Summer Colorado Trip Part 2: Lakes of the Clouds, Westcliffe

You would think a seminary education dampens the carousing nature of men. Not so, or at least, not so for five seminarians this past weekend. Saturday morning, Jason, Rob, Ryan, Joe, and I fled the suburbs of Denver for the wilderness of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

It was a few hours south on two-lane highways before we hit Westcliffe. And from there, the mountains were only a short drive west. Our goal was to hike up to the Lakes of the Clouds, camp out for a night, and get in some fishing. Getting to the Gibson parking lot at the head of the Lakes of the Clouds trail was an adventure in itself. Ryan, Rob, and I drove in what seemed like circles because the internet directions were off [I will post better directions from Westcliffe to the Gibson Parking lot below]. Eventually, a kind lady at a Christian Resort center nestle on the mountain side offered directions that put us past the cow guard and into the parking lot.

We were met by the other members of our party and a few horseback riders. The Lakes of the Clouds trail forms a semi-loop, offering a less steep (but longer climb) if you head to the right or a steep and shorter climb to the left. The two trails meet up about a forty-five minute hike from the first lake. We chose the quicker, steeper route, and made several stops along the way—eating snacks and feeding our skin to the flies. Clint, a student at Denver Seminary, was already camping off the trail, at a nice spot by Swift Creek. Once we got up to his site, we dropped our packs, set up our tents, played a few rounds of pinecone hold’em (a version of Texas hold’em that uses pinecones for chips) while some rain passed over, and then headed up to the Lake of the Clouds with our fishing gear.

From our site, which was about a half-mile up from where the two trails converge, it was about a thirty minute walk up to where Lake of the Clouds rested. The lake was absolutely beautiful, shrouded by Spread Eagle peak. And just as beautiful were all the trout rising in the late afternoon sun. While these lakes get some pressure from passing hikers and campers, there is plenty of bug life to keep the fish healthy and relatively large (for a high mountain lake), and the hard hike in serves as a pretty daunting barrier to the occasional fly fisher.

After setting up my four-piece rod, a rod built by my father and broken in (quite literally) by the behemoth trout of New Zealand, I waded into the freezing water. I made it to a rock where I could stand a bit higher out of the water about twenty feet from the shore, and began casting to a large pocket of rising fish. Seeing all the rising fish, my confidence was pretty high. I’ll show these beginners how to fish, I thought. And as the Lord would have it, I did hook a nice cutthroat on my first cast. With just a few strips of the bead-head, brassie nymph variation, I could feel the abrupt tug of the take. And, surprisingly considering my many trips to Colorado, this was my first official cutthroat. I had caught a few cut-bows in the past, and my only previous chance and landing one ended with a sizable cut taking my fly downstream—leaving me with a rod and limp line.

But, my pride would get the best of me. I don’t know what I said after I landed that first cut, but the Lord would humble me until evening. I didn’t catch a thing. I switched from nymph to woolly bugger and back again, only to have a few swipes here and there but no hook-ups.

In the meantime, Jason Nelson hooked his first trout on a fly rod. We had both hoped to spend some time together, and he was looking forward to a few pointers from me. He didn’t need any to catch that first one, but like me, he didn’t get any action until the early evening. I’d would have been less frustrated if our good fortune turned sour because the fish stopped eating, but that wasn’t so. For some reason, the fish continued chowing down all around us, but none of them would take our flies.

So, I decided to move to the eastern side of the lake and fish. At the beginning I wasn’t getting any action, just practicing stripping a black bugger along the shore. It got to the point where I threw up a little prayer: “Lord, please just let me catch one more trout for dinner tonight. Let it be a trout that was going to die in the next few days anyway. Please!” Low and behold, the trout became aggressive toward my bugger.

I had found a bit of a shelf stretching out into the lake and cast along its ridge. Once in position, I made casts that allowed me to strip the streamer just along the edge of that shelf, and BAM! I had one-after-another of trout striking my fly. I was in the double digits by the end of the evening, with two trout left on the shore for our campfire dinner. Jason caught a few more too, adding one to the dinner table.

But that didn’t take the cake. While Jason and I spent those three-or-so hours fly fishing, Clint had taken a weathered stick and tied a fly on with some line he had found along the shore. About half-way through the evening excitement, I heard a yell. Clint had a nice sized trout on the end of his line! He had found a spot on shore where the fish held nearby, and Clint tossed a bugger in front of their faces until they couldn’t take any more. With that little rigging of his, he overwhelmingly earned the manliness award for our Manwich weekend. (Jason, of course, earned the womanly award for using his cell phone at the campsite.)

We headed back that evening with three trout for dinner, and a great story to tell our families: Clint, the Huckleberry Finn of fly fishing.

After a relaxing breakfast on Sunday we made our way down the mountain. Fittingly, the trip was topped off with a great burger and beer at Poag Mahone's Irish Pub in Westcliffe. Hopefully, this is a great beginning to a tradition of Manwich weekends.



Revised Directions for Lakes of the Clouds Trail/Gibson Parking lot/Rainbow Trail near Westcliffe, Colorado:
Once you’re in Westcliffe, take 69 South. On the edge of town, take a right onto Hermit Road (CR 160) heading out of Westcliffe. Hermit Road is almost a straight shot to Gibson Parking lot. As you are heading west on Hermit, make sure to bear right at the first fork in the road (Hermit Road will head to the left, and you are now on Sampson Ridge Road), and bear left at the next fork, where CR 172 merges with Sampson Ridge Road. A cattle guard will greet you as you enter Gibson parking lot. From there you can get onto Lakes of the Clouds trail, Gibson Creek Trail, or Rainbow Trail.