The night had come, and weary in every land
Men's bodies took the boon of peaceful sleep.
The woods and the wild seas had quieted
At that hour when the stars are in mid-course
And every field is still; cattle and birds
With vivid wings that haunt the limpid lakes
Or nest in thickets in the country places
All were asleep under the silent night.
- Virgil
Sleep well, Joe.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Thursday, January 05, 2012
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Colorado River Oct 14 2011
I fished the Colorado River for the first time this past Friday. I walked in at the Sunshine Bridge access just below Parshal. I found the river to be a beautiful river.
It was a bluebird autumn morning when I arrived. I walked from the truck over a dirt path that led across the semi-arid mesa, which was filled with sage brush and muted colors of dusty brown, clay red, and sage green. When I first saw the river I was looking down on top of the cotton wood trees that lined the banks of the river. Suddenly, the color wheel changed to bright yellow and pine green with a ribbon of shiny blue in the middle. It is a large river. I found a spot at the tail of an island and fished it just about all day long, never having to move far since there was so much holding water in this one area nearly 100 yards long. This is different from the small to mid-sized streams I am used to, where the idea is to move up and down the river to find more, smaller, likely looking spots.
Water flow was relatively low and I could cross the entire river. I figured I would swing black wooly buggers down and across to hit some large browns. I had 2-3 hits in one run but didn't connect. I kept the BWB on for what was probably too long. Immediately after switching to a dry-dropper (Green Humpy with #16 bead head hares ear)I had a fish on. Another one soon followed after landing the first. I caught about 6 fish on one of these two flies before having to pack up and leave.
It was a bluebird autumn morning when I arrived. I walked from the truck over a dirt path that led across the semi-arid mesa, which was filled with sage brush and muted colors of dusty brown, clay red, and sage green. When I first saw the river I was looking down on top of the cotton wood trees that lined the banks of the river. Suddenly, the color wheel changed to bright yellow and pine green with a ribbon of shiny blue in the middle. It is a large river. I found a spot at the tail of an island and fished it just about all day long, never having to move far since there was so much holding water in this one area nearly 100 yards long. This is different from the small to mid-sized streams I am used to, where the idea is to move up and down the river to find more, smaller, likely looking spots.
Water flow was relatively low and I could cross the entire river. I figured I would swing black wooly buggers down and across to hit some large browns. I had 2-3 hits in one run but didn't connect. I kept the BWB on for what was probably too long. Immediately after switching to a dry-dropper (Green Humpy with #16 bead head hares ear)I had a fish on. Another one soon followed after landing the first. I caught about 6 fish on one of these two flies before having to pack up and leave.
Friday, September 16, 2011
South St Vrain Sept 11
I hiked in, from the Cera St Vrain trail head, about 2 miles through a really nice forest. It was a crisp, cool autumn morning and I found my way to where the stream went one way and the trail another. My plan was to go downstream off-trail. After a few major boulder climbs and a few small browns I determined I was spending more time bush whacking than fishing, so I went back upstream to the more civilized part of the stream. Wet wading, picking pockets on my way up stream I hooked a dozen or so browns. They were all skinny and hungry and very nicely colored.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
South Boulder Creek - Sunday August 22
A dry dropper rig pulled in a few small fish in a few hours Sunday morning. Left home at 5:35 and was stream side at 6:50. Home by 12:15. River was 198cfs.
Sunday, August 07, 2011
South Boulder Creek
Rusty. That's the word I used to cover my frustration and annoyance this morning. I hadn't been fishing since early May, so I had an excuse.
As I walked back to the truck I kept thinking that I'd done this a few times before, though, and that was disturbing. Leaving equipment behind. Once in Sweden I got halfway to the River Atran and realized I had left my waders hanging at home. You can't fish a salmon river without them, so I returned home to retrieve them. Once on Penn's Creek, too. I got halfway down stream and realized I didn't have a rod in hand. Luckily it was only 500 yards away from the truck, and the path was flat. Once in Cheeseman Canyon as well. That one wasn't too bad, either.
Today, though, I hiked a mile and a half to the river and dropped 400 feet in elevation in the process when I realized my sunglasses were on the dash of my truck. Not ideal, but I thought it would be okay. I would just have to concentrate a bit more, and definitely the advantage would be to the fish, I thought. But then, a few minutes later, I realized my reel was neatly tucked in my gear bag in the back of my truck. #*$@!. Again.... #*@!. Yeah, that's a big deal. So I hiked back up the trail, got my glasses and reel, and then back down. An hour later I was stream side gearing up and a bit more relaxed. Still, things like this can throw you off your game.
Today the flow was 200cfs and clear. Within the first five casts I had two fish on so felt a bit of redemption. Throughout the morning a dry dropper rig (#16 Yellow Humpy, #18 BHPH, #20 red thread midge) that pulled in about 8 fish and just as many missed strikes. So, not a total disaster, but next time I need to get my act together.
As I walked back to the truck I kept thinking that I'd done this a few times before, though, and that was disturbing. Leaving equipment behind. Once in Sweden I got halfway to the River Atran and realized I had left my waders hanging at home. You can't fish a salmon river without them, so I returned home to retrieve them. Once on Penn's Creek, too. I got halfway down stream and realized I didn't have a rod in hand. Luckily it was only 500 yards away from the truck, and the path was flat. Once in Cheeseman Canyon as well. That one wasn't too bad, either.
Today, though, I hiked a mile and a half to the river and dropped 400 feet in elevation in the process when I realized my sunglasses were on the dash of my truck. Not ideal, but I thought it would be okay. I would just have to concentrate a bit more, and definitely the advantage would be to the fish, I thought. But then, a few minutes later, I realized my reel was neatly tucked in my gear bag in the back of my truck. #*$@!. Again.... #*@!. Yeah, that's a big deal. So I hiked back up the trail, got my glasses and reel, and then back down. An hour later I was stream side gearing up and a bit more relaxed. Still, things like this can throw you off your game.
Today the flow was 200cfs and clear. Within the first five casts I had two fish on so felt a bit of redemption. Throughout the morning a dry dropper rig (#16 Yellow Humpy, #18 BHPH, #20 red thread midge) that pulled in about 8 fish and just as many missed strikes. So, not a total disaster, but next time I need to get my act together.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Entomology Lesson
Stefan found a small stream below a pond while we were on vacation. Cool stuff, with two large planks he turned into a bridge. I could jump across it, yet the bio-diversity in it was amazing. We found tons of caddis in different stages, as well as mayflies and stoneflies. Check out these pictures of what I think is a Giant Golden Caddis emerging. How often do you get to sit back and watch a case of rocks turn into a fly?
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Take a Kid Outside
Suburbia USA - Sometimes its just too easy to grant the kid his wish of staying inside to play Legos. Too easy to use that as a convenient excuse to tap a few more emails back to HQ, to aimlessly check the stream flows again (yep, still as blown out as they were a few hours ago, Einstein), or to piddle around the house trying to shorten that honey-do list. Sure, its better than staring at the tube, but its also too easy to get the kid outside for an exploration.
This morning I took Stefan for a 500 yard walk down to the park, where some distant fork of a remote branch of Four Mile Creek struggles to find its way through a wetland woods. Usually dry, but recently with a bit of moisture to it, massive cottonwoods, thick cattail marshes and scrappy willows try to protect it. We donned Wellingtons (or galloshas, as my grandmother would have said), a camera and a bug box and and headed over the concrete bike paths through the neighborhood in our shorts.
At the bridge where most folks zip over on their bikes, we swung off over the bank onto a thick muddy bulldozed path. Oooh, that smell - mud, humidity, decaying wood. Much better than plastic bricks. The trail was maybe 300 yards long but filled with wonder. We saw deer, coyote and raccoon
tracks in the mud. We noticed oil slicked puddles and talked about how water contamination starts. We looked at the marsh and talked about its evolution - once a pond, now a marsh, someday terra-firma. So good, that after exiting Stefan wanted to do it again. So we did. This time we took a turn at the rock and crossed over the log and, low and behold, found a swing hanging from a tree limb. Swinging and twisting. Laughing and joking. Amazing how a small parcel of wilderness opens up the mind. And as we sat there, a coyote walked past (Stefan's first), looked at us, and continued on its own exploration.
And an hour later we were back home. See, easy peasy. Go ahead, take a kid out, even if its in Suburbia.
This morning I took Stefan for a 500 yard walk down to the park, where some distant fork of a remote branch of Four Mile Creek struggles to find its way through a wetland woods. Usually dry, but recently with a bit of moisture to it, massive cottonwoods, thick cattail marshes and scrappy willows try to protect it. We donned Wellingtons (or galloshas, as my grandmother would have said), a camera and a bug box and and headed over the concrete bike paths through the neighborhood in our shorts.
At the bridge where most folks zip over on their bikes, we swung off over the bank onto a thick muddy bulldozed path. Oooh, that smell - mud, humidity, decaying wood. Much better than plastic bricks. The trail was maybe 300 yards long but filled with wonder. We saw deer, coyote and raccoon
tracks in the mud. We noticed oil slicked puddles and talked about how water contamination starts. We looked at the marsh and talked about its evolution - once a pond, now a marsh, someday terra-firma. So good, that after exiting Stefan wanted to do it again. So we did. This time we took a turn at the rock and crossed over the log and, low and behold, found a swing hanging from a tree limb. Swinging and twisting. Laughing and joking. Amazing how a small parcel of wilderness opens up the mind. And as we sat there, a coyote walked past (Stefan's first), looked at us, and continued on its own exploration.
And an hour later we were back home. See, easy peasy. Go ahead, take a kid out, even if its in Suburbia.
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