a snook, but a high-stepping ladyfish!!

Putting The Squeeze On A Sultry Ladyfish!

Now many of my angler friends would be bummed out by this turn of events, but not me. What’s not to like about these sleek beauties? For starters, they are close cousins to one of the most revered gamefish, the much larger tarpon, known as silver kings, which can grow to five feet in these waters. They have big, forked tails like the tarpon and no teeth to bite you when you release them, unlike females of certain other species. Ladyfish are also feisty fighters like tarpon and incredible jumpers as well. I have had them vault clear over my kayak in a spectacular aerial display on several occasions! To cap things off, they eagerly eat artificial lures. An hour later, after luring dozens of the finned creatures, no wonder I had reaffirmed my reputation as an accomplished ladies’ man!! For the lubricious story of this romance, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/01/15/ladys-man-bares-intimate-secrets-on-barron-river/

A few weeks later, my friend from Georgia, Steve Keeble, came to town. He’s the quintessential fishing buddy, an amiable, low-key, and knowledgeable gent who’s a pleasure to spend a day with on the water. I am happy to share secret spots and techniques with him as I know I will learn from him new angling tricks and the location of what he calls chicken holes where the fish flourish. The term “chicken holes” apparently comes from the practice of good ole southern boys to chuck a dead chicken carcass into a deep spot in a river to lure unsuspecting fish for easy pickings. On our first day out, I took him to one of my hidden spots with the more civilized name of a honey hole, the headwaters of a remote narrow creek far up in the Everglades backcountry. There under my sagacious tutelage, and displaying some impressive angling skills, Steve managed to hook and land a massive 33-inch mama snook in tight quarters fringed by menacing mangrove roots.

Big Mama Snook Meets Her Match In Mr. Keeble

Later in the year in Colorado, he exhibited his piscatorial prowess by catching ten beautiful brown trout out of a single pool in one of my favorite mountain streams. I was particularly impressed with his crawling ability in reaching my favorite chicken holes!

I was lucky in 2023 to hook up with a couple of new fishing chums, both veritable youngsters (defined by this septuagenarian as anyone under 55). My new neighbor on Chokoloskee Island close to Everglades, Mark Mitchell, is a wealth of knowledge and energy when it comes to fishing the far-flung reaches of the Everglades Waterway that stretches 99 miles from Everglades City all the way to Flamingo. Later in the year he would lead me to a spot where I fooled my largest snook of 2023—a 33-inch beauty.

On the freshwater front, my new buddy is Tom Palka who lives near me in Salida, Colorado, where I spend the summer in the Colorado mountains. He has an insatiable curiosity and energy that is invigorating to everyone around him and a keen eye for assessing new waters like a hidden access trail to a remote section of my home water in Colorado, Saguache Creek.

Tom Palka With Colorful Brookie From Secret Creek

Family time on the water was another highlight of 2023. During their annual spring trip to Florida to visit me, I took my son Matthew and Aly kayak/canoe fishing on a freshwater lake near Everglades City. Matthew caught a boatload of largemouth bass and Mayan Cichlids while Aly fooled a monster Oscar then brought it in all by herself.

Scads of graceful birds including herons, egrets, osprey, and black vultures plus some curious gators made for an interesting ecotour. A few months later Matthew’s good friend Blaine and his family spent a weekend with us at my mountain cabin. I had the enjoyable assignment of teaching Blaine how to fly cast on the South Arkansas River, one of my favorite mountain streams. Not only was he a perspicacious student, but proceeded to catch a respectable brown trout on what was his maiden fly fishing trip. What a treat to watch him make that perfect cast, manage a good float, and fool that fish that glinted gold in the sun as I swept it up in the net.

New waters are also a treat to explore, and 2023 was a banner year in that regard. I was able to score a freshwater slam on two tributaries of La Jara Creek–Torsido and Jim Creeks–not far from Antonito, Colorado. After several false starts in 2022, I finally located Torsido Creek, finding it hiding coyly between two ridges far off the beaten path above where in flowed into La Jara Creek. There I had a ball catching dozens of beautiful brookies and several flamboyantly colored tiger trout.

A few days later I survived a bone-rattling 4WD two-track rocky road that led to Jim Creek, where native and rare Rio Grande cutthroats reputedly thrived. The rumors were true, and I had a ball catching and releasing many cutts, including some tackle-busting brutes that pushed 15-inches.

Hats off to Trout Unlimited and its partner organizations for bringing this stream back from near oblivion with a host of rehabilitation tricks like bottomless culverts. Articles on both will be coming out in American Fly Fishing in 2024.

I was excited to revisit another water that had treated me kindly on one of my first trout fishing trips over 50 years ago. I am happy to report fishing is as good if not better today. I managed a grand slam of brookies, cutthroat, browns, and rainbows on the three branches of Clear Creek, not to mention a 19-inch plus monster rainbow that I managed to land on a wisp of a wand.

On the saltwater side, I had a beautiful day exploring around a little-known island in the Florida Keys—Shell Key Preserve and bird sanctuary. Carefully surrounded by no-combustion motor zones and with special steps to protect sea grasses, Shell Key shared its bounty with me and Steve Keeble. Being a confirmed Cuda Buddha, I had a blast catching dozens of barracuda while Steve had multiple shots at tarpon and caught some mangrove snapper before he relented and joined the cuda caper. See the following for the full story: http://hooknfly.com/2023/09/24/lignumvitae-and-shell-keys-no-motor-zone-fishing-magic-in-the-florida-keys/

One of the most satisfying endeavors of 2023 was expanding my horizons and writing articles that focused on terra firma, several hiking trails in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park, the largest in Florida. A critical piece of Everglades habitat located near Everglades City, the reserve offers a range of fascinating habitats from slough swamps, pine hammocks, bald cypress stands, to marl prairie. Did I mention a half dozen freshwater lakes loaded with truculent largemouth and peacock bass? These habitats provide shelter for two endangered species, the Florida Panther and tiny Florida Mink as well as rare orchids and other exotic plants not to mention bear, deer, myriad birds, and, of course, alligators. These articles garnered almost 3,000 views, hopefully helping more people appreciate and enjoy this fascinating and unique place. For my articles on hiking and fishing the Fakahatchee Strand from Florida Sportsman, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/07/31/a-hidden-gem-fakahatchee-strand-state-preserve-park-florida/ ; http://hooknfly.com/2024/01/26/hiking-in-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-dont-overlook-the-jones-grade-trail/ ; http://hooknfly.com/2023/01/26/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatchee-strand-preserve-state-park-2-the-east-main/ .

Overall, the numbers of readers stayed at peak levels with over 40,000 visitors. The most popular article was one I wrote back in 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books of All Time” which garnered 3,400 views. If you Google “best fishing books” it pops up near the top of the list of sources to explore. It does my heart good that people still read books, especially of the angling variety. On the trout fishing side a trio of articles on exploring the Conejos River in southern Colorado logged over 4,000 views, and the favorite saltwater article was one on kayak and wade fishing around the popular Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys

No 2023 retrospective of sweet spots would be complete without noting my great joy and satisfaction in watching my partner in angling escapades, Jody Bol, reach new heights with her photographic skills. At times risking injury to get the perfect shot (like clambering on top of my SUV along Jim Creek), Jody managed to bring my stories to life with stunning photos.

In that light, I forgive her for double crossing me by shooting a scene of me falling butt first into a hole in a beaver dam, a photo that made the Parting Shots photo on the inside back cover of a national flyfishing magazine that shall remain nameless as I plot my revenge against Ms. Bol and the editor of that august publication.

I was also particularly gratified that I had three articles published in popular fishing magazines. Florida Sportsman carried my pieces on fishing on the tidal rivers and freshwater lakes of the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve mentioned above, and American Fly Fishing featured an article on chasing trout on the remote La Garita and Carnero Creeks in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. 2024 got off to a good start with a tale in American Fly Fishing about my adventure chasing wild trout on Noontootla Creek in northern Georgia, a new trout fishing locale for me.

THE SOUR

2023 was a terrific year from an angling perspective. And while I am usually a Pangloss Pescador, not all was rosy. Early in the year a January cold wave in Florida with temperatures dipping into the 30s killed thousands of fish plus a few manatees and even gators. Most of the deceased were invasive Mayan Cichlids and Oscars which are a blast to catch, but even some snook and tarpon fell victim.

The chilly temperatures put fishing into the deep freeze for several weeks as well as my moods. On the bright side, this experience with plummeting temperatures led me to dig deep into the question of what water temperatures my favorite finned quarry prefer and what cold water readings they flee. The silver lining to these climatological vicissitudes is that Florida Sportsman will be publishing the results of my research in an article in early 2024.

I had another good reason to be crabby in 2023, notably when the prop of my little Gheenoe motor boat that I rely on to explore the far-flung Everglades backcountry was snarled up in a sunken crap trap anchor rope. The trap had no marker buoy as required, likely the work (or lack thereof) by an amateur crabber who did not check his cage often as he should have or had abandoned it. The result was a Gordian Knot that had me leaning over the stern of the boat hacking away at the thick rope with a knife while simultaneously filling the sky blue with expletives.

Things went more smoothly for the next few months until I ran into a real mystery on one of my favorite high-country trout streams, Chavez Creek. In preparation for my Florida fishing buddy Bob Wayne’s annual fishing trip to Colorado, I made a special trip to make sure Chavez was up to snuff. I found the brook and brown trout famished plus some hungry lunker brownies in several deep bend pools in the serpentine meadow section of this beautiful stream.

A few weeks later, I confidently guided Bob to the best stretches. On the lower section where the valley narrows and beaver have created some beautiful small ponds, Mr. Wayne had his way with the willing brook trout who seemed to fight over his fly on every cast.

That, I thought, would be just a prelude to a grand finale in the upstream meadow stretch where the brown trout ruled. Think again. We saw nary a fish there, let alone coaxed any rises. What had happened to the big boys and girls was a mystery. After flailing the water for almost an hour we flew the white flag. Was it the cattle that had appeared on the scene as part of an early fall roundup since my last trip that were the culprits? Certainly, they had damaged the creek in some reaches, but hard to believe they had driven all the fish away. Did some poacher get out a seine and do his dirty work?? We are still scratching our bald pates over this mystery. I hasten to add that on the morose trip back home we decided to fish little Archuleta Creek, and it saved the day. We both fooled some nice rainbows up to 15-inches, preserving our sterling angling reputations.

The final sour note of the year came when I did my annual migration back to Florida. When I arrived in November, my buddies were singing the blues about the big drought gripping the region during the summer and early fall “wet” season that was putting the quietus on decent fishing for snook, tarpon, and redfish. But as soon as I arrived at the start of the normal “dry” season, the heavens let loose. Continuing waves of rain, cold weather, and blustery winds made fishing a real conundrum, even for Everglades old timers and guides. An active and powerful El Nino was widely blamed for the contrary weather. Luckily I was able to find fish on most of my trips by kayaking into tidal creeks that most motor boats could not reach or using my Gheenoe that can run in six inches of water to get far from the madding crowds. However, on one day-long trip with buddy Mark Mitchell on Halfway Creek, an old reliable favorite of mine, we got a measly six strikes and landed only three fish—one snook and two Mayan Cichlids. Yikes!!

THE SURPRISING

Surprisingly, I had also run into a surfeit of water back in Colorado during the summer. In May and early June, normally dry Colorado got lots of rain and by the time I got there my favorite streams were all blown out. Not to worry, I consulted with the wizards of gnaws and their beaver ponds. Most sane fly anglers take to pitching big streamers in these conditions and avoid beaver ponds like the plague given the touch of insanity it takes to tackle these often maddening waters. One must be ready to do a high-wire act on the beaver dam, slosh through knee-deep muck, and execute perfect casts to avoid the clutching branches of surrounding trees and bushes to have any chance at success. In other words, one must be a tad daft. But that didn’t stop me, and I wracked up a string of excellent days on hidden ponds near my cabin in the Colorado high country, netting several brown trout in excess of 16-inches, veritable leviathans. But in the process, I got my waders nearly scared off me. Here’s what happened.

I hacked my way into the creek below one of my favorite beaver ponds, up the hill on the far slope, then descended along a game trail to the pond. I came to a nice firm sandbar and noticed quite a few elk tracks where the beasts apparently came down for a drink. Then I froze. A couple of feet in front of me were the fresh tracks of a mountain lion. The few remaining hairs on my head stood at attention.

With my heart pounding, I scanned the surrounding thicket for any sign of the cat. Not seeing anything I then backed carefully out of the water and picked my way cautiously back up the slope till I came to a clearing where I could get a better view of the surrounding landscape. Seeing nothing after several minutes, I then beat a hasty retreat to my SUV. Luckily, I can report that I had good luck at a string of beaver ponds about a mile up the road, but it was a reminder that I wasn’t the only predator on this stream. I was also gratified to see that as the summer proceeded the movement to protect and even emulate beaver ponds throughout the West was gaining momentum. Based on scientific research, it is becoming clear how important beaver ponds are to recharging local aquifers, protecting water quality, and providing important habitat for fish, particularly on smaller streams. An excellent book entitled Eager Beavers Matter by Ben Goldfarb makes for a good read for any fly fisher between angling trips. For more on my beaver pond peregrinations, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/06/08/solving-the-runoff-riddle-off-to-see-the-wizards-of-gnaws/

My next surprise in the summer, one much more pleasant, was the phenomenal recovery of Grape Creek, a tributary of the Arkansas River, near Westcliffe, Colorado. Two monumental floods about five years earlier had scoured this favorite trout stream of mine of all fish and fish food. Before the floods I would routinely catch dozens of fish on every outing into the rugged canyon through which the creek flows—mainly browns, some over 18-inches, plus some nice feisty rainbows. On my first trip after the floods, I couldn’t find a caddis larva anywhere and came up skunked! So, I waited a couple of years before trying again. Boy, am I glad I did. The browns were back in numbers, including one that went over 18 inches, and they were joined by scads of rambunctious rainbows in the 10-to-13 inch range. But where had those rainbows come from? Maybe migrated down from DeWeese Reservoir upstream where they are stocked? Or natural recovery like the brownies? With a little digging I found out the renaissance was due to a smart, methodical restocking program of 8-10 inch fish throughout the river for miles below the reservoir by the fine, hardworking crew at Colorado Parks and Wildlife. They told me the browns can usually recover on their own after a flooding disaster, but the rainbows need a little help. As a result, the fishing in Grape Creek is as good if not better than before. For the full story of Grape Creek’s comeback, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/08/28/grape-creek-the-curious-case-of-the-rambunctious-rainbow-resurgence/

And talking about rainbow trout, the nearly 20-inch Brobdingnagian specimen I caught in little Clear Creek was noted above was definitely a surprise of the best kind!

On the medical and health side of things, I was surprised to learn I had contracted the deadly mangrove madness disease. Fortunately, I was able to find the cure—the drug was the tugs….on fish on my line.

I did have to chuckle that some of my readers were hoodwinked for a few minutes before they realized I was pulling their legs. For the full story on this medical emergency, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/12/16/emergency-health-warning-issued-for-sw-florida-saltwater-anglers/

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all in 2023 was being introduced by Mr. Keeble to the non-descript Mop Fly that he employed to embarrass and outfish me decisively on his home water, the Tuckasegee River in the Great Smokey Mountains. Never has such an ordinary looking and frankly uninspiring looking concoction produced such a bountiful catch for him while I nursed a skunk. After being subjected to his withering and relentless taunts, I finally relented and joined the fish parade. I will be using this secret weapon on western trout this summer.

I must mention, however, I schooled Mr. Keeble the next day on nearby Deep Creek by introducing him to the Two-Bit Hooker, a renowned fly from the Mountain West.

Lastly, and perhaps my most satisfying surprise was catching a 14-inch rare native Rio Grande Cutthroat in the headwaters of Carnero Creek in southern Colorado. To fool this beauty required me casting blindly around a bend in the tiny creek which up that high was small enough to jump across with ease. I heard a splash and set the hook, then had to take off running to keep up with the big boy before bringing him to the net for a quick photo and release.

Headwaters of Carnero Creek Shelter Elusive Cutts

For my adventures on Carnero and LaGarita Creek, see: http://hooknfly.com/2023/09/14/into-the-wilds-exploring-la-garita-and-carnero-creeks-in-s-colorado/

So here’s to an remarkable and sometimes a tad frustrating 2023, the sweet, the sour, and the surprising. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world!!

February 7, 2023February 12, 2023 hooknfly

Looking Back On 2022: The Best, The Befuddling, And The Bungled

January 2023

January 2022 dawned sunny and bright, with me salting margaritas down in the Everglades instead of sidewalks in Colorado and, better yet, wrestling snook instead of shoveling snow! Covid was finally in the rearview mirror for the most part and promises for a bountiful piscatorial year are looking good. So how did it turn out? Here’s a look back at the best of 2022 and some bungled episodes as well.

It’s hard to believe that I hadn’t fished in the Everglades–or anywhere in Florida for that matter like the Keys—in the winter for almost two years! Despite that hiatus and fewer articles about fishing in the Sunshine State being posted in 2022, I was grateful my readers stuck with me and that the number of visitors and views stayed steady at the peak levels established in 2020. Many thanks!

Fishing Buddies And Family

As I age (slowly and gracefully), the connections angling brings with fishing buddies and family become ever more important and treasured. I had some fun and productive outings in Florida with Jim Cannon (former owner of the renowned Blue Quill Anglers in Colorado), my Colorado neighbor Charlie Cain, Esq., Steve Keeble, Robert Wayne, Esq. (who lives in Naples, FL), and my old college roomie Morris Douglas Martin.

We had a lot of laughs together while we boated a lot of fish, and better yet, I learned some new tricks and tips from them. You ought to see Cannon and Keeble fly cast from a kayak—impressive! In Colorado during the summer the fish parade continued with good friends Bob Wayne and Steve Spanger as we chased trout in the Colorado wilds. I also enjoyed fishing with new friends Tom Palka, who writes the newsletter for our local Trout Unlimited Chapter, and Kim LeTourneau, an accomplished guide for my local fly shop Ark Anglers who also covers fishing for the Mountain Mail newspaper.

Whether in Florida or in the Rockies, they all had the chutzpah to outfish me!!

In March my son Matthew came down for a week to soak some rays and relax. The day we spent in the Everglades backcountry together warmed this father’s heart. It was a smorgasbord of feisty fish—snook, sea trout, ladies, jacks, and even a gafftopsail catfish that put up a great fight before sliming us when we wrestled with him to remove the hook. The video says it all.

This proud papa was thrilled when Florida Sportsman published a short article in the fall that I wrote about fishing the Tamiami Trail country around Everglades City. It featured a couple of great photos of Matthew and yours truly with some nice snook.

Come summer back in Colorado my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly showed off her casting skills while catching some nice rainbows in a high mountain lake along with her Daddy Matthew. The mile walk in and out to the lake was a great nature hike featuring beautiful wildflowers and a close encounter with a big buck mule deer.

Most Popular Posts And Published Articles

The continuing popularity of a series of five blog posts I penned in 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books Of All Time” is remarkable. It garnered over 3,000 views this year and on Google searches for ‘best fishing books’ has become the most popular link on that subject, even outpacing Amazon’s sponsored ads. Take that Zuckerberg!

What is really gratifying is seeing that level of interest in angling books, from serious literature to technical how-to works, remains high in this age of videos and on-line reading. Here is a link of you want to take a look: http://hooknfly.com/2020/08/01/the-best-fishing-books-of-all-time/

Another surprise was that the most popular post overall was one entitled “Taking A Hike In The Everglades…And Stumbling On A Hidden Bass Lake.” Focused mainly on hiking in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park near Everglades City, it garnered about 4,500 views. Here is a link to the post: http://hooknfly.com/2022/04/16/taking-a-hike-in-the-everglades-and-stumbling-on-a-hidden-bass-lake/

As a result, I decided to branch out a bit and write about hiking around my winter home base as well as fishing. My next effort, the first in a series about hiking the main trails in the park, appeared in December. Click on the link to read the post: http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/30/hiking-the-fab-four-trails-of-the-fakahatachee-strand-preserve-state-park-1-the-west-main/

The most read angling posts, with almost 4,000 views, were again a quartet about finding and fishing for rare Rio Grande Cutthroat trout in southern Colorado. For my latest foray on the fab forks of the Conejos with my photographer Jody Bol, see: http://hooknfly.com/2022/08/15/conejos-river-capers/

The post on kayak and wade fishing around Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys again took the top spot for saltwater. See for the latest post on Bahia Honda: http://hooknfly.com/2019/06/08/bahia-honda-state-park-post-irma/

Now that I am back in Florida for the winter and spring, you can bet I will be getting out on the water and sharing new trips and tales. I have already made plans for a two-week fishing trip to the Florida Keys in late April.

When the weather was uncooperative or the winds howling, I hunkered down and continued to write articles for American Fly Fishing and Florida Sportsman. The article about fishing in South Park, Colorado, was titled “Mission Impossible: Searching For Fish And Solitude.”

Fishing The Hidden Waters Of South Park: Under The Radar

It was the lead featured piece in the July issue of American Fly Fishing and focused on finding hidden and remote creeks in the famous valley near Denver, home of the South Platte River, Dream Stream, and other popular waters and lakes that sometimes feature combat fishing. http://hooknfly.com/2022/07/21/south-park-under-the-radar/

Florida Sportsman ran two of my articles in 2022. The first was a fun one in which I discussed the very controversial gar conversion therapy. Under the heading “In Defense Of The Antediluvian Gar,” I stood up for this hard-fighting, oft-underestimated fish while documenting the successful conversion of a tarpon aficionado to gar fishing in the Everglades. http://hooknfly.com/2022/11/19/gar-conversion-therapy/

Bob Wayne Undergoing Gar Conversion Therapy

The second piece, noted above, recounted the variety of angling opportunities along the Tamiami Trail between Naples and Miami.

Most Rewarding Trips

One of my favorite streams close to home is a remote twenty mile stretch of Grape Creek between Westcliffe and Canon City, Colorado. Over the past decade I have had many memorable trips into the canyon where the creek runs, chasing plentiful and hungry browns and rainbows. But disaster struck a couple of years ago when two giant flash floods only a few weeks apart scoured the canyon and practically wiped out all insect life in the upper reaches. Without food, the fish abandoned the stretches I frequented. After a couple of fruitless trips, I decided to wait a couple of years to see if Grape Creek would recover. Thankfully, it did, and I was rewarded with my biggest trout of the year—a 19-inch brown—during a July trip.

A bonus was that some healthy foot-long rainbow trout had apparently migrated down from the tailwaters of DeWeese Reservoir and helped provide non-stop action. http://hooknfly.com/2022/08/05/grape-creek-comeback/

Another trip up the headwaters of the Conejos River high in the mountains of southern Colorado provided some unexpected and mostly pleasant surprises. Exploring the five forks of the Conejos River is on my bucket list. I have had terrific days on the Lake and Adams Fork chasing beautiful, rare Rio Grande Cutthroats. This year I had my eye on fishing the Middle and North Forks, both of which can be reached as they branch off the Upper Conejos River about two miles above Platoro Reservoir. Being remote streams, I expected a plethora of feisty fish including cutthroats that I had found on the nearby Adams Fork. But after pounding the lower reaches of each for an hour, I was beginning to have my doubts. I decided to try one last pool on the Middle Fork that looked particularly inviting and struck a bonanza. On my first cast I watched transfixed as a huge brown trout rose slowly from the depths and inhaled my fly. Then it was off to the races, trying to run down the rascal who had managed to fly by me and head downstream into a brush pile. Somehow I managed to extricate that big brownie and followed that miracle by catching his large mate on the very next cast.

Given that result, I decided I’d better retrace my steps and go up higher on the North Fork. However, I only managed a few small browns on that stretch before it disappeared into a ravine above the valley. Needless to say, I was perplexed. Why so few fish on the Middle and North Forks, albeit big ones on the Middle Fork? The revelation would come as I fished back down on the Upper Conejos below the fork to the trailhead where my SUV was parked. Here on a mile stretch I caught a passel of brown trout, most over 15-inches. The answer?? As confirmed by a local angler at the general store in Platoro, the big fish migrate out of Platoro Reservoir into the Upper Conejos and grow fat and sassy eating all the little guys. Of course, now I must return in 2023 to confirm this theory!

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

The Scary And Amusing, The Sad And The Confusing

In 2022 I thankfully avoided any scary incidents with moose, mountain lions, sharks and the like that I have had in the past. But the year’s most blood-curdling incident was self-inflicted, with an alligator playing the villain. Normally the many gators I encounter during my trips into the Everglades backcountry bolt at the first sign of my kayak or Gheenoe. Once in a great while a young gator will venture too close when I am catching lots of fish, attracted out of curiosity to all the jumping and splashing. Usually smacking a paddle on the water sends him scurrying for cover. Alligators that are aggressive down here tend to be ones fed by humans, mainly tourists.

My most memorable gator encounter for 2022 took place on a sunny day in March when I took my college buddy Morris on a trip along the historic Loop Road near Everglades City. I figured we would take a break from the serious day-long fishing trips into the backcountry and find some easier targets in the bass and cichlids in the canal along the gravel road as it winds its way through the swamp. The alligators were everywhere. Being teenage boys at heart, we couldn’t resist tossing one of the small fish we caught to a big gator lounging in the slough near a big culvert.

The fish bounced a few feet down the slope but didn’t make it to the water. All of a sudden, the docile reptile came rocketing out of the water at warp speed to gobble down the fish. His momentum carried him up the incline almost onto the road. It must have been comical to watch two old coots scrambling back towards their SUV in utter terror, but thankfully no one was there to record the incident. Lesson relearned: DO NOT FEED THE GATORS!!

The biggest bummer of the year followed in the wake of Hurricane Ian that struck southwest Florida in late September. I had dutifully rigged my Gheenoe, a motorized canoe, under my house on Chokoloskee Island near Everglades City as advised by old salts down here. Following that advice, my boat had survived in good condition a five-foot flood tide that swept over Chokoloskee during Hurricane Irma in 2017. Unfortunately, either because I didn’t insert the bilge plug or the ropes anchoring the boat and trailer to the building pillars were too tight to allow them to float, saltwater surged a couple of feet deep into the boat and destroyed the electrical system.

When I returned to Florida in early November, I took the boat to my local marina in Naples and got the bad news. A month and $5,000 later everything was put back in order, and fortunately the damage was mostly covered by my boat insurance. The big relief was that the motor was undamaged. Whew!

In the category of confusing was an exploratory trip to find brook trout and maybe some cutthroats reputedly swimming in a remote creek in the Colorado high country south of Del Norte. One of the best angling guidebooks for exploring secluded waters around my neck of the woods in Colorado is 49 Trout Streams of Southern Colorado by Williams and McPhail. They sang the praises of Torsido Creek, a tributary of La Jara Creek south of Del Norte, Colorado. I had fished La Jara Creek below La Jara Reservoir a number of times with great success, so was anxious to explore the upper La Jara and Torsido Creek. After a long and bone-jarring ride over a narrow, bumpy gravel road that hadn’t seen a grader for some time, I made it to the lake and drove to its upper reaches where La Jara Creek flows in. Trouble was, the creek was next to invisible in the expansive meadow above the reservoir, and it wasn’t clear where it was joined by Torsido Creek. To exacerbate matters, I had run off and left my detailed maps of the area in my travel trailer back in Del Norte and the GPS on my cell phone wasn’t working. No worries I thought. Torsido had to be out there somewhere. But after wandering about for almost two hours, marching through muck, dodging a big bull, and clambering over a couple of barbwire fences in my waders, I flew the white flag and turned tail back to my SUV. Fortunately, on the way back I had to cross upper La Jara Creek, and serendipitously where I did some trout were rising. That was the start of an epic afternoon of catching not only some fat, beautiful brook trout, but also some muscular, truculent tiger trout that apparently are stocked in the reservoir and run up the creek to eat. http://hooknfly.com/2022/10/24/taming-the-tigers-of-torsido-and-upper-la-jara-creek-near-del-norte-co/

Not until I got back to camp did I discover the confluence with Torsido Creek is hidden in the gap in a ridge about a quarter mile from where I stopped fishing that day. Darn, guess I will have to schedule a return engagement in 2023!

Persistence Pays Off

Like many things in life, persistence pays off in angling. Two years ago I experienced a particularly humbling experience at the hands of brook trout on the upper reaches of the Huerfano (Wear-fano) River in the wilds of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado. Fishing in one of the most scenic valleys I’ve ever set foot in, I was sure this was going to be a banner day when in the first pool I came to I spied nice brook trout finning in the depths. However, three hours and 20 expletives later, I flew the white flag. I had scored nary a bite the whole time as the spawning brookies made clear amore was more important than eating. With the air redolent of skunk, I slunk back to my SUV. Now fast forward to the summer of 2022. I decided to return to the scene of the skunking for a measure of revenge. But this time things looked even worse when I hit the water after navigating the rough road to the Lily Lake trailhead. It was mid-summer, and the brook trout weren’t spawning. Indeed, none of the alluring pools seemed to hold any fish. So after two hours of flailing the water, I started back to the SUV, tail between my legs. Luckily, I had to cross a very narrow, but fast-flowing tributary of the Huerfano in the meadow to the west of the river. As I did, I happened to see what appeared to be a rise at a bend below me in the creek. What the heck, I thought, and threw my fly downstream. It floated a few feet, then was sucked in by what turned out to be a chunky brook trout. So that’s where the little devils were hiding. That was the first of more than a dozen nice brookies from what I have dubbed the West Fork of the Huerfano. You won’t see it named on a map, but believe me, it and the fish are there. Indeed, persistence pays off.

And speaking of stick-to-it-of-ness, a case of avian persistence opened my eyes. I am a confirmed amateur birdwatcher, especially at my mountain cabin in Colorado where a steady cavalcade of western tanagers, evening grosbeaks, hummingbirds, and many others at my birdfeeders provides a steady stream of pleasure. But those bird feeders have also attracted pinon jays and Clark’s Nutcrackers, drawing me into a never-ending battle with these noisy, wily, and voracious, albeit handsome, birds. Imagine their fright when I come storming out on the front porch hurling expletives till the Colorado sky turns even bluer. I did some research on-line to see if there were any better strategies to deal with these smart, raucous marauders, and in the process learned that because of habitat loss, notably destruction of pinyon trees they rely on for food, and climate change, these iconic western birds are declining precipitously.

Clark’s Nutcracker Feasting
On Pinyon Nuts

Indeed, one report estimated the pinyon jays have declined 85% of the past 50 years and that there are only 700,000 left worldwide (versus 8 billion humans)! All of this made me realize I need to focus closer to home on saving the world. That will mean nurturing the pinyon trees already growing on my land and planting new ones. It will also mean biting my tongue when the raiders come to my bird feeders and dutifully hanging another suet cake when they take their leave. My thanks to them for their persistence and opening my eyes.

On The Horizon: Looking Forward to 2023

So what’s on the agenda for 2022? First and foremost is to get back down to Florida to get my saltwater chops back. I arrived in Everglades City a couple of months ago, got the kayak and Gheenoe ready to go, and started executing that plan. A 24-inch snook on my first yak outing led the fish parade not to mention a 33-inch leviathan out in my Gheenoe with buddy Steve Keeble in the New Year!

More stories and tall tales to come from the Everglades backcountry! I also want to explore some of the remote brackish canals east of Naples, Florida, that are impossible to access except with a kayak. Big snook are rumored to hide out there along with the gators! Fishing some remote islands in the Florida Keys is also on the agenda.

On the writing front, my article on fishing the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park in the Everglades is scheduled for publication soon in an issue of Florida Sportsman to be followed by a piece on the top ten tackle, gear, and techniques tips for kayak anglers in the Everglades. On the trout side, American Fly Fishing will carry an article this spring about my adventures this past summer on La Garita and Carnero Ceeks, two remote high-country streams in Colorado, to be followed later in the year by shorter pieces on upper La Jara and Tarryall Creeks, also in Colorado.

In the keep it under your hat category, I am also in initial negotiations with Kevin Kostner for a new TV series now that it looks as if he’s dropping out of “Yellowstone.” It will tentatively be called “Tales of a Zombie Fisherman” and will be based on my 2022 shenanigants on Halloween night when I went trick-or-treating with my favorite little witch Aly. Stay tuned!!

Of course, I will chase some trout with my sweetheart Aly and find Torsido Creek at long last.

June 15, 2022July 9, 2022 hooknfly

ROPE-A-DOPE ON THE COCHETOPE??

For some of my earlier outings on Cochetopa Creek, see:

http://hooknfly.com/2015/10/05/three-perfect-days-on-cochetopa-creek/

Mid-June 2022

As I finished cleaning the last window on my place near Salida, Colorado, I figured I had earned a fishing trip. I had driven in from Florida, my winter getaway, on the heels of a big late May snowstorm in Colorado and whiled away a week tidying the cabin till the cold weather lifted.

Slightly Senescent Senior Tackles Rooftop Window Washing

Now that domestic duties were successfully completed without serious injury and the dust had literally settled, I was ready to feel the tug on my fly line. But now that rascally young girl La Nina was giving all of us anglers fits just like she had done back in Florida. For months the wind howled down there in the Everglades, keeping my buddies and me off the water days at a time. The same scene was being repeated here in Colorado. Fly casting into 15-30 mph winds is not exactly a relaxing interlude.

Fortunately–and after another week holed up in my cabin writing and reading–the forecast is for the wind to die down in a couple of days, at least for a few hours in the morning. But now I’m hit with a double hex—the nearby Arkansas River, my home water, and neighboring creeks are too high because of runoff from late snow on the Collegiate Peaks. Plus, most streams over the pass in the drought-plagued San Luis Valley/Rio Grande watershed are just a trickle already. So, I decide to treat myself to fishing some private water on one of my favorites off Highway 114 near Gunnison—Cochetopa Creek. The Gunnison watershed got decent snow over the winter, and according to the state water gauge near Parlin, Cochetopa Creeks is running at 30 cfs, a bit low but based on my experience should still be eminently fishable.

I’m up early at 5:30 a.m. and on the road over Monarch Pass by 7:00, the plan being to start chasing trout by 8:30. The traffic is light, and I’m suiting up on schedule. I’m carrying two rigs. The first is a new 8 ½-foot 4# TFO BVK lightweight wand with surprising backbone. Based on many days experience sampling the waters of Cochetopa, I’m using a #16 Royal Trude dry to imitate small hoppers or caddis flies I’m likely to see on the water teamed with a #18 Tung Teaser to emulate the small mayfly nymphs I expect will be scurrying around under the streambed rocks. The second outfit is a 9-foot 5# Sage rod with a double-nymph offering—a #18 Two-Bit Hooker up top trailed by a #18 bead-head sparkle caddis nymph.

The Fab Four (clockwise from top): Royal Trude, Tongue Teaser, Sparkle BH Caddis, Two-Bit Hooker

I walk 10 minutes downstream from a turnout on 114, staying back from the water so as not to spook any fish. The pasture is carpeted with golden pea, feathery purple Rocky Mountain iris, and the appropriately named meadow foxtail.

It’s so good to be back in nature, surrounded by all this beautiful, delicate flora. I see a nice-looking stretch of water and sidle up to the creek. It’s lower than I expected, running around 20 cfs, probably due to upstream irrigation diversion—it’s that time of year.

The water is also very clear with lots of wispy green tendrils of aquatic vegetation waving in the current and covering the bottom in shallow stretches. I shake my head–that should make things interesting! Nothing like a little green goo on a nymph to elicit expletives. I slip carefully into the water and check under some rocks to see what’s on the menu. I turn one over and I spy some small mayflies fleeing for cover and some crusty caddis cases that reveal their green denizens with a gentle squeeze. At least the expected trout victuals are here.

I walk slowly upstream in the shallow water and don’t see any fish. I get to a slightly deeper run where the current plunges over some bigger rocks, but come up empty after a half dozen casts, except for the green slime on my nymph as it bumps on the bottom. Ten minutes later I am still looking in vain for anything with a fin. I’m starting to grumble to myself—this was reputed to be lightly-fished private water with lots of eager fish. I don’t smell the stench of a skunk yet, but my ebullience is waning. Has someone played Rope-A-Dope with me and my checkbook??

Before long I come to a big bend in the creek, which on Cochetopa usually means deeper water. Above me, the current rushes along the bank, creating an eddy, and then turns the corner and plunges headlong down the shoreline. I can’t see the bottom, a good sign. I loft a cast upstream above the bend and watch as the dry bounces jauntily over a riffle and then plunges into the deeper stretch. Just as it hits the bend, the fly disappears! With the patented quick reflexes of a septuagnarian, I set the hook. My rod bends double, the weight of the fish and heavy current combining to put a major strain on it. Fortunately the new rod has plenty of spine, and I’m able to ease the trout out into calmer water. He’s not done yet, but after some slashing back and forth, I’m landing a fat, feisty brown trout who poses for a quick photo.

Another brownie follows a few casts later. That’s more like it.

I continue upstream and start to see a few smaller fish fleeing here and there. Then I come to another tempting looking bend in the creek.

Again I cast above the pool and let the fly scoot along next to some driftwood. Nothing doing! I start to lift the fly as it starts to slide underneath the overhanging branches of a tree, but suddenly something erupts on the surface and smacks the fly. This one is bigger, and when I see a silver flash, I know it’s a nice rainbow. The fish dives deep and when I move him, jets upstream with me in hot pursuit. I catch up with the fish and stop the run. He doesn’t give up easily, rocketing away whenever I get him close to the net. Finally, after several more frantic runs, the fish submits–a colorful, healthy 13” bow!

Now the bite becomes steadier although not yet exceptional. Soon I see why the water is so low—a sizeable irrigation diversion dam across the creek is sucking out about half the flow! The good news is the dam has created a nice pocket of fast water that gives up two more rainbows, one on the dry and one on the Tongue Teaser nymph. Today most of the bows are where you might expect–spots with more flow, sometimes in shallower runs.

Mounting the dam with the grace of a mountain goat, I continue upstream and find a long stretch of three-foot deep, slow-moving water. It looks inviting, so I work it carefully, staying low and throwing long casts. But I see no fish and get no action. Then out of the corner of my eye I see a showy rise a hundred feet upstream close against the opposite bank where the current looks stronger. As I creep carefully into casting position, I notice some yellow mayflies flitting in the air, then some yellow caddis. More fish rise, feasting on the tasty morsels.

I kneel and throw a cast up and across stream. It lands in the short grass just above the water, and when I twitch it onto the surface, a good fish explodes and gulps the Trude, his golden body reflecting in the morning sun. It’s a fat, sassy brown trout. Now the fun really begins. On my next cast, something tries to gulp down the dry, but misses. Not to worry. The flies continue to slide down against the bank, and suddenly the dry unceremoniously gets dunked as a substantial fish grabs the nymph. The trout zooms downstream past me as I try to put the brakes on. It’s nip and tuck, and I fully expect the leader to snap. But somehow I manage to ease the critter, a good rainbow, out of the current and into some slack water where I can wrestle him to the net. He’s a respectable 14-inch fish, that will be the biggest of the day. Not bad for a small creek!

As more and more mayflies and caddis flies pop to the surface and flutter about in the air, the fishing gets really hot—the proverbial angler’s nirvana. I pick up another half dozen from the same stretch, half on the dry and half on the nymph. The best approach is to cast into the grass and then slowly coax the flies into the water. When the action slows momentarily, I switch to the double nymph rig and fool a couple of 12-inch brownies who can’t resist the allure of the Two-Bit Hooker!

After 30-minutes of action, I move upstream where the lies are trickier. The only deep holding water is at the bends, each of which seems to be guarded by overhanging branches that promise to claw at and snag anything passing by on the surface. At the first good hole, after sizing things up, I cast 15-feet upstream of the bend, and watch as the dry glides past the curve in the creek and towards the beckoning branches. I crane my neck to keep an eye on the fly, and just before it is snatched by the snag, it disappears. Throwing caution to the wind, I sweep my rod sideways and set the hook, fully expecting the fly to be embedded deeply in woody tendrils. There’s a short pause, then the line moves! It’s a nice brown trout who makes a fatal mistake of leaving his protected haunt for open water. After a good battle, I ease him into the net. On the next cast, his sister can’t resist.

Now the mayfly and caddis hatch is turning into a mini-blizzard. I decide I should get a closer look at the bugs so that I can appropriately identify them by their Latin names to impress my more serious angling brethren. I forego using the little extendable bug net in my vest to capture one of the dainty insects, instead opting to relive my former illustrious, glory days in the Chicago lawyers’ basketball league where we players made up for our lack of skill with truculence on the court. With a leap into the stratosphere that gave me my nickname—Juris Dr. CJ. (Remember Julies Irving??), I soar at least an inch above the water’s surface and…manage to come down empty handed.

After several more valiant but unsuccessful attempts to snatch one in flight, I opt to crawl into the tall grass and find a succulent stonefly that manages somehow to elude my grasp.

Well, hell, the trout are feasting on yellow ones today. That will have to do for the aspiring entomologists!

Feeling a mite less cocky, I decide to proceed upstream where the action continues with a succession of 11-13” browns, oddly most favoring the nymph despite the hatch. Around noon, I come to the upper end of the property signified by a menacing looking barbed-wire fence. I want another fish or two before calling it quits for lunch, but that last pool looks like double trouble. Not only will I have to use a tricky sidearm cast to sneak the flies under the overhanging branches but will then have to perform some gymnastics with the line to keep the flies in the foam/feeding lane near the shoreline.

The first two efforts fail abjectly, although I escape getting snagged. However, the third time is the charm, and as the Trude sidles up against the bank in the foam, it is jerked under. Success! After a worthy tussle, another brownie comes in for a quick pic and release. Another two quickly follow with nary an errant cast.

Feeling somewhat smug and with the wind kicking up on schedule and my stomach starting to growl, I decide to call it a day. I clamber across the creek and into a wide meadow. In the distance a rugged bluff towers over my SUV.

As I soak in the scene, I come to a boggy-looking area that is covered with a raft of lovely little yellow wildflowers, a variety I have never seen before.

I am intrigued, so wade carefully into the marsh and pull out my cell phone app called “PictureThis” that is remarkably good at identifying wildflowers. I snap a shot, run it through the app and violà, the plant is identified as Gmelin’s buttercup. Here’s what the app has to say about this wildflower, quite a surprise: “Gmelin’s buttercup is a perennial flowering plant that can be found in wetlands and other wet habitats. In some cases, it can be completely aquatic, floating on water. The species is relatively rare in the wild and it is considered endangered in Wisconsin. All parts of this buttercup are toxic to animals including livestock.”

Who would have thought the high point of this excellent day of fishing, catching and releasing upwards of two dozen handsome trout under a beautiful blue mountain sky, would be a rare wildflower? That’s why so many of us love to fish the small out of the way creeks, close to nature, with solitude…expecting to discover the unexpected.

January 24, 2022January 24, 2022 hooknfly

2021 Retrospective: The Best, The Botched, And The Blood-Curdling

January 2022

What can you say about 2021? It certainly was another interesting and challenging year. Despite the vicissitudes and travails that all of us went through, it was rewarding overall with plenty of delights, fun times, and frisky fish. Here goes, taking a look back at the best and some busted times as well.

An unexpected and wonderful delight was the extra time I got to spend with my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly. Because of day-care problems associated with Covid, I drove to Denver every week for 8 months starting in October 2020 to take care of her for two days, just her and me, what she called “Grandpa days.” Boy did we have fun exploring creeks, catching crawdaddies, and fooling some fish in metro Denver lakes!

I was also happy to welcome an expanding group of readers from all over the USA and internationally. It’s been a treat getting to know several better, trading fish stories and becoming friends. Thanks to Jim, Bill, Jason, Ed, Jerry, Tim, Brian and the rest of the gang. Despite Covid which led me to remain in Colorado all of 2021 and only spending two weeks in Florida with only one new post, readership stayed steady at the high level established in 2020–over 86,000 views.

In a typical year, new Florida posts account for a quarter of all views. Now that I am back in Florida for the winter and spring, you can bet I will be getting out on the water and sharing new trips and tales.

Like most senior citizens, I can’t let the opportunity pass to gripe about various aches and pains. In October 2020 I came down with a severe case of sciatica due to a couple of ill-advised back-to-back hikes into rugged canyons in search of trout. It was so bad—had me hobbling with a cane–that I began contemplating a life without the hiking, kayaking, and fishing remote backcountry areas that I love. Fortunately, I was referred to a wonderful doctor of physical therapy who correctly assessed the problem in my aging back and put together an exercise routine that has me feeling better than ever and ready for more adventures exploring this beautiful Earth.

Most Popular Posts And Published Articles

By a wide margin, the most popular articles were a quartet about fishing for rare Rio Grande Cutthroat trout in southern Colorado. The series garnered over 5,300 views, including the single most-read article —exploring Medano Creek in the Great Sand Dunes National Preserve, with 2,700 views.

Day Two Exploring The Hidden Streams of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains: Medano Creek (in the Great Sand Dunes Preserve near Alamosa, Colorado)

Perhaps the most rewarding response to any post was the continuing popularity of a five-part series I wrote in late 2020 entitled “The Best Fishing Books Of All Time.” It garnered over 1,600 views in 2021, and several times was featured in the daily Google News post as the leading article on the subject. It was particularly popular around Christmas time as people searched for gift ideas.

THE BEST FISHING BOOKS OF ALL TIME

For saltwater angling, the article I wrote several years ago on fishing around Bahia Honda State Park in the Florida Keys continues to lead the pack with almost 1,600 views. I am planning to get back down there in May for some additional piscatorial research and updating.

Bahia Honda Grab Bag: Kayak And Wade Fishing Around Bahia Honda State Park (Florida Keys)

Covid has been particularly tough on national fishing publications. One of the first angling magazines I wrote for back in the 1990s, the venerable American Angler, folded in 2020, and in 2021 one of my favorites, Southwest Fly Fishing, was consolidated with five other similar magazines by the same publisher into just one called American Fly Fishing. The new one is excellent, but the competition to get something published is tougher.

Despite all of that, I was pleased to have two articles come out in 2021. The first, in Florida Sportsman, is a bit of an oddity for me–fishing for Peacock Bass in the freshwater canals of a big residential development near Naples, Florida. I’m mainly a saltwater, backcountry fishing devotee when I come to Florida, but had a good time learning new tricks while catching in a suburban setting these big, colorful exotic fish from South America.

Golden Gate Peacocks…Bass, That Is (near Naples, Florida)

The second article, which I am particularly proud of tackled the looming catastrophic impact of climate change on the insects trout subsist on and what can be done about it. Entitled “Insect Armageddon,” it appeared in the May 2021 issue of American Fly Fishing.

Anglers: It Better Bug You–The Coming Insect Armageddon

Another article I wrote for American Fly Fishing, “Mission Impossible?? Searching For Fish And Solitude In South Park, Colorado,” will be coming out in early 2022.

Perhaps the biggest bummer in the realm of publishing came with my Everglades kayak fishing guide that was to be published by Wild Adventures Press in Montana. I completed a draft of the guidebook and was well into the editing process when the company ran into staffing issues as well as production problems linked to its printer in South Korea. Because the press was unlikely to be able to publish the guidebook anytime soon, I parted company with it and am searching for a new more reliable publisher. Any thoughts?

One last note, I was honored to be asked by two fishing clubs, one in Florida and one in Colorado, to make Zoom presentations to their members. The one in Florida focused on kayak fishing in the Everglades and the Colorado meeting on beaver pond fishing savvy. Give me a buzz if you’d like me to make a presentation to your club. Always fun!

Most Rewarding Trips

An expedition to explore the remote Adams Fork of the Conejos River in southern Colorado turned out to be the most rewarding trip of the year for a couple of reasons. First, I was able to successfully test my recovery from the aforementioned bout with debilitating sciatica. I hiked in about three miles then down a steep slope into the canyon below and out again with no ill effects. Better yet, the beautiful, rare Rio Grande Cutthroats, the native trout that is making a comeback in southern Colorado, were very cooperative. What a day!!

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

Close behind was another hidden gem in the South Luis Valley of southern Colorado, La Garita Creek, that flows out of a gigantic volcano caldera. Accessed only by a rough 4-WD road, La Garita Creek is loaded with eager brown trout, but only if you can find an opening in the overgrown stream to make a decent cast. Can’t wait to return next summer.

I also had what I call ten fin-filled, fun days in late summer on two separate trips with old fishing buddies, Bob Wayne and Steve Spanger. We fished seven different rivers and streams in those ten days ranging from the South Arkansas to the Chama River including waters like Saguache Creek and the Adams Fork and the Gunnison River in between. Fortunately, the fish were sympathetic to us old geezers, and we had a blast.

Most Humbling Trip, Burst Bubbles, And The Blood-Curdling

Without a doubt, the most humbling angling experience of the year was fishing the beaver ponds of Trout Creek near Buena Vista, Colorado. I fancy myself a beaver pond maven, but in May almost lost all my mojo to the lock-jawed brownies of Trout Creek. I flailed the water for an entire day, spooking many fish and landing only three despite heroic efforts that included sloshing through beaver pond marshes in knee-deep muck, fighting willows for my flies, and scaling steep slopes to get to hidden ponds. Nothing worked!

Bewitched, Bothered, And Bewildered By The Beguiling Beaver Ponds Of Trout Creek

Fortunately, I got a measure of revenge and partially rejuvenated my mojo with trips several weeks later to tackle the beaver ponds of Pass Creek not far from my cabin near Salida, Colorado. I managed to catch dozens of nice browns and brookies including a 14-inch beautiful brownie.

Beaver Pond Saga, Chapter 3: Return Of The Mojo (Pass Creek Near Salida, CO)

With my mojo partially patched up, I am planning a return encounter this summer with the baffling Trout Creek denizens!

Another particularly humbling experience came in the fall at the hands of brook trout on the upper reaches of the Huerfano (Wear-fano) River in the wilds of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado. Fishing in one of the most scenic valleys I’ve ever set foot in, I was sure this was going to be a banner day when in the first pool I came to I spied nice brook trout finning in the depths. However, three hours and many epithets lates, I flew the white flag. I had scored nary a bite the whole time as the spawning brookies made clear amore was more important than eating. With the air redolent of skunk, I slunk back to my SUV and headed back downstream where I managed to salve my bruised ego and rid the myself of the scent of skunk with a dozen or so nice brown trout. Sometimes persistence pays off!

Exploring The Hidden Creeks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains: Day 1 On The Huerfano (Orphan) River

On the blood-curdling front, in the past close encounters with alligators and moose have topped the list. This time it was a close-encounter of the cougar kind. Picture bushwhacking through heavy, tall brush along a creek to fish a beaver pond, stepping out on a sand bar, and seeing the fresh tracks of a mountain lion! That’s what happened to me on Pass Creek last summer.

Needless to say the last few hairs on my follicle-challenged head stood straight up! I hadn’t seen or heard a thing, but had no doubt the cat was watching me. Fortunately he must have thought my skinny, old body wouldn’t be much of a snack. I made plenty of noise the rest of the day, and had my knife close at hand just in case. A 14-inch brown trout made the fright worthwhile!

Most Surprising

For every Huerfano River or Trout Creek debacle, there always seems to be one or two pleasant surprises each year where I discover a new, unexpectedly good water to fish. Upper Tarryall Creek in South Park, Colorado, wins the award for 2021. I stumbled onto the creek in June when I stopped with my sweetheart granddaughter Aly to have lunch and explore a “haunted house” at the Cline Ranch State Wildlife Area on the way from Denver to my cabin outside Salida, Colorado.

When I pulled into the parking area, I noticed that the four spaces were all prominently numbered. On a nearby sign I read that each parking space was assigned an exclusive “beat” on nearby Upper Tarryall Creek, a beautiful small stream. It reminded me of the beat system the English use on their rivers where waters are divided into beats or stretches and the number of anglers allowed on each limited to help spread out the fishing pressure. I made a mental note to return, which I did several weeks later. After parking in one of the designated spots, I walked north to the corresponding upper beat and had a fabulous day fishing for nice browns in the creek and several big beaver ponds. All of this not much more than a stone’s throw from traffic whizzing by US 285. And I had the water to myself all day in South Park that is sometimes overrun with anglers from Denver and Colorado Springs. What a smart idea!

GET ON THE BEAT AT UPPER TARRYALL CREEK (In South Park, Colorado)

On The Horizon: Looking Forward to 2022

So what’s on the agenda for 2022? First and foremost is to get back down to Florida to get my saltwater chops back. I arrived in Everglades City a couple of weeks ago, got the kayak and Gheenoe ready to go, and started executing that plan. A 24-inch snook on my first yak outing led the fish parade. More stories and tall tales to come from the Everglades backcountry!

I also want to explore some of the remote brackish canals east of Naples, Florida, that are impossible to access except with a kayak. Big snook are rumored to hide out there along with the gators!

While in Florida, I hope to get the Everglades Kayak Fishing Guide back on track and will be sending out the manuscript to several publishing houses.

I’ll be hauling one of my pedal kayaks with me on the way back to Colorado in May so I can stop at Port O’Connor, Texas, and fish that wonderful inshore water inside the barrier island for redfish and sea trout in my kayak. The yak will also come in handy as I try to explore some high-mountain lakes in Colorado that are accessible with my 4-WD SUV.

Also high on my list when I return to Colorado for the summer will be to fish another remote tributary of the Conejos River, the Middle Fork up in the high country not too far from the Adams Fork. I also want to explore the upper, wild reaches of the Rio Chama near the New Mexico border.

Of course, I will chase some trout with my sweetheart Aly!!

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

Saguache County fishing

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

2023 Ruminations–The Sweet, The Sour, and The Surprising

Looking Back On 2022: The Best, The Befuddling, And The Bungled

ROPE-A-DOPE ON THE COCHETOPE??

2021 Retrospective: The Best, The Botched, And The Blood-Curdling