small fishing

In a small stream, for small trout. On the other hand, these are native Colorado cutthroat trout, living in a tributary of the Colorado river headwaters, exactly what and where they are supposed to be, and how many of us can say that ? 

I'd thought they were native, the ranger said they are re-introduced wild ones after the brookies were got out of the creek. They appear to be flourishing, one or two about everywhere you'd expect a fish to be in a little creek.  

My wife and I used to do a lot of backpacking together. The last time we were out was on a Boy Scout trip, nearly ten years ago. She was mentioning that I kept doing these long trips without her. Prudence, that delightful girl, suggested another trip together. The plan was for a shortish hike in for 2 nights, potter about day hiking in the middle day. I was online 7:59am on March 1st and was able to get one of the coveted backcountry campsite reservations. Not the one I wanted, still getting anything at all is a good trick these days.  

My wife is struggling with plantar fasciitis. I went for a perfectly ordinary run last week, same as I've done several times a week since 1975, and partially tore an Achilles tendon. Wut. So the two of us were KT-taped up, in soft supportive running shoes instead of hiking boots, and just generally a couple wrecks rolling down the trail. 

A much later start than planned, driving up on the morning of July 4th thinking to miss some of the traffic. I70 wasn't bad, then the line to get into Granby for the 4th parade was backed up half an hour out of town. As a result of this when we got to the Wilderness Office to pick up our permit, the ranger was on lunch, and we had to wait for that. We missed the Rotary Club pancake breakfast in the park too. At least the Rocky Mt NP entry was easy since they went to timed entry permits, no line at all and a relatively uncrowded trailhead. First backpack out of the new truck, long may we both run.  

Rain chased us up the hill, into the campsite, and rained until we got the tent up, wetly. Then it stopped. Ha. 

At least the columbines are enjoying the moisture. We are grateful too, really. 

Signs say there is an 'active landslide' on this trail. I pictured a sort of slow-motion sliding of the hill downwards, what that actually means is the hillside shifts every winter so it's not possible to rebuild the trail yet. Here's the trail vanishing into a mess of logs ditches and small streams. Note the stealth fishing rod carry - 7' four piece rod in a black cloth bag, slid into the side pocket of the backpack. Undetectable except to the closest scrutiny, and frees me from all those 'hows the fishing' questions. 

The cat enjoyed our new tent when I put it up to test at home. Mountain Hardware Aspect 3, weighs 4lb for a roomy three man tent. I may now own nine tents. It seems excessive but there's an excellent reason for every one, perhaps not for keeping every one I confess. 

Hammock up for wifely nap and headed streamwards. This is a newly made rod with an old Heddon reel. At one point in my long forgotten childhood I owned a Heddon spinning reel in just this shade of greens, a little prick of nostalgia each time. The fly reel is a good Japanese copy of an expensive English reel, Hardy Flyweight. Poor American cousins can fish it happily though. 

Tiny stream with many downed trees. The pine beetles killed a great many of these trees and they have been declining and falling ever since. I kept trying to make cunning sidearm casts to get the fly into the pockets, the fly kept hanging up in spiderwebs. After a few of these I stopped with the cunning casts as I was feeling bad about tearing up the webs, poor old spiders gotta live too. 

Fish there as expected. I caught a few in the 7-8" range that wriggled and flip-flapped off the barbless hook before a picture could be taken. Small trout have so much vigor. Here's a minnow picture instead.  

Visitors in camp that evening. The campsite had a number of trees cut down for safety, creating the only meadow for miles around. I guess the deer couldn't resist the succulent browsing. They were close enough we could hear them chewing.

Over 100 degrees in Denver, low 40s here at night. Good sleeping weather, in between the thunderstorms. 

Next day up to Timber Lake at 11200ft. We started late again, on the trail by 9, then I had romantic notions of visiting Long Meadow and finding a lake of flowers. In the event the Long Meadow trail is unmaintained and the whole of it looks like that landslide picture, a mess of downed trees. We tried for a bit and quit, emerging both bloody and bowed. By 11:30 the thunder and hail began again. The advantage of this was by the time we'd waited it out in the deeper forest, everyone else had left the lake, and we had solitude and rising fish. More you cannot ask. 

Fish were rising to a hatch of #16 midges and perfectly able to ignore the hopperish fly that had worked on the creek. These looked to be in the 8-10" range. The next thunderstorm was boiling up over the ridges. My eyes are such that tying on a #16 fly and new tippet takes me 10-15min, did not attempt. Quick pic of the lake and sky with blooms then back down the hill.

Fished down the tree canyon for a bit in the evening, results much the same as before. Worth it though. 

Next day hike out and drive home, over Trail Ridge road to avoid I70 on the Sunday after a long weekend. The elk were safely grazing at 12 000ft, on the far ridge there was another herd bedded down in a snowbank. They really don't like to be warm. Click image to embiggen, then look for the elk in the near foreground, half a mile or so down the hill. 

In the fall I have a permit for a campsite down in one of those gorges on the far side - five miles in on the Continental Divide along the ridgeline, then drop down across country without benefit of trail for another two to four miles, depending on how often you get cliffed out and have to backtrack. Frankly I'm a little intimidated. 

Still, as John Gierach wrote, 

"although I'd now and then wonder if I was getting too old for all this bushwhacking and rock scrambling, there I was doing it, so apparently not."

Wholly gratuitous song, just happens to be what I'm listening to. 

Megg also does a Western swing cover version of Kate Bush's Running up That Hill (Make a deal with God). It's splendid. 
Those lyrics are in my head these days anytime I run, would like that deal so I could run up a hill again, instead of a panting walk. 

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

Be running up that road

Be running up that hill

With no problems