Colorado Fly Fishing Adventure, Day 3

Sleeping next to Willow Creek was exponentially more restful. Granted, sleeping next to a well traveled road made me a bit more concerned about the possibility of some psycho chopping me up in the middle of the night, but nearness to a maintained campsite gave some relief.

I slept in a bit later than the previous morning, packed up the campsite, and headed for Buchanan Creek, which feeds Monarch Lake. The fellow at the sporting shop in Granby assured me this was a “secret” spot with the occasional large fish. Wrong. Once driving into the Monarch Lake region, I hiked around the lake to the creek. (I’ve failed to mention my amazement at the mass amounts of dead pine trees in the region. The park service blames beetles, but I’ve heard that the beetles are thriving due to the lack of a cleansing forest fire—ironic…. but that is just hearsay.)

The creek was beautiful. It reminded me at moments of New Zealand’s rivers—extremely clear, extremely cold. But, alas, no fish. I suppose my fishing advisor in Granby was referring to spawning season. I am sure when the trout are running up out of Monarch the fishing can be amazing. So, I walked and fished about a quarter mile of the creek before turning around and heading back to the car—my sporty-sports car.

I had decided earlier that I’d fish the section of the Colorado River between Shadow Mountain Lake and Lake Granby. Thankfully, the parking permit I used for Monarch Lake was also good for parking in the Green Ridge area. When I arrived at the parking lot there was a large moose chowing down on some nearby vegetation. He presence drew a crowd—and I joined in at the gawking for a moment or two, but my mind was elsewhere. This was my last day on a Colorado river, and I needed to catch some fishies!

What a way to end the trip! It seemed like every section of pocket water had a hungry fish waiting, in front of a boulder or at the end of a run. The royal wulff I tied on coaxed fish after fish from their underwater shelter. The fishing lasted until the thunderstorms chased me back into my car, and eventually back into Denver.

While fishing down the river, I noticed a gentleman taking pictures of me. (Talk about pressure! All I could think was, “Oh great! Right when the camera’s on me, I can’t hook anything!”) Fortunately, I got into a nice brown while he was shooting. After landing and releasing the trout, I yelled across the river as to whether they had email. When I heard a faint “yes,” I made my way across the river and laid out my situation to the budding photographer. I had destroyed my camera and relegated to a measely camera phone, and I’d love pictures from this trip. No problem, they said, and a few days later these pictures found their way into my gmail inbox.

(Thanks Mike and Pat Cotton. Enjoy your retirement! …but remember you can’t retire from life with others—that’s the beauty of the Gospel.)