Fishless in the Snow

I left early Saturday in no particular hurry headed toward Parshall to fish the Williams Fork.

I struggled picking a river to fish this weekend, but after hearing this little tail water has been fishing well I left with thoughts of egg sucking leaches tempting a few strong rainbows. As I drove up over Berthoud Pass I began calculating the benefits of hitting the Yampa River instead. Back and forth, pros and cons, time on the water vs time in the truck. Tick tock. Parshall was at 19F, I kept driving.

As I drove along the Colorado River in the early morning sunlit fog I, for the first time since moving here, began to feel part of this place. Not sure if it was the fact that I had no solid plans on where to fish or where to stay, or if it was the wide open landscape stretched in front of me, but something was working on me. I drove on. I listened to the Classic station playing BTO, The Allman Brothers and Janis Joplin. My mind opened up and I thought of new ways to spend quality time with Stefan and Nadya. A bit of Pirsig. Landscape changes from beetle infested pine forests to dry clay rock structures to low sagebrush mountains.

Up and over Rabbit Ears pass and down into the Yampa valley and I was soon in Steamboat looking for the local flyshop. By noon I was hiking upstream in 40F air, snowshoes keeping me above the thigh deep snow and 40F water. I fished for a few hours with no hits at all but enjoyed the solitude and wide open space. I even fished in town, where the locals said it was "hot" and I did not have a hit. About 4:00 I went back to the flyshop and they said the river shuts off around 11:30 these days due to snow melt off. Should have been there at 9:00. Didn't know that. New rules. I found a Holiday Inn and checked in for the night, comfortably exhausted.

Next morning I was up before the sun and drove out of town as the full moon set over the westerly mountains. 90 minutes later I was at the trailhead to the Williams Fork.

I strapped on snowshoes and hiked in for a mile and a half over a mesa, down and up a ravine and then, finally, down over the hill to the Fork. Sitting stream side sweating, waiting for the chill to set in, I basked in the solitude. A bald eagle flew up stream. I fished for 4 hours and did not move a fish, again. Midges everywhere. I hiked back out and drove home, thinking of the western fishing experience I had, the bighorn sheep, elk and mule deer I saw. With a trip like this, I'm fine not catching fish every once in a while.