Rocky Mountain Fly

All morning Charlie insisted on standing up in the boat to fish. This wasn’t a problem except whenever I pulled to the bank. Then the Madison’s swift current shoved the boat sideways to bang the rocks, bringing things to an abrupt halt. So the drill was to somehow encourage Charlie to sit before the inevitable crash landing. Unfortunately, “Charlie, sit down!” did not elicit the same instant response from Charlie as it might, for example, from a well-trained bird dog. So, each time I pulled on the oars toward shore, I began a minor chant, “Charlie sit down. CHARLIE sit down. CHARLIE SIT down. CHARLIE, SIT DOWN, NOW!”

At the unavoidable crash, Charlie, blessed as he was with a low center of gravity, would lurch sideways, bounce upright, and somehow manage to stay in the boat despite repeated near misses. “Charlie, please, one of these times… like you know it’s just a matter of time, so c’mon man, help me out. If a guide has to rescue his client, it’s embarrassing as hell for both of us, not to mention you might bust your head. Heaven forbid, you might drown. Please, next time-”

Trout painting copyright  used with permission
http://www.originalbirdart.com/bronikowski3.htm

July 13, 2003

Last night, fishing a local stream, I was landing trout after trout --it was incredible! I probably landed over 30, but I lost count. PMDs were everywhere, trout were rising everywhere. I was thinking, I'm catching most of them by accident .

Most of the fish in the little stream I was fishing are small, eight inches, ten maybe, with an occasional twelve-incher. But wait! Behind a huge boulder across the current, there was something else.

It was big, much bigger than anything I had caught so far. Its head had to be the size of my whole hand, which would put it in the sixteen- to nineteen-inch range range, maybe even twenty. It couldn't be. Now I was excited, maybe too excited.

I knew that since it was across a raging current, I would have to make a perfect cast and might have only one shot at it. I checked my fly, checked the knot, added a little Goop and made sure I had enough line out to reach the other side.

While I make my home in northern Colorado, I’ll never have one of those fancy green and white “Native” stickers on the back of my fish wagon. When I moved here two years ago, I fully expected that I’d need to change my trout-chasing tactics a bit, pick up a few new flies, and generally adjust my expectations before hitting the river. A few days on the water showed that I may have underestimated the differences. But I’d like to think that I’ve evolved as a fisherman to the point where fishing is more than just catching fish: trout fishing, specifically fly fishing in moving water, is fascinating to me in large part because it a constant learning experience. The river, the weather, and trout change on a daily basis, necessitating an evolution on the part of the angler. And what better way to ramp up the learning curve than to load up the truck with various sundry rods, reels, flies, and other equipment and move halfway across the country?

With as many transplants as I see on various Internet forums and meet on stream, I figure I’m not the only one to make the shift from “back East” to fly fishing in the promised land. So I’ve set pen to paper to document some of the differences and commonalities I’ve found. What follows can be variously viewed as personal therapy for the author, a refresher for fellow transplants, and a lesson plan for those who are just now loading up the truck somewhere east of the Mississippi.

It is hard to believe that less than five weeks before this trip down Interstate 70 would have taken more than two hours, with ski traffic slowing the 65mph stretches to a crawl. My fishing partner and I made the trip to the Blue River in under an hour and fifteen minutes, with hardly a car on the road. It was the beginning of May, which is a great time to fish some of Colorado 's freestone streams and rivers. The mornings have a chill, but the weather always warms with the rising sun, and the water is not yet muddied by runoff.

This was an especially beautiful morning, mostly sunny with a few clouds pillowing some of the higher peaks. It was slightly below 50 degrees at seven in the morning, but the sun hadn't snuck above the Loveland Pass peak yet. There was only one other car in the lot, which usually indicates a spin-caster is down working the reservoir. We hop out of the truck, I stretch my old bones and quickly change into my waders, snug my boots, yank down my gaiters, grab my rod and reel, throw on my chest pack and net and wander across the two lane highway to the trailhead next to the river. The trail isn't much to look at. It has a parking lot and is visible from the road, but the trail is mostly used by the occasional spin fisherman who is content to lug cooler and lawn chair to the reservoir's edge to toss plugs, spoons and spinners. It is also right next to a treatment plant and a quarter-mile boat ramp.

The Blue here is a vibrant and noisy stream that runs under the highway bridge. As you dress in the parking lot you can peek over the edge of the bridge for a view of the clear, icy-cold water. A smile comes to my face as I see that runoff has not hit yet --temperatures are still chilly at night, so the water is indeed gin clear. I cross the road and stop on the bridge to see if I can spot any trout hanging below. I never do. The bottom is rocky with multicolored chucks of rounded granite; I look more from habit than interest. My partner is anxious --the river is calling her name. The first good hole is no more than twenty yards beyond the bridge, so I drop down from the path to the river's edge. There is a calm in the air this morning. I hear only the sound of rushing water, far off vehicles, and small birds chirping their welcome.

It is amazing to think that this stretch of the Blue is a couple of miles outside one of the busiest winter recreation areas in Colorado , and is seldom less crowded during the summer. There are four ski resorts within a fifteen mile radius and two bustling downtowns with everything that entails. Spring and fall are different, the crown jewel seasons to visit the area. There are fewer ski bums and tourists, complemented by cool but moderate temperatures and weather patterns. The best part is that the fishing is overlooked on this side of the reservoir, especially since the Blue is a Gold Medal tailwater below the dam.

As I string up my rod, my partner is even more restless –fishing just isn't her thing. She'd rather be wet and chewing sticks. If you haven't yet guessed, my my companion is Cabo, my four-year-old Chocolate Lab. We make many trips throughout the season to give Mom a chance to sleep in without the noise and distractions of a man who would rather be fishing and a dog that would rather be chasing a ball or stick, though this has been complicated recently by a new addition to the family.