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: https://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: https://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: https://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: https://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: https://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. https://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. https://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. https://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!

https://hooknfly.com/2022/10/07/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. https://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.

October 24, 2022February 5, 2023 hooknfly

Taming The Tigers Of Torsido and Upper La Jara Creeks (near Del Norte, CO)

Late September 2022

For my earlier articles on fishing La Jara Creek below La Jara Reservoir, see: https://hooknfly.com/2018/01/10/colorado-dreamin-on-such-a-winters-day-la-jara-creek-near-alamosa-co/ and https://hooknfly48.files.wordpress.com/2018/02/la-jara-creek-article-pdf.pdf

It’s the last day of my annual fall fishing fling in southern Colorado, and I’m on the road early at 7:30 a.m. from the Woods and River RV Park in Del Norte where I have been staying for the past week in my mobile fishing camp.

My aim is to explore Torsido and La Jara Creeks above La Jara Reservoir. I have had some terrific days fishing La Jara Creek below the dam, but this is my first venture above in the expansive treeless meadow. My research tells me both tiny creeks offer some fun fishing for small, colorful brookies and maybe even some cutthroats.

It’s about a two-hour drive from Del Norte to the lake, the last 20-mile stretch on a scenic but bumpy gravel road (Fdr240/259) that clearly hasn’t seen a grader blade since the end of our long monsoon season. The aspen on this route are at their best, so I just slow down and enjoy the brilliant display.

As I crest the hill, La Jara Reservoir greets me with a mirror-smooth surface reflecting the surrounding trees and foothills.

I continue north on the gravel road that flanks the lake and then above where I reconnoiter for the best jumping off point. The wide meadow hides any sight of either stream until I’m a mile or so above the lake where I catch a glance of La Jara Creek as it twists and turns, just a stone’s throw from the road. But I’m puzzled as I can’t see Torsido Creek anywhere, and up another mile La Jara Creek fizzles out completely at a big bend in the road. So I turn around and drive back down towards the reservoir, and finally decide about a mile above the lake to go exploring in the meadow, parking by the side of the road not far from a long hillock a couple of hundred yards to the east. My hunch is that Torsido flows in La Jara Creek somewhere on the other side of that hill out in the meadow. But it’s hard to gauge from the maps I have as the reservoir is low, exposing a lot of ground that’s usually underwater.

I suit up in my lightweight chest waders and carry my 4# wand rigged with a #18 Royal Trude to imitate the little hoppers that are still flitting about teamed with a #18 sparkle caddis larva dropper. I head south and, in a few minutes, cross La Jara Creek.

This is going to be challenging I think upon spying the tiny dimensions of the stream flanked by tall grass that will make casting challenging. Not only that, the shoreline in most places appears to have been the scene of a cow dance party, stomped into mush by the big bovine I can see in the distance. Did I mention the long in-stream strands of vegetation that promise to snag any fly beneath the surface? The good news is that the flow is strong and water cold, plus it’s a beautiful sunny day. Perfect for an easy ramble in the meadow.

I soon come to a lovely stand of grass with feathery purple spikes swaying gently in the light wind. I check with my favorite phone app, Picture This, and learn it’s called wild or foxtail barley.

The app notes that it is an easy plant to grow, suited perfectly for brown thumbs! As I admire the scene, something white catches my eye in the distance. I focus and see that it’s a big herd of pronghorn antelope lolling around at the upper end of the meadow. Then something spooks them, and they take off running lickety split.

Later I will cross paths with a big coyote which may explain their flight. It’s always a good sign to see some antelope when exploring a new water—usually means there aren’t many people around.

I continue south, aiming towards a big jumble of rocks surrounded by grazing cattle in the middle of the meadow not far from the lake. I hope to get up higher for a better view and maybe see Torsido Creek.

I use my farm boy mooing talent to scatter the dumbfounded bovine, except for the big bull who just glares at me. I hustle past him and scale the big rocks, a safe haven. They look strangely out of place in the serene meadow, seemingly plunked down randomly. I scan 360 degrees but the errant creek is nowhere to be seen. I think maybe it’s hidden in one of those ravines, hidden among the aspen, so I continue the trek.

To reach the foothills, I end up sloshing through some mucky marshland, then have to navigate a barbed wire fence. On reaching dry ground, I head east to check out one ravine, but only find a trickle there. Perplexed, I reverse course and check out another gulch.

Same story, including another stout barbed wire fence to surmount. Then as I crest another hill, a big coyote with a raggedy coat flashes by me, only 20 feet away. No wonder those pronghorns were skittish.

With no Torsido in sight, I decide to circle back to towards the road, have lunch that I stowed by La Jara Creek on the way in, and focus on fishing that water. It’s almost 12:30 p.m. when I reach the hillock close to La Jara Creek, having completed a fruitless three-mile circuit around the meadow. Thankfully, my magic RC Cola elixir banishes the depression and desperation that were starting to grab hold of me.

By 1 p.m. I’m ready to go again. I approach the stream cautiously and immediately spy a trout rising casually upstream. Casting is tricky if I stay too far back or kneel, courtesy of the tall grass and reeds along the shoreline. But if I get too close, I risk spooking the fish as well as having to deal with the mushy soup the cattle stomping has created. Against all odds, I throw a decent cast, and the fish inhales the dry without any hesitation. To my surprise, it’s a small tiger trout, a sterile hybrid of a male brook and a female brown trout that have been stocked in the lake.

They must be moving up the creeks in search of food, maybe snacking on the brook trout reputed to be here. Some anglers turn their noses up at tigers, but I am not complaining after wandering in the proverbial wilderness all morning.

I continue upstream and get several more small tigers, miss a good one in a big bend pool, then spook several more. The going is tough trying to work standing back from the shoreline so I defy conventional wisdom and start wading right up the middle of the creek that fortunately has a fairly firm bottom. I also dispense with the nymph which hasn’t produced anything except a lot of slimy moss to clean off after most casts. Those two moves are the tickets. By now the sun has warmed the creek, and trout are rising steadily as I work upstream. I have a ball casting for rising tigers and start to pick up some brilliantly colored brook trout as well.

They are modest in size—ranging from 6-to 12-inches–but scrappy. Who can complain with a couple of dozen caught and released.

Then I get a wakeup call. Just below a big bend in the creek, a large blue dragonfly zooms upstream a couple of feet above the water, zigzagging this way and that. All of a sudden, a big trout rockets into the air, just barely missing snagging the insect. How it could have seen that dragonfly scooting by while underwater let alone react quickly enough to almost dine on it is beyond me. Probably not much chance he’ll surface again, but I decide to wait a minute to let the pool calm down, then place my dry just above where he was hiding along the shoreline. No sooner than the Trude alights and the mini-brute gulps it down in a showy rise. I set the hook, and the fish explodes in the air, then heads upstream. My rod bends double as I put pressure on to stop the run. It’s nip and tuck for a minute or so, but finally I tame the tiger and slid him into the net. He’s a muscular beauty, pushing 14-inches!

I continue around the bend and see another showy rise. This time a gaudy brook, biggest of the day, slams the Trude.

Then it’s several more nice tigers followed by another colorful brook trout. But then I hear a menacing rumble! In the midst of all the fun, I didn’t notice the storm clouds welling up from the southeast.

I throw caution to the wind, which has started gusting, and trudge on. Good move. I come to another bend in the creek, see a trout rising, and fool him on the first cast. It’s another ferocious tiger who thrashes on the surface before diving for his lair that is full of snags. I run upstream, applying pressure to horse him out of the mess. Miraculously, he slides out into the open with the Trude still in the corner of his mouth. From there, it’s a battle of inches, him gaining the upper hand, then me. Finally, he gets close enough to slide the net under his silver flanks. What a beauty, measuring 15+-inches!

As I release the shimmering beauty, as if by magic, the angling gods push the clouds away momentarily, allowing me a few more casts before the rain comes….and I cash in. A flashy brook trout is followed by another nice tiger, then the Lilliputian of the day! A good way to close out an interesting outing!

Later when I get back to camp and have service for my Google Maps and can scrutinize some USGS topomaps more carefully, I figure out where Torsido Creek was hiding. I see a gap in the middle of the mile-long hillock near the road. I had thought Torsido would meet La Jara Creek below and other side of the hillock in the big meadow where I wandered about for a couple of hours. In reality, Torsido cuts through the hillock in the gap and joins La Jara there, near to the road. But it is all but invisible if you don’t know where to look as the creek is so narrow and obscured in the tall grass. In my excitement and haste, I completely missed it.

Ah, another good excuse to come back next year to tame some more tigers and brookies…as if I needed one!

Blanca Peak Reigning Over The Beautiful San Luis Valley On My Way Home

September 7, 2022September 13, 2022 hooknfly

Tough Eastern Beastly Boys Tangle With Truculent Colorado Trout!

Late August 2022

For some of my earlier outings on Carnero Creek and the South Fork of the South Platte River, see: https://hooknfly.com/2022/07/21/south-park-under-the-radar/ and https://hooknfly.com/2021/07/22/into-the-backcountry-day-3-prospecting-for-trout-on-carnero-creek-near-del-norte-co/

This past August I hosted fishing buddies from the East Coast, Steve Spanger and Paul Hughes, in their quest to catch some manly, muscular Colorado trout. Under my watchful eye and refereeing to ensure no funny business, they chased their quarry on the South Arkansas River, Carnero Creek, and the South Fork of the South Platte. In three pugnacious, fish-filled days, the eastern contingent proved up to the challenge, catching and releasing dozens of fiesty fish including a 17-inch brown plus a rare two-species double (brown and cuttbow) by Mr. Spanger and a slam by Mr. Hughes (brown, brook, and cuttbow in one day). A quartet of flies proved to be the downfall of many hungry trout.

The Fab Four (from **top** clockwise): Chubby Chernobyl, Dirk’s Delight (CDC hotwire caddis), Royal Stimulator, and Sparkle Caddis Larva

All-in-all, it was a fun time with two gentlemanly anglers who also proved their mettle by dodging amorous llama to reach the water one day as well downing copious amounts of Colorado brews and a variety of fruits of the vine in post-fishing celebrations. Here’s a slide show with a little music that captures the spirit of the week. Hats off to the beastly boys from the East.

October 18, 2021July 14, 2022 hooknfly

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

Early October 2021

For my Day 1 outing on the Huerfano (the Orphan) River see: https://hooknfly.com/2021/10/14/exploring-the-hidden-creeks-of-the-sangre-de-cristo-mountains-day-1-on-the-orphan-river/

For accounts of earlier trips where I chased Rio Grande Cutthroats see: https://hooknfly.com/2021/09/14/prospecting-for-trout-on-the-fab-five-forks-of-the-conejos-river-2-the-adams-fork/ and https://hooknfly.com/2019/09/27/lake-fork-of-the-conejos-river-solitude-in-a-sanctuary-for-rare-rio-grande-cutthroat-trout/

I’m off on my last camping/fishing trip of the year. Snow is already on the jagged peaks of the Sangre de Cristo (Blood of Christ) Mountains in the San Luis Valley, and colder weather will be rolling in next week. I have set up my mobile fish camp in an RV campground just outside of Alamosa, and have my eyes on two waters I haven’t yet explored in the remote high country of this imposing mountain range—the Huerfano (p. WEAR funno) River and Medano (p. MAY dunno) Creek. The Huerfano River lies on the east side of the Sangres where it springs from the flanks of the majestic Blanca Peak, a fourteener and one of the highest summits in the Rocky Mountains. The second, Medano Creek, lies only about 15 miles away as the crow flies to the north on the west side of the Sangres. It is home to the colorful, rare Rio Grande Cutthroats. While close on maps, the two waters actually lie a couple of hours apart by road.

The Sangre de Cristos are one of the most rugged mountain ranges in the United States climbing abruptly over 7,000 feet above the valleys to the east and west, one of the steepest vertical rises of any mountains in North America. Nine of its peaks top 14,000 feet. Unlike the San Juan Mountains on the west side of the San Luis Valley that were created by volcanic activity, the Sangre de Cristo range is the product of tremendous uplift forces which helps to explain their jagged profile. Numerous alpine lakes and streams are hidden away in the deep folds between the soaring peaks. Hiking in this rough high country is not for the faint of heart as I can attest from an outing on Sand Creek lakes several years ago.

Doing my due diligence research prior to this October trip, I found very little mention of either water on-line, except occasional posts by intrepid hikers. I couldn’t find anyone at my local fly shop who had heard of, let alone fished either. Apparently neither is on the angling radar screen—my kind of streams!

Day 2: Medano Creek

After a long day fishing the headwaters of the Huerfano River yesterday, I decide to sleep in a bit and have an extra cup of strong English Breakfast tea before heading out. Still I’m on the road by 8:30 a.m. for what should be the shorter drive to fish Medano Creek. Aptly named, meaning sand dunes in Spanish, Medano Creek flows through the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve. The dunes there soar over 300 feet high, the tallest in North America. They fit in well with the San Luis Valley landscape, the highest true desert in the United States that gets a paltry eight inches of rain a year. Indeed, while Medano Creek starts out ten miles above the dunes in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, it eventually disappears in the porous piles of sand. In the early summer when it still runs through the dunes before vanishing, my little sweetheart granddaughter Aly loves playing in the warm creek waters and digging in the huge natural sandbox.

Interestingly, biologists tells us that Medano Creek, being completely isolated by the dunes, never held any trout before nonnatives like brown trout were introduced. However, because of the isolation provided by the sand dunes, the creek was a perfect candidate for transplanting Rio Grande Cutthroats, the only native trout in the valley, as part of the recovery program to save that threatened fish. Non-native trout were poisoned out, and the Rio Grande Cutthroats introduced in the 1980s. The program was doing nicely until a huge wildfire burned through the area in 2010. Fortunately, state wildlife aquatic biologists organized to save fish in the lower reaches. The cutts in the creek rebounded nicely and are one of Colorado’s best sustaining population of the Rio Grande Cutts. They are now being used as the stock for restoration efforts such as those in nearby Sand Creek.

My excitement level jumps a notch as I get closer to the imposing sand dunes. This is definitely going to be a completely different day than yesterday. Instead of climbing high into the mountains on a steep rocky road to an alpine water at over 10,000 feet, I’ll be navigating tricky sand pits on the edge of the dunes that can suck even a 4WD drive vehicle to its axles in a flash. My first glimpse of the creek is encouraging, but I start to get a little knot in my stomach when I begin to see the increasingly sober warning signs as I drive further into the dunes.

One warns drivers to lower their tire pressure to 20 psi to make it through. Fortunately, according to the park ranger at the entry booth, soaking rains last night have firmed up the sand so I don’t need to follow that advisory. This won’t be so bad, I think. I’ll take a sandy road over a gnarly rock-infested steep one any day.

But then I come to the big sign that announces “point of no return!” Yikes, what have I gotten myself into?

Soon I run into what will be the first of several wide creek crossings. The water level is low so they are no problem, but could be earlier in the year during runoff.

I don’t see any fish, and the creek on either side is completely overgrown for several miles. I start to wonder if this is going to be another frustrating day like yesterday.

Further up another mile or so I run into a hunter near a series of steep cliffs, reputedly mountain sheep territory.

He confirms that is his quarry. The young nimrod says he has been at it for four days and hasn’t seen any. What about fish, I ask? He nods and tells me he’s seen plenty of those. Whew!

As I continue, looking for an opening to investigate the water, the still-sandy road narrows as it weaves its way through the aspen and pines. I wince as the branches scrape along the side of my SUV and snap at my radio antenna.

I start to wonder what I’ll do if I meet another vehicle. Then I do. That explains why I’ve been seeing short pull outs scraped into the forest every quarter mile or so. It’s where you back up to when you meet someone. Fortunately the young gents coming down are closer to one so they back up and pull over. I roll my window down to thank them, and ask what things look like above. They mention several more river crossings and then a rocky stretch a few miles up. I ask them if they saw any beaver ponds and they nod, just after the valley widens and the road gets rougher they say.

Their info proves to be correct, and sure enough right after the road begins to climb more sharply and the sand gives way to rocks in the road, the valley widens and I spy a side track that leads to a broad meadow where I can see water. It’s 10:30 a.m. and has taken me about two hours to drive here from the campground.

I hop out of the SUV and walk cautiously to the creek. It’s wide and flowing slowly courtesy of a small beaver dam below. I can see up the steep slope on the other side of the creek evidence of the massive forest fire that swept through here a decade ago.

Charred pine trunks still stand, but the aspen are coming back, and the vegetation around the pond is thick in places. There are dimples on the water, and as I get closer I can see several foot-long cutthroats swimming nonchalantly as they pick off small midge flies on the surface. I hustle back to my vehicle and grab the rod that’s rigged with a dry/dropper combo. The dry is a #18 Royal Coachman Trude and the dropper a creation of my own that I have dubbed Dirk’s Delight. It’s a #18 beadhead caddis larva that’s been producing all summer on small creeks.

Dirk’s Delight–CDC Beadhead Caddis Larva

I decide to don my chest waders, anticipating I will be wading beaver ponds today from the looks of things on Google Maps. But it’s nice and sunny—the temperature will reach 75 this afternoon—and the wind is light so I don’t have to slip on a jacket.

In a flash I’m back on the water, standing back from the shoreline so as not to spook the several cruising cutthroats. I make a short cast a few feet in front of the biggest, and he jets forward to nail the nymph before it can sink. BINGO! Not like the shy brookies yesterday! The handsome cutt poses for a quick photo then slides back into the water.

I quickly recast, and hook another. Indeed I get strikes on the next five casts and land a couple more smaller cutts, all but one on the caddis dropper.

When the action slows, I decide to hustle back to my vehicle and get my second rod rigged with two nymphs since the fish appear to prefer something subsurface. That seems to be the ticket, as the action picks up as I work upstream, the fish either being in the deeper trough in the middle of the slow moving channel or up against the opposite shoreline. The fish are definitely not being picky. I catch several that hit the dropper several times after being hooked on the first try but wriggling off.

Around the bend I spy several more cutts cruising along the surface steadily feeding on small tidbits. They aren’t wary and don’t waste any time nailing the caddis or the dry I offer a few yards in front of them. All are healthy and go from 10-12 inches. What fun! At the next bend in a deeper spot under an overhanging bush I’m surprised to get a beauty that pushes 14-inches, and then four more out of the same spot despite all the commotion.

Then it’s on to a big beaver dam and pond I can see upstream. I approach the dam cautiously and cast the flies into the spillway cascade. Immediately something big nails the dry and the battle is on…but short-lived. The cutthroat cartwheels into the air, his sides shining in the sun, and earns his freedom as I magnanimously grant him a long-distance release.

Big Beaver Pond Frolic About To Commence

I move up and carefully scale the big beaver dam. It doesn’t take long to get back into the groove. On the first cast parallel to the dam into a pocket under some overhanding trees, a colorful cutthroat inhales the nymph.

Several more come out of that spot. Next I concentrate on a dark, deeper hole in the middle of the pond where a couple of fish are dimpling the surface. It produces several more, but all on the nymph. For the next half hour I work the pond from the shoreline. I get several more cruisers on the dry, one of which I watch incredulously as he hits the dry, then the dropper, then the dry again five times. I actually hook him twice, and he just keeps coming back. Who am I to argue?!? Further on I see a rise in a deep pocket close to the shoreline, and it turns out to be a honey hole. I fool a half dozen more feisty cutts including a long, slim beauty that pushes 14-inches!

By now it’s almost 2 p.m., and my stomach is growling. But just as I’m about to head back to the SUV and lunch, I come upon another beaver dam, this one older and smaller, with a pond that’s partially silted in. I catch several below the dam, then realize I’ll have to navigate around the marshy area it has created to get to the deeper water above. I go back downstream a hundred yards and am just about to take a step into a clear, shallow side channel when I am startled to see a leviathan slowly finning in the narrow confines, picking morsels off the surface. I retreat behind a bush and gently loft a short cast a few feet in front of the big boy. He swims forward slowly and sips in the dry. I set the hook and he thrashes his head back and forth. My heart drops when the fly comes whizzing back towards me. I expect to see the fish zoom off back into the safety of the pond but he resumes his slow amble up the channel. I place the flies above him again, and he jets forward to nail the nymph. I’m so shocked that I momentarily forget to set the hook, but when I do the cutt shows off his muscles. He slashes back and forth in the channel, but luckily doesn’t make a run towards the pond which would have required me to do my famous Usain Bolt imitation running through the marshy muck to keep up with him. Soon he’s easing into my net, a stunning 15-inches. The big fish sports all the striking colors and patterns of a pure Rio Grande Cutt, including the cluster of small spots near the tail, the speckled back, the dark red gill plate, and of course the red slash under his throat.

Hefty, Healthy Rio Grande Cutthroat Caps Banner Day

As I slide the beautiful fish back into the water, I think what a wonderful way to end an extraordinary day!

But then think am I out of my mind with that one more alluring pool just above and Google Maps showing another whole series of ponds just up the road. So I negotiate with myself and my stomach. I’ll fish the pool then call it a day. The next string of beaver ponds can wait for a return engagement. The compromise turns out to be a good one. I catch several more nice fish at the top of the pond in very clear water, then resolutely climb up to the road above, tip my hat to the cutts, and hike a few minutes back to the SUV and lunch while I plot my return next year.

Last Look And Tip Of The Hat To The Wonderful Cutthroat Of Medano Creek

Note: In my follow up research on access to Medano Creek, I learned an easier route may be from the west side of the Sangres through the Wet Mountain Valley and over Medano Pass. Road 559 appears to be less challenging, gets to the beaver ponds more quickly, and avoids having to navigate the sand. UPDATE: The Medano Pass route is 4wd only, steep, and very rough and rocky in spots. Choose your poison.

October 14, 2021June 19, 2022 hooknfly

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

October 2021

For an account of my earlier trip in the Sangre de Cristo mountains where I fished for big cutthroats in an alpine lake see:https://hooknfly.com/2020/07/25/return-to-sand-creek-lakes-revenge-of-the-skunked/

I have set up my mobile fish camp in an RV campground just outside of Alamosa, and have my eyes on two waters I haven’t yet explored in the remote high country of this imposing mountain range—the Huerfano (p. WEAR funno) River and Medano (p. MAY dunno) Creek. The Huerfano River lies on the east side of the Sangres in the southern reaches of the Wet Mountain Valley where it springs from the flanks of the majestic Blanca Peak, a fourteener and one of the highest summits in the Rocky Mountains. The second, Medano Creek, lies only about 15 miles away as the crow flies to the north of the Great Sand Dunes National Park on the west side of the Sangres. It is home to colorful, rare Rio Grande Cutthroats. While in close proximity on maps, the two waters actually lie a couple of hours apart by road.

The Sangre de Cristos are one of the most rugged mountain ranges in the United States rising abruptly over 7,000 feet above the valleys to the east and west, one of the steepest vertical rises of any mountains in North America. Nine of its peaks top 14,000 feet. Unlike the San Juan Mountains on the west side of the San Luis Valley that were created by volcanic activity, the Sangre de Cristo range is the product of tremendous uplift forces which helps to explain their jagged profile. Numerous alpine lakes and streams are hidden away in the deep folds between the soaring peaks. Hiking in this rough high country is not for the faint of heart as I can attest from an outing on Sand Creek lakes several years ago.

Day 1: The Huerfano River

I’m up early the next morning for what will be a two-hour drive east of Alamosa to the headwaters of the Huerfano. It’s a pleasant scenic route on US 160 through historic Fort Garland to the turn off to the north on Pass Creek Road (Rd572) just before reaching La Veta Pass.

Blanca Peak And Mt. Lindsey Above Fort Garland

Turn Off On Pass Creek Road (572) Near La Veta Pass

The gravel road starts out fine, the dust settled from a good soaking rain the past few nights. But then I start to run into stretches where the edges of the road are partially washed out where the rain cascaded through acres of burnt timber and denuded ground from a recent wildfire. I drive by some heavy equipment trying to repair the damage and am fortunate to squeeze by. Luckily the road soon improves, and I have to worry about dodging free-ranging cattle and occasional wild turkeys.

Rd 572 finally turns into Rd 570, and in a few miles when Rd 570 crosses the Huerfano River, I’m not surprised to see it is very low. This stretch of the river runs through a broad agricultural valley where its waters are diverted for irrigation. I figure I will find more water higher up. Rd 570 dead ends into Road 550, a paved highway where I turn left (west) and start up towards the headwaters.

The Hispanic heritage of the valley and agricultural lands to the east is reflected in the river’s name which means “orphan” in Spanish. The name comes from an iconic 300-foot high conical butte that stands alone by itself near the river in the prairie eight miles north of Walsenburg. This massive lone sentinel was an important landmark for early explorers like John Fremont.

In a few miles Rd 550, a paved highway, transitions into a good gravel road that winds up the valley and then through the narrow confines of the Huerfano State Wildlife Area. I get my first glimpse of the river and its rushing waters. It’s heavily overgrown, but has a better flow than down below as I had hoped.

Soon I come to a prominent warning sign notifying me that the next three miles are through private land and that trespassers will be shot and then shot again (or something like that). Now the road steadily deteriorates with some rocky, bumpy sections. I shift into 4WD, happy that I have four good AT tires and a high-clearance vehicle. I pass by a couple of mountain mansions, and then the valley opens up again. It’s hard to keep my eye on the road as the spectacular scene emerges, brilliant golden aspen framing the snow-covered east side of the Sangres.

But I’m jolted back to reality when I crest a ridge, and the road drops precipitously down the slope.

Road 550 transitions into Upper Huerfano Road 580 that is recommended for 4WD, trails bikes, and ATVs only. Rd 580 isn’t particularly steep but is pocked with big rocks and an uneven roadbed that require careful navigating.

4-Wheel Drive Vehicle Highly Reommended!

Only in a few places does the road come close to the river, and then it’s mostly overgrown like below. I decide to keep going to the Lily Lake Trailhead where my map shows the trail intersecting the river in a broad open meadow. Finally at about 10:45 a.m. I reach the trailhead and am surprised to see four vehicles there, two that are average AWD passenger cars! I say a quick prayer for the drivers, hoping they have good 6-ply tires. It’s a long way from any tow truck.

I saunter over to the edge of the parking area, noting the remnants of a SUV running board being used as a fire pit bench.

I am greeted by a stupendous view of the river several hundred feet below in a canyon. The plunge pools look inviting, but only a mountain goat would dare descend from there. I hatch a plan to walk upstream on the trail then rock hop back down into the canyon.

I suit up in my normal high-country fishing uniform—chest waders, Simms Vapor wading/hiking boots, wading staff, and fishing vest loaded to the gills. I decide to carry only one rod, a lightweight 8.5-foot, four-weight wand rigged with a dry/dropper combo—a #18 Royal Coachman Trude for the surface and a #18 green beadhead caddis larva below. My leader and dropper are 5X.

The trail is in excellent shape thanks to the good work of a corps of volunteers according to a sign I pass. It ascends gently then descends into the big open valley promised on my map. The view is spectacular and will distract me for the rest of the afternoon—Blanca Peak and Mt. Lindsey in a magnificent cirque covered with the first snow of the season. I decide to veer off the trail and follow a game trail that wends through high grass down to the river.

As I get close to the river, I can see the water is low and crystal clear so I switch into stealth mode. I creep up to the shoreline, but despite my sneakiness, immediately spook a good-sized brook trout that zooms frantically downstream.

Ah, the vicissitudes of small stream fishing! My plan is cross the river in a shallow spot that I see 20 yards upstream then hike downstream through the brush on the east side into the canyon where I had spotted those alluring plunge pools–then work my way back up.

My plan works perfectly for about three minutes. As I wade across in the shallows, I can see a beautiful, deep pool at a bend in the river just above. Better yet, there is a school of brookies finning in the depths, apparently oblivious to my presence. I crouch to lower my profile and execute a dainty cast to the head of the pool just below where the current cascades in. I can see my nymph dropping down to the quarry that awaits. But the brookies don’t move a centimeter towards either fly. I try again, with similar results. Persnickety little devils. After a half a dozen skillful casts and floats later I stand to get a better look and send the trout into a fleeing vs. feeding frenzy. Oh well, I rationalize, I will deal with them later when I come back this way.

Then it’s off into the bushes and boulders above the creek to work my way into the canyon. The game trail I’m following soon runs into a nasty looking loose scree slope forcing me to cross over to the other side.

The streambed rocks are surprisingly slippery, but I execute my best nimble septuagenarian moves to emerge without a dunking. My sights are set on a tempting pool downstream. I creep slowly through the brush fishing a couple of little plunge pools on the way, one of which harbors a good-sized brookie who zooms to safety. When I get to the top of the target pool, I’m disappointed to find it’s very shallow and barren of any fish. I can see further below where the going gets even rougher, so decide there is plenty of water to work back upstream in the meadow.

I retrace my steps to below another alluring pool and am immediately captivated by the entrancing view.

I sit on a warm rock and soak in the grand scene for a few minutes. This moment is alone worth the trip I think to myself. The bonus is the four trout I see finning mid-pool in the current, one large one and three smaller. Then it dawns on me that they are in the pre-spawn amorous courting mode. I confirm my suspicious by executing several delicate casts which the trout respond to with zero interest. I decide to switch to a Parachute Adams with a 6X leader and add a #18 Two-Bit Hooker below on a 6X dropper. Same results. Clearly amore is trumping appetite.

Soon I am back to the pool just below where I started in the meadow. Five brookies are stationed in the depths of the pool. I kneel craftily and loft a cast above them. The flies drift perfectly towards the trout, but sadly, like their brethren, they show no interest in my offerings, so I switch flies again. I add a size #22 black zebra midge to the offerings. This has no noticeable effect on their obvious case of lockjaw. If frustration, I stand to size things up, which sends them jetting back and forth upstream and down in the pool in utter terror.

I continue upstream, hoping for better, but the results are the same. In a half dozen picture-perfect pools, the trout stick their noses up at my offerings while they swim around in romantic bliss. I take care to stay out of the water when I spot fish over gravel beds just in case some are already spawning. I spot one beauty that looks to be at least 14-inches, but like females of certain other species she won’t give me the time of day.

Next I try a long perfect looking run along the shoreline upstream that normally would be loaded with fish, but come up empty.

Toward the top of the meadow, the river splits, and I follow the east fork. I see a few trout here and there then come to a little beaver pond. A dozen trout are swimming in the pool created by the spillway, but I get too close, and they go flying downstream by me. Above the dam the river actually disappears, so I hike back downstream to find the other fork.

It is narrow and winds back west through the meadow and some marshes. Here and there I spot brookies lying up against the undercut banks, but can’t persuade them to bite.

It’s about 1:30 p.m. by now and my stomach is growling and patience growing very thin. I am beginning to resign myself to my first ignominious skunk of the year. Almost three hours of flailing the water and not a rise or bite let alone a fish. At least it’s been a scenic ecotour, and I have had the river to myself, nary a boot mark anywhere—just lots of sign of deer and elk! But wait, what about that good-looking freestone water back down in the state wildlife area I passed through in the morning ? That could salvage my reputation,

On the short hike back to the trailhead, I begin to plan my redemption. Without wasting any time shedding my boots and waders, I climb back into the SUV and roll downhill towards the wildlife area, a determined glint in my eyes. The scenery is again mesmerizing, blazing yellow and orange leaves capturing the afternoon sun, but I keep chugging along.

More Gorgeous Fall Scenery To Distract From The Angling Task At Hand!!

By 2:30 I’m back at the boundary of the wildlife area and find a nice turnout overlooking the river. I set up my folding chair and table overlooking a beautiful pool and partake of a hearty lunch and can of RC Cola power drink that helps me regain my mojo.

Below the turnout, the river bends away from the road and becomes invisible behind the trees and tangle of brush. I have a hunch that the hidden stretch doesn’t get much pressure, so walk down the road several hundred yards then plunge into the thicket. I follow a faint path that emerges just below a big boulder where a log has jammed to create a small plunge pool below it. I check the streambed rocks and find them loaded with caddis cases. I also see a few caddis flies flitting about in the air.

I tie back on the Royal Trude and caddis nymph and probe the pool carefully, but the current is much swifter here and not likely to hold a fish. I navigate around the log and boulder and spy a stretch of water along the opposite bank where the current is slower and the run deeper. I pop the dry at the top of the run and watch it slide down against the shoreline. Something flashes at the dry, but misses the fly. I quickly recast and this time a nice 14-inch brown trout inhales the nymph at the end of the run. Battle on! The fish heads for the undercut bank replete with snags, but my rod has enough back bone to turn him. Soon he’s sliding into my net for a quick photo followed by several deep bows from this appreciative angler and then is released. The pernicious skunk has been banished!!

I continue working upstream, concentrating on every pocket or run of quieter water where the brownies are hiding out to avoid the strong current. I manage a half-dozen more before I get to the beautiful pool at the turnout.

Slower Runs And Quiet Pools Are The Ticket

There I fool one more and decide since it’s 4:30 and I have a two-hour drive ahead of me, I’d better hit the road.

Beautiful Brownie Sporting Fall Colors Caps The Comeback

Good thing I did. When I get back down to the turnoff for the Pass Creek road (570), a big sign announces the road has been temporarily closed, no doubt because of the washouts. That means Iwill have the take the long way back around east through the hamlet of Gardner then south on CO 69 with a turn on Rd 520 at Badito, a good gravel road that cuts back west to emerge near La Veta Pass. Fortunately the route, while a bit longer, is easy driving with more fine scenery. I make it back to the campground in time for a nice glass of Pinot Grigio, while enjoying the warmth of the setting sun and studying the map for my outing tomorrow on Medano Creek. Cutthroats beware! And next summer I’ll be back on the Huerfano River giving chase those brookies before they spawn!

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

San Luis Valley fishing