in the shade of the freeway

September again, and not a single backpack or high mountain trip to show for the year.. really start questioning my life choices at this point. Ha. 

In an attempt to stave off getting even fatter and more breathless, signed up for a trail half-marathon in the Red Desert of WY. That seemed perfectly reasonable back in March. Ten years ago that would have been an easy-moderate ramble which I didn't need to think about, today it is a bit intimidating. Finally one week before the race, came a day where I could get up to the mountains. I didn't want to do my usual 5-6 miles up into Indian Peaks and kill my legs for the race. Instead here's what it is like fishing in the shade of the freeway. 

The first creek is up at 10 000ft or so. Driving there felt like cheating. The freeway noise is bothersome while walking out to the stream, once on the water with riffles and falls making the water music it's barely noticeable, only the big trucks gearing down and unmuffled motorbikes came through. The stream was skinny not to say bony and much colder than expected. 

Wet wading in trail running shoes gave me numb feet. That was fine while wading and thinking about fish, not so great walking back out on a couple lumps of wet frozen meat slowly thawing into painful lumps of wet meat. 

Rumor had it there were cutts up here, above the brookies, browns and rainbows of the lower reaches. Now come to think of it you could do a driving day of fishing and gun for the little slam of all four species from the same stream. Hm maybe next time. 

The rumor kept me fishing as I know cutts can thrive in unexpectedly tiny creeks particularly when the water is sufficiently cold. From that little falls pool above, he liked the olive softhackle behind the foam hopper. How nice. Yes, there are hoppers at 10 000 feet, kicked up a couple on the walk in. 

Plenty of barren water while nearly every little hole deeper than a foot had a resident or so. No brookies left, only cutts. 

After that last pool there was a largish (in mountain stream size) tributary coming in. Above it fishing was to wet rocks, mostly. Walked back down and noticed a big beaver dam near the parking lot. Plenty fish in there, with their antennae fine tuned to the approaching fisherman.. rose two at the softhackle without hooking either. Good enough for who it's for, really. 

Next step was a mountain lake at 12 000ft, parking lot at 11 200 and a 1.5 mile walk in. Expected traffic crowds and a zoo at the parking lot and was not disappointed. Inserted my truck into an angled inclined spot between a Tesla and a BMW, which cars didn't have enough ground clearance for my spot. Plenty of company on the trail all of whom asked me about on the fishing. On the way in I could tell the truth - never been here, no idea, without faith and hope I'd never leave the house. On the way out I lied steadily and consistently, just on principle. 

That lake is private. On the way down it was ringed with rises. I waved.. 

There were a couple big submarines patrolling the dropoff, cutts of 18" or better. No response, not so much as a spook away from my spinners and small minnow lures. The fish held to their patrol line and speed, commendable in your military troops, a little disheartening to the fisher. Tossed out the hopper and softhackle to drift around while drinking a contemplative lager from Upslope brewery in Boulder. They do 1% of profits to Trout Unlimited. I drink a lot of Upslope. 

The drift around nearly always works. Nearly. Fished around to those rocks on the far side to no effect at all, tried a variety of flies and lures on a couple more patrollers. 

Back toward the outlet had been crowded earlier in the day. As evening descended it thinned out enough to cast a fly line. Here there was a small shoal of 8-10" fish with a patroller keeping watch below the shoal. That's a behavior I've never yet seen in high lakes, both the shoal and its accompanying patrol submarine. The little ones did take a small Smith Niagis spinner on the baitcast finesse outfit. 

Often on these lakes with only a floating line I've wondered about bringing a spin/BFS outfit to plumb the depths. Well that didn't work, at least not today and here. Took a couple more of the little 'uns on a #18 Adams then called it a day. Back at the truck on the tailgate with another lager, the parking lot had gone quiet and mountain sounds could be heard. I was looking at those dense forests on steep slopes and thinking how glad I was not to be attempting an elk hunt this year. Another sign of gathering age no doubt. 

Soundtrack is Jackson Browne, The Pretender.. 

Caught between the longing for love

And the struggle for the legal tender

sometimes I do feel like that happy idiot, when it gets to be September and the mountain's calls went unanswered.

I'm going to be a happy idiot

And struggle for the legal tender

Where the ads take aim and lay their claim

To the heart and the soul of the spender

And believe in whatever may lie

In those things that money can buy

Though true love could have been a contender

Are you there?

Say a prayer for the Pretender

Who started out so young and strong

Only to surrender