Snowy Solitude

One of the rare pleasures of fly fishing, at least for me, is fishing in the snow.  Yes, it can be ridiculously cold, but the quiet and solitude of being outside during a snowstorm is well worth the price of admission.  When the snow started to pile up yesterday, my first thought was to go home and relax.  My evening opened up a bit however and with time to spare, I headed for Boulder Creek.

After finding the lower creek muddy on Sunday, I figured with the cold weather it had to have dropped and cleared.  Wrong.  Entering Boulder Canyon instead of fishing in mud, I was impressed with how quickly the road conditions deteriorated as I left town.

The Trout Mobile has seen better days and the balding front tires suggested an extended adventure deep into the canyon would be foolhardy at best.  So it was that I found myself stopping just above Four Mile.

The stream was a black ribbon through an otherwise white landscape.  Again I wondered if it was wise to fish, but, curious on how the fish would respond to the snowstorm, I quickly rigged up.  In retrospect I should have used gloves, but I didn't plan to fish long so just through on my lucky fishing cap, a fleece, and a rain coat and scrambled down to a nice pool just below a stretch of pocket water.

Not really wanting to move, I started changing patterns, looking for that one that might do the trick.  A Bellyache Minnow produced several soft hits including some from nicer fish.  The cold water had the fish a bit lethargic though, and I failed to connect.  Several other patterns were tried and I even dropped a soft hackle behind a little streamer to no avail.  Miraculously, I could still tie knots, sorta at least.  This is my usual "test" for getting "too" cold.  Opening up the streamer box, I stared for a while.  Finally, I reached for a Girdle Bug but at the last second my fingers veered to a sculpin pattern.  I was now in the zone, making the right choice without even knowing why.

It took only a couple of casts before I had a solid hit and quickly pulled in a beautiful but sluggish brown from the chilly water.  I took a couple of pictures, then started to consider the warmth I had left at home.  Hunger reminded me that it was past supper time and probably time to get out of the canyon before dark.  Pausing, I took another picture of the stream, thankful for the opportunity for an hour of solitude in the snow.