Colorado Fly Fishing Adventure, Day 2

On the docket for Tuesday: fishing the upper section of the Big Thompson and the headwaters of the Colorado. The early bird catches the worm. Right? Right! Awaking before dawn allowed me to get into the park by seven in the morning (before the rangers were posted at the gate collecting money), and by nine I was pulling brook trout out of the Big Thompson. I drove into Moraine Park and parked at the end of the dirt road. About a quarter of a mile into the trail I jumped onto the river and fished a really deep hole. I pulled a large brown out of the back end of the pool but destroyed my camera while trying to take a picture. As I was stepping away with the fish, I failed to notice the fly-line wrapped around one leg of the tripod, and in a split second the camera was underwater. The Sony Cybershot had lasted a while, but this plunge was to be its undoing. Zapped by the water, the poor camera never recovered Even after a week of drying, the camera only took black shots. So, I was to spend the rest of the day mourning my loss and looking ahead to the next riffle.

In the Park, the Big Thompson is a great pocket water stream. I don’t think I made a cast over ten feet, and in front of and behind every rock there seemed to be a fish. What I appreciated most about these little guys, was that every fish fought more than any creature I might get into in the Midwest. There is something to be said about the tenacity of a Colorado brook trout mentality: too many flies in the future to give up the ghost now.

After walking back around midday, and passing a Russian on his cell phone and a baby dressed in only a diaper, I slipped into my temporary sports car and drove Trail Ridge Road to the Colorado. I decided to fish down near Green Mountain Trail only to find that the trail marked on the map leading to the Colorado River didn’t really exist. So, I stepped into the river near the bridge at route 491. I was surprised to find absolutely no action in this area, aside from the Moose and her child. I couldn’t even spook a trout.

With a bit of the evening left I made my way to Granby and stopped at Budget Tackle. The man there gave me some tips as to camping (for free!) the next day’s fishing, pointing me up route 125 to Willow Creek in Arapaho National Forest. There I set up camp and fished. I was able to coax a few browns and rainbows out of the stream before heading back to camp. Right above an official National Forrest campsite was a great car pull-off beside next to the creek. I made a fire, cooked hotdogs, and smoked a cigar—a good finish to a successful day. But, this would only be a precursor to what lie ahead.