We fished together for most of the early afternoon taking turns on each hole and enjoying the companionship and banter. But, before long it was time for them to head back home, which left me with a late afternoon of fishing by myself. But that is one of my favorite things so off I went. For some reason the usual spots didn’t seem to be producing very well and I wasn’t catching a lot of fish. As I was crossing a bridge, absently wondering where the fish could have moved to, I looked down into the water and saw several large fish hanging in a deep seem below the bridge in the middle of the river. The water on either side was deep and extremely fast. I wandered down to each bank to see if I could find a way to get into casting position but couldn’t seem to find a route to the fish, that I thought my 50 year old fat self could handle.



So I wandered off in search of easier fish only to find that I couldn’t seem to find any. Well naturally that hole behind the bridge that I just didn’t seem to think I could reach, keep nagging at me. I thought about all of the reasons I should be careful and cautious. Then like a bolt of lightning a response from a post I had made recently on a fishing board about a fishing trip taken to help get a handle on some personal problems, popped into my head. That response had been simple and to the point … … “Good grief, get a grip!”. And I laughed out loud and realized that was the perfect advise, to heck with all of the reasons I should be cautious … … I wanted those fish in the middle of the river and I was going to get em… … even if I did have to swim to do it. So I spent about 15 minutes inching myself into some serious fast water which was running belly button deep. My toes were tapping trying to keep contact with the bottom and I was bobbing up and down like an old fashioned bobber on a windy day. I had my feet wedged in behind rocks to keep from being swept downstream and was breathing like an asthmatic freight train. But I was in position for a cast. So I managed to shake some line off the rod and to lob an off balance shot into the general direction of the seam… … and bam almost at once I was tight to a large running fish making my reel sing like Patsy Cline… … powerful and “sweet n clear”. I somehow managed to stumble along behind, half floating downstream until I could get my feet back underneath me. I found myself still fast to the fish which was a major surprise… … and relatively dry which was an even larger surprise. So after all of that I began to get confident, which naturally means I tightened up on the fish and he broke my leader. So there I stood my legs trembling in weariness, cussing the day of that fish’s birth. My heart was beating so fast that it was drowning out my wheezing gasps for air. I momentarily wondered if I could make it back out there to try again… … and heard a “Hell yeah” escape my lips. So I tied on again … … which with my adrenalin rush shaking and a size 20 or so fly … … did take a few minutes. But soon enough I found myself inching my way back into the fearsome current. I slipped once on a rounded boulder and stumbled a step or two and partially sat down so the bottom half of my vest was soaked but didn’t run water over the top of my waders so I regained my balance and composure and once again lobbed an ugly but effective cast into the seam. And once again I saw my strike indicator dip and slide sideways and once again found myself hooked tight to large fish. I turned to try and stumble back to safer water where I could make my stand and fell again, sliding downstream a few steps while trying to stay tight to the fish. This time when I finally recovered my balance and my footing I felt that heartbreaking nothingness on the other end of my line, just the tug of the current but not the powerful pulsing of a big trout. I had lost this one too. I reeled in slowly expecting a broken leader but fortunately for me I hadn’t broken off and didn’t have to face tying on again.

Well this time there wasn’t the slightest hesitation as a I headed back out into the current. My legs were now vibrating like a ……….. well I bet you can plug your own image in for that one….. when I lobbed yet another cast into the hole. To my great surprise this cast floated the entire length of the hole in a flash, with no strike that I could detect at all. So I cast again and again … still nothing. My ego and confidence plummeted as I realized that I had lost two fish in two cast and just made ten more casts and nothing. I was almost sure I had spooked out the hole and would be shut out. I decided my legs would hold out for five more casts and I would have to bail. The first three were uneventful meaning no strikes, the fourth saw the strike indicator dip and the resulting hook set lift felt deep heavy pressure …. but it was only a rock that I barely was able to roll cast myself back off of. By now I was down to my last cast for the hole and to be honest probably the last cast of the trip as the light was starting to fade as fast as my legs. I lobbed back into the head of the hole and watched in abstract despair as my flies tumbled the length of the hole without so much as a bump. As I reached the bottom of the seam I lifted to let the flies swing and bam … … there he was. This fish didn’t scream downstream as the other fish had he charged UPSTREAM toward the bridge supports. I actually had to follow him a couple steps into deeper water to keep my line free of the supports. But at the last minute my 5 wt turned him and he came back to my side of the bridge. I managed to stumble around and slip and slog my way back to the shallows while still attached to him. From there I made myself slow down and take my time. He stripped line I slowly recovered it … he stripped it … … I recovered it. By now I had seen him flashing in the current several times and knew that I had a pretty good fish here. But I managed to stay calm and let the rod do the work. After watching the rod designers fish for a couple of days I didn’t hesitate to put the “wood” to this fish. And eventually I was able to slide him up on the bank. I fumbled for my camera nearly dropping it once again into the river but somehow managing to keep hold of it this time. I snapped a couple of pictures of this beauty.



I taped the fish at between 23 and a half and 24 inches which is the largest trout I have ever caught in Colorado. It took a few minutes to make sure he was successfully revived after our tussle but as he swam away, I laughed long and hard at myself wondering who was going to revive me now. I clipped off my flies satisfied in the moment and sat down on the bank for a few minutes and savored the effort and the battle, thanking the fishing gods for smiling on me today and for allowing such a bad fisherman such a wonderful fish. As my daddy used to say even an old blind sow finds an acorn every now and then.


Sam’s leaning pine

On my way home I spent some time in the Monarch Park area … a truly breathtaking place that my meager words can’t describe so here are a few shots which hopefully capture the beauty better than I can.