TANGLER.blogspot

Sun, Snow, Trout & Blood

2010-03-07T23:33:00.015-07:00

-Pretty much all photos by Nick Turner

Meet up with The Boogieman for some fishing Friday night. Always a pleasure.

We start pounding some familiar areas of river with streamers. Good omen.

She hit this simple concoction of marabou, lead, and tungsten:

Saturday my brother, The Boogieman, and I meet up with Kevin. The suns a shinin, the waters a sparklin, and we find ourselves wonderfully secluded.

We stumble upon a remnant of some sort placed right in the middle of an apparant game trail convergence judging by the tracks of animals large and small littering the snow.

25 yards away on the far bank of the river...

The snow is still dripping blood, we must have just missed breakfast. Or, rather, missed being breakfast.

A few hours in we come across a deep bend. The water is tropic clear and the sun is a shinin' jes riight so you can see right down in there... yet there appears to be layers of different currents that are screening the rocks on the bottom with a blurred effect much like heat rising off hot pavement. Down in there, tight to the very bottom, are a pair of lime and pink stripes flexing and bending in illusion, and slightly shifting from side to side. The opposite bank is lined with bushes reaching out over the area in which a proper drift needs to land.

My first cast goes out and wraps around a twig, I hold my breath, then it miraculously flings itself off in that way that happens about one out of fifty times. I play a few casts short to be safe of the bush and see if I can get a hit, but the flies float through untouched. I go for the gold and shoot for the gap between the bushes. Luck would have it the line lays down perfect.

A Cutbow smacks the #6 vladi worm.

It's pretty rare to get storybook setups like that so I take particular joy in recounting it.

Moments later Kevin sticks a bow.

We jump in the truck and relocate.

We all start tossing streamers and The Boogieman hooks into something right away.

Soon after I stick one on a streamer.

We thought that these fish were just strange looking browns but after reviewing the photos an esteemed colleague of mine pointed out that these fish are in fact little Mackinaw, a.k.a Lake Trout! This was a new species to add to the list for both Ryan and me. Gotta love gettin some strange!

Kevin picks up another mack small white bugger.

Then, Kevin hooks into the fish of the day. She put up a hell of a fight taking him through several pools and over several falls, but he netted her before she got sucked under the bridge.

Good Meeting you Kevin. I'm sure we'll be fishing again.

Is it Spring yet?

2010-02-28T12:44:00.003-07:00

Photos by Nick Turner

Some sleepy Elk

It's cold, cold, oh so cold. Ice blooms from the guides and climbs the rod itself like some horror film ivy that's alive.

Dog don't mind.

Matter of fact, one could argue that Bosco is outright thrilled with the temperature.

Brett picks up a female threading his flies through chunks of ice.

Things aren't warming up and the ice just isn't flushing out, so we relocate and explore some water completely new to me. We come across a midge hatch, and even some risers are spotted, but we opt to work some deep runs.

A mutant male bow clobbers a vladi worm.

There's not enough daylight to attempt underwater photography with the new waterproof camera, but I try a first time trial run with filming a release.

"You Cold?"

2010-01-24T21:53:00.011-07:00

This trip report was written exactly one year ago in January 2009. For reasons that don't matter at this point, I did not post it to TANGLER.Blogspot at the time. Since it's January again, it has regained its relevance. In my last post I mentioned that -5 degrees is my absolute limit for cold temperatures when fishing... this was the morning when I discovered that limit.

~~~~

Winter fly fishing is not for the faint of heart. Nor is it for the faint of blood circulation to the feet. However, Winter fishing does have its subtle pleasures. The first of which is always the sunrise. I try to make a point to photograph first light on my way to every fishing destination. It's a new day, a new chance, and the first promise of the peaceful time on the water that lies ahead.

I jump out of the truck to take my photo of the horizon and I'm not wearing my shell. The very soul of Winter passes through my fleece and sends me diving back into the cab. It seemed colder than usual.

My buddy, Jason, and I park the truck, gear up, and get on the move. The moisture lining my nostrils instantly freezes which isn't the most uncommon thing in Colorado. On the bright side, you don't have to deal with a runny nose. I begin to wonder just how cold it really is as the tip of my nose and my pinkie fingers start executing electric twangs of pain.

"You cold?" I ask Jason over my shoulder as we trudge along the snowy bank of the river.

He responds with some slurry syllables followed by a grunt and a sharp gasp. It's incoherent, but undoubtedly in affirmation.

We trek on and finally arrive at the hole where a robust rainbow stole my fly, tippet, and heart the prior weekend. The river is gushing steam and chunks of ice are clumsily bobbing the surface. Some brief, panicky thoughts of 'why am I here so early, is it too early?' flash through my mind. I brush it off, strip out some line, and start working the hole. I'm noticing that my line is seemingly getting heavier with every cast, like it's turning to lead. I inspect my rig and discover that my line, leader, split-shot and flies are coated in a rather thick sheath of ice. Now I've had my guides freeze up just as much as the next guy, but solid ice all the way through the rig and encasing the flies under water? This was a new one to me.

My miracle nymph looking less than miraculous in its ice coffin.

Right about then, Jason tells me that he's got a knot... and it froze, and he's going back to the truck to eat some food. I briskly jump out of the water without protest and walk back with him. My feet have never been so cold. The pain was no longer limited to my feet, it had moved into my shins. The day was forecasted to be relatively nice with highs in the 40's, but the cloud cover just wouldn't move out. It even looked like a storm was starting to brew to the West. After about an hour of waiting for the sun to break out and radiate some heat to no avail, we get out of the truck and brave it back over to the spot. This time, the line isn't freezing and we are able to get some actual drifts. Still cold, but at least we're playing ball now. My indicator slightly dips and I connect with a sluggish rainbow. I pose for a photo with an excruciatingly cold hand that took quite some time and about a dozen profanities to bring back into operation.

I wasn't aware, but I dipped my spools of tippet in the water at some point in that first hole. I would find out later.

That first fish must have pleased the river gods because, as if on cue, the clouds evaporated and a blameless blue sky remained.

Jason pulled a brown soon after.

Around midday we did some hiking and explored some new territory.

I'm standing on the bank trying to figure out how in the world to address my cube of ice tippet spools when a ranger glides up on cross country skis with a rambunctious black lab and a grinning, "Howdy."

After some casual conversation and a license check he boasts, "Sure was cold this mornin', was hangin' 'round fifteen below, you know?"

"Oh, wonderful." I reply with a cheery smile and a dollop of sarcasm that only a keen East-Coaster could detect.

He slides off to head upstream and wishes me luck. The black lab gives me one last curious glance and then gallops along through the snow by his master's side. I meander upstream and meet up with Jason. We decide to call it a day and head back to the truck. Sitting on the tailgate we share a good laugh at each other as we take turns trying to pull our frozen waders off of our frozen feet with frozen hands. Just then a train comes passing by up on the canyon wall. I can make out contorted faces pushed up on the windows undoubtedly thinking that those two guys down by that river are crazy, and maybe we are, but all I know is that a freezing cold day of slow fishing is still a Winter day well spent in my book. A perfect day.

January Tailwater

2010-01-21T21:57:00.011-07:00

I've found that my limit for tolerable fishing temperature rides right around the -5 mark. This morning's temp. rode that limit, but we got some quality fishing time in none the less. Toe warmers sandwiched between 2 pairs of smartwool socks are helpful.

Here are some clips of a morning with Brett and his mutt Bosco. Bosco is actually a very good fishing dog. He knows to stay away from the water unless he's right behind or next to you. Most of his time on the shore is spent rooting through the grassy banks for critters, or gazing into the water for fish or crawfish. However, he has been known to occasionally dive head first into the water after intensely gazing in from the bank. I always wonder if he is actually spotting fish or just being tricked by the dancing light...

I shot this with my new Canon Power Shot D10 (Thanks Santa-Mom). This bad boy is waterproof so 2010 will be filled with experimentation with underwater footage and photos. I foresee a learning curve, you have been warned ;)

*I feel obligated to mention that it's never a good idea to lip a trout. It appears as though this bow was wrapped in line and Brett lipped him to get him quickly untangled.

Ladies in Waders

2009-12-13T16:57:00.007-07:00

This was the first time fly fishing for both of these vixens. Naturals, both of them! It's amazing how much faster women learn than men =D

November

December

December Night River Fishing

2009-12-07T21:26:00.005-07:00

Part of me just wanted to say I'd done it.

We pre-rigged a streamer rod and a nymphing rod each. No desire to re-rig in zero degree dark.

It was a slow night, but we both caught several fish, and we both hooked and lost a single "make it worth your while" fish each.

One of the nicer ones landed.

This is my last trophy hunt for 2009.

Great year, here's to 2010!

Blogging News

2009-11-22T20:47:00.003-07:00

I have recently been elected to the board of the Boulder Flycasters, the Boulder division of Trout Unlimited. I will be contributing to their blog among other things. While it may result in less entries posted directly to Tangler.Blogspot, I will try to link anything I do over there here.

Here are two entries I have recently posted to their blog:

Snow Fishing

November Night Fishing

Day Trip to Mars

2009-11-03T21:22:00.037-07:00

The departure was early. Ryan walked through the door at 1:30am, straight from work. I don't know about Nick, but I doubt that I slept for more than an hour, and a restless hour at that. We brew two pots of extra bold Sumatra coffee, load the gear, and hit the highway under a full moon.

The lake is calm. The skyline promises a lively sunrise. I often reflect during these moments while I'm stringing up my rod.

This is it. All the excitement, planning, time, and hope for something that ultimately has an undeniable factor of chance.

It's at this moment that the one thing out of my control is upon me.

Are we going to get into fish today?

After all, trophy fishing is like poker. You do everything in your power to put yourself in the best possible scenario. It's a game of operating within the highest percentages of potential success. However, no matter how perfect the setup, chance is an undeniable factor, and aces can be cracked.

First light, first cast, the flop quads the aces. It's gonna be one of those days.

The clouds hang over the mountains in that magical way so as to shield the sun and prolong the "first light" mode for well over an hour.

A spirited release:

The mesmerizing horizon conspires to draw one's gaze from concentrating on fishing. None of us mind the lovely distraction.

My bro hoisting his personal best brown.

When I shot this photo of Nick this was his natural expression. After a few shots I told him to close his mouth and took one of him smiling. I thought the smile one was better at first, but after further review I gotta say, the natural is classic.

Ryan getting face time with his personal best trout.

And to complete the trifecta, this hefty hen grants me a personal best brown as well.

I've heard the cliche stories of people saying "At first, I thought it was a snag." Well, I can honestly say that, at first, I thought it was a snag. When I set the hook, I even declared it. However, something in the very back of my brain told me to keep pressure on. And then I noticed that my snag was slowly moving. Not throbbing or thrashing, but just moving. It felt like a bulldog was causually walking along the bottom of the lake.

My brother took a cool, quick clip of her. Its short, but something about footage really conveys size and weight better than any photo can.

Around 11:00 we run into Mark. While fishing with Mark a guy walks up and starts talking to him. Then the guy turns to me and says, "Is that Tangler?"

Haha, it turns out its WyoFlyFish, a fellow angling blogger. I read his sweet blog all the time. Great to finally meet you in the flesh dude! Hopefully next time I'll be operating on normal human hours and we can wet some lines.

Ryan and Nick, I thank you for your superb photography. These guys know how to shoot. If it weren't for your sick photos I'd have very little to share on the blog. Thanks!

Tribes - High Lake Cutthroat Fisherman

2009-10-11T09:12:00.015-06:00

I just read my first copy of The Drake magazine - Spring/Summer '09. It contained a feature titled "Tribes" which outlined a handful of different sects within the fly fishing community. Among the featured tribes were Flats Guides, Tailwater Chasers, Striper Fisherman, Steelheaders, Fly Tyers, and Bass Fisherman. I really enjoyed the concept and would like to give it a try.

I give you the High Lake Cutthroat Tribe.

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To hunt high lake cutthroats in the Rocky Mountains is a maddening endeavor.

The game is sick and twisted. If there truly are fish gods, then the High Lake Deity is the outcast who resides in a high up cave of self imprisonment enveloped by wispy clouds. The outer rock is beaten glossy smooth by the ages of relentless hail and streaked black with lightning soot. The other gods share worried whispers in varying flavors of disapproval of his cruel ways, but he pays them no heed. His tittering laugh sweeps down the mountain and sends reminding chills up their spines.

His will keeps the high lakes locked in ice for, give or take, 9 months of the year. The higher the altitude, the smaller the window of accessibility. When the ice finally melts, it's the cutthroats' cue to start spawning for a month.

Does the spawning make the fishing easier or harder, ye' high lake wanderer?

Ask this question of a veteran high lake angler and you can expect a response of a shot of bourbon dovetailed with a glare through eyes of chipped scree. There's miles in those eyes, miles.

The miles weed out a large share of curious anglers right off the bat. The interesting thing is that the true high lake angler actually takes pleasure out of the hike. The hike is the foreplay before the sex. Every step of distance, every foot of altitude might as well be a direct measurement of the lack of pressure on the fish that live beyond.

No information about the lake online? "Great."

Distant trail head and then no marked trail? "Excellent."

The last guy who tried it never returned... *ruffling of a topo map*

It's about experiencing seclusion in a vast expanse. It's about seeking multiple accomplishments. It's about venturing into the unknown compulsively and not necessarily being concerned about coming back.

September Blues

2009-10-05T22:39:00.005-06:00

Man, I'd never have thunk it that September would be a slow month for fishing for me. Aside from a successful high lake mission, it's been rough. Not to mention, my brother has been quite adventurous recently and has been using the camera for his own activities during days that I've been fishing. After all, it is his camera.

Here is the day saving cutty from an 8 mile bushwhack. Well, technically, screewhack:

Then I got slapped with a skunk during a tour of South Park. That one really stung. I went back last weekend thinking I knew where the fish were and, while beating the skunk, had a relatively slow day. The morning included breaking off the first fish o' the day due to ice in the guides; just an unbelievably amateur move. I then brought a cookie cutter bow to hand, and then proceeded to break off another fish due to somehow getting my line wrapped over the rod when I set the hook. That was all the action on the day. I was utterly disgusted with myself.

However, in my own defense, I was exploring a place and idea that just didn't pan out. I now know to not return to a certain place during this time of year, so I was able to take something good from it.

As a substitute for fish pics, here are some woolly buggers I recently tied up for some river brown action later this month. I had this CDC hackle sitting around and decided to put it to use. I think it looks pretty cool and should have nice action underwater.

Hooks are size 4 and 3x long. The front half of the buggers are lead wrapped and the heads are tungsten. They'll be deep divers for sure.

To Convert A Spinner - South Park Style

2009-08-23T15:03:00.008-06:00

My friend Matt called me about a month ago and said he had 3 days off coming up and wanted to fish. I told him I would take him to a special place and show him a world that would be very unfamiliar yet fantastic.

I felt him lean forward in his seat through the phone.

"Under one condition though...", I lick my lips for the delivery, "You have to fly fish."

Lets stop for a moment and rewind. I need to tell you a little about Matt.

I met Matt the first day I arrived to Colorado almost exactly 2 years ago today. He was the roommate of my old-time friend, Ryan, from back in NOVA. Matt turned out to be an outdoors man, angler, and experienced snowboarder so we got along immediately. I even have a youtube video of the first trip those guys and my brother and I Hit the Hills.

Anways, Matt has always been a spin fisherman. Being that I'm a fly fisherman, I could never offer him advice on how to fish those ridicules "lures" for trout... I mean, honestly ;)

Then I picked up on him fishing worms in some of the gold metal water I was taking him to, lol. We had a couple friendly discussions about regs, rules, and why they are in place. However, he stuck to his guns and pretty much proclaimed that he didn't give 2 chits about that stuff and he'd ''do what he want''.

At that point, I cut him off and said (to myself) that I would never take him with me to fish reg'ed water again (which is with a few exceptions all I fish), and that brings us back to the story at hand.

"OK, I'll flyfish." He says.

To my surprise, he was actually psyched to give it a go. I'd like to believe that he had grown moldy with poachers guilt and that the fish gods had rained some righteously evil karma down on his arse forcing him to repent his wicked ways and come to the light. But he probably just wanted to catch bigger fish and thought that I could guide him to such.

His roommate Ryan had to work that weekend, so he let Matt borrow all his gear. Rod/reel (nice setup), waders, boots, belly boat, fins, even his damned net. Ryan is very generous and Matt is very fortunate.

We drove out Friday after work and set up camp just as it was getting dark.

We grilled some sirloins and wrapped some potatoes, tomatoes and asparagus in foil for the fire and then partied a little. We took our time waking up, enjoying the mountains, and leisurely eating breakfast. I gave Matt a 15 min. casting lesson / crash course on fly fishing at camp and then we meandered over to the water around 11:00.

We push out in the belly boats, anchor up, and right away my brother hooks into a decent bow. He has his back to me when he lands it. He proclaims that it measured 19.5 inches with amazement (a personal best for him). I'm waiting with the camera and as he is turning around to face me with the fish flops out of his hands and back into the drink. Oh well, he'll catch bigger soon enough I tell him.

After that I hook into something that feels nice but isn't fighting aggressively like they usually do. It was throwing around more head-shakes than usual and was just staying deep. I horse her up and to my surprise and glee it's a brown.

Next, Matt exclaims that he's got one on, and sure enough he's bent.

I was so happy that he had hooked up. I shot a video of him landing his first fish on a fly rod, for his first time using a fly rod, during his first time on a belly boat, and a PB trout (soon to be broken 2 more times).

I distinctly remember him laughing and exclaiming, "I really like this way of fishing!"

His first: (check out the wave splashing over his back).

He caught 2 more after that each one a little bigger than the last.

At the end of the day we drove over to try some river fishing but the flow was weak and it was land o' the dink. Not complainin' about scenery though...

One more night of partying (this time with real reasons to celebrate), and 3 cornish game hens (Oyey inspired) in the fire with stuffing and potatos.

No more sleeping in though. We woke up early and scurried over to the water to fish from shore.

Nick hooked up first with a colorful bow:

The other guys didn't fare so well for the rest of the morning once the wind kicked up, but I was able to tap into a few more bows.

Matt was asking me about purchasing fly gear at the end of the trip.

My Hands are Numb. My face Hurts.

2009-08-17T16:57:00.010-06:00

I've been busy recently and this was my first real fishing trip in 3 weeks (Sorry, but Boulder Creek and unsuccessful carping just don't scratch that itch). The last time I went three... heck, two weeks without fishing was probably some time in January.

The air was crisp in the morning, and there was a tolerable but stern wind. It was very nice hiking weather. We navigated woods with a few glances of the map here and there.

After breaking above treeline we hurried through the final miles up to the objective. The stern wind had meanwhile turned into an abusive, drunk uncle who stubbed his toe - wind. The lake was angry that day my friends; like an old man trying to send back soup at a deli.

Chuck and I had to throw on the wind breaker jackets and the pants. My brother is yet to invest in wind breaker pants and therefore paid the price in experience. He was reduced to curling up under a bush and behind some boulders for a while.

He snapped a photo pretty cool photo during the savage wind assault. Note my fly line defying gravity.

The little bit of my hands that were actually exposed were just within that threshold of numbness so that I could feel all the pain. I would turn my back to the wind and put my hands in fleece lined pockets to try to warm them up while the sound of the wind racing over my hood whistled like a cracked car window on the freeway. The gusts were having gusts. A couple times I let obscenities flow freely into the blameless wind, and cursed the almighty fish gods themselves! HAHA! Giving into the madness actually made things feel a little better, and all of a sudden I recalled that I had just busted my ass up a mountain to catch cutts, by God, and there was business at hand.

Glimpses of cruising beef under the wind broken, Picasso'ed surface boosted moral even more.

The indicator dips behind a wave, the set is solid, and a wriggling reflection of light starts lifting and flipping into view.

For a spawned out fish, she didn't look half bad. It took a neon orange size 20 egg.

Jason and I had additional hookups with bad sets that came unbuttoned shortly following that fish, and then the wind died down and the fish mellowed out. We put in hours with nothing to show for it. We would mark fish cruising occasionally, but they were all still very much distracted with spawning behaviors.

Later in the day the wind calmed significantly back to the stern breeze giving the surface a more rhythmic break... and another cutt was fooled. This time on a size 18 olive scud.

Yet later in the day, the wind totally died, and we got the aquarium view into the lake.

My bro caught a fish during this calm period (at pone point I was sweating in shorts and a tee shirt) effectively sneaking past the slumbering skunk.

Jason, however, was not spared... this was the last known photo of him before the skunk was consummated, LOL!

...I'm getting scared of the karma that he's building up when fishing in my presence. One of these days he's gonna catch some trophy fish while I simultaneously step off a cliff.

Some Summer Photos

2009-07-27T19:04:00.017-06:00

High Country:

Beaver Pond hopping for Brookies:

Fishing a still water damsel hatch:

Greenback Cutthroats

2009-07-12T12:30:00.013-06:00

Some of you may be familiar with the current taxonomy predicament that looms over two of the three Colorado Cutthroat subspecies. For those of you who are not, the following is straight from the CDOW website:

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"Molecular techniques have been used recently to distinguish closely related subspecies of organisms that look similar. It was hoped that these methods would clarify relationships between different cutthroat trout subspecies, but instead they have muddied the water, challenging the current paradigm on the heritage of cutthroat trout in the state

Colorado is home to three subspecies of cutthroat trout, all of which are state species of special concern, and have been petitioned to be listed or are currently listed as threatened under the Endangered Species Act. All three subspecies look very similar. As they could not be reliably identified visually or with traditional genetic techniques, their historic range had been used to distinguish them. Recent advances in genetic evaluation methods have finally allowed us to separate the three distinct lineages with assurance. A genetic study published in 2007 confirmed the presence of three discrete cutthroat trout taxa in Colorado, but this work suggested that undocumented stocking activities in the late 1800s may have clouded the heritage of both Colorado River and Greenback cutthroat trout.

Although the Greenback Recovery Team, which includes the CDOW, had initiated the delisting process for the species after decades of progress, these recent genetic findings have put that effort on hold until we can determine what we actually have, and where. It is critical that we identify their true ancestry before recovery and conservation efforts can continue. Isolation of DNA from museum specimens collected between 1860-1890 is currently being evaluated in hopes of accurately delineating historic ranges of these taxa. Comprehensive genetic assessments of our current populations are also underway to relate current distributions to historic ranges, and thereby infer the influence of historic undocumented stocking on present distribution."

reference : http://wildlife.state.co.us/Research/Aquatic/CutthroatTrout

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The classification of our cutthroats here in Colorado is of great interest to me and I feel a responsibility to convey information with accuracy. Ironically, the accurate information is that the genetic accuracy is in question.

If the historically original strains of GB and CR cutthroats have indeed been lost through merging, then it will be interesting to see how future classification is dealt with.

With all that being said, I give you the beautiful Colorado state fish; the Greenback Cutthroat Trout (what CDOW stocked as the Greenback Cutthroat before the potential "gene muddling" information had been uncovered.)

Brookies, Brambles, Brothers and Besiegement

2009-07-05T11:10:00.003-06:00

Nick and I drew up a one nighter to a high lake. We selected a lake with Southern exposure and called the Ranger Station for good measure. They confirmed that our lake of choice was free of ice.

Our gear piles just before packing up the bags the night before:

Camping in the Rockies can be very testing. Through the course of two afternoons and an evening you better be prepared for what Mother Nature is capable of up there. You just never know when her temper is going to flair... but when it does, be assured she brings the pain.

The way things turned out, we ended up needing every bit of our gear...

Hiking up...

and up...

...and NOT slipping.

We reached the lake after a little wandering due to the snow throwing the trail. A compass a topo map and a little bit of manly intuition work wonders for these situations.

We brought Nick's new REI Halfdome 2 HC tent. He had used it the weekend before for the first time and had some concerns about it. He wanted to try it out again and get my opinion of it as well. Fine.

I had been itching to try camping with only the rain fly and the footprint, so that's how we set up. Right off the bat I didn't like how the rain fly set up.

Now, I consider myself pretty accomplished in the field of tent assembly, yet there was no way to get the sides of the fly taught. We tried tweaking the design, but there was just no answer. This spells very bad news for windy conditions.

Furthermore, the fly did not want to overlap very far over the footprint, nor did it come very close to the ground. These two attributes are red flags for an unpleasant experience in a hard rain storm. Hmm...

Camp:

We both agreed right there that once we got home he would return the tent to REI and purchase the 3 man version of my battle tested warrior; The North Face's Rock 22. At that point the weather was overcast, but otherwise of no concern. We hadn't really considered the prospect that we might soon be testing the REI half dome against Miss Mother Nature's fire storm, whether we approved of our tent or not. Never mind that, there was lake to explore and brookies to catch!

The following is a completely candid photo. Nick's photo shooting skills just keep getting better and I love being the subject.

We began fishing by stalking the entire bank of the lake. Walking the entire bank of a new lake is great for mapping out the underwater topography of the lake and finding out where the fish are holding so you can concentrate your efforts wisely for the rest of your stay. I was pleased to see that there were bigger fish holding tight to the bank either underneath good cover or hanging out near the many inlets of runoff.

We approached a small spout of water pouring into the lake. We slowly crept our way over staying low and peering hard into the surrounding water. Sure enough, a dark spot was sitting motionless about 10 feet out directly under the moving water. I crawled into position and flipped out my rig; a stimulator with a drowned ant 8 inches below it. The current slowly pushed my flies over the fish's head...

Just for you Worm, we had packed a frying pan and seasoning to cook up a brookie. Everyone has been telling me that brookies taste excellent, so I figured I'd give it a go. This one measured 13.5 inches. I cleaned the fish on the spot and covered him in snow.

His stomach was virtually empty. I found mostly dirt and sticks in there with the exception of two tiny bugs that I can't identify. Feel free to fill me in via the comments section (Jim, paging Jim).

Here we see a shoal of shallow water that suddenly drops to deep. You better believe that trout like to hang out on that shelf:

Then came the rain...

We chilled under the rain fly for about an hour waiting for the rain to pass, but it just wouldn't stop. I got fed up with sitting around, threw on the Gore-Tex, and went out to fish in the rain. The fish were all over a woolly bugger swung through the current of the main inlet.

When we got hungry for dinner we found a tight group of trees to block the rain and cooked up dinner. We started with the brookie. We cooked it in olive oil with lemon pepper and garlic powder.

Only one problem... the Jet Boil was fouling. For some reason the fuel was coming out really weak and the flame was not getting nearly hot enough to heat the pan effectively. In addition, the wind was picking up and just the slightest gust was knocking the flame completely out. Trouble.

All I can say is thank God for the Crazy Creek. I learned about this tool from my professor, Mark Wagstaff, in my outdoor living skills class at Radford University. It's an extremely comfortable backpacking chair that has so many practical uses that, these days, I wouldn't be caught dead camping in the back country without one. The ever growing number of uses that we find for our crazy creeks has become an ongoing joke between my brother and me. We add to the count every time these things come in handy.

This time, we laid the Crazy Creeks on their sides at right angles and created a wind sealed area in the middle to cook our food in. Sadly, we had to pull the plug on the brookie because, with the Jet Boil malfunctioning, even with the wind protection, we were going to run out of fuel if we tried to cook the fish all the way. I took a few bites of the outer meat and it didn't taste very good. I believe that this was my first and last attempt at cooking fish while camping (sorry to let you down Worm, I tried).

We boiled water, made tortellini, ate and cleaned up. The rain was actually getting a little heavier and it was getting dark and quite cold seemingly premature. Not good.

I got a few more casts in.

Getting under the rain fly and into our warmer sleeping bags was the best option at that point.

Let the fun begin.

We filled the open gap between the fly and the ground with gear. We doubled the crazy creeks in half and used them to seal the gap above our heads. With nothing else to do, we laid and waited for sleep, but first came wind.

The wind came in surges. The surges could be heard first ripping over the barren peak above us, then down through the trees, and then the rain would momentarily pause and the gust would slam the tent. It felt and sounded like we were looping through a never ending car wash that prided itself on its drying blowers.

Some of the surges sounded so furious coming down the mountain that I would reach out of my sleeping bag and hold the rain fly for fear of it ripping out of the ground and soaring up into the night sky like a parachute trying to stop a missle launch.

But that never happened. While the wind flattened the fly on us like saran wrapped burritos a few times, the stakes stayed firmly in the ground. The poles flexed and rattled but did not break all night. The fly resisted the rain and kept us dry as well. The old REI half dome took a beating for 8 hours of wind and rain.

I don't know when it happened but the squall ceased in the late hours of the night. I finally fell asleep.

The next morning Nick and I woke up, cooked breakfast, broke camp and exchanged animated experiences from the nights festivities.

I fished a little bit more catching brookies on woolly buggers and clousers, and then we packed it out.

On the hike out we stopped at an area that Nick had spotted on the way in for some glassading.

The camping trip goes down in my book as the worst wind/rain storm I've ever experienced in a tent. While I've had much more pleasant camping experiences in the past, it's trips like this one that stick fresh in the memory bank and make for the best stories.

This evening ranks right up there with the hungry midnight bear encounter. That one happened with Worm in Virginia well before Tangler.Blogspot was around... maybe a collaborative writeup is in store...

A shot of Boulder on the way back in:

Boulder Flatirons:

It's Game-On for the High Lakes

2009-07-01T21:04:00.007-06:00

The first thaws of the high lakes occurred about a week into June. I partook in two high lake sessions during the month. The first was a day hike, the second was an overnight backpacking trip.

This is the first of two installments in Tangler.Blogspot that I will roll out within days of each other, so check back soon for the second.

~~~~

My first high country excursion had limited success. It was one of those days that I was border line ecstatic about shaking the skunk when it finally happened. However, as always with the high altitude missions, there was no shortage of exotic landscape, man-proving hiking, and sense of true, desolate adventure.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Colorado's high lakes are the pinnacle of the state's fly fishing experience.

We were on the trail before the sun even broke the horizon. As we trudged up the path to the lakes we literally hiked into the clouds. We lost the trail due to snow about an 1/8 of a mile from the lakes. The fog limited visibility to roughly 50 yards at that point. All of the sudden a mirror of water abruptly stretched out in front of us... we had reached one of the lakes.

Carper shot a photo of Jason across the lake when the fog cleared a little.

The cuttys were in spawn mode (which, contrary to rainbows and browns, makes for very tough fishing) and I didn't have my nice camera, so photos are a little sparse. Here are a few of the cuttys we caught.

Jason's:

...A little smaller than we had hoped for, but fish none the less.

When Carper and I reached the second lake he spotted something about 1/4 of a mile away and about 600 ft. above us. It was a large, gray, four legged animal jogging along the mountain side. It nimbly dashed up to the top of the ridge, stopped for a pose, and then vanished down the back side. It happened very fast.

Now, before I jump to any brash conclusions let me lay out a disclaimer. It was far away and above us. We were above the 12,000 ft. mark and had just climbed up a steep slope. Our perception and judgment may have been affected by those factors.

However, It was extremely bright and clear up there and we both got a good look at the "creature" as Carper referred to it. Even though it was far away, its large frame was unmistakable. I've narrowed it down to the following possibilities: we were delusional, we saw a domestic dog very far away from home, we saw the biggest coyote in Colorado, or it was a...

Lake fishing - Callibaetis in Session

2009-06-10T18:02:00.015-06:00

I left work Friday afternoon, grabbed my 4 duffle bags of pre-packed gear and headed into the mountains. During my drive I pulled over to snap a quick photo of a moose on the side of the road.

The moose took off running. I initially thought that I had scared it... and then a group of horses emerged from the trees that had been rushing the moose.

I approached the camp site Friday evening at 9:30 pm bouncing and maneuvering along the trail in my F-150.

The utter darkness was engulfing out there. The multiple layers of stars were remarkably clear, but cast absolutely zero illumination down to the mountains. All I could make out was Swizz's face peering out at my approaching truck - face lit up by spotty light cast from the flames of a camp fire dancing in the steady wind out of the West.

I crudely unloaded some gear and pitched my tent in the light of my headlamp. I joined Swizz and Mark for a beer before we all retired to our beds to accelerate the arrival of the following day of fishing.

The morning sun brought out the chironomids. We ate breakfast and took our time getting onto the water. As we had hoped for, the late morning brought on an onslaught of callibaetis.

Callibaetis husks:

Callibaetis Adults:

And guess who was down there dining on emergers?

I implore you to click on the following photo to view it in full quality.

Many more fish were caught on Saturday, but none quite as spectacular as the native. The unique catch put a very large smile on my face; much to the disbelief of Swizz, and the disgust of Jason.

Rain, lightning, and wind came through in the afternoon and really put the fish down for the rest of the day.

Jason stripped a streamer through the shallows that evening and hooked into a brown that ended up spitting the hook. The loss was a shame, but beers and dinner while watching the sunset eased the pain.

Sunday was a carbon copy of Saturday. Midges in the morning, mayflies in the late morning, and storms in the afternoon putting down the hatches and fish.

Late morning 'bow taken on a calli:

Vaughn showed up and fished with us Sunday. He caught a 25 in. rainbow right before the storm hit. Regrettably, I was fishing far away from him and didn't get a photo of the biggest fish of the weekend. However, Vaughn sticking the hog is nothing new.

New Wader Purchase

2009-06-07T14:44:00.005-06:00

I've been battling leaks in my waders all year. It seems that my first full season of winter fishing in 08-09 did them in. After patching 4 major holes, yet still having leaking issues, I decided it was time to purchase a new pair.

After much deliberation and consultation, today I purchased a pair of Simms G3s from Front Range Anglers. I'm still suffering dizziness and short term memory loss due to the price tag, but it's an investment in a piece of clothing that I will put quite a bit of time in.

A farewell to the Cabelas Dry Plus waders which lasted me 6 years!! Amazing!

Lake Fishing a Chironomid Hatch

2009-05-24T00:00:00.004-06:00

Vaughn:

Vaughn caught the fish of the day; a 23'' cutbow:

Photographer - Swizz

Mark:

Photographer - Swizz

This is the only photo of this fish for obvious reasons. It is in the act of flying out of the net, off an oar, and back into the water:

Tangler:

Photographer - Swizz

And then came the Chironomids.

Husks collecting in the surface film...

Adults choking the air...

Clinging to the bushes...

...and nymphs catching the fish.

Photographer - Vaughn

That cutbow was the hardest fighting trout I've ever caught, and I've caught much bigger. When my indicator dipped below the surface I promptly reacted by raising my rod tip to set the hook. However, before I had time to create the tension, the fly line pulled through my line hand and slapped the rod. My drag had relinquished 5 feet of line by the time I had raised my rod tip. The full body, underwater headshakes were as violent as I've ever felt, and always precluded a powerful run. The fish was just a slab of muscle. Vaughn and I guessed it was around the 19'' mark in length.

Another smaller cutbow:

Photographer - Vaughn

Some birds we spotted during the day:

Grackle:

Yellow-Headed Black Bird:

Photographer - Swizz

Western Grebes with a couple American Coots behind them:

White-Faced Ibis:

Eared Grebe:

Northern Shoveler:

Spring Shots

2009-05-18T16:30:00.000-06:00

Canon City Canyon

Spinney Reservoir:

North Park:

Front Range Warm Water: Photos: Nick Turner

Deckers

2009-05-13T21:16:00.001-06:00

I went to Deckers the day after the Ark tourney. I rode out from Denver with Jake and Jim. We met up with Wyatt and John G. at "Flies & Lies" in Deckers. John shot some photos during his drive of some of the snow that had piled up on Friday/Saturday.

I fished with Jake for most of the morning while Wyatt, Jim, and John worked another stretch of Deckers to trade some Czech Nymphing technique.

All I can say is that Jake sure knows his Deckers. I have a new appreciation for the area after spending the afternoon there with him.

I always thought of Deckers as an overrated destination that gets hammered by rude anglers. While the latter statement proved true, the former is very much off base. There are some quality fish to be had there, but they are exceptionally discerning and business like. I got a small taste of what it takes to catch one on a low flow, bluebird day such as the one we were dealt.

I didn't see a single other person catch a fish all day (and that's out of a lot of people), but Jake was hooking into them left and right. It was remarkable.

Here are some photos and video from the day:

*Note the motions the trout are displaying in the following video clip, most notably - the fish I focus in on towards the end. When sight-nymphing, the following motions are what you are looking for to set your hook on. In addition, every time you see the white of the fish's mouth its inhaling food.

Having trout follow me around like puppy dogs was entirely new to me. I've never seen that type of adaptive behavior to high pressure, but apparently it's a typical thing to see there. At one point I took a step forward and literally tripped over a fish.

Jake:

Jim:

The guys started flipping rocks, something I don't do enough, and an abundance of insect life was revealed :

Arkansas River Tourney

2009-05-07T19:04:00.003-06:00

On 4.18 a group of 9 guys organized a private fly fishing tournament to be held on the Arkansas River, West of Canon City. I was included. The tourney was in honor of Jim flying in from Chicago for a full weekend of strung out fly fishing the Colorado pre-runoff.

It was originally supposed to be a 10 man gig with 5 guys representing the aptly dubbed "Team North" and 5 repping "Team South". However, at the last minute Jamie had something come up and couldn't make it.

For those of you that have followed Tangler.Blogspot from the beginning, you will recall that my first entry was written about a trip Jamie and I took around this same time last year on the Ark.

After some discussions we decided to divide into 3 teams of 3 - drawn out of a hat at random the morning of the event over breakfast. One member from each team was then paired with one representative from each other team, forming 3 groups with no two teammates together.

Jason N. then divided the river into 6 sections. Each group was assigned 2 beats to fish for 2.5 hours at a time. The assignments were drawn from a hat.

To top it all off, each person tied a pattern of their choice; two for each participant. These 18 flies were swapped and were the only ones allowed during the tourney.

The flies:

We tried to eliminate as much X-factor as possible.

A bit of a competitive bunch, can you tell?

The night before many of us drove down and slept at Jason's house because a 2 day blizzard was hitting Northern Colorado on Friday. I left work at 2:00 and it still took me 3.5 hours to get to Pueblo. The snow was piling up quick. By the time I got South of Colorado Springs I drove out of snow through rain and then emerged from purple clouds to sunlight and dry highway.

At Jason's place Friday night there was lots of beer drinking, brandishing of reels and rods, fly tying, shuffleboard, small insect talk, and big fish stories.

We ate breakfast, selected teams, groups, and beats and hit the water.

The average size of fish:

I hooked into something very heavy during the first heat about 9 feet deep in a run. I thought I had a monster brown on so Jason started filming with his digi. It turned out it was an 18 inch sucker foul hooked in the tail. You can hear the disappointment in my voice when I come to the realization that it is indeed a sucker, upon which Jason laughs at me.

We fished for 2.5 hours and then moved to the next spot. The road runs along the river for miles and miles.

It was a gorgeous day for fishing. The sky was overcast and clouds clung to the mountains in the canyon which were laced with sugary snow.

We finished up and met for lunch in Cotopaxi where we compared numbers and experiences. This is how the numbers played out by team:

Jacob 2
Jim 14
Tangler 12
Total= 28 fish

Al 4
Brett 10
Joe 11
Total= 25 fish

Dean 2
Alex 10
Jason 3
Total= 15 fish

The crew:

Left to right: Tangler, Jim, Al, Joe, Dean, Jake, Brett, Alex, and Jason.

I really enjoyed the experience. It was cool to see what it would feel like to fish in an official tournament. It's something I would be very interested in if given the opportunity. It was also really cool to spend the day with such an awesome bunch of anglers that are as enthusiastic about the sport as I am.

After fishing I drove up to Denver and slept at my buddy Ryan's house. The following day I would wake up and head for Deckers with Jim, Jake, John G., and Wyatt. Stay tuned for that report.

South Park

2009-04-08T21:02:00.013-06:00

The last two Sundays I ventured to South Park. The first trip ocurred two days after Spinney opened for the season. Jason and I waited for the blizzard to calm down and then made our way up. We had action right off the bat.

The notorious South Park winds picked up a few hours in so we relocated to the South Platte River where spawning bows didn't disappoint.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The following Sunday I headed back to South Park with Vaughn, Swizz, and Kevin. We pulled up to Antero only to find it glazed in ice. Instead of waiting around for the winds to break up the film, we drove over to Spinney. Fishing was extremely slow in the morning. Lulu, Swizz's malamute, got sleepy waiting for us to start catching.

Finally, Kevin caught the first of the day.

After more miserable slowness we decided to move to a different location. On the hike back to the trucks we ran into Jerry; a true veteran of Colorado fly fishing. The first time I met Jerry was last Fall when he promptly caught this PIG. He joined up in our band of anglers.

We walked the South Platte above Spinney but the areas that were big enough to accommodate all five of us were already infested with other anglers. We bypassed the river and jumped into the trucks.

We moved to the opposite side of the lake where the wind was just beginning to get frisky. The masters of the fly proved their prowess despite the harsh headwinds. Vaughn, Swizz, and Jerry all caught numerous fish while Kevin protested the conditions and I haplessly copied the flies that the other guys were catching with - to no avail.

Vaughn cradling a female ready to explode with eggs:
Swizz:

Once the winds picked up to an unbearable velocity, we moved to a spot that Vaughn knew of that was craftily shielded from the howling, raging madness. Swizz and Kevin called it a day and took off. I was approaching hour 8 of total skunkage and was spiraling into a state of jaded misery. However, Jerry, Vaughn, and I persevered.

After a little bit of lock picking we cracked the combination and struck a period of truley hot fishing. All three of us landed roughly 20 fish each over a course of 1.5 hours.

Jerry admiring a bow that was sporting an impressive kype:

This cutbow had a bright orange belly that just didn't come out in the photo:

A harsh day turned into a memorable one due to the fantastic ending. I was broken down all day only to be handsomely rewarded at the very end.

A massive herd of elk that extended well beyond the frame of the photo while departing up Kenosha Pass:

ICE OUT... in Wyoming

2009-03-16T19:26:00.013-06:00

Vaughn and I left Boulder at 3:30 am. As we drove past the sign signifying the official entry into Wyoming, a gust of wind slammed into the side of the truck and my window started whistling. No joke. The wind never stopped all day.

After 4 hours of driving in darkness under miraculous stars we arrived at the lake where the sun briefly stalled with its arrival. The back half of the lake was still covered in ice.

We met up with Kevin and Swizz and started working all around the lake in hopes to spot cruising, spawning bows. No such luck concerning visual fish activity. By the middle of the day all four of us had shook the skunk, but it was pretty slow going and the wind was unrelenting.

This trip was from two weeks ago when there was no still-water opened in Colorado. As Vaughn said, the trip served as a primer for the still water season to come.

My first open water fish of 2009, a healthy hen:

One of many of the other guys' browns:

Some of Colorado's premier reservoirs have since opened up enough to fish including Eleven Mile, Antero, and, as of tomorrow (3.27.09), Spinney.

The past week of very warm weather broke the camel's back and opened up large portions of ice on said reservoirs. Spinney always opens for fishing as soon as it has reached near complete ice off. I read in the Denver Post that this is only the second time that Spinney has ever opened in March.

I was going to be there to fish Spinney tomorrow, but we are currently getting hit by a snow storm. It's the most snow we've gotten in Boulder of the season. Both Nick and my jobs got shut down for the day. The roads are in disarray, and Friday is predicted to have a high of 29 at Spinney with -11 windchills accompanying snow drifts galore.

As I was finishing up this entry Jason alerted me that 285 is closed from Kenosha to Fairplay, effectively blocking our entry to South Park. Even if we wanted to go, it is no longer physically possible.

I think I will wait a few days for the storm to clear out and hopefully encounter some temperatures upwards of 40.

The Dream Stream

2009-03-13T20:57:00.005-06:00

This video was shot over the period of two fishing trips in February. I held on to the video for a little while, but now here it is.

All the footage/photos were shot with my digital camera.

The resolution of this video embedded from youtube is pretty nice. I have gone back and swapped the videos on the small creek post a few entries back from the blogger host to the youtube host. If you want to go back and watch them again, the quality is much better now.

Photo

2009-03-11T21:37:00.006-06:00

Click photo for maximum resolution.

I shot this photo through the car windshield near Glenwood Canyon on the way to the Roaring Fork a few weeks ago. Vaughn asked me what I was taking a photo of...

A Perfect Day of Sun and Snow

2009-03-09T20:37:00.019-06:00

Jason, Nick and I fished a creek over the weekend. The weather turned as we had hoped and the fishing turned fantastic. We were getting into fish so consistently that I was confident enough to have Nick film me set the hook on one. Here is an unedited taste:

You must go to my Brother's Flickr account and view the album of the day. Click the "slideshow" button in the top right of the album window.

Go now.

I'll wait.

I couldn't attempt to describe that trip any better than how Nick shot it.

Nick shot all the photos and video. Nick usually catches a few fish, gets satisfied, and then ends up wielding the camera more than the fly rod. He's a fly fisherman's best friend. He put editing time into every photo in the album. The photos are all available for full quality download on Flickr.

This next video displays the remarkable ability of the polarizer to cut through glare on the water. In the right conditions the polarized lens is the single most important tool the angler has.

Nick spins the lens a few seconds into the video. Keep an eye on the water.

I wish we took some video of Jason cleaning out a hole of 14.5 inch, wild rainbows. Then again... maybe better to keep that little spot anonymous. ;)

Winter Fishing Photo

2009-02-06T21:34:00.003-07:00

Photo my brother shot and touched up: recently taken at one of my favorite mountain gem creeks.

Click photo for maximum resolution.

My Status

2009-01-27T19:45:00.002-07:00

The Bad:

My Macbook Pro has gradually been acting funny and giving me the spinning wheel of death. I backed up all my files and tried to reformat the hard drive, but the OS would not install. Turns out that the hard drive is shot. I've been bumming the internet from my brother and, needless to say, I have not had time to blog.

The Good:

I've been snowboarding and fly fishing tailwaters pretty much every weekend. I've got good photos and stories ready to go once I get my computer back from the Doctor. I'll be writing a feature for ColoradoFlyFisherman.com soon which I'm excited about. Good things coming, stay tuned!

Ice Fishing... with Fly Gear?!?!

2008-12-14T09:13:00.013-07:00

It's officially Winter. The flowing, bubbling mountain streams look to have been frozen in time and then coated in a sugary snow. The once plunging waterfalls now stick to the hillsides paralyzed in airy, crystallized ice, patiently waiting for Spring so they can get back to their business of rushing.

The trout reside deep within this ice cage, grouped together in the deepest pools where the water won't freeze solid in their motionless, seemingly hypnotized state.

This state of deep freeze is not the case, however, in every stream across Colorado. There are special exceptions in tailwaters. Tailwaters are streams in which their water is derived from the outflow of dams. While there may be a completely frozen lid on the water within the dam, the water being released below is pulled from the bottom of the reservoir allowing the streams to remain free from ice through even the coldest of weather. In some premier tailwaters the water is silt free, stable in temperature year round, and is full of nutritious food for the fish resulting in exceptional fisheries. The DOW is aware of this and has made many tailwaters C&R only for stretches directly below the dams boosting the quality of fishing that much more by allowing fish to grow large.

At the beginning of the Winter season when most freestone streams (streams in which a majority of its water is derived from rainfall and glacial runoff) are frozen, yet Colorado sun is still providing 60 degree days, the tailwaters get absolutely slammed with anglers. People will literally wait in line to fish holes (so I hear).

I refuse to fish in such crowded conditions. This limbo of changing seasons has contributed to my lack of posting on this here blog as a result of my lack of actual fishing. I will start hitting the tailwaters once it gets cold enough to turn away the teeming masses of anglers, but until then...

Ice on the Fly

This brings us to ice fishing. Last year I dismissed the activity because, after all, it's sitting on a bucket with spin gear... and I'm a fly fisherman dammit! However, I dismissed it not without an air of curiosity due to the pictures of mammoth fish people pull through the ice.

This year as the hard water season approached my fly fishing associate,Vaughn, kept inserting little tidbits in my ear such as,

"You've fished in a belly boat right?"

"Yes."

"It's the same thing, except you're on ice instead of in a raft."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

Any protest I made was quickly quelled with impenetrable logic that my fish deprived mind eagerly justified, and secretly relished in. He knew what I needed to hear.

He even had all the necessary gear I lacked - extra short rods (or are they poles? ...don't ask don't tell) and an extra ice hut. He had years and years of experience of where to go, what to use, and the big fish, oh the big fish.

ALRIGHT! I CAVE! GIVE IT TO ME!

In addition, Matt, my close friend and roommate of 3 years from college was flying out from VA to visit and I wanted to take him on some sort of Colorado expedition. Ice fishing fit the bill. It all fell neatly into place.

The Trip

2:30 A.M. departure, it was snowing. Hard. Matt, my brother and I met up with Vaughn and Swizz and started trekking. During the drive out the snow whited out the vast views of mountains in the distance and any potential of a sunrise. Instead, it gave us a fuzzy, glowing calmness and offered closer range, peaceful landscapes.

We got to the lake, drug our gear out to the ice and set up shop.

Drill Baby Drill!

View from inside the hut.

The hut blocks out all outside light and the result is a lime green glowing hole to fish through. You can see the bottom of the lake, your fly, and trout swimming up to inspect your offering. We would yell to each other if we saw one swim by in someone else's direction.

After just a few minutes of sitting in there with our flies in the water Matt calmly says,

"Something... just... happened."

I look over and he's hand lining with a confused look on his face.

"Grab your rod!" Nick and I exclaim.

He picks of the stick and lands his first ever trout like a natural!

The action slowed toward the afternoon, but all five of us managed to land fish during the morning. I didn't even know it at the time, but Matt was taking awesome videos with his point and shoot camera.

Cookie Cutter Bow

Nick Botches One at the Hole

Toward the end of the day the sky broke for a little while and we got some nice views during the drive home.

Then more snow.

Just to show the potential for ice fishing, Vaughn caught this spawned up 25 in. cutbow 2 weeks after our trip!

Our friend Kevin, who is a talented taxidermist, will be mounting it and entering it in the world taxidermy championships in a few months. Some of his previous work can be seen here at www.FreestoneFineArt.com.

The Knot

2008-11-25T06:53:00.005-07:00

The last thread reminded me to link the proper way to tie a knot to the fly. As Jason will attest, the difference between the clinch knot and the improved clinch knot is a broken off fish or a landed fish. What makes it the "improved" clinch knot is step 8 in the animation.

I used to get frustrated with tying knots and skip the improved step. When you're standing in the water watching feeding fish it's easy to get excited and to brush over taking your time tying in the proper knots. The normal clinch knot will work as long as you don't hook into a big fish (relative to your line thickness)...

In other local fishing news, ice chunks are starting to show up in the rivers, and lakes are getting their lids. It looks like my first season of ice fishing is coming up. There may be a lull in fishing activity for me as the ice firms up and I hit the back country snowshoeing and snowboarding.

Big Trout, Short Story

2008-11-18T16:57:00.011-07:00

I went out to my favorite local tail water this past weekend. It was my first trip out since the neck injury. My buddy Jason and I headed out there and the weather was glorious. About 50 degrees and sunny all day, with not another soul on the water.

I had tied up about 9 czech nymphs and planned to show Jason the way to slay it out there with them. As fortune would have it, czech nymphing just wasn't the ticket that day. We both had a hit or two without hookups.

We come up to a slow stretch of the river and Jason spots a rainbow about 60 feet below us in the canyon that is actively feeding in a lane. It's hard to read the size, but it looks every bit of 20 inches.

Let me preface this by saying that this river is known for its wiley trout. Any fish of size has been around the block and doesn't stand for the slightest hint of foul play. The approach, the cast and the drift all have to be purrrrrfect. Jason just picked up fly fishing this year and has really excelled, but catching one of these trout would be a challenge even for an experienced angler.

Jason climbs down the boulders of the canyon wall to the water and ties on an egg/nymph rig while I stay up on the rocks to spot for him. I told him how far away the trout was and damn if he didn't lay an undetected cast above it with a top notch drift right for its face.

The 'bow took a nonchalant glance at the egg before lazily wavering away.

"He's lookin... he's lookin," I stammer. "Nope he didn't go."

I see Jason's shoulders sink in a gesture of dissapointment as he gets ready to pick up the line for another cast.

"Wait, wait! Hes turned back at it... and hes following!" I yell out in amazement.

All I know from that point is Jason sets the hook and a flopping splash errupts the placid surface.

"Holy shit! YOU'VE GOT HIM! Holy shit!" I cry as I fumble for my net and begin to scramble down the canyon wall. Jason is tripping backwards, stripping line, letting it out, laughing, cursing -- doing the big fish shuffle.

I get down to the water, net in hand, and raise my eyes ready to do this only to see the tension in his rod abruptly release and the line skip across the water... fish off.

We crack a smile and give a high five just for the excitement of the ordeal. It's not every day you get to hook into a fish like that in a place such as this.

"The adrenaline is wearing off and it's being replaced with saddness." Jason laments.

I chuckle because I sure know that shitty feeling.

It turned out to be a bad knot on the fly and he knew it before we even took a look at the end of the line. It would have been his personal best trout.

I once read a story in which a young boy hooks into the biggest trout of his life and it breaks him off. The boy is sitting on the shore with his head between his knees crying when an old man walks up with a long gray beard scattered with odd looking, rusty flies. The old-timer tells the boy that maybe it was necessary for him to break that fish off in order for him to have the tools to catch a big one later on down the road. He plucks a few flies out of his crusty beard, hands them to the boy, and fades into the woods...

...and so is fly fishing.

Tie Me A River

2008-11-10T19:32:00.004-07:00

I have a strange obsession with the woolly bugger and its a magical powers over trout. This is a variation on my previously posted purple bead head pattern. This one features the standard palmered hackle, a chartreuse wire wrap, some flash in the tail, and rubber legs.

With all this talk on my blog about czech nymphs, I figured I'd finally throw up a photo of one. There is nothing very exciting about these flies. It's wrapped with lead underneath, dubbed, covered with scud skin over the back, and then wraped with some 5x mono for segmentation.

My brother has gotten really into photography and I asked him to take some photos of me tying over some cold beers and music - to inspire creativity of course.

Kokanee Salmon and Spawning Browns

2008-11-08T11:16:00.010-07:00

I haven't put up a post in a while and the guilt has been weighing on me heavily. In the back of my mind all I can think of is that loyal reader checking my page only to find the same photo of me with my arm around Worm. I thought up a few solid excuses, but in truth, I have just been lazy. Sorry.

One of my fishing buddies, Vaughn, and I became obsessed with catching a mess of salmon to take home for many dinners to come.

The idea, of course, was to find a hot spot of podded salmon that will hit on every cast. A fantasy of raining salmon: every angler dancing up and down the banks on tippy toes playing hard-fighting fish, big grins, belly laughs, high fives, back slapping and such.

In reality, this involved us waking up around three o'clock in the morning, driving for hours, and then just being teased with something like one undersized salmon every hour or so.

Ugh.

Most days we even had our secondary plans all ready to go such as, "Well, I figure we can head over to the ******* river for trout after we limit out on salmon sometime around noon."

Nope. That whole "sometime around noon" graceful exit kept turning into me squatted on a desolate shoreline with bloodshot eyes and a five o'clock shadow around six o'clock with Vaughn murmuring something about his wife expecting him home tonight.

Keep in mind that there are easier ways to catch Salmon in the state of Colorado. It's called snagging.

I have this preference to not line up elbow to elbow with the likes of Mr. Deuce McAllister, fish kicking mullet man, guy sitting on cooler and family. This video is not shot in Colorado, but the scene is always the same when it comes to snagging.

No thanks. I'd rather have a slow day in pursuit of catching them in the mouth.

Moving on.

I decided to cut my losses on the salmon hunt and do what an angler is supposed to do during Colorado autumn - chase spawning browns and the rogue rainbows that are gorging on the brown roe.

I met up with the man, the legend known as Swizz and headed to a prime destination.

Sunrise while driving.

The action was slow which was disappointing considering the 3.5 hour drive each direction, but I learned a ton from Swizz and some of his friends that we ran into out there. Even though I got the skunk, I was able to take some photos of trout that those guys caught.

A prime example of a spawning brown all colored up.

A superior specimen of said rogue 'bow that is hanging out around the spawners gulping up the eggs.

I also spotted a sun dog at the end of the day and captured some photos of it. This is the second sun dog I've seen in Colorado. I find them extraordinary and enchanting and it put a smile on my face for the drive home.

****
On a side note, I was rudely awakened at four o'clock Tuesday morning with immobilizing pain in my neck. Long story short, my brother drove me to the ER with my chin glued to my chest and they said I just had to wait it out. Some strong meds and four blurry days later my neck feels much better. However, for this weekend, as they say in the NFL, I will be on the PUP list, so no fishing for me.

Rocky Mountain Rhapsody

2008-10-21T16:42:00.018-06:00

When I saw the pictures of Tangler’s trophy cutthroat trout on this blog, my juices began to flow like a Rocky Mountain river.

“I simply have to make a fly fishing trip out there,” I concluded, as I began to purchase a flight with child-like abandon.

A month later I found myself hiking up a gray and foreboding mountain, so colossal in stature, it makes my hometown Virginia Blue Ridge look like a rolling hill. It took about five minutes of light upward hiking before I realized that I was completely out of shape. My vision was a bit blurred from the exhaustion, but I could make out the two figures ambling in the distance.

“Hey Tangler” I yelled, “I need to get my ass on a treadmill more often, my lungs feel like they are about to explode!”

He looked back and flashed me a knowing grin, but I certainly didn’t share his amusement.

We arrived at the first mountain-top lake around mid-day. Coinciding our arrival to the lake, the clouds darkened abruptly and a light snow began to sting our ruddy faces.

“What happened? It was sunny five minutes ago,” I thought, as we passed the lake by and kept climbing higher.

We arrived at the upper lake and continued to a nearby boulder to have lunch. I hungrily pawed my backpack for my lunch sack, but was horrified to discover that I forgot my sandwich. I didn’t even have to tell Tangler what I forgot, he could see it my somber eyes when I looked at him.

“It’s okay fatty, you can have some of mine,” he assured, as he held out his mangled Turkey Sub.

After lunch we spent time walking along the lake, looking for all the trout we were to slay. I wasn’t sure what shapes we were supposed to be looking for in the water, but Tangler peered in with a hawk-like veracity, as focused in as a camera lens. He saw nothing, and it took about a half-hour of lake walking for him to admit it.

“They just aren’t out today,” he said, with an accompanied sigh.

“But where do they go,” I asked, “they exist in this pond don’t they?”

This question, with its penetrating logic, seemed to catch him off guard: “Yeah, I guess they do still exist somewhere in the pond…”

That was the end of our conversation.

("Where are the fish???")

We caught no fish, but we had one hell of a hike. Even five minutes of ambling through the Rocky Mountains is worth the trip out there.

On the way down, I noticed my head beginning to ache. I told Tangler about my ailments (headache, blurry vision, lack of balance, shortness of breath, numbness of the arms, etc), and he shot me that enigmatic smile again. What was he up to?

His brother finally confessed, “I think you have High Altitude Sickness (HAS), we probably should have warned you.”

Thanks asshole, I thought, but honestly I couldn’t be too upset; it’s a small price to pay for the hike of a lifetime. I’ll just have to remember to bring Advil with me when I go back next year to get revenge on those phantom mountain-top trout...

-Worm
Guest Blogger

Some more photos from the day:

The Ptarmigans:

How many do you count?

Sun set. You shoulda seen it in real life...

Recent Activity

2008-10-20T17:32:00.006-06:00

My friend Armin came and visited Colorado last weekend as I had mentioned in a previous entry. The plan was to Hit North Park, but that kind of fell through. My brother and Armin got all wide eyed when I mentioned that the drive would be over 3 hours each way. My plans were swiftly vetoed and replaced with a local stroll out to the Gross Reservoir inlet (let the record show that I warned them we would catch nothing there). The truth is that there is no such thing as a bad fishing trip, and I'm just glad I got to spend time with an old buddy.

While we didn't go after the browns, we did make a journey up to a high lake in Indian Peaks Wilderness despite the cold front setting in on Saturday. That's all that I am saying about that trip because Armin is guest authoring a blog post about it.

Jumping topics...

My analytic report shows that Colorado Fly Fisherman Anon. has been getting hits from Baghdad. Since I'm fairly confident that Iraqis aren't fly fishing in their spare time, I presume that the views are coming from an American troop.

Whoever you are, it really gives me a sense of purpose with this blog to know that I am connecting with you over there. Thanks for fighting for this beautiful country, and thanks for reading. Hopefully some of my writings allowed you to fly fish and hike in the rocky mountains this season vicariously. Come home safe.

2008 shots of wildlife

2008-10-09T18:32:00.011-06:00

Here are some choice wildlife photos from throughout 2008 that, for whatever reason, didn't make the blog. Please make sure to view them in full screen for best experience.

Categorized by photographer:

Nick:

Lady Bugs
Eleven Mile wild donkey

Henderson:

Tough Guy
Spinney Pelican

Eleven Mile wild, aggressive donkey w/ onlooker
TANGLER:

Tanager:

Chipmunk profile
Mule Deer on Flagstaff looking down on Boulder

Bull Elk in RMNP

Female Bluebird

Eleven Mile Bluebirds in flight

Spinney bows 20''+

My frying pan of a personal best 'Bow

James Peak Wilderness Area

2008-10-07T17:50:00.005-06:00

Met up with Jim and lil' Jim and headed out to JPWA. We drove through clear creek canyon, through Central City and up into the mountains. The off-road driving is slow and jarring. The path is unmaintained which in the Rockies means, yes, lots of rocks. I found myself wishing I was wearing one of those double strap harness seatbelts.

Here is a clip of us traversing the mountains and approaching an ancient juniper forest. It's hard to make out in the video, but the junipers are all growing totally sideways due to the voracious winds that rip into them during the winter.

Bumping and bouncing along, the first glimpse of one of our lakes peeks around a mountain side - Echo Lake.

...and then James Peak Lake and little James below it complete the triad of fishing ahead of us. This is the first time I've ever looked down onto the lakes I'm about to fish. Normally it's a trek up.

We briskly scamper down the path to get out of the 40+ mile per hour winds on the knoll, and look back up to where we have to return. Always in the mind of a hiker - what goes down must come up. Jim's jeep rests invitingly at the top of the foot path.

The scenery included the typical critters along with some literal twisted metal in the rocks.

See, not all people are qualified to drive in the mountains. In fact, not all people are qualified to drive on paved roads. The difference is that those who can't drive on roads run into cars, signs, curbs, etc., while those who can't drive on mountains run into... err, fall off of, mountains.

We pass little James lake on the way. This lake is pretty shallow and probably winter kills so we didn't spend any time on it.

The jaunt ends at an old miner's cabin that overlooks James Peak Lake.

The lake produced small cutties and was just gorgeous. The clouds were soaring across the sky and casting flowing shadows across the mountain sides.

After spending some time fishing, relaxing, and taking photos we moved on to Echo Lake. We had heard that there are lakers in Echo. Lakers (aka mackinaw, lake trout) live very deep. Echo lake is an absolute pit of a lake that just drops straight down into an abyss.

We saw nary a fish. I fished my sinking tip as deep as I could for some time, which gets very tiresome and boring. I hate to say it, but barring a very unique day, this lake is more fit for spin casting a big chunk of metal down into the depths.

We packed out around 3 and I got back to Golden just in time to meet my brother to head to the STS9 concert at Red Rocks.

I could barely stand up by the end of the concert. What a sweet day. Gotta love Colorado.

Shout Out

2008-10-03T06:37:00.002-06:00

Since the NFL has started I've sacrificed my Sundays for football, so I only have Saturdays to fish now. I'm a fanatical Washington Redskins fan. I know many of my readers are friends and family visiting this blog from back in DC. For those of you interested you should check out The Om Field blog.

This guy is one of the few skins fans who can analyze and assess the team objectively. I find myself agreeing with everything he says. Check him out, he's a quality source and a pleasure to read.

Now back to FISHING. I know that was hard for all you non-football persons to read.

The bad news is that I haven't been fishing last weekend and I won't be fishing this weekend (my family is visiting). This will be the longest I've gone without wetting a line since winter.

The good news is that I have a couple fishing trips I've gone on that I haven't put up a blog about yet and they will surface next week (with some video).

The even better news is that my close friend Armin is flying into town next weekend for four days and we are gonna fly fish for two of those days.

High Country Winter Wonderland

2008-09-25T20:54:00.000-06:00

I met a fly guy through work who expressed interest in hitting a high lake with me. Since it rained during the end of the week in Boulder I expected a little bit of snow up high. I didn't expect snow drifts over a foot high. If I hadn't been up there before I would have been totally lost due to the snow covering the path.

Vaughn trudging through the snow and probably wondering why he is following this psycho through this place.

Breaking trail turned out to be just as exhausting as it ever was. I'm not gonna lie though, I enjoyed it. The air was super crisp and a perfect temperature for hiking.

Got to the lake and photographed some fish porn laying near the bank. The boils on its stomach is rotting flesh.

The fishing at the lake lacked. The water was glass with no hatches to speak of. Lots of small to medium trout sunning in 4 inches of water that would bolt if you farted within 60 feet of them. The water would boil with chain reaction spooks, very frustrating.

We both got broiled by the sun/snow. Should have worn my snowboard goggles.

Very beautiful scenery though.

I like to constantly stalk around the bank in search of trout when I fish high lakes. The deep snow really made that harder and way more exhausting.

The snow combined with the poor fishing made for an easy decision to pack out of there. Vaughn had a place in mind to go catch some kokanee salmon to shake the skunk.

We hike down down down and get back to the truck and drive drive drive to get into some kokes. He caught 3 nice ones with about 4 misses, and I just stunk it up with the ole' skunk. I even copied his rig... then stole his spot... then used his rod/rig in his spot, but nothin!

Didn't take any pictures of the kokes because I was bitter. It was a 16 hour day. I crashed hard when I got home.

Q & A

2008-09-23T22:35:00.001-06:00

Q.
Hey Man, Nice blog! Love the pics too.
How do those black beauties and zebra midges do?
Where are they good at?

-Charles

A.
Hey, glad you like the blog.

The BB and ZM are good trailing under a dry fly on a dead drift. They simulate the broad category of midge, emerging midge, nymph... whatever. You can tie them in different color thread like olive, tan, and black depending on the food in a particular stream. They can also be pulled slowly through still water or just sat under an indicator for cruising fish. Even better when attached below a bigger nymph like a stone fly making a 3 fly rig.

-TANGLER

Write Me

2008-09-18T12:03:00.000-06:00

If anyone would like me talk about a specific topic on the blog feel free to shoot me an email which is listed on my profile. Even if it's just comments about what you like/dislike, or would like to see more or less of, I'd like to hear from you readers.

Tying Flies

2008-09-17T18:48:00.003-06:00

Here are some of the recent patterns I have tied up. My camera does not have a very good macro, but I did the best I could.

Black Beauty:

Zebra Midge Emerger:

Elk Hair Caddis:

This EHC is a breakthrough for me because of the tapered body. I used to struggle with tapering the dubbing and I am very proud of this edition. I have been killing it with these orange ones which double as a stimulator.

BH Woolly Bugger (hackleless):

This pattern is a cutty slayer. It caught the larger cutty in the Lake Dorothy thread and the 26 incher. The funny thing is that tying this fly sans hackle was originally a mistake I had made. None the less it went in the fly box and ended up making a name for itself. I now tie this coloration with and without black hackle and always have both in the box.

This particular specimen is a little embarrassing because of the lump in the midsection due to the wire wrap reinforcement. Oh well.

Other patterns I've been tying include brassies in chartruse, red, silver, gold, and copper. Also, miracle nymphs, and I'm always trying to keep up with czech nymphs. I'm still refining the complicated CZN fly so I can't post any pictures of them yet.

More to come.

**Here is my camera setup for taking photos of the flies which will also be getting improvements. First and foremost I need more lighting....

Where you been?

2008-09-11T19:48:00.001-06:00

I've been slacking on the posts. I've gone through a period where I have only been posting detailed stories and got sidetracked from the fact that this is a blog. I've also been spending a lot of my free time tying flies. Been getting back into tying in a big way.

There is a guy who owns a fly shop in Arvada named Charlie Craven who came out with a tying book recently that I picked up due to an extreme amount of recommendations by tiers who know their shit. It's truly amazing! I have tied purely out of necessity the past couple of years and never really put in the time to get better at it. This book has opened up my eyes to some basic techniques that have vastly improved the quality of my patterns - specifically my technique with dubbing.

I'll try to take some pics of flies that I'm tying right now in the near future.

There's only a couple more weeks of high alpine lake fishing before they all freeze up so I've been hitting it hard. Maybe I'll have some stories to tell here soon...

The Payout

2008-08-25T16:58:00.004-06:00

I kneel down on the rocks, hands shaking, chest and arms covered in an ice cold slime and let loose a cry of joy that echos across the mirror lake and down the gorge below to be swallowed up by the indifference of the wild. The moment is pure. The moment is thoughtless. It's what dreams are made of.

I bought a topo map at REI at 21:00 Friday night, went to sleep at 24:3o, woke up at 3:45, and was on the trail head at 6:30. The morning was very pleasant. I don't know what the air temp was but it felt just right with the pant legs zipped off and sleeves rolled up. The animals thought so too, and were uncharacteristically caught off guard by the particularly early human invasion of their pristine world.

I bought a polarised lens for my camera specifically for getting shots of lake reflections and fish under the surface like I see them with my shades. It's all too beautifully exotic not to share.

We arrive at the lake and I begin my standard stalking lap around the edge peering into the water for fish. I see a deep flash and take a few casts to it, but quickly lose interest and move on.

Suddenly my eye catches some movement close in to the shore ahead and I get a stark view of the source of said movement. I gasp and slowly lay down behind a bush and let the vision pass by me no more than 5 feet off the shore. He lumbers by taking a gulp of something underwater and then sticks his nose out and seems to gulp something else off the surface. Maybe it was just a gulp of air.

My heart starts pounding knowing that I will get a single chance. The pressure of the situation is immense and mounting by the second.

I raise to a crouched position, eyes glued, and follow him trailing by 30 feet or so. A cast is made 10 feet in front of him and the woolly bugger is let to sink. As he closes in on the position I give it a wiggle with my line hand and wait.

I honestly don't know what told me to set the hook. It was a "zen set" as they say. When I tightened the line his nose softly tilted up through the water like a string puppet, followed by a toilet flush; the show had begun.

Time lost existence. The joy of hooking him quickly melted into the dreadful prospect of snapping him off. I had no net, 5x tippet, and a barbless hook.

He would pump his whale-ish tail with force throwing his weight, and then relax just to let me know that even though there was a dang hook in his mouth, he was king.

I finally make my move and begin leading him in for the tail grab. The wire of emotional tension pulling on my heart cranks fully taught:

A fit of splashing and yelling, then finally a hoist... the wire in my chest snaps.

A few photos are shot by Ryan who, thank god, was there to wittness and capture it all. Ryan, you are the man. The cutty is measured against my rod, revived, and then released to pass on his beastly genes and get back to the business of ruling.

I shudder, drop to my knees, and let out a Michael Phelps roar.

The Aftermath

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of wonder. I walked around and took more photos, utilizing the new lens.

Some cutthroats hiding under the broken surface (notice the red):

As usual, the clouds tumbled in and flexed their thunderous might. Time to book it out of there, and the day came to an end.

The cutty measured an unprecedented 26 inches.

Cheesman Canyon Downpour

2008-08-16T06:36:00.001-06:00

The weatherman says that the temperature will drop to 50 degrees and pour rain all weekend on the Front Range. It will snow around 6 inches anywhere above 10,000 ft. Thank the fishing gods, I've been waiting for weather like this all summer.

While rain and snow strike the average person as being adverse fishing conditions, it's actually quite the contrary in my book.

Reasons why Tangler likes to fish in "poor" weather conditions:

All the weaklings stay home and don't fish.

This in turn opens up the water for yours truly, specifically for the more famous, high pressure spots.

Trout are more concealed from predators in the dim light and can consequently be more apt to come out to feed. This is especially true for the bigger trout who dine almost exclusively at night anyways. The foul weather can trigger their instinct to be on the hunt.
Cloud cover that blocks the sun will often reduce the glare on the water surface allowing for crystal clear windows that reveal the underwater world. If you can see the fish, most of the battle is already won.
Trout have a harder time spotting anglers.
There is no such thing as poor weather, only poor clothing.

I meet up with Ryan and Jim at the park-and-ride in Morrison and head out for the infamous Cheesman Canyon of the South Platte River. We pull into the parking lot at the bottom of the canyon and there's two guides with two "white-foots" in tow. On a typical weekend the lot is packed with vehicles and clamoring with anglers. Yessss.

We drop off one truck and drive up the canyon to the top so we can hike the entire thing. As we're gearing up every angler's nightmare falls upon me. Terror strikes as my mind rewinds in a flash of events leading to the conclusion that my rod is resting behind my truck seat back in Morrison. Noooooooo!

After rightfully getting made fun of for a while I sucked it up and decided I'd just take the role of net/camera man as seriously as one can. After all, I was the only one who brought a net and, as fate had it, the net would come into play.

We take the trail over the ridge viewing Cheesman Reservoir before plunging down into the steep canyon.

(click to enlarge)

We get to the water and start to rig up. Jim walks over and yanks a 'bow out before Ryan and I had even tied a fly on. The fish outright refused to be photographed.

(click to enlarge)

One of the canyon's signature features are its house sized boulders. This photo was taken atop one.

(click to enlarge)

The issue with the boulders is that if you hook a trout and it runs downstream there's nothing you can do about it unless you pull a Brad Pitt in A River Runs Through It and dive in to ride down the rapids after the fish. The fact is that if they run downstream you will be broken off. The trout here are wise to this and seem to dart for the fast water instantly after being hooked, so action to net them must be taken quickly and there will only be one chance with a big fish.

Ryan and I move downstream and soon hear Jim squealing with joy upstream around the bend. I yell through the deafening pitter-patter to ask if he needs me to net for him. I think I hear a muffled affirmative. I come wading around the bend and see him weathering the blows of a strong fish.

"Here it comes, here it comes!" He shouts with a worried glance.

A rambunctious rainbow materializes in front of my knees. I quickly scoop it up and walk it up to a relieved Jim.

(click to enlarge)

The guys pitied me and let me cast their rods here and there. At one point I hooked a fat bow who proceeded to launch out of the water and dance 5 ft. across the surface on its tail like a circus dolphin. I swear it winked at me as it dove into the white water and my flies came shooting out of the river at my face. No love. Things slowed down after the first two hours and the only other action involved lipping fish and losing them.

However, for about 15 min. at the end of the day we caught a caddis hatch over a pool of risers. Several smaller browns got taken on the dry. This was Ryan's first trout on his new rod. He spent the whole day receiving a czech nymph crash course so it was a breath of fresh air to hook a few on the dry.

(click to enlarge)

-Method used all day was czech nymphing excluding the brief hatch.
-Flows were 377 out of the pipes with additional spill.

The fishing gods must have approved of my minimal complaining about not bringing a rod, for the next trip would be the most memorable experience in my fly fishing career. Stay tuned for the next blog entry...

High Alpine - High Reward

2008-07-20T21:31:00.004-06:00

"Sleeping" with one rock jutting into my back and one against my hip, waking up in fits gasping for oxygen in the thin, crisp air, and loving every second of it. This is the way of the high mountain lake.

We set out on the pure vertical, scree riddled hike up to the continental divide.

The destination rests delicately along the sinuous ridge of the divide and harbors a population of cutthroat trout who are used to seeing, and avoiding, the human visitors.

The 3.5 mile hike flew by surprisingly fast and reluctantly revealed the vast sanctuary of the mountains to the West of the divide.

We scoped out the lake and broke camp. We all sat down and relaxed under the clouds that whirled around us in a spherical bend... clouds that know no tyranny of weatherman... clouds that will either permit to be admired, or strike down a wrath that is not bound by our seasons.

After a restful meditation, it's time to get down to business.

The cutts are hard to spot at first but after some determined attention they reveal themselves. They're in there all right. They're still doing their spawning dance; cruising the banks in pairs and podding up in groups in the shallows.

Someone shouts to look up in the mountains above the lake and precariously perched at the top is a mountain goat casually grazing on the snow pack.

I took this as a good omen because I've been patiently searching for one of these guys every time I'm in the back country. Sure enough, the omen makes good and I catch and release a brilliantly red cutthroat. I didn't have my camera so there is no photo.

We spend the rest of the evening watching the mountains and clouds get splashed with the ever changing pastels of the setting sun.

The sunset was only half of the show for the night. We were due for a full moon as well. It took about an hour and a half of total darkness for the moon to meander its way above the opposite mountain line, and we were there waiting for it.

A rising, full moon at altitude is something wondrous to behold. It looked as though a searchlight had flooded the mountain tops. It defiantly cast black hole shadows in the middle of the night and reflected it's pale, lonely blue off of the snow. Somewhere a mountain goat thought it was daytime again.

We awoke to find the Earth in utter stillness and repose. The mountain gazed sleepily at it's own reflection in the lake. Throughout the morning we cheered up to the couple of hikers and dogs summiting the peak.

Suddenly a ripple expanded outward on the surface of the lake in the shallows. Shortly thereafter a "V" violently raced a few feet and then fizzled out on the surface. A trout was working the area.

I grabbed my fly rod which was already strung up from the prior day and headed over to the spot. Once I was near the area I sat on my butt and slowly picked my way over the rocks like a crab to stay low and get within casting range. Now it's time to select the fly.

Black midges were the only bugs in the air the day before. Since the trout was racing just under the surface it was apparent that it was ambushing emerging nymphs on their way to the top. I tied on a tiny black nymph and on the first cast the feeding cutty swooped in and grabbed the fly in full stride.

Pull out the hook, a quick photo, and then right back to the water it goes.

Later I put on 12 feet of sinking tip line with a woolly bugger. As a cruiser comes by I draw the fly up from beneath and it gets his attention. He dives deeper and I set the hook on the turn of his head. Bingo. Another beautiful male cutty is caught, admired, and then released to swim another day.

The mountain said enough and showed us some threatening clouds so we packed up and moved out. The trip was beyond anything I could ask for, and I even got to catch a few of Colorado's cutthroats. We made our way back down the trail with smiles across our faces and enough memories to last through most of the next week at work.

**I've caught my personal best brown, rainbow and cutty this year. All three were caught with a sinking tip / woolly bugger in lakes.

RMNP - Ouzel Creek/Lake

2008-07-06T18:09:00.001-06:00

The trip is in Rocky Mountain National Park to Ouzel Creek and then up to the lake. We're seeking the Greenback Cutthroat, a sub-species of trout exclusive to Colorado.

The Greenback went to the brink of extinction and back thanks to efforts to save the bloodline by the Colorado Department Of Wildlife (DOW). The greenback doesn't grow very big and is on the bottom of the totem poll when it comes to competition between the other prevalent species of trout; undoubtedly playing a large part in its poor success with survival. After all, only the strong survive. Naturally, the plan is to hike up into the mountains and catch some of the little boogers.

My brother and I meet up with Jamie and his buddy, Tim, who just got back from Iraq. We set out from the Allenspark trail head around 7:30 a.m. which is hidden in the back of the Allenspark community on the southern edge of the park. Our hike begins in a deep alpine forest...

(click to enlarge)

...and then abruptly breaks into a footpath that runs across the side of a vast gorge. The sound transitions from the damp, pure silence of the woods to the faint, but recognizably powerful, roaring of water somewhere far below... or is it wind?

(click to enlarge)

We reach Ouzel creek around the 5 mile mark doing a solid clip of roughly 18 min. miles.

It felt as if we had stepped into a "Fly Fishing Destinations" centerfold.

The valley looks to have been ripped through by something powerful. Nick and I discuss the very high possibility of the culprit being wind. Car-sized boulders randomly scatter the ruggedly beautiful drainage among clusters of yellow wildflowers.

Two photos looking from left to right.

(click to enlarge)

We all catch tons of brookies on the dry and Jamie even manages to pluck a few greenbacks out of the lot.

We hop back on the trail to move the final mile up to Ouzel Lake.

(click to enlarge)

The lake is beautiful but doesn't appear to gain any depth until about 80 feet out. There are steady rises out in the middle with little action in the shallows on the edge. Tree coverage is thick on the bank making roll casts the only option. Unfortunately, earlier we had all talked each other into leaving the waders at home.

Pretty much on cue with our arrival the weather turned sour. Dark skies, thunder, and hail pass over followed by blue skies and sun, followed by more thunder and more hail - all in typical Colorado fashion.

(click to enlarge)

All the while a lone ranger stood triumphantly in the middle of the lake donning a pair of waders. He caught fish after fish. His head slowly paned left to right on a well lubricated swivel making sure that everyone was taking notice of his bent rod and splashy releases. I wasn't close enough to see the features on his face, but I could feel his $#%@-eating grin.

We decide to pack it out due to the aforementioned conditions. The dark clouds could be seen whirling around the vicinity of the lake during the whole hike back. We went from 8,900 ft. up to 10,500 ft. and then back again. According to Jamie's satellite pedometer watch we did 13 miles.

Flora:

(click to enlarge)

Fauna:

(Yellow Bellied Marmot)

(click to enlarge)

**I apologize for the HUGE photos. I was playing with settings on the camera. Shouldn't be an issue from here on out.

High Country Lakes

2008-06-30T22:41:00.004-06:00

I met up with Jamie (slowdown), Jacob (lostlure), Jim (Silent_Light) and Jim's son, Sam, to head out to the high country for some cutthroats. The high country above Boulder (Indian Peaks) is still covered in snow and its lakes are still iced over, so we headed West in order to access some Southern facing lakes.

This was my first trip to lakes above tree line so I was psyched. The lakes that are 12,000 ft. and higher tend to have bigger cutts and this place was no exception. The upper lake was filled with brightly colored cruising bruisers (why Cameron, what an elegant alliteration) that incidentally had very little interest in eating our flies. Out of the five of us there was only a single cutty landed in the roughly 6 hours we were there, and there was no shortage of experience among us.

However, the beauty of the location trumped the fishing by a long shot and made the experience one I will never forget. I found myself repeatedly gawking at the panoramic vista surrounding the lake. The beauty was overwhelming at times and left me trying to convince myself that I was, in fact, really there.

I accidentally left my camera in the truck when I jumped into Jamie's ride. Luckily, Jamie and Jim brought their cameras and took some awesome photos. Some of the photos are not full quality due to file size optimization for sending through email.

The group making our way through the mountains

(click to zoom)

Jamie and I broke ahead and took this photo of Jim and Jacob from way above. They are the specs in the grass just below the snow and scree.
(click to zoom)

Some scenery(click to zoom)

A quiet moment of fishing(click to zoom)

Some critters:
Yellow Bellied Marmot

(click to zoom)

Rocky Mountain Chipmunk(click to zoom)

Pika

(click to zoom)

The sole cutty (duped by Jamie).(click to zoom)

After leaving the lakes we pulled over on a small creek and took our pent-up angler anguish out on some innocent brookies. Catching the 4-6 inch babies felt a lot better than it should have. Jamie and I both agreed that the creek evoked some nostalgia of fishing the tight runs in Virginia.

Jim and Jamie, thanks for the great job with the photos!

Bushwacking For Mountain Lakes

2008-06-24T13:57:00.002-06:00

Arrived at Brainard Lake (just to park, not to fish Brainard) around 07:00 with Nick and Henderson and set out with the topo map/compass for a set of unnamed lakes that I had been fantasizing about all week. This was my first "off the path" lake hunt.(click photo to enlarge)

(click photo to enlarge)

There were 3 foot snow drifts all throughout the woods to climb over, and lots of pooling snow melt, but just fine for hiking with waterproof boots (which Nick didn't have - more on this later).

We followed a trail for roughly 2 miles, and then turned off the path to get to the first lake. Right about the time that I was beginning to second guess exactly where I was leading these trusting companions, the first lake revealed itself through the dense pine forest.

(click photo to enlarge)

The lake proved to be a bit shallow and, subsequently, devoid of trout. If these high mountain lakes are too shallow they will freeze all the way through over the winter - killing any potential fish population. It sure was beautiful though, and it bore the gift of a new species of bird.

We got to see a pair of Lesser Scaup ducks quietly swimming in their private paradise. The photo came out a bit blurry, but the male had an amazing blue bill.

(click photo to enlarge)

After setting our bearings with the compass for a minute we set out for the backup destination. This lake had and inlet and an outlet which is always a good indicator for the likelihood of trout to be present. Sure enough, it had some depth in the middle and rising trout creating smoothly expanding rings of ripples.

(click photo to enlarge)

The brookies were ego-boostingly willing. It was a one-fly day with a #14 gray Adams. I don't think it really mattered what fly was on the end of the line. As long as the presentation was acceptable the little guys bit.

We got a #20 black midge hatch to my delight which kicked up the action for about an hour. You can see the blurry outline of the midges in the bottom of the following picture along with all the rise forms on the water.

(click photo to enlarge)

Midges mating in the trees by the shore. (click photo to enlarge)

During, and after, the mating ritual some of the bugs will fall, exhausted, into the water. This is the "spinner" phase and this is what the trout were feasting on.

I went over to the inlet of the lake which was a steady flow of collected snow melt. This brookie was under the impression that he was a river trout as he coasted in the easy current in no more than 4 inches of water.(click photo to enlarge)

On the way back I was feeling very chipper about my navigational skills so I decided to take a short cut through the woods back to the trail instead of following the outlet stream like we did on the way in. It's the way the stories of people getting lost, mutinying and separating, and then curling up and dieing alone in the woods always start.

So we get to this field that I knew the trail was on the other side of and start to cross. However, the field is a low-land and is flooded with runoff and, guess what?, Nick doesn't have waterproof boots.

We decide to just walk along the edge of the field to "get around it". After about 45 min. the field ceased to be a field and graduated into the realm of endless wetland. It had this magical way of arching inward so that the alleged "end" could never be spotted. We finally got to a section that was manageable and crossed.

On the back side there was no trail, lots more pools of melting snow, and lots less waterproof boots on Nick's feet!

We had a good idea of where we were. The worst case scenario wasn't becoming lost, it was the prospect of a much longer hike than necessary. After about another half hour of slow bushwhacking the distinct track of the trail formalized with a blue blaze on a tree to boot. I boasted about how I knew exactly where we were the entire time and then started walking in the wrong direction on the trail.

Trip to VA

2008-06-22T18:26:00.001-06:00

This post is long overdue, but it's just a quickie. I made my way home for my cousin's wedding which was held on a farm right next to Grey's Mountain Lodge in Virginia. The farm had the rose river running through it and was a highly maintained, stocked stream loaded with rainbows and some brookies.

It was pretty much fish in a barrel, but it was still fun to see these bows charge out of the water to swallow a big hopper.

(click photo to enlarge)

The landowner charges $75 a day to fish this stretch. I suppose if you have the $ and don't get to fish very much it's worth it.

Singin' River Ranch

2008-05-30T17:26:00.001-06:00

Boy did I hit the jackpot over memorial day weekend! A co-worker of Henderson's had mentioned that her family possesses 150 acres in Evergreen, CO. Oh, and by the way, upper bear creek runs directly through it and cycles water through 4 ponds. It's called The Singin' River Ranch. It's All. Private. Water.

BOOYAH!

Henderson, Claudio (Henderson's roomate), Steph, Caitlin (her Ranch), Nate (Caitlin's BF), Mark (Henderson/Caitlin's co-worker), Michael's daughter, Rufus (150lb. great dane) and I head to the property on Sunday with the intentions of grilling and riding Claudio's 2 brand new Yahama quads (one of which is a YFZ-450 *drool*) all day.

As a deduction sheerly from the name of this blog one should be confident that I also brought along a not-so-secret agenda of fishing the hell out of those ponds.

I roll up about 11:00 right as they are unloading the quads, do a crude recon of the drainage basin section of the property on said quads, and then get down to business and wet a line.

There were spaced out, lazy risers. I recall chuckling to myself under the belief that the fishing was going to be a cake walk. After casting some dries 'just to see' I quickly broke down and strayed to the dark side of fishing streamers.

I tie on a purple woolly bugger that I've been eager to bust out. It's a variation I've recently started tying.

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Fun fact:

This same pattern put Nick into his personal best trout back in October at Gross Reservoir on its inaugural appearance. The video of that can be seen here.

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There are three ponds in a row on Eastern side of the ranch. The water comes out of bear creek, into the first pond, which drains into the second, which drains into the third, which in turn drains back into bear creek. This keeps the ponds cool and allows the cold water fish to survive.

I immediately spot a healthy brown down on the bed of pond 2. I creep up, cast ahead of him, and wait as the fly and line begin to sink. Just a moment after the fly descends out of sight into the deeper murk I feel a tap on the line. I tighten the line; it's heavy and rapidly pulsating.

This guy just sulked in the depths of the pond in an outright objection to his current situation. Then he took a few deep runs just spooling my line off. After weathering those initial surges, I'm able to work him into the still and clear water up closer to the surface.

He would open his mouth and display rigorous fits of head-shakes in which I could see the bright white of the inner mouth and throat. I was starting to get nervous because his technique looked very efficient and I mash all my barbs on my hooks.

I finally get him close and scoop him up in the net. He was still full of fight!

(click photo to enlarge)

This guy is a wild brown through and through. I later talked to a fellow who was a friend of the ranch's care-taker who said that the ponds went about 10 years with no one fishing them.

The rest of the day I got no action at all except for a cliche "big one that got away". It's true though! He was double the size of the other one I caught, TRIPPLE I tell you! He scooped up my fly from the deepest hole there, bolted to the surface, rolled, and snapped my line all before my jaw had enough time to drop at the sight of the big gold flash underwater. That brown lifted my spirits and then crushed my soul all within the blink of an eye. I just kind of bent over and made a pathetic groaning noise for a while.

The worst thing about it wasn't that I didn't have the reaction time to roll with the punch; I was actually proud that such a nice fish took an experimental crayfish design that I had tied. The worst thing was that it made the brown that I landed earlier all of a sudden feel small.

I took a few breaks from fishing to ride the quads up the sheer mountain trails. That 450 YFZ is sick! I have a whole new respect for quads now. I'll post pictures of us blowing through streams and hitting jumps once I get them from Henderson.

After the long day and a camp fire we all decided we wanted to stay overnight. Caitlin had offered for everyone to stay at her Grandparent's house just up the road. They were out of town and there were beds for everyone. She's one cool and gracious chick. She even hooked Henderson, Claudio and me up with "Singin' River Ranch" tee shirts for the next day!

Unfortunately, it rained on memorial day. The bright side was that the drizzle made riding the quads much better. There were no more dust clouds streaming off the rear wheels, and they got much better balance and traction in the softer ground.

On the fishing front for Monday - I lipped and lost one brown.

I would have stayed there all day despite the rain but most everyone was cold, muddy, and soaked from riding so it was time to go. I had such a good time and can't wait to go back. I'll bring my waders and fish the creek section up to the 4th pond at the west edge of the property next time. I'll be camping on the property and night fishing next time as well.

I'll post all the pics as soon as I get them. Tight lines.

South Platte / Spinney add-ons

2008-05-14T00:28:00.000-06:00

The intense and exhausting day at Spinney was a day to remember. The fabulous fishing overshadowed the mention of all the small details that I enjoy so much while being outdoors. I barely mustered the patience to post the pictures of antelope and the bluebird.

Lets get right to it. While Saturday was a poor day for angling, I got to see TWO new species of bird.

Darting every which way over the water flashing their iridescent black backs and contrastingly white bellies were Tree Swallows. It was hard to get a very close look at them because they were changing direction and zipping by so rapidly. These little guys kept drawing my eye off the water just to see them flip and dance through the sky.

Next to make an appearance was a White-Faced Ibis. It was a really cool wading bird that didn't let us get very close to it without taking off. Grey body with a burgundy belly and a long curved down, thin bill.

At Spinney on Monday there were White Pelicans flying around with smaller trout hanging out of their mouths. Pelicans in Colorado? Sure, why not.

Meat Market @ Spinney

2008-05-12T18:57:00.001-06:00

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.

Button Rock Reservoir Opener

2008-05-08T17:52:00.002-06:00

This entry is a bit late. My brother, Nick, and I hiked in to the inlet of Button Rock Reservoir on Sunday. The hike is about 3 miles of downhill on the way in and uphill on the way out. I had done a section of this hike before so I knew what we were dealing with. The hike out is very taxing, especially after a day of fishing.

We only had a half a day to work with, but it was opening weekend to fish the lake so I had to go check it out. The inlet flow was super low so we just went right up to the spillway and fished that. Nick took this long and slender cuttbow on an Elk Hair Caddis. We didn't have time to wet a line in the lake, but I got a good idea of where I want to fish for next time.

Pretty cool outcome for only 30 min. of fishing. It will be interesting coming back to this place on future trips. I forgot to snap a photo of the lake, but it's huge.

I've gotten reports of the mountain snow runoff beginning to muddy the rivers today. Several streams are already blown out, including the Ark, which I was going to do a 2 day solo camping trip at this weekend.

I have Monday off this weekend so I may drive up to Wyoming to fish the Gray Reef Sunday/Monday if it isn't blown as well. If it is looking dicey then it will be lake fishing until July when the flows settle back down. Since we got record snow in Colorado this year people are saying that the runoff may last longer than usual, so we'll see.

Here is a photo of how I rig my pack when I do hike-in fishing. This is a ski pack that has a band designed for holding skis that functions perfectly for holding my net. I put my waders and wading boots in the pack during hiking, and then swap them out and pack up my hiking boots when it's time to fish. It holds lunch, rod tube, chest pack, camelback bladder, rain jacket, and a few survival tools; all the essentials. In addition, I use the leash that came with my snowboard bindings to attach my net to my pack while I fish. The quick disconnect and swiveling action are perfect for this application.

Moraine Park in RMNP

2008-05-01T19:01:00.001-06:00

Played hooky yesterday and headed up to Moraine park in Rocky Mountain National Park with my brother, Nelson (visiting from VA), and Henderson. Moraine is the most peaceful place on Earth as far as I'm concerned. I absolutely love this place.

All photos taken by Nelson. Nice job man!

It's a magazine quality stream that meanders through a grassy meadow at roughly 8,000 ft. of elevation and is just chock-full of browns, brookies and 'bows. Oh, did I mention that if you know where to look this stream harbors absolute PIGS?

This photo was taken on a fork of the stream where the flow was super low. It was actually a little better than this.

Elk being elk.

Ground Squirrel

This was a casual fishing outing - we didn't spend very much time at the stream. Nick and Nelson weren't even fishing and it's not exactly a spectator sport.

One of the great things about this place is no waders are necessary (at this time of year). My waterproof boots and a little bit of long-jumping did the job. Unfortunately, the flow was very low. These trout were spotting me from 25 yards away, I kid you not.

The fishing was sparse at first. Every lie I approached a trout would spot me from way out and set off a chain-reaction spook. It was very frustrating. I'd have to be as sneaky as an Indian to fish those deep pools, so I exclusively started fishing riffles and blind cut-banks. None of my dry-drop-drop combinations were working.

I tie on the CZN rig right as my brother calls me on the two way radio to head over to a riffle that he has spotted a 10in. bow under. On the first drift I just draw it right into his mouth and he crushes the point fly. He gave us quite the aerial show.

Apparently Nelson caught the whole thing on video with his camera, and then accidentally deleted it.

I caught a brown after that on the CZN and then it was time to leave to go get our ink.

On the walk out we went past all the untouched water ahead of us because Nick and Nelson were picking us up at the other end (Nick and Nelson had gone and driven around the park for a while).

Henderson saw a trout that made him abruptly start rambling in mumbles with wide eyes about how big it was. It tucked into an undercut before I could catch a glimpse.

Czech Nymph for First Time

2008-04-27T00:34:00.001-06:00

I had arranged to go to Cheesman Canyon with Jim today. The Cheesman Canyon is known for its very, very large trout. Jim is known for his expertise in Czech Nymphing (CZN). The Cheesman Canyon trout are rumored to be particularly susceptible to CZN. It was all coming together masterfully until the dam that feeds the Cheesman Canyon tailwater started releasing Friday night. It generated up to about 520CFS (yes I monitor these things throughout Friday night). That flow is way too high to fish in the Canyon.

Then, this morning Jamie calls me and says we are meeting Jim on Clear creek. Then I get a call that says that Clear Creek is a wind tunnel and isn't fishable.

I finally head out to a tucked away spot I found on South Boulder Creek and Jim decides to come meet me there. While I'm waiting for him to arrive in the mountains I shot these three pictures. This series occurred in a 10 minute span, for real.

The clouds just poured over the mountains like molasses, the wind picked up, and it started snowing. Pretty bad ass if you'd like my opinion. We hiked down the gorge about a mile and started fishing in the snow. It makes for some divine scenery.

Conditions such as snow, clouds and rain can actually be beneficial when sight fishing because the water will have less glare for sighting, and the trout will feel safer under the apparent cover. This will lead to them feeding more out in the open. In addition, the dim lighting allows you to get much closer to the fish without them noticing.

Jim had offered to teach me how to CZN after a conversation we got into about tying the CZN flies online, and he knows all the ins and outs of the technique. He really gave me a solid understanding of how to apply the method. He detailed nuances that a book could never convey.

He wrote a report about today on the forum that was so detailed I'm going to have to cut and paste it here:
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So. Boulder Creek 4-26-08
« on: April 26, 2008, 09:05:15 pm »

Oh man what a day! New water, beautiful fantastic scenery, and some of the prettiest fish i've seen in a long time!

Met with Tangler to teach him some Czech Nymphing, and he sugguested one of his spots to try it out on. Oh, i'll be back there soon! You'll get tired of me saying what an amazing little trek this place is

Anyway, got on the water about noon, light flurries and a touch of wind. Hike in was about a mile or so, again, great scenery!!

Water temp was 41deg, not perfect but not bad either. Walked along the river a bit getting a feel for it, flows were a little quick ( guessing 150cfs) and the clarity was gin clear!

Spotted a few fish rising in some back eddies, bright red bows! Thought they were brookies at first, just bright red bows! Really added to the majesty of the area. Spotted plenty of fish, a couple pushing 18"! great to see in this area.

SO we got to chuckin some flies, Tangler picked up on the new technique pretty quick, and had tied up his first Czech Nymphs as well to test out.... they worked! Got into a couple pools that kicked out some beautiful 13-16" bows! That completed Tanglers homerun : 1) learning a new method of fishing, 2) Tying some specialized flies he'd never done before, and 3) catching fish on them using the new technique! Very cool day.

Walked about a mile or so of water, and as the day progressed, the snow stopped, the wind died and the sun came out. Really made for a near perfect day on the water. Enjoyed the heck out of it!!

Some pix :

One of the larger bows, landed a few of them around 16"+

Tangler stalking a few real nice fishPerhaps the most vibrantly colored Brown i've seen, taken on the Brown Suga (of course)! The fish in this area are amazingly colored!
Tangler with another good size Bow, bout 14-15

On the way out, there was a good herd of Mulies and Elk on a hillside

-Silent_Light
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I couldn't have put it better myself, he nailed it!

Side notes:
-"brown suga" is a fly that Jim ties that has an ever-growing reputation for slaying brown trout.
-"Mulie" is a nickname for the Colorado mule deer. Seeing them mixed with a herd of Elk was a special surprise indeed. Even the animals are laid back here.

Being taught how to CZN by Jim felt like the scene in The Matrix when they upload the martial arts to Keanu Reeves' brain and he turns to the camera and says, "I know Kung Fu". Except, I know Czech Nymph.

I'm really grateful I got to be tutored by a master in the privileged art of CZN. The on-water direction is irreplaceable, and the technique is deadly.

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Background on the "Czech Nymph":

It was developed by one of the European National fly fishing teams for international competition. The technique was so effective that others started copying it. Apparently several countries have claimed credit for method, one of which is the Czech Republic. You will also hear people referring to Euro Nymphing.

The purpose was to have a fly weighted within the body (because in tournament fly fishing no visible beads or weights are permitted) using lead, and to have direct contact between the fly and the rod at all times. The direct contact was beneficial because they fished for grayling which are notorious for very soft and difficult to detect takes.

Czech Nymphing

2008-04-23T21:10:00.001-06:00

Making a head first dive into a new technique: Czech nymphing. The technique is quietly discussed in online forums, and I've heard multiple, first hand accounts of glory accrued from it's application. After fishing the St. Vrain, along with another "Stream X" that I frequent, I decided to make the move to adopt the method.

The basic idea behind the madness is 3 heavy nymphs tumbling along the bottom of the stream bed. I'm tying them up tonight and I will test them on some places that I have in mind on Saturday. I don't have too high of hopes since it will be my first time tying these flies and using the Czech nymphing technique so there may be a lot of trial and error.

Very stoked to add this to my aresonal though!

St. Vrain in the membrain

2008-04-19T19:26:00.001-06:00

The St. Vrain is a river about 15 min. North out of Boulder that runs through a small, country town called Lyons. Oddly enough, I had never fished it until today. This is largely in part because whenever I drove past it the section I saw was always a low flow. I knew if I went 15 more minutes up the mountain to Estes I could hit the Big Thompson tailwater.

So I get a tip from a guy online about a specific section to fish. I look it up on my topo map and it seems legit. The hike in is about 2 miles and it's in a narrow canyon. That alone deters great numbers of other anglers. This specific stretch is a whole different beast from what is viewed from Lyons.

*trekking into the gorge*

The river is in a narrow canyon with very high, smooth cliffs. It also sports huge, smooth boulders. It all looked very similar to the canyon walls of a hike up Mt. Evan I once did. I had been told that the walls there on Mt. Evans looked like that due to glaciation.

...Anyway, I'll start with birds since I did last time. I've really started to enjoy the presence of the birds all around me while I fish. They are very interesting to observe. Every time I see a bird I've never come across before I feel like I'm discovering a new species.

I came around a bend and ran into a pair of Merganser ducks swimming around in a pool. The female has a red head with spiked back hair, and they both have bright white bellies.

I also saw an American Dipper. These birds jump around on the rocks of the stream and then dive underwater to eat the same insects the trout do. They're like a big flashing light informing that there is insect action underwater

The fishing was strange. I saw no fish feeding, holding, or spooked for the first hour. I was running an elk hair caddis I tied with two droppers. There were brown caddis naturals all over the boulders around the stream.

Finally, I got a lightning fast take from a dark over-sized brown on the caddis. The brown was much bigger of a trout than I expected and it caught me very off guard. The colors were a deep golden brown.

About another hour went by without spotting a single trout. I then came up on a nice deep , gushing pool in which I had to make an awkward cross current cast. The instant the caddis hit the water it was slammed by another brown of similar proportions. This one fought very hard and made me have to play it around the boulders and overhangs to avoid its attempts at hanging me up. Both takes were aggressive and decisive. I was able to cleanly se tthe hook in the corner of the mouth both times.
This brown had scars on its mouth and lower jaw from the rock bottom of the stream. These markings are usually on older, bigger, and wiser trout. In addition, the jaw was very strong and the entire body was very muscular.

As I worked my way upstream a bit more I realized that my arms were getting burned. I had only brought a tee shirt and had nothing to cover them up with, so i was forced to change back into my hiking gear and head out.

It's a good thing I left when I did because my arms are both burned as hell right now. I think the sun was reflecting off the water and hitting them from the underside as well. I learned a lesson the hard way, as usual.

This is a unique stretch of river. I wasn't able to spot a single trout, but I caught two of very nice size relative to the size of the water. They were both very wild and dominant fish. Maybe this stream is only inhabited by wary, selective, big trout.

I stumbled across the remains of a big horn sheep out there... cat food?
*24 CFS -- Nice flow, but wouldn't mind seeing it up near 60.
*Weather was bluebird, need to try it in different weather.

Colorado River

2008-04-12T20:49:00.001-06:00

I went on a solo mission to a stretch of the Colorado River today that J was kind enough to point me to. It was at an area near Grandby, I can't disclose any details beyond that due to a code of confidentiality.

Wow, what a beautiful place. The wild life was thriving there. Right when I stepped into the water a hawk flew over the river that was as big as an owl. I have never seen that type of hawk before. There were also animal droppings I have never seen before along with a jamboree of different footprints scampering along the shoreline in the snow. I kept scanning the mountain faces in hopes for a unique animal.
The section of water that I dropped in on had pretty much every feature in the book. There were slow, deep sections, shallow riffles, deep riffles, pools, and fanning tails all within eye sight of where I was standing. The water was a greenish opaque color which is actually a nice change from the recent winter's gin-clear because the trout are less alert to an angler's presence.

I got to use my new RIO WF5F line for the first time today. It was awesome! No sinking.

(On a side note, I went fishing twice after work at Boulder Creek with my new RIO DT4F line earlier this week and it was up to par as well. Also, my brother finally got a pair of waders and boots. He will really be able to fish now. It was just in time too because my waders sprung a leak in the left thigh so I was able to use his. My boots are going to shred to pieces any day now too. It's insane how many miles/hours I've put that gear through already.)

What a difference it makes to have line that I don't have to fight - in cohesion with the upgraded drying system my Dad hooked me up with. Them browns didn't stand a chance. I managed 4 browns before the wind kicked up so hard that I was "casting" by just letting my line fly in the air like a kite upstream, and then just resting it down to the water. That isn't very fun. Plus, the guides on my rod kept closing up with ice and I'd have to chip it out with my fingers.
Needless to say, I didn't much enjoy that combination of complications. It's all good though, I had a great time there and spent about half the time just wandering around the shore looking at the views and wildlife. I saw another mountain bluebird, about 25 robins and about 15 mule deer. Colorado sure isn't short of impressive wildlife. I can't wait for the day I run into a mountain lion... I think.

*10 CFS -- needs to be much higher. At least 100.
*Weather was sunny and very windy.

Goodbye Orvis Wonderline

2008-04-07T19:17:00.001-06:00

So I read a post on the Colorado Fisherman message board talking about how they dislike their Orvis Wonderline a few weeks ago. They said that the tip of the line sinks. There were unanimous posts following this one singing to the same tune and referencing how they replaced it with RIO.

I especially enjoyed this one:

"In my experience, Wonderline is one of the worst lines I have ever used. I'm as big fan of Orvis, but I use Rio lines, they seem to be greatly superior. I have a Wonderline on my 4wt. I have to constantly dress it and clean it...I don't have to maintain my Rio lines (Or even my cheap Cabelas line) as much.

Overpriced! I would never buy one again.

RIO FTW!"
-cfgsteak

Now, in forum speak this is harsh jargon towards a piece of equipment in which I own. At the end he says, "RIO FTW" in which he is referencing the superiority of RIO brand fly line, and then carelessly throwing in a devastating blow of "For The Win".

Come to think of it, I own 2 Orvis Wonderline Advantage lines, and had an additional one stolen from me a few years back. At $60 a piece I've spent $180 on this product.

The last few times I've gone fishing I was catching myself doing constant, upwards line mends in attempt to counteract the sinking of the tip of my line. It was a motion I had accepted as my reality of dry fishing, and a motion that was causing twitches of drag on my fly while drifting through the strike zone.

One of the guys also mentioned that if you send the line back to Orvis they will refund it. They recently replaced my broken Clearwater Classic rod with the thoroughly superior Clearwater II free of charge, no questions asked.

Hell, this is on their website:

The Orvis 100% Satisfaction Guarantee
For over 150 years we have offered the strongest return policy in the business. We will refund your money on any purchase that isn't 100% satisfactory -- any time, for any reason. It's that simple.

...and it's not hidden.

I'd also like to mention that I own 2 Orvis rods and have bought 4 Orvis reels and one spool, two of which were stolen from me. (getting my gear jacked still bothers me to this day... can you tell?)

I love their rod and reel products, but the line don't cut it. I spontaneously shipped my 2 lines of Wonderline back to Orvis today for refund, and bought two new lines of RIO at Front Range Anglers here in Boulder on my lunch break. I'm what they call a "buyer" in the customer service industry.

When I walk into a store it's because I want a product that they have. The only reason I'm here is because I can get it faster from you than I can through ordering online. Otherwise, I would have ordered it in the middle of the night last night when I reached the verdict of what had to be done. I have done the research, I'm here to buy, please show me to the register.

They had to order the line from Denver because they didn't have want I wanted there. I left my reel with 2 spools at the shop and they will wind the line and then mail it to me.

I made the move so seamlessly because I recently made the switch from Orvis' mono leader and tippet to RIO's fluro leader and tippet. That shit is expensive!

However, I have been consistently catching a bigger and bigger average size of trout. Lets face it, I'm hunting trophy trout, and like it or not, these trout are big because not many anglers have been able to fool them. It's so greatly a matter of just being informed. A matter of always placing yourself in a position and a mindset to adapt new tactics, and to constantly refine old ones. And a matter of spending a little dough on gear for performance.

After Orvis refunds me for the Wonderline I will have spent $25 for the dual RIO line upgrade. That sounds good to me. I spent more than that on a set of RIO fluro Leaders.

And all of this because of a few moments of drag on a fly the size a sunflower seed. Curious.

I purchased a RIO Double Taper Selective Trout II line for my very full action 4 weight, and a RIO Weight Forward Gold line for my mid-flex 5 weight. I use the Orvis BBS III reel for both.

Oh yeah, my Dad and Step-mom were visiting town this weekend and bought me some dry shake in combo with a Samadou drying pad as an upgrade from my floatant goo. I learned this drying method from fishing with J. I'm confident that the high ride of his drys was getting him into more fish than my low riding dry. Being super dry will also be very beneficial when dropping two nymphs below. It allows a dry to serve as a very reliable indicator, as well as having a chance for getting a strike rather than a chance for scaring trout away like a big neon indicator might.

The Samadou is so hot that the guide who was trying to solicit me as a client in the Estes fly shop stepped in line behind me to buy one for himself. Hah.

It's gonna be painful

2008-04-01T18:04:00.001-06:00

My Dad and step-mom are coming into town to visit for the weekend. It's gonna be nice to see them and to show off the area. There's lots of things to do to entertain them. They'll love it.

However, this means I won't be able to fish this weekend coming up. I did two full days this past Saturday and Sunday in attempt to wash my system clean for as long as possible. Didn't work very well. I'm fiending hardcore as usual and it's only Tuesday. That phenomenal day on Sunday was just gas on the fire.

I drove to Lyons on my lunch break today and bought a limited (600 person) pass to a lake about 20. min from Boulder for this year. We'll call it BURP lake. It's a 2 mile hike to the lake from the closest parking area, artificial/single hook only, catch and release only, no boating or any type of floating, and another 3 mile hike to the lake's inlet. All these regulations along with the limited amount of passes and "long" hiking excites me. The lake should be low pressure with potential for big trout. The lake is open for fishing May 1 - October 31.

Why

2008-03-31T20:57:00.001-06:00

I don't claim to be an expert on the topic and activity of fly fishing. I am simply an addict currently experiencing my 5th year throw of total mind consumption with fly fishing for trout. I also happen to live in one of the heartlands of the activities' destinations in the U.S. The teet is generous my friends.

The truth is that I need somewhere to vent all the thoughts I have about fly fishing. It falls on def ears in my brother and roommate, and I have to use restraint on my online message board so they don't know just how sick I am. I think blogging may be what I need.

No more introduction necessary. It's all stream of consciousness from here on out. I won't delete a single thought.

I enjoy writing and I love to fly fish. This is not a new or novel combination. The fly fishing world has plenty of insightful and romantic authors among us who have published books. My family tells me I should keep a journal of my fishing and write a book one day. I don't think so.

I'm more of an editorial type of guy. More of a - don't check your facts and write with a distinct intent to offend someone - type of guy. That's how it is, and I can't change that; trying to is a lie. Blogging feels right, and it feels like less of a commitment with more instant gratification. That's how I like it.

I had one of the best days of fly fishing in my life yesterday. Went to the Gold Metal waters of the Arkansas River with J, a dude I met from the Colorado message board I post on. He had some specific stretches of water in mind that he was familiar with. We both took a brownie each within our first 10 min. of stepping to the water. I knew it was going to be a good day.

I had fished the Ark only once before which was 8 months ago in August right when I moved to Boulder. I was with my bro and two friends who live in Denver. I hadn't researched what was happening with Colorado streams that time of year, or what hatches were in effect. I also fished a stretch that I'm pretty sure gets hammered with fishing pressure.

This time was different. J knows his shit. Coincidentally enough he's from Virginia - my home state. However, he grew up fly fishing the trout waters of South West Virginia, where as I was only a 4 year guest and beginner to the territory during my college years where I picked it up. Lets just break it down, the man is an ex-guide with 26 years experience over my 5. Yeah.

I told him in the car on the way there that I was a bit embarrassed, but that the largest trout I had ever caught was a 16 inch bow. He chuckled an ancient and weathered angler's chuckle. "I'll put you on a big fish today, but you'll have to catch it." - or something to that effect. I told him I can cast on point, and that I'll hold up my end of the bargain. Sure enough he put me in a productive area and I seized the opportunity. I landed an estimated 20 in. bow (didn't get to snap a picture of it). J had landed a brown and a bow in the 18in. range earlier - business as usual. I, on the other hand, was psyched out of my mind.

Then a BWO hatch started popping off and we were taking aggressive browns on the dry.

What a freggin good day. We both agreed that we were so satisfied we just left at 3:30. That's never happened to me before.

The thing is that that big bow was like heroine. I need more of that. I can't look at the small streams I've been fishing the same knowing what I'd be missing what is in the bigger water.