Awesome Present

So this last week wrapped up my time as a teacher, at least so it would seem for now.  The way things are looking, I'll be teaching again in a couple of months but in a different way.  Unless something major changes, I will be offering guide services in Tennessee including in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  Looking back, being a teacher has some benefits, at least if you are a regular classroom teacher.

On the last day of school, students usually bring cards and small presents to the teachers.  This year, one of my students brought a large box with my name on it.  I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.  Upon opening it, I found what is one of the best presents I have ever received.

Catherine McGrath Photograph

For those of you that cannot see so well, that reads "The Big BOBBER Floating Cooler."  It has a place to attach a rope or something.  Now, floating down the river in the summer will be so much more awesome.  Imagine all the comments I'll get floating along with my giant bobber.  "Are there really fish that big in here?, or maybe "Is it safe to swim in here?"  I think I'm going to have some fun with this one.  Oh yeah, and it will keep the drinks cool while I'm working hard to catch all those fish...

Still Some Left

After the recent arctic outbreak here in Colorado, I'm sure that most people don't want to be reminded of how good they could have it.  You know, those nice fall days where the colors are peaking but the daytime temperatures are still reasonable...?  Or maybe you will think of spring with its increasing BWO hatches and hungry trout.  Anyway, whatever it is, I discovered I still have some fall pictures left, quite a lot of them actually.  So here are a few more of my favorites from back in October.

The Flatirons after an early season snow shower

Nature's Canvass in the upper Crystal River Valley

County Rd. 12 approaching Kebbler Pass

Marcellina Mountain

Aspen near Kebbler Pass

Fire Tiger PB&J

Think this might move some big predatory browns?  Try the PB&J in fire tiger colors and let me know if it works...

Cool Down

As November gave way to December, there were still some great fishing opportunities to be had locally.  Then it cooled off just a little.  From highs in the 50s and even 60s, we are now going to be lucky to get to 10 or so above zero.  The low temperatures last night were well below zero.  As you can imagine, open water is going to be closing quickly now.

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I made a trip over to El Dorado Canyon to find some solitude.  A recent snowstorm had both coated the stream banks and chased away other anglers.  I'm just fine with that.  If it takes a cool down to get some water to myself so be it.  Rocks were already gaining ice caps, and this was before our recent plunge into the deep freeze.

The snow on the plains had barely been a couple of inches.  In the canyon it had piled higher though, up to 5 or 6 inches.  Scrambling up and down the steep stream banks was an adventure but I just took things slow and made sure to not take any serious falls.  This included NOT wearing waders, but instead just wearing hiking boots.  Long ago, it became obvious that wading boots encourage me to take risks that I shouldn't even be considering.  My solution now is to just stay out of the water.  Yes, there is less water I can reach, but it also forces me to creatively improve my casting as well as try new methods.  I tend to fish streamers a lot more when I'm stuck on the bank which isn't too bad of a trade off if you ask me.

Anyway, as I walked up the access road and stared almost straight down to the stream, the thought of scrambling down was a bit frightening.  Eventually, I was almost to the top of the steepest stretch before I found a decent path down to the water.  Here, the danger factor was in the "broken leg" range if I fell instead of "likely death."  Oh well, surely I could drag myself with my hands out of the canyon.  I'm glad I snuck down where I did.  The browns were small but willing.  Getting around the banks was a bit tricky, but I navigated enough stream to feel that the scramble down had been worth it.

When I discovered the road was now much easier to get to, I decided to jump out and head back down the canyon.  Eventually I found myself fishing a hole near the car as the sun started to sink below the horizon.  Already shaded by the clouds and canyon walls, the stream was becoming even darker.  Finally, as the temperature was rapidly dropping, one last nice brown was eager to eat.  A quick picture, and the fish was back in the water, and I was headed to the warmth of my car.

Finding the Rhythm

One of the highlights of fall fishing, at least for me, is finding reliable emergences of Blue-winged Olives.  Back in Tennessee, the small mayflies would show up on occasion, but here in Colorado it is not an if or a when but rather a given.  The little BWOs are so reliable on some waters that you can tell when the hatch is about to start based on when all the fishermen show up.  In other places, the hatch is a guarantee, but the timing might be a bit more unpredictable.

My first memory of hitting this hatch in Colorado is from Clear Creek last September.  The little browns were rising with abandon in the shaded pool where the stream hugged the cliff on the south bank.  Every now and again, a larger specimen would rise, leaving a subtle rise that was clearly the work of a more experienced trout than most of the splashy efforts I was seeing.  I fished a little Sparkle Dun, a #18 if my memory is correct, and the trout would eat if I showed them a clean drift.

Last spring, one particularly drizzly day found me torn between the BWOs and throwing streamers.  Most people who know me can guess that streamers won.  I'm still not sure whether or not that was the right choice.  Every single pool had numerous fish rising to bugs struggling to get off the water into the chilly mountain air.  The meadow stream eventually yielded a fine brown to my streamer, but I still wonder how the day would have been if I had fished a BWO the whole time.

Most recently, on a trip to the Arkansas River tailwater in Pueblo, I stumbled into one of the more epic hatches I've been blessed to fish.  Deciding to put my Colorado State Parks sticker to good use, I parked at the Valco parking lot.  An early morning departure had me rigging up in air temperatures that had just edged above the freezing point.  A fleece kept me warm while I started working my way down the river to explore new water.  The number of fishermen out was impressive, but finally I started to find water I could call my own.

Deep water nymphing was turning up very few fish, and I began to wonder if the decision to get up ridiculously early and drive all the way to Pueblo was a sound one.  The occasional tug on the line from small to average stockers was not really helping my mindset.  Once it warmed up, my mood gradually improved however.  I stumbled upon a family of deer in the brush along the river and was reminded to look for the little things that make a trip great.  It wasn't before I had finally wandered down close to the bridge that I noticed a few fish rising in the slack water along the far bank.

Refusing to acknowledge the possibility that it was time to change tactics, I stumbled on down the river.  Crossing at a point of shallow riffles to search for that deep run that I just knew had to exist and would be loaded with big trout, I saw a few BWO duns floating along.  That's what they were eating back there.  Still stubborn, I found a pool perfectly suited to my nymph rig.  Running the flies through time after time, I saw a few rise rings just downstream, then another a bit closer.  Not wishing to ignore the obvious for too long, I walked a few yards down to a nice long flat with several rising trout.

Digging through my fly boxes, I chose a #20 Parachute BWO with a hi-vis post that I tied a few months ago.  Extending my leader to end in 6x tippet, I was now ready to go head-to-head with these annoying trout.  Since when does any self-respecting trout ignore my delicious sub-surface offering of midges and BWO nymphs anyway?  After a few casts that did not produce a hit, I paused to observe.  Suddenly it was obvious:  the fish were rising in a consistent rhythm.  Somehow I was drifting my fly past in between each rise.

I waited for a trout to rise, then waited for the next rise.  Finding the rhythm, I waited until just before  the next rise and then made the cast.  The little fly floated for all of 3 feet before a chunky rainbow nailed it.  The next couple of hours proceeded about the same until I started to get hungry.

Wandering back upstream, I came across the same little flat where I initially spotted rising fish.  A huge wake from the back indicated that I had moved just a little too quickly for at least one large rainbow's liking.  Slowing things down, I decided to retie.  I had lost the Parachute pattern some time before.  Several other patterns had fooled trout, but I wanted something extra for the large risers I was now stalking.  A #20 Comparadun seemed appropriate.  Testing the knot and checking the drag was the last step before beginning to cast.

Several casts later, another wake quickly exited the exposed shallows.  Slow down, find the rhythm.  Refocused, I waited.  There, right against the bank.  The drift was particularly difficult since I was casting 35 feet across 2 different current seams and trying to drift the fly in the calm water outside the last current seam.  Again and again I expected to spook the trout, but somehow luck was on my side, and it just moved up a couple of feet before rising again.  Finally, the stars aligned.  The fly dropped just outside the main current, drifted a foot and a half, and was inhaled.  Six more inches and it would have started to drag.  Knowing my luck had turned gave me more confidence.  The beautiful 14 inch fish was not the owner of one of the large heads I had been watching another 20 feet upstream.

Releasing the fish, I again paused and observed.  Two large trout, the kind that are big enough to get your pulse racing, were rising a good 45 feet up and across.  To get a good drift, I took 2 steps forward...and saw yet another wake zigzagging frantically away.  One more chance.  Finding the rhythm, I waited for the trout to rise once more, paused, then made one solid backcast before sending the fly on its way.  The fish ate a natural 6 inches to the left of my fly.  After a short pause to avoid spooking the fish, I lifted the line off the water, bought time with two false casts, and presented the fly again.  This time the fish rose a foot below my fly.  This went on for probably 30 casts.  Every cast I expected to spook the fish, but apparently it was a day for fishing miracles.

Finally, the fly settled in 12 inches above the fish.  My adrenaline shot through the roof as that big head I had been watching slowly appeared below my fly.  As I lifted the rod, I knew that this trout was mine to lose.  The fish was smart, but it was also stuck on that shallow flat.  Once, it made a heart-stopping run towards the fast riffles below, but somehow I got its head turned.  When I finally slipped the net under the fish my day was complete.  I released the gorgeous rainbow trout after getting a good picture, cradling it gently until it slipped off to battle another day.

Continuing upstream, I discovered that fishermen had been fishing hard with nymph rigs the whole day.  The bugs only made it another 75 yards or so above that last hole.  Sometimes, a fishing day's success is measured strictly on whether you go upstream or downstream.  Thankfully, I went downstream...

Stop. Relax.

While life as I know it is almost over, I'm sure that whatever is waiting around the corner will be great and perhaps even better than what I'm enjoying now.  For those that are already lost, read this prior post to get brought up to speed.

While the current job situation is still murky at best, I've discovered that good things can come from murky waters and large trout too.  Instead of sitting at home and feeling sorry for myself, I decided to get out and sample what Colorado has to offer in the fishing department.  It appears increasingly likely that I won't have that privilege soon so I have to enjoy the experience while it lasts.  In fact, I've sampled a fair amount lately and can report the following: El Dorado Canyon is awesome to fish in the snow, Clear Creek is getting getting icy, South Boulder Creek is fishing great just below Gross Reservoir, the Big Thompson does still have fish in the upper canyon at least, and the dry fly fishing on the Arkansas tailwater in Pueblo is phenomenal right now.

Yep, when life gets tough you just have to stop, leave all the stress behind, and relax.  I'm not very good at the relaxing part, and I suspect there's a strong connection between fishing and my stress levels.  Why else would I keep going back when things look bleak?  At the very least, I can report that fishing does successfully keep my mind off of the lack of a job come January 1.

So, things are looking up, if only because I've been blessed to spend a lot of time out on the water.  I'm excited to see where the next chapter in life takes me.  I'm confident that God has a plan even if I am still searching for it.  Until I discover it, I'll just have to stop and relax.

Not My Plans

We can plan, but the ability to change direction is crucial.  Yesterday, I found out that my school will be downsizing due to budget cuts.  Along with two friends, I was on the list of cuts to be made.  Right now I have no idea where I will end up.  Teaching is a lot of fun and very rewarding, but at this point I may end up heading in a different direction.  I may end up back in Tennessee and if I do I'll probably do some part-time guiding at least to help make ends meet for a while.  So, basically, while this is not my plans, I'm ready for a new adventure and new challenge.  Something in the fly fishing industry would be pretty cool but right now the best I'm hoping for is perhaps that bit of guiding I already mentioned.  However, if anyone has any information on job openings I'm all ears.  As things are now pretty uncertain and hectic, I will not be posting as much.  Please know I'm doing great and once I have a chance to get out on the water I'll still be providing the fishing reports and information that you are used to seeing here.  This too shall pass but in the meantime your thoughts and prayers would be much appreciated.  Thank you!

Not Much Color

I'm looking out my window and noticing that it looks suspiciously like winter outside.  The leaves are pretty much gone and the grass is dead.  There's just not much color left other than the crisp blue sky.  Yesterday, in an hour or so on Boulder Creek, I noticed that the fish have moved into winter mode for the most part.  That doesn't mean that aren't eating, just that the water is super clear and low and the fish are accordingly spooky.  Oh, and the water is cold...

Looking back over pictures from the last couple of months reminds me of the great fall season I enjoyed.  Perhaps the most epic trip I did this fall was a 2 day grand tour of Colorado with my parents when they visited in early October.  The huge loop took in Independence and Kebbler passes, Aspen, Gunnison, and many other towns in between.  Of course there really wasn't any fishing on a trip like this but the scenery more than made up for the lack of fishing.  Naturally, family time meant a lot also so that in the end I didn't even miss the fishing.

I'll share some more pictures over the next few days but here are a couple to get things started.

Evening on the River

My favorite time of day to be on the water is evening.  That may have more than a little to do with the fact that I don't like getting up early.  When fishing is on the schedule, I have been known to get up early to find the big ones, but I would much rather stay out late instead if given the option.  Evening on the river is a magical time.  The crowds have usually left although in terms of quality fishing that's always a mystery to me.  In fact, I've noticed that most fishermen seem to leave the river around supper time.  Perhaps there is a correlation there.  Regardless, it is those magical moments in the last light of the day that keep me coming back.

Quiet

Perhaps the best part of my recent camping trips has been escaping from suburban life if even for 36 hours or so.  Spending the night away from civilization where there are no neighbors for a few miles is as good as it gets.  The only sounds are the wind in the trees, little creatures scurrying about in the night, and the creek flowing by, murmuring quietly in the flat sections and being more rowdy as the gradient increases.

While I'm normally focused on the fishing, I still like to take time to merge into the quiet landscape.  Being still with nature brings the realization that there are a lot more sounds out there than you realized.  The Robins are still around despite the cold mornings, holding off on migrating south until the last possible minute.  I even heard what sounded suspiciously like a Red-winged Blackbird in the morning.  Squirrels chatter and scold and then go about their business again, collecting food for the cold months ahead.

As the landscape comes alive, I realize that it isn't necessarily quiet I'm after, rather removal from the hustle and bustle of city living.  Nature is peaceful, but definitely not quiet.  As I begin to appreciate everything around me, I begin to see things in a new light.

As the new quiet descends, my appreciation for my surroundings increases and the trip is no longer just about the fishing.  My camera comes out as I try to capture the moments of peace and beauty.  When I start missing the woods, I'll look back at my pictures and remember the good times I've had.