Die Fische

I was reading some Griegrach last night and a name popped up that set off bells in my head.

Cheesman Canyon

Back in August i was lucky enough to visit my parents in Monument, Colorado and have my dad take me out to some of his favorite local waters. Day one was the Platte and Dream Stream experience that i’ve already shared with you (here). Both were beautiful and scenically numbing in a way, but the REAL adventure was on day two when we tried to drop in on the backside of Cheesman via the Upper Trail which drops you on to the river, right below the dam. We had NO IDEA what we were getting into, and i’m glad, because if we had, we wouldn’t have pushed ourselves, and we wouldn’t have shared a story that i’m sure will reverberate in our minds for some time to come.

We started off in a thick of pine trees that seemingly went on forever, until we came around a corner in the trail and were confronted with the devastating effects of the Hayman Fire. The fire reached national attention back in 2002 when 137,000 acres were burned to the ground.  It was mentally hard to grasp that less than a decade ago pine trees mostly blanketed the area.  It felt as if the trail twisted and turned through a graveyard: it was really quite heart wrenching.  The hardest part to believe was that it was seven years ago and between my father and i we only spotted one sapling, which my father gave words of encouragement to as we passed by. I don’t remember his words exactly, but he somehow managed to wrap sarcasm, a nihilistic outlook, true hope and compassion, and just a drop of contempt, into a few brief words, punctuated by a light rap to the tree’s fledgling trunk.  Aaaahhh yes, that’s where i get it from.

The hike was incredible, much more than we bargained for when we decided to attempt it on a whim. It was hard enough just hiking in to the river… Getting there and finding that  the flow was ROARING and that no fishing (that we knew of) could be done was pretty disheartening. Yet sometimes, like at that moment, the fishing becomes secondary as the real thing you’re there for comes slinking out of the shadows…the wilderness, the wildness, the unknown, and the adventure.

My dad smiling. Taken before we realized the mess we had gotten into.

After dropping streamers with multiple split shot from the banks for a couple hours, i think we realized we were both hanging out for the same reasons. To spend some time as a father and son. To spend some time away from the hustle and commotion. And lastly, to spend some time putting off what was obviously going to be a Herculean effort on our part to get the hell out of that canyon.

The hike back out was summed up an hour  later, when we were standing in the local “fly shop” with Budweisers in our hands. The owner, in a bitter voice, intoned what we were feeling at that moment, ”There isn’t a trout in Colorado big enough to make me hike that dam(n) trail.”

Man was he right.

And we’ll be back.

When partaking in the outdoors in the enormous state of Texas, my fears are of all the small creepy crawlies. You know, scorpions, spiders and snakes.

In Colorado, a state less than half the size, my fears were of lechers, larcenist, and bears.

Only fears over 5’6″ need apply.

It was one of these three hoodlums that kept me awake most nights, with every snapping twig or shifting rock that i heard. But while they owned the inky night,  it was the fish that ruled the daylight hours for me there.

After encountering water that was to high for qualty fishing we followed Zach’s advice and headed for Taylor Dam outside of Almont. Because of the Mysis shrimp flowing from the bottom of the reservoir it’s not unusual to land a trout in the 15-23 lb. range. Crazy, mutant, monster trout in anyones book i’m guessing. We didn’t catch any quite that big, but my dad landed a 20″ rainbow that fell for one of his shrimp patterns. A beautiful fish.

My brother David also hooked into a nice one just a few feet from my dad’s catch.

I understand that many people love fishing the tailwaters, and they are fun if your goal is to catch a lot of big fish. Personally, i  prefer freestone creeks, so it was with much enthusiasm that i set out with our crew the next day for Spring Creek. I know, i know…it’s got a small dam up there at 10,000 feet, we drove up there and saw it, but the altitude climbed so quickly that the simple act of driving had my body on the verge, making something like blinking feel as tiring as running a marathon. Once back down in the neighborhood of  8,000 ft it occurred to me that having a dam miles away and a couple thousand feet above you it’s actually possible to forget about mans’ desire to contain everything.

The fish in Spring Creek are monsters in their right. I tried to take pictures of the insane falls they have to climb but the perspective didn’t translate. Suffice to say they are lean and all muscle, especially the cutthroat.

It was a bittersweet last day since everyone but i had to take off around 2PM, so that they could make it back to civilization at a reasonable time. It was strange watching my brothers and Dad leave, simultaneously  exciting and worrying. But looking back on the week spent together i’m thankful for the trip, rough spots and all. I mean it IS family so they’re bound to happen. But there were also times where i felt like i was hanging out with good old friends, and considering how few people i feel that way with, that’s saying a lot.

THANKS GUYS!

It feels like months ago that all of this happened. But on the last day of May i set out alone to fish my heart out, and maybe figure out a little something about myself.

2,600 plus miles and 15 days later i’m home and looking back on a lot of driving and some fair fishing. It was amazing to see so much country over a few weeks. Although looking back on it i guess i didn’t really see that much of it since my gaze was pretty much always focused on the water. Every now and then i would look up and see awe inspiring mountains, clouds or stars that would take my breath away…but then it was right back to the water to focus on my obsession. I covered a lot of ground but it was carefully selected, i only visited watersheds with native trout available, of course catching them was a different story.

The first night was spent in the amazing Palo Duro Canyon here in Texas. It is just happens to be halfway between me and my parents house and is a WAY better alternative than staying at a overpriced motel.On the way there i was listening to an audiobook of Joseph Campbell entitled “The Power of Myth” where he discusses the importance of caves as a spiritual center for myth and a place of rebirth, and wouldn’t you know it, i stumbled on this (above). I was almost fearful to enter it after listening to such much hype about what it might contain. Regardless, it was amazing to climb in here and then climb to the crest of that hill, and then the next over, and then the next until i ended up with an eagles view of the whole canyon. No there wasn’t any water of note or fish here (the one stop where that was the case) but it might have been the most amazing because of that fact. With no fish around i actually focused on the sights and sounds instead of the quarry.

After temporarily stopping in Manitou Springs (for fun) and then Monument to gather my dad and brothers, we headed to Lake City to let the wilderness commence. Driving along the Arkansas River for a good part of the way i learned my first lesson of the trip.

- On a fishing trip, if possible, have the designated driver be a non-angler. In the likely event that one is unavailable, have the person with the worst eyesight drive. Although they may have trouble seeing the road, at least they won’t be scanning every ripple or pocket for fish.

The first day there we came on this sign that seems so blase in Colorado, but being a Texas boy (now) it warmed my heart in a strange way. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal if you live in any of the other 49 states in this country, but here in Texas this sign would very likely be riddled with bullet holes making it illegible and bait fishing therefore permissable.

In Lake City we hooked up with fly fishing guide Zach Lazzari who promptly whisked us off  took us to Cebolla Creek, an amazing run of water that might have been my favorite one on the whole trip. I simply hate altered waters, damns, reservoirs, etc. and would rather fish for small fish with a 2WT than have a 20″ fish strike my nymph on a tailwater. The Cebolla was all the things i love, in spades. I had to climb up on belly and casts a tiny dropper rig just to get a 10″ brown on the line. And you know what, i loved it.

Not a great photo, but it was my first fish of the trip, a beautiful Brown caught on a 3WT in a nice deep pocket on the Cebolla.

Apparently it’s a good thing that size didn’t matter to me, because i was the only person that didn’t catch anything on the Lake Fork of the Gunnison, are second stop that day. The only thing i got from there were these pohtos that i feel captured some of the energy on the river that day.

This was my father being coached on by our guide Zach.

My brothers, Andrew and David. Trying hard to land that 20 incher.

The view directly across Lake San Cristobal from our campsite.

Probably because one of my brothers is a Rain God, all of the water we saw was abnormally high for this time of year. I hope that sometime down the road we can do it all again, but maybe go when the rivers have a more subtle flow. While there were other parts of my trip that i enjoyed more in other ways, this was where it all seemed to come together. Good friends, good times.

Part 2 coming soon.

Not a lot of time to type. The library here in Ridgway closes in just a few minutes and i have to get back and catch my fifth and sixth trouts of the day.

Sorry the posts haven’t been pouring in but i’m on the back roads of Colorado fishing and exploring this remarkable state. As soon as i have more than ten minutes AND internet connection i’ll leave more. For now enjoy this rainbow at one of the two gas stations in Lake City, Colorado.