Meat Market @ Spinney

So as I stated in my previous entry I had a three day weekend. I was considering a 2 day camping trip by myself except that I just didn't want to risk arriving at my destination stream only to find it to be blown out with Spring runoff. I settled on fishing the South Platte tail water on Saturday and then another day trip for Monday (today).

Henderson, Matt and I went to the South Platte on Saturday only to find it filled with silt! I was upset and confused because tail waters aren't effected by runoff. I spoke with a ranger out there who said they were generating the Cheesman dam to do studies on the high water flow. So that was a bust that left a sour taste in my mouth.

In order to make up for it I decided I would go to the gold metal waters of Spinney Mountain Reservoir today. I traded cars with Nick (to save gas $) and set out for the 2.5 hour drive into the mountains. Spinney opened for the summer April 30th and I have never been.

After hours of mountainous driving and elevation gain, a huge expanse of meadow appears. This is where Spinney resides. Pronghorn antelope roam the prairies on the way in.

Spinney is a special place here in Colorado. It's one piece of a three part knockout combo that makes for some of the most coveted fishing in the state. The other two pieces are the stream that flows out of Spinney (a.k.a The Dream Stream), and the reservoir that that stream flows into (Eleven Mile Reservoir). All three bodies of water are gold metal.

I arrive to the Lake around 11:30. It's windy and big. Big lakes have always intimidated me in the past because of their vastness, so I avoided fishing them. Time to crack that. I drive to the North bank where the wind is blowing into. Usually food gets stockpiled in the end of a lake where the wind and current are pushing it. I attach a 12ft. section of RIO sinking line to the end of my floating line along with a new 4x leader and tippet. I tie on a brown furry sculpin imitation which doubles as a crawdad.

The brutal headwind required me to do double haul casts with my little 5 weight. It reminded me of fishing for smallies on the New River in VA. I let the sinking tip sink all the way down and begin a slow, methodical retrieve bouncing along the bottom of the lake bed.

The take was not soft or subtle. I'd liken it to a freight train. When the beast launched out of the water I instantly recalled what got me addicted to this sport.

I got a nearby fisherman to come over and snap this photo for me. (Notice the snow-capped Collegiate Mountain Range in the background. Outstanding photo!)

I had the technique dialed in. The onslaught of trophy 'bows ensued. I landed about 10 and snapped off, or unhooked, easily twice as many. Since I was by myself I had to get creative with taking photos (especially since I couldn't hold these beasts very well with one hand). Here are a few that came out best.

This male sent me running down the bank with my reel (and forearm) screaming for mercy.

This pig female may have been the biggest of the day. She weighed significantly more than the others. The picture just doesn't do her justice.

I finally called it a day after my arm was dead from fighting. Plus, they were calling for snow in the mountains in the evening. I landed one last bow with deep magenta cheeks and went home.

Here is a shot on the way out.

P.S. I finally got a shot of a mountain bluebird. It's not a very good one, but I don't care. These guys have been accompanying my fishing trips more and more regularly.