Time: 12:00PM – 5:00PM

Location: Between Castle Rock campground and the next campground upstream

Fish Landed: 4 rainbows, 3 whitefish

Crooked River 06/19/2013 Photo Album

Having been skunked on the fabled Metolius River, I now felt a strong need to prove that I could catch at least one fish in the state of Oregon. I’ve proven that I can catch fish in Colorado, but what was it about Oregon that made me feel like a neophyte? Oregon streams can’t be any more difficult than Penns Creek or the South Platte River in Cheesman Canyon. As I reminisced I realized that I landed only a few small fish on the Clackamas River in 2011 and one on the Deschutes, albeit a steelhead. I had to go back to 2002, when I had some big days on rivers in the northeast corner of Oregon while returning Amy to Whitman College, to recall any degree of success.

Before leaving Amy’s house in Portland I printed a small brochure that listed fishing locations in Oregon with a small map. I began reading the brief descriptions of streams within a reasonable distance of the Metolius and settled on Crooked River near Prineville and the upper Deschutes River near Mt. Bachelor. The Deschutes in this area was described as a headwater with numerous brook trout, so this certainly sounded like an option where I could pad my numbers, but of course I was taking nothing for granted in Oregon. Crooked River was east of the Metolius and a tributary of the Deschutes and featured a 6-8 mile tailwater below the Prineville Dam where redband rainbow trout and whitefish were the predominant species. I liked the idea of catching native redbands, so chose this as my Wednesday destination.

I whined enough about getting skunked that I apparently convinced the rest of the campers that they needed to transport me to Crooked River and dump me off to get a break for their ears. Amy, Jane and Joe decided to spend the rest of the day hiking at Smith Rock State Park after depositing me by the river. The stretch of river I targeted was approximately 60 miles away, so it took over an hour of driving. The trip was at least quite scenic and the terrain changed from forests to green grassy flats with much agriculture including cattle and wheat fields.

We arrived at a wide pullout along the Crooked River at around noon and I grabbed all my gear and put on my waders and bid adieu to the others while descending a path to the river. I chose to stop in this area because I read the best fishing was between Castle Rock Campground and the dam and we’d just passed the campground. I observed numerous large exposed boulders in smooth pools linked by nice runs and pockets, and I usually prefer this type of water. It was a cool day with high temperatures projected in the sixties, and quite a few large gray clouds were visible in the western sky, so I wore my Adidas pullover and my raincoat over that.

Smooth Pool Downstream

Initially I walked downstream a bit and cut over to the river at the top of a long smooth pool where some nice runs and current entered. The clouds blocked the sun and almost immediately I noticed rising fish. I wasn’t seeing anything on the water, but several fish were definitely feeding on the suface, so I chose a CDC BWO. Overcast skies and small flies that are nearly invisible usually point to blue wing olives. Unfortunately that rule apparently doesn’t apply to Oregon as I received numerous refusals and no fish. After quite a bit of unproductive casting I decided to move on and leave the frustration behind and I convinced myself that the fish that were rising were quite small.

I moved upstream a bit to the nice runs and riffles and switched to a yellow Letort hopper with a beadhead hares ear; my typical beginning combination in Colorado. It didn’t take long before I hooked and landed a small whitefish and then a minnow sized rainbow that couldn’t have been more than two inches long. The day was beginning to play out similar to Tuesday on the Metolius.

Next I resorted to nymphing and added a thingamabobber along with a weighted 20 incher for weight and then an orange scud. A gentleman that I chatted with on the Metolius across from our campsite told me that scuds and San Juan worms are effective on Crooked River. He was apparently fishing a different section or different time of year because these flies were ignored so I switched the orange scud for a Craven BWO emerger. This finally did the trick and I hooked a rainbow that appeared to be around 10 inches, but as I played it, the fish dove into some heavy light green fibrous growth that was prevalent on the rocks of the Crooked River and got free. I was pretty frustrated at this point, as I still hadn’t landed a legitimate trout in Oregon on the trip.

I persisted and waded to the opposite side of the river thinking that few fishermen go to the trouble of doing this. In short order I approached a small island and began walking up the bank next to the smaller right channel. As I gazed up the smooth water, I spotted a rise. I’d seen a few caddis fluttering about and the rise was not a sipping rise like the ones observed in the pool at the start, so I elected to remove the nymphs and try a light gray size 16 caddis. On the third drift a rainbow knifed to the surface and gulped my caddis imitation, and I carefully played and landed a ten inch rainbow and photographed my achievement.

Finally an Oregon Rainbow

Perhaps I’d found the key on the Crooked River? I moved upstream a bit further and stumbled on the nicest stretch of water I would encounter on the day. A long riffle slid over moderate depth over the entire width of the river and fanned out into a deep long pool. I was stationed at the point where the riffle slowed down and dropped into the slower moving pool. Meanwhile some dark clouds once again moved above me and a brief shower ensued, and like clockwork fish began to rise directly across from me. Prior to the hatch I’d converted back to nymphs, and on one of my drifts about 10 feet across from me, a fish rose and inhaled the orange thingamabobber! I know for certain that it chomped on the orb because I instinctively set the hook and felt weight for a split second.

What did this mean? Was there a hatch of small orange balls commencing? I searched my fly boxes for an orange fly and spotted an orange Madam X that I’d tied quite a few years ago so I removed the nymph rig and tied on the Madam X. Sure enough after a few drifts a seven inch rainbow rose and sucked in the size 12 orange Madam X. Clearly I was overanalyzing Oregon fishing!

Unfortunately the number of fish rising increased, and they were ignoring the Madam X so I added a light gray comparadun trailing the Madam X. This was a nice setup for visibility and following my flies, but the fish were ignoring and the Madam X became waterlogged and began to sink. I clipped off the large attractor and used a single gray comparadun. This move elicited some refusals, but no takes, so I switched to a size 16 comparadun with a light yellow body that I’d tied for fishing to sulfurs in Pennsylvania. This did the trick one time and I landed another small rainbow, but then a string of refusals continued until the hatch ended when the sunshine returned.

I’d now landed three small rainbows, and the rising fish at least gave me optimism. I continued upstream past another campground and a huge long slow moving pool to an island above the pool. Near the top of the pool I spotted a few sporadic rises and climbed down close the water to make some half hearted casts, but this did not produce. I was now searching for an exit strategy, in other words a place to cross back to the road and return to the pullout where I was scheduled to meet my transportation. I scouted the other side of the island and determined that I could wade to the island at the bottom end and then walk up the island to the top where I could cross the opposite channel. After executing this maneuver I hiked down the road toward the meeting place pullout.

As I moved to the lower end of the long pool I noticed a couple strolling along the river bank and then I heard the woman began to screech something in a high pitched voice. A minute or two later I noticed a young dog on the opposite side of the river in the very spot where I’d landed two rainbows, and the spaniel or pointer appeared to be upset and unable to cross back to the side of the river of the approoaching owners. The woman yelled up to me and asked if there was a place to cross and I suggested the island above the long pool.

I moved on and arrived at the meeting point slightly before 5PM, so I decided to return to the river by the pullout and fish until Amy, Jane and Joe arrived. I could see the arrival of any cars above me. I tied on a Chernobyl ant with a pink foam indicator, but the fly kept landing on the wrong side, so I swapped it for a yellow Chernobyl and beneath that attached a headhead hares ear. I began fishing, but before long I heard a car door slam, and then looked upstream to see the male portion of the couple with the dog. Apparently the boyfriend volunteered or was ordered to save the dog, and the young man was looking for a place to cross. I suggested the island to him, but also mentioned that I’d crossed somewhere between his current location and the long pool. I suggested that he obtain a strong stick before he made the attempt.

A Ten Inch Rainbow with Streamside Mint from Crooked River

I refocused on my fishing and began prospecting the Chernobyl and BHHE, and eventually hooked and landed and photographed a ten inch rainbow that hit the BHHE on a swing in front of a large rock. In addition I landed another whitefish just before my family arrived and picked my up for the return trip.

When I got home tonight after going for my run in 90+ degree heat, I went down to
the basement to remove the Aqua Seal from the freezer since I planned to patch
two scuff marks on my waders before we go to Oregon. While there I decided to
walk around and look at the window wells. Much to my amazement there was
another blackbird in the one below the maple tree. This baby didn’t appear to
be quite as developed as the one in the morning and didn’t fly as high off the
ground in its futile attempts to escape.

I texted Jane and told her I’d wait for her to come home to rescue the bird. Sure
enough it wasn’t long before she appeared and we got out the two ski poles
again. I gave her first shot, but she couldn’t get the bird to perch on the
basket and it didn’t have the flying ability of the bird in the morning. I then
gave it a shot, but had the same result. Meanwhile the helicopter mother
perched on the rim of the window well and screeched unrelentingly and even
flapped its wings and faked like it was going to swoop toward us.

We decided the ski pole method wasn’t going to work and reverted to the fishing
net. Jane found the lid to a bucket so we could cover the net if we managed to
scoop the bird. We opened the window in the basement (no screen on this one),
and I began trying to scoop the bird without injuring it. It took quite a few
attempts and the mother was now threatening to fly through the window into the
basement and screeching as loud as she could, but I managed to get the bird in
the net and quickly covered the opening and raced up the steps and let it free
on the patio.

The infant bird semi-flew to the fence and hid behind the ornamental grass. Jane and I then found an old sheet in the garage and stretched it across the
window well opening and anchored it with stones. Hopefully this is the end of
our rescue efforts for awhile.

This morning I performed some deeds that would make Jack Montgomery and PETA proud. My father-in-law Jack was known to trap mice alive in his house and then release them unharmed in his yard and of course we know what PETA stands for; People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.

As is my custom I carried my iTunes player and the sports section of the Denver Post downstairs this morning to complete my set of exercises on the Bowflex. For those who have never been to our house, there are three very deep window wells in the basement with walls approximately eight feet high. Midway through my routine of arm and chest exercises I glanced at the window well closest to me and spotted a tiny bunny rabbit with its nose pressed against the window.

Bunny Trapped in Window Well

I continued on with my morning workout as I pondered ways to extract the fuzzy bunny from his or her predicament. I could open the window and remove the screen, but Jane had difficulty reinserting the screen in another window well, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to go through that difficulty. What could I lower into the deep window cavity that would allow the captive rabbit to be elevated back to ground level?

As these thoughts were passing through my head, I was once again distracted by a cacophony of shrieking birds at one of the other window wells; the one where Jane had removed the screen and been unable to replace it. I wandered over to this window and much to my amazement there was a baby blackbird trapped in this window well. The small bird attempted to fly from the deep window well repeatedly but could only rise three to four feet before striking the walls and falling back to the ground. Meanwhile the mother and a host of related blackbirds hovered above the cavity and sqawked and shrieked like the world was coming to an end. Now my mind was diverted from the bunny to the distressed bird.

Trapped Baby Bird

The blackbirds must have built a nest in the Norwegian maple just behind the house because they have been relentlessly pestering our cat, Pip, for the last week. Amazingly they watch Pip’s every move even when he is within the house. Last night Pip moved from the great room to the front of the house, and I observed the adult blackbird fly by the side of the house so it could circle around and keep an eye on Pip while he was on the front side of the house. I surmise that somehow the bady bird tumbled from the nest in the maple tree and into the window well below and did not possess the requisite flying ability.

I finished my workout and decided to proceed with an animal rescue strategy. I spotted one of Jane’s crutches leaning against the wall and considered lowering this into the window wells from outside, but I guessed that rabbits do not possess climbing ability like a squirrel. I glanced over to the pile of Dan’s belongings and noticed some skis…again probably too smooth, but what about a ski pole? I had some extra long cross country ski poles in the garage and they had extra large baskets near the end.

First Attempt

Could I elevate the bunny and bird by using the ski pole basket as a makeshift elevator platform? It was worth a try so I moved to the garage and retreived Jane’s ski poles as they had larger baskets.

I circled around the front of the house to the window well along the side of the house and crouched on my knees and lowered the pair of long ski poles to the floor of the window well next to the scared bunny. I failed to allow for the 1.5 inch distance between the tip of the ski and the basket. The rabbit cowered in the corner on a cement ledge that surrounds the window and wouldn’t have anything to do with the escape platform being offered. Because the basket was an inch and a half above the tip, I couldn’t slide it under the little guy. I decided to temporarily abandon Mr. Bunny and move on to the feathered baby bird and its hovering not-so-friendly family.

Bunny Still Trapped

Once again I made a trip through the house and peered over the edge of the window well next to the patio and under the maple tree. The adults retreated to the tree only five feet away and resumed their raucous serenade while I lowered the ski poles to just below the small offspring. When the pole touched the little black feathered friend, it attempted to fly up in the same manner I’d witnessed, but before it could fall back, I followed with the ski pole and it temporarily perched on the basket and then resumed its attempt at flight. I was able to boost the bird enough so that its next attempt at flight catapulted it over the rim of the window well and on to the ground from whence it immediately scurried under the trumpet vine growing out of control in front of the air conditioner unit. My work here was done and it was now up to the helicopter mom to take over its parenting responsibilities.

My thoughts returned to the sweet little bunny rabbit, and I quickly resigned myself to the need to open the window. But how would I prevent the quick little bunny from bounding into my basement? The thought of chasing a baby rabbit around the basement and under boxes, Christmas decorations and Dan’s life possessions was not appealing. In short order the vision of a fishing net flashed across my brain so I once again made a move to the garage and pulled down my $10 fishing net. I descended the stairs and unlocked the window and slid it open and then examined the screen.

Second Rescue Implement

There were tiny black tabs and I pushed them outward and dislodged the screen from its position, and as I leaned the screen against the window wall, I grabbed my net and gently wedged it beneath the gray bunny and forced it to fall into the webbing. The rabbit made a futile attempt to escape the net, but I shook it so it nestled deeply in the pouch and quickly raced up the stairs and out the front door and then crossed the street to the greenbelt that separates 35th Avenue into east and westbound lanes. I released my furry friend next to an evergreen tree and and watched as it gleefully hopped to its freedom. My friend’s fate now depends on its youthful resourcefulness to survive in the wild, if one can refer to the Stapleton development as the wild.

Success

I began skiing after graduate school in 1975 when I was 24 years old. It probably took me a year or two until I progressed from stem turns to decent parallel turns, and while in my twenties I was quite gung ho over the sport of downhill skiing as I progressed rather rapidly from novice to high intermediate. However, the thing I always admired the most in advanced skiers was the ability to ski moguls in control while maintaining smooth form. You’ve seen these freaks…they look like little pistons as their legs absorb every bump and change in terrain while their upper bodies remain unaffected by all the lower body turbulence, and they exhibit this form while skiing directly down a steep fall line.

Of course there are also the speed freaks who point their skis directly downhill on a steep groomed slope and attain high rates of speed and endanger all the other skiers around them. They also think they are expert skiers. Another impressive group of skiers are those who invade the trees and swoop off of rocks with no fear evident in their facial expressions. I respect these skiers, and many of these can probably also impress just as much in a mogul field, but the expert mogul skier still tops my list. Another group of skiers includes the crowd that sticks to the terrain park and performs all manner of tricks and stunts on rails and jumps. I can’t even imagine overcoming my fears to execute an aerial flip so I have the utmost admiration for these folks, but as a personal preference, I’d still rather watch a skilled bump skier.

Celebrating Her Return to Form

So after skiing for 37 years, where am I on the scale of bump skiers? I’d probably rate myself in the top 20% and somewhere around the bottom of advanced and top of high intermediate. I used to think that smooth mogul skiiing required ridiculous quad muscle strength, superb cardiovascular conditioning, and a finely tuned sense of balance and these are certainly useful, but I’ve grown to realize that there are four fundamental keys to success. First comes picking a line. It helps to look for a good line before you start, but being able to adjust on the fly is even more important. Second comes controlling ones speed. A mogul skier will never be able to ski big moguls while continuing to gather speed as one progresses down the mountain. Controlling speed means using the tools provided to edge and slow down, so the third key is making short brief contact with the snow on the tops and along the rounded contours of the moguls. If you hold an edge too long, you are asking for trouble because your weight is too dependent on one ski, and you are likely to quickly lose balance and control. Amazingly the final key is confidence. When I was younger I read article after article about how mogul skiing is a mental game. These articles suggested pausing at the top of the slope to pick a line and then  visualize ones smooth navigation through the bunched cluster of snow mounds below. I’ve come to realize that there is much truth to this mental aspect of the mogul game.

I group mogul fields into three types. First there are the double black diamond devils with moguls the size of VW beetles with huge deep troughs and in the worst case the troughs are icy from all the novice mogul skiers who ski through them and avoid the large humps. A second category are the moderate sized moguls, still spaced fairly close together, but not separated by the deep ravines present in the category one moguls. The last group is best described as embryonic moguls, a series of clumped crud mounds created by skiers after a fair amount of new accumulation. My favorites are category two, and I find that these are the best stretches to practice the key techniques and build confidence. I still strive for the ability to dominate category one, but I spend more time on category two terrain.

Dave with Town of Breckenridge in Background

This all brings me to my day on Saturday March 2, 2013 at Breckenridge. Breckenridge had received a nice amount of new snow during the previous week, although there was no new accumulation on Friday night before we made our appearance on Saturday morning. The area was unbelievably crowded with several lift line waits approaching 30 minutes, but Jane and I persisted and were rewarded with some great skiing in the afternoon. The air temperature climbed into the 40’s and the sun was bright with no clouds in the sky. This was my fifth ski outing of the year, but my legs were feeling reasonably fresh as we discovered shorter lift lines on Peak 10 and enjoyed some nice long groomed runs on Cimarron, Double Jack and Crystal.

Next we migrated up the Superconnect back to Peak 8 and checked out Chair 6. Unfortunately at 2PM it was still mobbed with skiers so we continued down Lower Boneyard and Frosty’s Feeway. It was here that I discovered a nice stretch of category 2 moguls and in spite of only five days of skiing in the 2013 season and approaching age 62, I experienced some of my best mogul skiing. I was confident and applied all the keys described earlier. I bounced through this area twice and then demonstrated similar mastery of the moguls on High Anxiety before returning to Chair 6 just before it closed. Jane and I took one ride on Chair 6 and came down Lobo, a black diamond somewhere between 2 and 3, and the fun continued; absorb, quick edge, turn, absorb, edge, turn, etc.

It was a fun afternoon as my feet remained warm and moguls were my domain, and I’m looking forward to a weekday trip this week. The quest for mogul mastery continues.

After I finished tying 20 Chernobyl ants, 20 Letort hoppers, and 20 gray parachute hoppers I decided to sort through the four or five containers perched on my fly tying desk containing used flies. When I am on the stream and a fly gets damaged to the point that it is no longer effective, I set it aside, and at the end of the day move it to an out of service container.These flies typically have lost body parts such as legs or wings, or the hackle or thread is unraveling.

As I sorted the out of service flies, I discovered six parachute hoppers, seven chernobyl ants, and fourteen Letort hoppers. I staged them in my work area and began the process of refurbishing flies. I love this process as in most cases I salvage the first several steps of producing the fly and create essentially new flies in half the time. In addition I am recycling the most expensive part of the fly, the hook and in the case of nymphs also a bead.

I’m now moving on to smaller dry flies.

Time: 11:30AM – 3:00PM

Location: Five Points Access Area

Fish Landed: 6

Arkansas River 11/18/2012 Photo Album

As Jane improved from her pelvic injury she yearned to get outside and offered to accompany me on a fishing excursion. Temperatures were forecast to reach the low 60’s in Denver and along the Arkansas River, so we planned a trip for Sunday, November 18. We left the house at 8:30 and arrived at the Royal Gorge Angler store outside of Canon City by 10:30. We did some Christmas shopping and then moved on to the Five Points Arkansas Recreation Access area.

Jane got set up with her folding chair and reading material while I rigged my Sage four weight with the level line nymphing system. I began the day with an iron sally nymph as my top fly and a beadhead hares ear as the point, and I was in the water fishing just above the observation deck by 11:30AM. The weather indeed turned out to be quite pleasant for mid November with clear blue skies and temperatures that reached the low 60’s.

The water above the protruding observation platform was fairly fast with many pockets and I covered it thoroughly with no response to my offerings. The next stretch below the small island was a bit slower and offered more attractive areas for drifting my tandem nymphs, but once again my efforts were thwarted. I finished the first hour off by working up the smaller left channel that flows around a small island above the access area until I reached a nice deep pool and eddy at the top of the left braid. I was certain this area would yield my first fish, but alas, after numerous expert drifts I reeled up my flies and returned to the picnic area.

River Splits Above Five Points

Jane and I retrieved our lunches and basked in the bright sunshine while munching down our sandwiches and other snacks. A cool breeze blew from time to time so I was glad I was wearing a fleece top. I decided to fish the huge hole next to our lunchtime picnic table immediately after lunch and Jane borrowed my camera to snap some photos. Again I was certain that the soft area next to the current seam below the large boulder would yield a fish or two, but once again I was proven wrong. Perhaps I needed to move away from the access area as it probably receives a large amount of pressure due to ease of access.

Dave Begins Fishing After Lunch

I walked down the shoulder of highway 50 for .4 miles and then slid down a steep bank to a nice location at the tail of a long pool that contained quite a few exposed midstream boulders. I broke off both my flies in the large pool next to Jane’s base camp, so I replaced the iron sally with a twenty incher and then added a new beadhead hares ear as the bottom fly. I began working my way up along the bank next to the road and fished all the likely spots and finally after fifteen minutes or so I was relieved to connect on a seven inch brown trout. Although this was a small fish it at least meant I wasn’t going to post a zero on this beautiful Sunday late in the season.

As I worked my way back up to eventually meet Jane I landed four more small browns in the 7-10 inch range. I seemed to catch all of them in small slow moving pools behind large boulders or off to the side of the main current. I cast my flies to the very top of the pool where the faster water tumbled over some rocks, and as the nymphs drifted slowly back through the top half of the pool a fish would grab the fly and cause a pause or twitch in the indicator. Of the six fish landed on the day five inhaled the hares ear and one had the twenty incher in its lip. One of the six fish was a 14 inch brown, but the back half of its body was covered with blotches of fungus, perhaps as a result of mishandling by a previous fisherman.

By 3:30 I’d returned to Jane’s base camp and she seemed impatient to begin the return trip and I’d pretty much fished the entire stretch of river near the access area, so we decided to call it a day. The fish were on the small side, but it was a gorgeous unseasonably warm day in the middle of November, and Jane and I enjoyed yet another fun outdoor day in Colorado.

Fish Landed: 6

Time: 11:00AM – 4:00PM

Location: First bridge downstream from Noel’s Draw

Fish Landed: Dave 9; Dan 5

Big Thompson River 11/04/2012 Photo Album

Jane felt she recovered enough from her pelvic fracture so that I could leave her to go fishing. In fact she was encouraging me to go, so perhaps she needed some time to herself. Dan texted me on Saturday morning (1AM!) to check if I was planning to fish, so I suppose the stars were aligned in favor of me getting out for another fishing outing in 2012. The weather forecast called for a high in the low to mid-60’s for Denver with overcast skies, so this appeared to be another favorable factor.

Sunday appeared to be similar to Saturday but marginally warmer, so I replied to Dan that I planned to fish on Sunday and we made our plans. My original thought was to return to South Boulder Creek and hopefully experience the little black stonefly hatch one more time. On Friday I drove to Old Arvada and visited Charlie’s Fly Box to purchase some size 20 dry fly hooks, so on Saturday I spread these out on my fly tying desk and constructed twelve nice imitations using the charcoal sculpin wool that my friend Jeff Shafer shared with me.

Two Black Stoneflies

Unfortunately when I visited the DWR site on Saturday evening to check stream flows, I discovered that the stream flows on South Boulder Creek had dropped from 100 cfs to 14 and this happened on Saturday! I was reluctant to fish at such low flows particularly since it had happened recently even though I had some decent luck on a September visit at flows below 10 cfs. I checked the South Platte in Waterton Canyon and the web site registered 75 cfs so this emerged as a possibility. Clear Creek was running at 29 cfs, also quite low, but probably an option although Dan and I have grown a bit weary of the small Clear Creek browns. Finally I checked the Big Thompson River and the DWR site indicated 45 cfs below Estes Lake. The stream reports from the fly shops were favorable with the possibility of BWO’s on overcast days, so this was my choice. Dan agreed with my choice and we planned to meet at 9AM at my house.

We had the advantage of an extra hour on Sunday morning due to the time change, but I wanted to leave earlier to account for the sun setting earlier in the day. I transferred all the flies I tied in October to the amber boxes in my fishing bag and inserted three of the little black sculpflies in one of my plastic fly boxes. We transferred Dan’s fly gear to my car, and we were on our way to Estes  Park. Since Dan was accompanying and it was his first fishing trip to the Big T, I elected to fish starting below the first bridge downstream from Noel’s Draw, an area that I fished frequently and I knew it held a decent number of fish.

We parked above the bridge and were ready to fish by 11AM. It was quite chilly with the air temperature around fifty degrees as we walked down the shoulder and across the bridge to the large bend along the road. Dan and I both began with a Chernobyl ant and a beadhead hares ear nymph as we fished through some deep pocket water in a narrow stretch just off the highway. The wind was gusting frequently and combined with the 50 degree temperatures sent chills down my back. Finally in a short pocket above the fast water, I felt the tug of a fish and brought a brilliantly colored rainbow to my net with a hares ear nymph in its mouth.

An Early Rainbow by Dave

Within a few minutes I watched Dan flick a back hand cast upstream to a narrow slot along the bank, and then he set the hook and his five weight bowed under the weight of a fine brown that smacked his Chernobyl ant. I continued working up the left side and arrived at a nice slightly riffled area with a depth of approximately three feet. Here I experienced two refusals to the Chernobyl ant so I decided to remove it and replace with a size 14 dark olive body deer hair caddis, and this provoked three more refusals in the moderate riffles. Clearly the fish were tuned into my fly but something was missing. Perhaps they required something smaller? I opened my plastic fly box and searched for the size 18 deer hair little black stoneflies I’d tied after my first encounter on South Boulder Creek.

Dan Fishes the Edge

I flicked a cast upstream into the riffles where I’d experienced a refusal and a feisty rainbow nosed up and slurped in the stonefly. I netted the thrashing eleven inch rainbow and photographed it in case it would be my last fish of the day. After I dried the small stonefly I cast it to the right and spotted a swirl as it drifted back toward me and once again set the hook in a small but chunky rainbow. In short order I hooked and landed a third rainbow on the deer hair stonefly, and at this point I waded back to Dan and plucked another one from my box and presented it to him. Dan quickly removed his tandem rig and tied on the small stonefly and much to my amazement hooked and landed a nice brown on his first cast. Once he released this fish and dried his fly, he fired another cast upstream and landed a second trout on the black stonefly imitation. It all seemed so easy, but we continued fishing up the stream toward the bridge through some water that wasn’t quite as attractive and the stonefly feast abated.

Rainbow Liked Little Black Stonefly

When we reached the bridge I suggested we break for lunch as my feet were cold and the wind was really chilling my hands. Dan agreed and we adjourned to the Santa Fe and feasted on our lunches while checking in on the Broncos. The Broncos led the Bengals 17 – 10, but Manning threw an interception while we listened, so that outcome remained in question as we grabbed our rods and returned to our exit spot just below the bridge.

We waded under the bridge and continued to work the little stoneflies through some attractive water, but these fish apparently possessed different tastes. We both covered quite a bit of water with no refusals or takes, and I began to experiment with different flies. I spied one tiny BWO fluttering up from the stream so I tied a beadhead RS2 below the stonefly for a while. Next I switched the RS2 for a soft hackle emerger and again there was no response. The small stonefly was not buoyant enough to float with the small beadhead attached, so I switched it for a size 12 olive stimulator, and this elicited one refusal. Next I decided that the small soft hackle emerger wasn’t working and I needed something larger so I clipped off both flies and tied on a gray parachute hopper and trailed a salvation nymph. Finally in a narrow slot the hopper dipped and I hooked and landed a small rainbow on the salvation nymph. Unfortunately this success could not be repeated so Dan and I skipped over the remainder of the straight relatively narrow and fast stretch to the nice pool just after the large bend.

Check the Deep Hue

By this time it was around 3:00PM and some high clouds moved in front of the sun. Dan had returned to the Chernobyl ant with a beadhead hares ear, so I decided to go back to what worked earlier, except I elected to tie on a little sculpfly instead of the deer hair stonefly. The little sculpfly had a charcoal sculpin wool wing and was tied on a size 20 hook. It was more difficult to follow in the riffled water, but I fired a cast directly upstream to the left of the main current seam and a fine rainbow rose and confidently sipped in the size 20 stonefly replica. It was quite gratifying to land a fish on a fly I designed and tied the previous day. A cast a few minutes later to an area higher up and to the left of the larger center current led to a swirl and I hooked another rainbow. This was perhaps my best fish of the day with a blend of pink, red, and purple hues in a wide band along the sides. Dan photographed my catch and tied on a small dark olive caddis, and we switched sides, and in a short amount of time he was attached to a pair of nice fish on his caddis. One was another bright rainbow and I snapped a photo of him cradling the shining jewel.

Dan With a Another Pretty Rainbow

It was now beyond the time we’d agreed to quit, but the action was heating up, so we continued upstream through some attractive pockets and riffles. I managed to land a nine inch brown that I spotted nestled on the bottom in a small pocket, and Dan landed another fish and experienced several refusals. Finally we reached an area where there was a break in the thick vegetation between the stream and the road, so we agreed to call it a day and returned to the car. It was a fun productive day in early November on the Big Thompson, and we were both surprised that some of the best fishing occurred late in the afternoon when the sun dropped low in the sky and the air temperature plummeted.