Western Fishing with Dad - June 4, 2010

My parents were visiting recently and my dad and I took a few days to explore a new river system.  We headed south from Boulder toward the South Platte River on Friday 4th of June.  After stopping in a local fly shop for a reco on a hotel, we checked into the FireRanch Motel and quickly headed up into Eleven Mile Canyon.

The afternoon was clear and mild as we drove up a five mile dusty road that had a significant washboard effect to it (all four tires were low in air when I got home).  We drove slowly, windows open when there was no other car pushing dust into ours,  and snaked up the canyon peering down into the river, stopping at the odd bridge or tunnel to look into the river and watch the fish.   Once we found a spot, over the steep hill we went and geared up stream side.   So my dad left his glasses up at thr truck and I volunteered to get them.  Although it was a short distance, it was nearly vertical up to the road and I was winded at the top.  It was slow going on the water, but there were a lot of fish in the river.  Dad caught a good rainbow at the tail end of a riffle on an ant pattern, and toward evening a slight caddis hatch started which brought the fish to the top.  I caught a few on the surface using Royal Humpy dries with a emerging caddis trailer.  For one of them,  I looked across the fast water to the far edge where there was a small pocket of calm water bordered by a log, a rock, the shore, and the fast water.  It just looked like a fish had to live there.  I shot a quick cast into the pocket and almost immediately a nice brown slashed the surface and ran into the fast water.  I was amazed at how extremely strong the fish were.

Sometime between the drive back and a late night dinner at McDonald's we changed plans for the next day.  Instead of returining to Eleven Mile, we decided to go up above the reservor to what is called The Dream Stream.

After a stop at a Starbucks which we did not expect to find, we drove through the early morning light up and over the front range mountains.  As we crested the front range we saw the broad valley below bathed in early morning yellow, with the snow capped continental divide mountains behind them.   A beautiful site.

As we drove to the stream, we spotted an antelope and some mule deer and had to wait for the cows, horses and mules to cross the road.  We quickly headed  to the river to gear up before the stream got too crowded.  We started at a deep pool in which I was very surprised we did not have a strike.  As the wind picked up my frustrations grew as well.  I had tangled leaders, tried two fly combos, single flies under indicators, and even my old stand by Black Wooly Bugger.   My BWB let me down and I think I ended the day with not even a strike.  I did see, I mean spook, some large fish though.   Dad caught one on a white sculpin that is a reliable pattern out east.   "When in doubt try what others are not", is often Dad's approach.  And it worked on this tough stream.  

So, although not a lot of fish, I think it was a great few days.   My dad and I finally got to fish a true  western stream that I used to read and dream about as a boy in Field and Stream, and it was great to be out with him again.