Story From The Road: A Year Spent Avoiding the Familiar

I gave myself some leniency to start the year, options are limited in winter. I bounced around my favorite local tailwater to knock off excitement for winter fishing but also tried to mix in some South Platte winter carping whenever a free day presented the best temperatures. It sucked. Absolutely failed. I could only find one spot with fish and the spook level was through the roof. I tried this effluent spot through March and maybe saw one look the whole time. This was what I signed up for I guess. My biggest take away from this phase was how noticeable I felt on the banks. Unprotected by summer foliage, my profile stood out in barren riparian branches. A camo jacket helped and seems like a promising improvement.

Back in trout-land, on one tailwater outing I noticed fish rising in calm, basically still water that's usually ignored from other anglers, and me. At least until now, I embraced the opportunity like every new gym member in January. I pulled from my stillwater nymphing tactics to catch fish in the slowest water on the river, and it took all my patience. I settled on suspending tiny nymphs under a tiny indicator, resisting every instinct to mend, and instead sat patiently waiting for the drift to slowly develop downstream to the feeding fish. Success!

After watching closely for a carp pond to ice off, March presented the earliest opportunity. I know carpers love spring, but ice off? Well they eat, but turns out, the game plays out at 0.75x speed and I was often too trigger happy following the long winter. Brighter flies continue to impress in spring including some new combinations this year.

End of March produced the most redfish-esque carp eat I’ve ever seen and turned into a spirited battle that still stands out as a top eat of the year.

One April day, I tried something unique, fish the boat launch jetty for ice-off trout. Usually I’m wading out waist deep, or in a friends boat, but when temperatures are just barely warming, the best drop off you can while wading is the jetty. Sometimes I overthink things.

April, extending into May, found me exploring warmwater shores for smallmouth and walleye. I previously explored these outings in a story from the road, showcasing how things can hide right under our noses. Sometimes it just takes a couple tries before giving up on a spot. I haven’t always been that patient. Lesson learned. Streamers proved to be the name of the game most of the year and landed me smallmouth, mudding carp, and my first wiper. I spent a lot of time looking at ponds, lakes, and reservoirs. Walk and cast, save the deep wading for lakes you know well.

The trout kick re-emerged leading to a focus on stillwater. I explored a new weedbed on a large reservoir leading to a PB brown, but the best opportunities arose on smaller high elevation lakes. On a road trip classically pointed west across Colorado (Due West, get it?), I explored a smattering of smaller stillwaters. Going in blind I leaned on buggers, leeches, and intermediate lines to probe lake points. My favorite trout take of the year came on a chunky rainbow surprising me by nabbing a maroon leech on the drop. I only felt the fish pull as I hand twisted line back in to stay in contact with my flies as I was counting down the drop. Electric!

June opened new doors; plains lake inlets filling, congregating white bass, and new carp ponds.

I finally returned to my nearest trout river determined to only fish larger dries. No droppers, no nymphs. That day produced some of the nicest browns I’ve seen from that stretch. They rose in the column to feed at dusk, tucked against tight bankside outcrops. Casting a single dry felt like the only way to get these fish, I wouldn’t have found them with any other rig. It was such fun fishing that I chose not to return for a while to keep the excitement of that outing intact.

June also saw three horrific attempts at pike fishing… boat, shore, udder failure. Not even sure the lesson to be learned, just a classic crash and burn. I landed one measly hammer-handle, and he stole my fly.

Finally, I float tubed a warmwater marina one evening expecting congregated baitfish and opportunistic bass, but left amazingly underwhelmed. I guess I was caught up daydreaming about tarpon and snook feeding under marina lights, but that was a big expectation. Still, I should have given that one another attempt.

During August I was hooked on the idea of landing a grass carp which spiraled me into a craze/delusion. I landed a mondo grassie last year, did I still have the magic touch? In two months, over 10+ lunch hour trips, I only saw one take, rising to my hopper only to miss the fly completely. Another whiffed on a dropper nymph, sucking me back into for several additional futile attempts before finally moving on. I did learn that if you don't see them on the surface, or swirling around, wait for another day.

September offered a long held DWA tradition, tripping out to an iconic confluence in Central Colorado. We explored new access points on familiar water, bushwhacking and navigating endless mazes of riparian trails, all ultimately proving pretty average. But one ace in the hole night fishing spot demanded to be nymphed. To keep in the spirit of the year, I fooled fish on oversized perdigons, an odd choice considering the expected nighttime fare. Those damn perdigons just work so well.

Another long planned trip led us to Washington’s Puget Sound where we trolled for salmon and bank-bashed sea run cutthroat on kayaks. Trolling long lengths of sinking line felt like an ocean equivalent of swinging flies, moving ourselves instead of setting up a slow, sweeping swing across current. Watching hooked Coho jump justifies the approach! Repetitive and methodical, again akin to swinging flies. Definitely not something I’m used to. Add pedal drive kayaks to my list for Santa.

Weather stayed nice through the first part of October and carp were still cruising shallow in a newly discovered lake. I regret only finding the lake in late summer. After spooking a sunning carp by apparently breathing to loudly, I eventually enticed a lazy eat on a dry-dropped egg. All October carp feel like extra special fish. At any moment a storm can roll through and instantaneously kill any pond carp fishing, which is my favorite way to hunt carp. As an added bonus, some bait dunker kept following me around the pond so I was exuberant to catch something while he drenched himself in skunk. PU brah. Enjoying the warm late summer, I continued to relish in the waning days of carp fishing.

Despite my carp fanaticism, the main focus for October was the brown pre-spawn. I'd been waiting all year for this, and yet I struck out on a lake full of brown trout. I also (mostly) struck out stripping articulated streamers on freestone rivers. (I caught some nice rainbows, but not the big browns.) I put in miles on foot, on tires, chasing them in well researched destinations, but the stars just didn't align. The effort also ultimately killed my 4-wheeled oven, RIP old girl. I heard every rumor possible by others also struggling to earn a bite. Moon phase was the culprit... ya sure... Next thing I knew the spawn was on, and it was time to leave them to their business.

Post spawn opportunities, streamers and late season hatches. They're out there no doubt. Ultimately, it was time to return the the usual spots. Past efforts have proven that winter isn't the best time for exploration. I'll never forget prospecting to a sneaky tailwater through waist deep snow only to find no signs of fish. But even within the favorites you can do something different. I witnessed a prolific BWO hatch in December where bigger unpressured rainbows were eating in dead slack water. Nobody bothered fishing to them, probably because everyone was nymphing the big winter holes. More for me. 20 incher on a dry, love it.