Time: 11:15AM – 2:45PM

Location: National Forest land near Minturn

Cross Creek 07/22/2024 Photo Album

I finally pulled together everything necessary to visit a new stream. I was headed to this particular creek, when I was forced to postpone due to a screw in my tire. On Monday I was not victimized by any auto issues, although I was delayed by a flagman within four miles of my destination due to highway construction.

After a relatively rough drive of a mile on a dirt road, I arrived at the trailhead; and, of course, in spite of it being a weekday, all the spots in the lots were full. I negotiated a turnaround and parked along the shoulder downhill from the parking lots. The temperature was in the upper sixties, and I fit together my Loomis two piece five weight for the day’s action.

As I prepared to fish, another car arrived, and the solo occupant began chatting with me. He was also planning to fish, as he tossed waders into his daypack. He suggested that I was a bad ass, because I was hiking in my waders. I took this as a compliment, and I stopped next to him on my way to the trailhead. We were both ready at the same time, and he had fished the creek previously, so we made the hike together. I was pleased to accompany someone, who knew their way around. My new acquaintance’s name was Judge, and he was a retired airline pilot from Georgia. We shared much more information on our inbound hike, but for the sake of privacy, I will omit it from this blog entry.

Best Pool I Saw

Eventually we reached a place where some large elevated rocks overlooked a stunningly attractive pool. Judge was familiar with this obvious fish hole, but he insisted that I fish it first, since he needed to put on his waders and assemble his rod. I reluctantly acquiesced, and I carefully slid down the curved boulder and entered the stream. I began with a peacock hippie stomper solo, and I blasted out some long casts to the slow moving lower section. My casts were rather exemplary, if I may brag a bit, but they generated no interest. I slowly edged my way to the sweet spot below a beaver dam, but nary a trout even looked at my fly. How could this be? Maybe the trout were looking for food beneath the surface? I paused to add an eighteen inch dropper and attached a beadhead hares ear nymph. I lobbed ten casts along the current seam that curled next to the rock along the opposite bank. I was perplexed by my lack of success, and I surrendered. Judge watched me for awhile and then disappeared.

Productive Spot

The obvious trout honey hole looked like it hosted a lot of traffic, perhaps anglers and swimmers, so I attributed my absence of success to pressure. I decided to move upstream, but the large beaver pond looked like a dicey wading enterprise, so I attempted to hike around it, but I got stuck in a tough section of forest with dense deadfalls and thickets that grabbed my fly line and limbs at every turn. Eventually I stumbled across a faint path that aided my progress and led me back to the creek above the beaver pond.

I maneuvered myself into the creek, so that I was able to cover some nice pockets and shelf pools, and I landed three brook trout including a stunning ten incher. The first two snatched the hares ear, but the largest of the three smacked the hippie stomper. The counted fish were accompanied by several sub-six inch dinks, and this trend would continue throughout the day.

Lower Gradient Section

I was contemplating lunch, when Judge reappeared. He was now in his waders, and he was in the process of switching his tapered leader, as it remained configured for Euro nymphing. Judge suggested a nice cleared area for lunch, and I joined him. After lunch we split. I continued upstream, while he intended to move back down. I suspect he had his sights set on the initial pool that failed to deliver for me.

Decent

From 12:15 until 2:45 I worked my way upstream, and I boosted the fish count from three to sixteen. I probably had ten or more dinks that did not reach my arbitrary six inch minimum. Fifteen of the landed trout were brookies, and I was fortunate to net one gorgeous cutthroat of nine inches.

Shimmering

I covered .6 mile of the stream, and this was quite an accomplishment. Cross Creek crashed downhill at an alarming rate, and I moved around two waterfalls and numerous whitewater cascades. Steep banks and tight walls made wading akin to a gymnastics session. I sought only the slow moving and deep pools and pockets, where fish could seek refuge among the thunderous, crashing water volume.

Rare Shelf Pools

Wild Roses

After .4 mile I reached the bridge, where the main trail crossed the creek. I looked upstream at the unending whitewater plumes through the narrow canyon, and I realized that, if I continued, I might be forced to retrace my steps in order to exit. I decided to give it a cautious try. I progressed another .25 mile, and amazingly the gradient increased beyond that which I endured earlier. The catch rate waned, and my fear of the crashing water and my presence in a remote wilderness environment superseded my desire to catch fish.

One Cutthroat Among Many Brook Trout

Cutthroat Came from Deep Along the Whitewater Seam

I mounted a ridge of large round topped boulders and slowly worked my way back to the main trail and eventually visited my Telluride. There I discovered a hand printed note from Judge, who landed thirty fish. He attached the foam body yellow Sally that generated the success as well a new one to contrast the damage absorbed by his workhorse fly, I wonder if his fish came from the monster pool that skunked me?

I am pleased that I explored Cross Creek. The weather was perfect, and I landed sixteen wild jewels. I am not sure, however, whether I will return. The effort of the hike and rock and log scrambling did not justify the small brook trout that landed in my net. Perhaps the high gradient stream is more productive at lower flows. I will keep Cross Creek in mind for future trips, but I suspect there are better options when other streams are low as well.

Fish Landed: 16