Tag: Salida Colorado Real Estate

I have a fishing client, who over the years has become a friend, and who always asks a question that never fails to bring a smile to my face, not to mention a rueful shake of the head.

“So, what’s the secret fly today?” Or another variation – “Where’s the secret spot today?”

Flattered as I am, it shows a fundamental lack of appreciation for what a guide brings to the table, and the realities of the life of a fish. For starters, they don’t eat twenty four / seven like teenagers. The assumption of many fishermen also seems to be that esoteric knowledge is granted us by some dark pact with Beelzebub. We trade our souls in return for a life spent on the river, carefree and immune to the laws of economics and aging. Like Faustus, essence is exchanged for the key to mysteries, mysteries denied mere mortals and especially those who only get to fish a few times a year.

The reality, of course, is quite different. In some ways, the life of a guide could be compared to being subjected to a form of Chinese water torture. Instead of the steady drip drip drip of water on the forehead, we are exposed to the daily drip drip drip of dropped back casts, poor line control, and a stoic disbelief on the part of the fisherman that fish could actually live within three feet of the bank.

As a result, you might think that when the chance of a day off comes along, most guides would retreat to the confines of their hovels, there to explore the dark recesses to be found at the bottom of a bottle of cheap scotch. While this may be true for some, most of us are drawn, like a moth to a flame, back to the river. There is a need to reaffirm for oneself that fish actually do live where you tell your clients they do, and a good drift with a mend or two makes a difference. There is a need to see a fly presented without three feet of fly line coiled around it like a protective cobra, and to see a gentle, measured hook set rather than an excited, agricultural heave.

But there is also a need to be reminded that we all make mistakes. We like to think that we are immune to the same foibles and failings to which our clients are susceptible, but the truth is usually quite different. You also relearn that fishing from a boat is difficult. With everything that is going on, it is easy to over cast, or mess up a mend, or excitedly pull the fly away from an eager fish. There is a need to remind oneself that it is really only about getting out on the water, enjoying a few belly laughs, and not taking it all so seriously.

So the answers to the questions posited above, as revealed to me by my connection to the Dark Side, are: Whatever fly is presented to where the feeding fish are, and any spot you find yourself on the river.

The other day, my AARP card arrived in the post. Like most things in life, this can be viewed from the perspective of a glass half empty, or a glass half full. While the half empty side is perhaps most obvious and easily contemplated, the glass half full is the prudent one to focus on. OK, so standing against a wall, I can no longer pee above head height, and maybe my bones creak a little more each morning, but growing old is a hell of a lot better than the alternative, and I’ve got a card to prove it.

And the card does mark another milestone in my Americanization. First there was buying my first Chevrolet, then my first hangover thanks to Coors Brewing Company, citizenship, the emotion of my first jury summons – ( trial cancelled – wahoo ) and now here I am, feet even more firmly under Uncle Sam’s table.

Another reason to be particularly happy, is that right now it is July, the river has dropped and is running clear, and the dry fly fishing is off the charts. Gone are the cold winds of spring, the layers of goretex and fleece, nymph rigs and rock dodging at 250 cfs. Right now, and hopefully for the next several weeks, is as close to fly fishing nirvana as you could hope to see around here. Lots of fish, all hungry, sitting tight to the banks, and looking up.

And there is plenty around for the fish to be feeding on. Caddis, stoneflies, mayflies and hoppers. On a recent trip down Browns Canyon, it didn’t matter what fly was presented, as long as it floated on the surface, close to the bank, with a natural drift and the odd twitch being thrown in for good measure.

It is amazing how quickly summer is flying by. Memo to the Creator, whoever he or she may be – why can’t summer pass by as slowly as winter seems to? These conditions, with good hatches, warm weather and stable water flows will hopefully continue for the next several weeks. If you are only going to fish a few times a year, now is the time to get out there. If you are contemplating taking up the sport of angling, now is the time to call up your local guide service and book a trip. And if your spouse or significant other is bitten with the fishing bug, now is the time to loosen the leash and let them get out there for a bit. After all, soon it will be winter again, and then you’ll be looking for any excuse to get them out of the house.

Few things are more quintessential to the Colorado fly fishing experience than a remote alpine meadow, a meandering stream, and a dry fly. Take a look through a copy of the Colorado Gazetteer or similar publication, and there are literally hundreds, if not thousands, of small streams and high lakes just waiting for an angler with a back pack, a fly rod, and the willingness to expend a little time and energy.

We live in an age of the drive thru, drive up and drive in. In the name of convenience, we have allowed ourselves to become sedentary to the point where for some the thought of walking to the mail box, or on anything other than pavement, is an anathema. Consequently, many anglers seldom stray out of sight of their vehicle or the highway. Personally, I think this is great – it leaves plenty of space for those willing to burn a few calories. We are social creatures, after all, so for many fishermen, the presence of others close by can seem comforting. There is a sense of security in numbers, plus the reassurance that if there are others in the same spot casting a line out, then I must be fishing in a likely place also.

So it is fun to be able to step outside of your comfort zone every now and then, leave the crowd and the truck behind, and experience the call of a place that at least has the impression of being wild and remote. Encountering fresh bear poop on the trail serves as a reminder that we are not always top of the food chain. The sight if a fox, scampering through the sage brush, the cry of a red tail hawk as it surfs the thermals, remind an interloper such as myself that I am a guest only in someone else’s domain. This is the time of the year the wild flowers are starting to bloom, the meadows cloaked in a veritable rainbow of different hues.

Of all the different types of trout I fish for, the ones that inhabit these high alpine streams, lakes and beaver ponds are the ones I admire the most. A short growing season, limited food source and long, harsh winters are testament to their resilience. Their ability to conceal themselves from predation never ceases to amaze me, materializing from the rocky stream bed or under cut bank to quickly snatch a passing morsel and dissolving, phantom like, back into their surroundings. Their very presence is witness to the universal push of all living things to survive and procreate.

Late spring and early summer, with the larger rivers swollen and high, is the perfect time to escape to the high country for a little solitude, and with it the opportunity to gain a wider appreciation of the world we live in, and the creatures we share it with.

The last few weeks, it has been great to see another side of the Arkansas River’s character to the fore – that of a raging, snow melt fed cataract. Certainly in my days as a white water guide, this was the time of the year I, and most guides, lived for. High water, heart-in-the-mouth thrills, nervous energy and tension at the beginning of the day, boat house bravado at the end.

For the fisherman, this is the time of the year to leave the river well alone, and head to the hills in search of a lake just iced off, or some beaver ponds up high where the beaver’s industry and ingenuity have combined to create a haven of slow water amongst the fast moving, swollen streams. Right now in the river, the fish are for the most part hunkered down, riding out the storm, and like most fishermen, waiting for the river to drop and clear.

By the end of the month, we should be back into some great dry fly action, but for a poor sap like me who has been too busy to take a trip up into the mountains, a look back at a great day of spring fishing will have to suffice. Certainly, it is hard to imagine we are looking at the same river, but I guess a ten fold increase in volume will change the complexion of most rivers.

On this particular day, I had the pleasure of floating the river with a couple of gents from back east. While this is normally my cue to hide my wallet and car keys, and lock away the silverware, on this occasion I knew I would be in good, civilized company. One of the great things about guiding, in fact probably the only thing that keeps you going, is the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends. Having fished with Cliff before, I had a feeling whoever he brought along with him was going to be fun, and so it proved to be. Hopefully, this ill be the first of many trips out this way for Joe also. Any man who ties on his own flies, and brings cold Modelo, is welcome on my boat anytime.

We had a great day on the river, not the heavy dry fly action we had been hoping for, but a terrific day with the fish hitting bead heads throughout. Once the river clears up, hopefully right after FIBark, we should start to see some great stone fly action. Already I have noticed both golden and yellow sallie adults around on the bushes near the river, and with the pmd’s getting ready to hatch also, we are on the cusp of what for me is the best time of the year to be a fisherman living in the Arkansas Valley.

It sure has been a funny old spring. Pretty dry, but cold and windy. We’ve watched over the last couple of months as the snow pack has shrunk from around 100 per cent of average to around 80 per cent. And yet, very little, if any, of that precious moisture has made its way down the river. Rather, it has been blown to the heavens, hopefully seeding clouds somewhere that needs precipitation more than we do.

The cooler temperatures had been keeping what snow we do have up there from melting into the river. These same cooler temperatures had also prevented the water temperatures from warming up to a place where the caddis can hatch. Until recently that is. Finally things have warmed up and settled down to where we are enjoying some spectacular fishing. Normally, by well into the third week in May, the river is starting to rise and murk up, but the delayed melt is providing fishermen with a bonus couple of weeks of great dry fly activity. Although blanket hatches have been few and far between, there are enough bugs on the water and in the air to have the fish looking up and feeding actively.

And did I mention that it has been windy? The last few weeks have been some of the windiest I can recall in twenty years of spring time floating. Some days you come off the water feeling like your shoulders have been stretched out of their sockets from standing on the oars trying to slow the boat down and avoid high siding on rocks in a tail wind, or else pushing grimly into the teeth of a gale like you are using a bench press machine for seven hours straight. The trick for the fisherman has been to get the flies to where the fish are, that is along the banks in the slower water where they always hang out.

And when you can get them there, the fishing has been great. Fish have been feeding consistently on baetis and caddis patterns, until recently mainly below the surface, taking pheasant tails, hare’s ears, hot wire princes, RS2’s throughout the day. Now they are looking up consistently, taking caddis dries, royal stimulators, wulffs and blue wings. This particular day on the video, floating from Trading Post to Texas Creek,the afternoon in particular was spectacular, with the fish feeding off the surface, actively chasing anything that came their way. And it looks like we might get another week or so of great conditions before run off begins in earnest, so take advantage of it while you can.