January 15, 2025January 15, 2025 hooknfly

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

January 2025

The Satisfying

2024 has been an interesting year to say the least. As I look back and take stock, one of the most satisfying developments personally has been the readership of this blog. From a humble start in 2015, readership has bloomed to over 50,000 visitors and over 100,00 views in 2024. Many thanks to all of you!! It’s been an interesting and fun ride.

And I am pleased to report that the most read article was again Best Fishing Books Of All Time, garnering over 7,000 visits and in the process dispelling the notion that people don’t actually read much anymore. As you might expect, most of the views were from English-speaking countries. But then there were some wild cards, like 243 from Martinique in the Caribbean, where French is the official language and most residents also speak Martinican Creole. Not to mention 62 from China! Go figure!!

Particularly gratifying are the kind words and comments from readers like this one: “Yet another great article! As an aspiring young fly angler, your informative writing style has helped me grow leaps and bounds. You are one of the few magicians willing to reveal their secrets I hope one day I get to see you on the water. Cheers! Nick.”

Family time on the water with my sweetheart granddaughter Aly and my son Matthew was also a highpoint, from Aly catching a feisty bass canoeing in Florida to Matthew landing a big brown trout in Colorado with able net assistance from Aly. They also helped me celebrate my…gasp…76^th birthday with a big, delectable cake and a beautiful gift of a book covering Aly’s artwork over the past few years.

The party was actually delayed for a few weeks as on my actual birthday I came down with Covid after dodging the rascal virus since 2019 and despite having all my shots. It took a couple of weeks to get my energy back, but fortunately no long-term effects. It also did my heart good to see Aly take up basketball, one of my favorite sports, which allowed me to show off my flashy windmill layup (formerly dunk) moves. She’s already dribbling circles around me.

Off the water I kept busy writing articles for American Fly Fishing and Florida Sportsman. I think my favorite fly-fishing piece was about returning to a stream of my youth, Clear Creek, high in the mountains of southern Colorado. Decades earlier as an aspiring angler I caught my first trout in the crystalline waters of this wild stream. Life goes full circle.

(For a link to the article in American Fly Fishing see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/07/31/clear-creek-co-a-return-to-nirvana/ )

I was also pleased that an article on kayak fishing in the Everglades was featured in the annual national publication Kayak Fishing Fun. (For a link to the article see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/07/07/kayak-fishing-fun-article/ )

Two fly fishing articles will be published soon in 2025, one on the Tuckasegee River in southwest North Carolina co-authored with my fishing buddy Steve “Mop Fly” Keeble and the other on Jim and Torsido Creeks, hidden in the mountains of southern Colorado where my intrepid photographer Jody Bol showed off her gymnastic skills to catch that perfect shot of remote Rio Grande Cutthroat waters.

And speaking of fishing buddies, I am fortunate that in addition to the aforementioned Mr. Keeble, I have three other astute and accomplished angling pals, Messrs. Wayne, Mitchell, and Palka to explore with. Thoughtful gentlemen all who have shared their fishing knowledge with me, they are also gracious enough to let me outfish them occasionally.

While I managed to dodge rafters and float fishermen one terrific fall day on my former home water, the Arkansas River near Salida, Colorado, and catch six muscular brown trout, small creeks continue to bring me the greatest joy and satisfaction. The clear waters of tiny Archuleta Creek in the shadow of a huge volcanic dome near the Continental Divide in southern Colorado yielded some surprisingly sizeable brownies pushing 16-inches while the streams of the Wet Mountains in southern Colorado helped me garner a Grand Slam featuring some beautiful Rio Grande Cutthroats along with feisty rainbows, brookies, and browns. My search of remote streams that might hold the rare Rio Grande Cutts in Colorado continued with a trek to East Middle Creek near Saguache. After navigating and huffing and puffing up some steep switchbacks to the stream’s headwaters, I was rewarded with a beautiful 12-inch fish finning in the cloistered water, marking the northernmost stream in the state where the cutts have survived and even flourished. Catching and releasing that exquisite specimen was a near-religious experience.

(To read the full story of the search see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/08/28/the-search-for-the-elusive-san-luis-valley-rio-grande-cutthroats-continues/ )

Rio Grande Cutthroats were also part of the aforementioned Wet Mountain Valley Grand Slam—catching and releasing four different kinds of trout over one weekend in the fall. I netted rainbows, browns, and brookies in various reaches of Grape Creek and put icing on the cake with some colorful cutthroats from Medano Creek high in a remote valley between the Wet Mountains and the soaring Sangre De Cristos.

Saltwater kayak fishing in my winter haunt near Everglades City continued to be exciting, dodging alligators and hungry sharks to net high-jumping tarpon and muscular snook. But equally satisfying were several freshwater lakes in the Glades that served up some big largemouth bass, toothy antediluvian gar, and scads of hungry Mayan cichlids and colorful Oscars.

However, not all my best outings were of the piscatorial pursuit variety. I had a grand time on several swamp and prairie hikes in the Fakahatchee Strand State Park Preserve and the Big Cypress National Preserve. On those outings I saw rare Everglades Mink, scads of wading birds like Great Egrets and Wood Storks, gorgeous swamp and prairies wildflowers, and of course big gators closeup. Did I mention the hidden haunted house I showed Aly and my son Matthew on a swamp tour when they visited during March Spring school break or the fabulous shelling beach and frolicking dolphin Capt. Craig of Everglades Boat Adventures shared with us?

The Surprising

Without a doubt, the most surprising angling episode of 2024 involved hiking a little-visited trail in the Fakahatchee Strand near Everglades City with two college buddies, discovering a hidden pond absolutely loaded with hungry Oscars, a non-native fish I liken to bluegill on steroids, snagging and breaking off the soft plastic curly tail lure that was absolutely slaying them, realizing I had forgotten to bring extra tails along leading to me throwing a tantrum, then recovering by inventing a hot new lure I call the Band-Aid Fly. Not pretty but effective. Necessity was indeed the mother of invention. I am working on a patent right now. (For the inside skinny on the Band-Aid Jig Fly see: (http://hooknfly.com/2024/04/09/angling-trauma-try-a-band-aid-jig-fly/ )

In Colorado, an amiable spin fisherman I met while camping along Upper Dome Lake southeast of Gunnison taught me a lesson in humility. In Colorado I am a devoted flies-only angler, occasionally turning my nose up when I see someone so backwards and uncouth as to spin fish. I had just finished a long and successful day before on Archuleta Creek and decided to take the day off by fly fishing for eager trout from the dam on Upper Dome Lake. Throwing some long double-haul casts with a long fly rod, I soon fooled and released some nice rainbow. But when the wind kicked up, creating white caps on the water, the fly was soon being blown back in my face. I hastily beat a retreat to the comfort of my mobile fish camp. As I downed a cup of hot tea to warm up, I noticed a fellow camping in an RV a short distance away was walking along the banks of the lake casting a lure with his spin rod. With some frequency his rod seemed to be bending double. Must be getting snagged I reasoned. Later that day at lunch I moseyed over to his camp to see how he had done. I learned he had caught dozens of truculent tiger trout with short casts on a small marabou jig not more than 10 feet from the shoreline. That afternoon with the wind still howling, I ate a piece of spiced pride and grabbed my little ultra-light spincast outfit I keep in reserve for fishing overgrown beaver ponds.

I rigged it with a Blue Vibrax spinner lure, heaved it out over the water through the gale, and on the very first cast I caught a spunky rainbow that was soon followed by several more. What more can I say!!

On that same trip I got another big surprise. I decided to spend a day hiking to a series of big beaver ponds on Chavez Creek that flows out of the La Garita Wilderness area about 20 miles above Dome Lake. Those ponds had produced Brobdingnagian brown trout for me in the past, some pushing 20-inches, but it had been several years since I had made the hour hike downstream from the trailhead to fish them. I also wanted to fish upstream in a meadow stretch that had produced plentiful brownies in the past until last year when I was not only skunked but mysteriously had nary a strike.

The hike down was a memorable one with beautiful wildflowers lining the trail and close encounters with antelope and deer. Soon I spied a big new beaver pond, but resisted the urge to sample the alluring waters and continued downstream.

My fishing fever was rising as I caught glimpses of the ponds downstream from my vantage point on the trail above. I finally reached the lower pond and bushwhacked down to the water. And what to my wondering eye should appear…but a blown-out beaver dam with only a shallow stream of water coursing its way through the leftover pond muck through a breach in the dam.

After a few choice expletives, I trudged resolutely upstream to the next dam and pond. But the scene was disappointingly the same. Not one to quit, I clawed my way through brush to the next dam and clambered up through the mass of branches and sticks only to be greeted again by another blown-out pond.

OK, enough is enough I thought and headed back up to the trail and upstream. Just as I was about to throw in the towel, I came to the new pond I had seen earlier, glistening in the sunlight below. I decided to have lunch to calm my growling stomach and mind, then descended to the water, where I immediately saw some trout rising at the stream inlet. I navigated around some small trees now inundated by several feet of water and flipped a backhand cast into the flow above. BANG, no sooner had the flies hit the water than they were sucked under. Immediately a brook trout splashed to the surface, came in for a quick photo, and then scurried away. This would be the start of an hour of non-stop fun catching colorful and cooperative brook trout, a few pushing 12-inches.

Feeling revived I worked my way upstream to another small dam and pond that had been productive in the past and immediately hooked a nice 14-inch brownie and many more brookies.

Then it was on to the meadow section to solve the mystery of the missing browns upstream. On the way, I managed to scare up a big mama moose and her two calves that had been hiding in willows lining the creek. Fortunately, she ran up Perfecto Creek, a tributary of Chavez that veered to the west.

When I reached the open meadow stretch, I knelt carefully and cast into a bend pool that a couple of years ago produced a dozen brownies, naming it then the Big 12 Pool.

Immediately something inhaled the dry and the fight was on. Soon a brookie was slipping into my net. For the next hour I had a silly good time catching dozens of hungry brookies, but nary a brown. What happened to all those fatties? Maybe 2025 will reveal the secret?!?

The final surprise of 2024 involved my annual fly-fishing trip with my buddy from Florida, Robert Wayne, Esq. We set up camp in Del Norte, Colorado, in September to sample creeks in the surrounding high country. We had a banner day on remote Jim Creek above La Jara Reservoir for colorful Rio Grande Cutthroats, and Bob notched a whopper of a brown trout on Saguache Creek to the north. I prepared Bob for a grand finale on Clear Creek near Creede where I had several outstanding days earlier in the summer. We traversed the very steep trail into lower Clear Creek in an impressive fashion for two septuagenarians and exchanged high fives when we reached the beautiful waters in the canyon.

Everything looked great—plenty of water thanks to ample August rains that broke a long drought. It would be the last of our smiles. Turned out there was way too much water. Wading was tough, and the good pools were all washed out. Here and there we would spy a trout fleeing was we pushed up stream in the torrent. Two hours later Bob actually hooked a fish in a fast run that immediately jumped and sent the fly flying. We looked at each other and decided, despite the ignominy of a SKUNK, that was a sign–the first goose egg either of us had experienced in years. Over lunch we drowned our sorrows in some good libations and victuals, surrounding by beautiful fall colors.

I usually head to Florida for the winter right after Halloween and a fun evening of trick or treating with my sweetheart Aly, but this fall I took on an interesting assignment to assist Saguache County, home of several of my favorite trout streams, in dealing with proposals it was grappling with to build huge industrial-scale solar energy facilities. Because the San Luis Valley is one of the sunniest locales in Colorado, it is a magnet for these facilities that can cover hundreds of acres with significant impacts on wildlife, agricultural areas, and scenic vistas. With generous support of the Gates Family Foundation out of Denver, I teamed with a bright, hard-working law professor, Jonathan Rosenbloom, to produce a detailed report recommending regulations to ensure the facilities are properly sited and operated to address potential adverse impacts while still accommodating these energy sources so essential to reducing carbon emissions and grappling with climate change.

That meant I was still around for the big surprise November snow in Colorado, with 15 inches dumped at my cabin and necessitating shoveling snow off my cabin porch, which convinced me to head to Florida right after Thanksgiving!

Glad I did. My first two kayak outings, one on a freshwater lake in the Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park that produced epic fishing for largemouth bass and Oscars and the other in the saltwater of the Everglades National Park around Chokoloskee Bay where hungry speckled sea trout couldn’t resist my offerings, including one rod-bender that went 21-inches, reminded me why I enjoy winters in the Glades.

The Scary and Slightly Senescent

Not all was fun and games in 2024. On returning to Colorado in mid-May, I was greeted by my sweetheart granddaughter Aly waiting patiently for me in the driveway on her new bike. She was ready to roll, so I found my bike helmet in the garage and borrowed my son’s bike and off we went.

We practiced driving on the street with only one hand and then no hands before taking off down one of the gravel bike trails that weave in and out of the houses and open space. I saw a group of ladies walking towards us so, as a gentleman, steered off the trail into an adjacent cul-de-sac with Aly close behind. We pedaled a wide circle in the cul-de-sac as the walkers passed by then I headed back towards the trail. But the sun was glaring directly in my eyes and I didn’t see the gutter was elevated above a drain and drove smack into it. My fat tires crunched into the drain, and the bike instantly came to a dead stop while I flew headfirst over the handlebars and landed ten feet away. The ladies came running back and wanted to call the EMS, but I said I was fine, if a bit sore. Luckily the helmet saved my hard head, but later I would learn at the doctor’s office a few days later that I had two broken ribs! Painful, but there isn’t really much one can do except take it easy let it heal. I was fishing within two weeks!

The real scary stuff took place a month later. A shakedown cruise in June in my travel trailer (aka mobile fishing camp) reminded me to take my time and be methodical in trip preparation, especially when you are a septuagenarian and possibly slightly senescent!

I had dutifully drained the antifreeze in the water system on my travel trailer, flushed it out and refilled the water tanks. I tested the new water pump, and it hummed efficiently. Next, I checked to make sure the propane tanks were full and carefully tested each of the three gas burners on the stove. They all functioned perfectly, and then I ran the gas furnace and checked the gas connection that would run the little refrigerator. The batteries were next. I charged them up and checked the solar panel which would keep them humming in the boondocks, allowing me to have light in the trailer and recharge my cell phone after the daily quotient of photos of the scenery, wildflowers, wild animals, and big fish. After all that activity, I retired to the front porch to enjoy the view and have a glass of wine.

I was admiring the gaudy Western Tanagers, Black-Headed Grosbeaks, and assorted hummingbirds visiting my bird feeders when I heard a chirping noise coming from out back beyond the trailer among the pinon trees and sage. Maybe a new bird for my list?? I crept quietly around the cabin in the direction of the cheeping but couldn’t see anything. The chatter continued. I slyly pulled out my cell phone and opened the Merlin bird app from the Cornell School of Ornithology and held it high in the air. It identifies birds by their calls. I could tell the app was struggling, but it finally identified the call of a spotted towhee, a shy handsome bird that frequents the area. I never did get a glimpse of the bashful guy.

Next morning when I awakened, I heard the phantom towhee who was continuing to chirp merrily away. After finishing breakfast, I snuck outside to see if I could spot him. Then I realized the call was coming from my travel trailer. I opened the door and sure enough a little black box near the floor under a window was sounding off. I unplugged the device and found it was a propane gas detector.

But there was nothing using gas. The note on the box said it should be replaced every 5 years, and my trailer just turned seven, so I thought it must be defective and was ready to toss it into the trash when I happened to glance over to the stove….and saw that one burner was not fully off and not lit! I had apparently turned it to the lowest setting when testing but had not shut it off completely so it had been running all night long! I quickly turned it off and bailed out of the trailer. Since propane gas is odorless, no telling what might have happened if it had continued to slowly leak gas into the trailer and I had lit a match! Yikes!!

Enough of this nonsense! It was time to hit the road. My long driveway is bumpy and steep, always reminding me to test the trailer brakes and put the SUV into four-wheel drive to slow the descent while I give the brakes a little test. Unfortunately in my haste to hit the road, I forgot to switch back into 2WD and proceeded to drive for 45 miles in 4WD at speeds to 60 mph before noticing my error. The owner’s manual cautions never to drive in 4WD over 55 mph. Luckily, I seem to have dodged a bullet as the 4WD performed flawlessly throughout the trip in more suitable terrain at acceptable speeds.

When I got to Upper Dome Lake where I would be camping in a state wildlife area, I was anxious to get on a nearby creek which appeared to be high but fishable. I unlocked the trailer ball and cranked it down from the hitch receiver on the SUV. I moved the SUV forward and went about leveling the trailer. But before I could finish the job, a huge gust of wind, probably more than 40 mph, swept over the trailer and BANG, pushed the trailer jack/hitch off the block of wood it was resting on. The trailer skidded forward a half dozen feet, coming close to crashing into the SUV. I had to struggle for 30 minutes to get the trailer hitch jacked up high enough to reconnect it back to the trailer ball on the SUV and then maneuver the trailer back into position. This would have been easily avoided by the simple act of setting the tire blocks first before unhooking the trailer. Lesson learned.

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize till later that the trailer jack had been damaged. Fortunately, the jack crank still worked, if barely. I was able to hitch the trailer up to the SUV when I headed home a few days later and get a new trailer jack pronto.

I partially redeemed myself, however, when the phone charging outlet in the trailer went dead, meaning no camera and no way to contact anyone except with my emergency satellite phone. Fortunately, fighting off senescence, I had purchased a portable power block that I was able to use to recharge the phone three times during the trip.

The next few months were relatively peaceful and safe until the last day of my quest for the aforementioned Wet Mountain Valley grand slam. The target was the Rio Grande Cutthroats that thrived in remote Medano Creek, tucked in a hidden valley between the rugged Wet Mountain and Sangre de Cristo ranges. The challenge would be getting to the creek from my campground near Westcliffe in the Wet Mountain Valley over the gnarly road that went over Medano Pass. For safety’s sake, my fishing buddy Tom Palka drove over from Salida to join me. Always good to have a 50-something youngster with you when the going gets tough.

I had made the trek over Medano Pass several times, and the two-track road seemed to get worse every trip. This one was no exception.

Heavy rains earlier in August had gouged out mini-canyons all along the route. In several stretches where the road split around trees or big boulders, Tom would jump out of the SUV and check things out. All was going well as my new AT tires were performing nicely. As we neared the pass and the descent into the Medano Creek Valley where things would get a lot easier, we came to another split in the road. Tom reconnoitered and signaled me to take the track to the right. I was a little skeptical as I had tried that course several years ago and found it too rocky. But now it looked smoother. As Tom gave me the go-ahead signal, I lurched forward and made a turn up a steep stretch. But in just a few feet, my tires started to slip and spin wildly, kicking up big rocks that barely missed Tom who was standing to the side below. I slammed on the brakes as I started to slide backwards, but to no avail. I gunned forward again but kept sliding backwards with increasing speed. I could see a wall of big trees looming up behind in my rearview mirror. My only hope was to steer the vehicle to firmer ground on the left, so I spun the steering wheel gingerly in that direction which resulted in the SUV tilting dangerously as it swung around. Miraculously, it didn’t tip, allowing me to stop and then inch forward VERY slowly turning the steering wheel to the right to get the vehicle facing downhill. Tom jumped back in and we retreated to the split and took the other fork which was rough but not life-threatening. The good news is that we had a banner day catching and releasing those brilliantly colored cutts of Medano Creek to complete the Grand Slam.

(For the full story of the Grand Slam, see: http://hooknfly.com/2024/11/08/the-quest-for-a-wet-mountain-valley-trout-grand-slam-day-3/ )

The last scary moment of 2024 occurred with Bob Wayne as we hiked down the very steep slope on a trail featuring plenty of loose rocks to fish the lower reaches of Clear Creek in a beautiful canyon. We were picking our way carefully down the track when Bob stopped to take a breather. I clambered back up to rest with him and was mesmerized at the view down a narrow, very steep, and snag-filled side canyon.

I immediately pulled my phone out to snap a photo, but in my hurry, hooked it on my fishing vest and watched in absolute horror as it flew from my hand and started to bounce down the slope…one bounce, two bounces…and on the third bounce at the edge of the precipice it miraculously hung up on a small patch of vegetation, leaning precariously into the abyss. Trembling, I crawled down the slope about ten feet, held my breath, and scooped up the phone.

Its screen cover was cracked at the bottom with fractures emanating from it, but otherwise it was fine. And continues to be. I haven’t replaced the screen cover yet, leaving it as a reminder to take it easy!

Last Laughs

Being a fun-loving senior citizen, it would not be acceptable to end this retrospective of a tale of the almost annihilated iPhone. Some of the best laughs of 2024 came as I trick or treated with granddaughter Aly on Halloween. Dressed up like a maniac clown, I had a blast jumping out from behind bushes and scaring the daylights out of passing teenagers as Aly knocked on neighborhood doors.

And being the proverbial eternal optimist, I successfully shook off recurrent worries about the future staring me in the face and fears about how much longer an aging septuagenarian like me could paddle and pedal a kayak for 8 hours in the wilds while dodging pesky gators to catch feisty snook, tarpon, and (being a confirmed ladies’ man) those beloved ladyfish. Or hike into a steep canyon to chase wild trout…and survive the climb back out in one piece. Then thanks to a birthday card from a cheeky, impudent female friend, everything was put into perspective. Clearly with my up-to-date sartorial inclinations (Okay, okay so the pix is 10 years old!), I have not yet entered the final and likely deadly phase of the male pants cycle as she seemed to be intimating! Many good years are clearly still ahead until I break out the suspenders, other than those used for fishing waders, and hike my pants up above my belly button!

November 8, 2024November 9, 2024 hooknfly

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

Fall 2024

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most Creek Crossings Are Navigable Except After Heavy Rains

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful Rio Grande Cutthroat Completes The Grand Slam!

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

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

Tricky, Snag-Filled Bend Pool Holds Muscular Cutts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November 5, 2024 hooknfly

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

Fall 2024

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Equine River Keepers

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

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

Poobah Creem-Colored Caddis Larva Matches Local Bug

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Streamside Trees Provide Shady, Cool Refuges For Wary Brookies

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

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

July 2, 2024July 13, 2024 hooknfly

Mobile Fish Camp Shakedown Cruise: The Fishing–Act 2

June 2024

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

Day Three: Lower Archuleta Creek

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

Sunrise Over Campsite And Upper Dome Lake

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

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

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

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

Confluence Of Archuleta (on left) And Cochetopa Creeks

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

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

Looking Upstream On Archuleta Creek Above Confluence

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

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

Big Brownie From Against Far Shoreline In Shallow Stretch

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

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

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

Brownie Bush!!

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

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

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

Day Four: Exploring Four Fine Finny Tributaries of Cochetopa Creek

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Heartbreak Of Blown Out
Beaver Ponds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rain Clouds And Thunder Threaten But Pass On By

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

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

January 14, 2024January 22, 2024 hooknfly

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

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

December 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zebra Butterfly Feasts On Beggartick Flower

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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