Story From The Road: Rip-Rap
A story tracing spring bites from alpine trout to nighttime walleye. Rip-rap, headlamps, and the alchemy of chasing fish on the fly
May 2025
Alchemy
I'm not sure exactly when the seed first took root, but I noticed sprouts on my first stillwater outing since ice came off the lake. Bundled to the point of immobility, I braved the spring snow to rekindle the long-dormant spark only found from submerged indicators and hefty, lake-dwelling trout. I was meeting my friend who's fortunate enough to live bankside at this iconic lake. For me, hours of winding road; for him, a hop and a skip. Local intel has its advantages though... when he tells me it's go time, I don't hesitate.
Between casts we shot the shit, occasionally interrupted by glances back to the balanced leech rigs held under bright bobbers. In these conversations the seed of an idea grabbed onto me. As we suspended our flies off the refracting waves, we discussed how the long winter's break shaped our fishing outlook for the year. The alchemy of two fishy minds hatching plans. We vexed on all the spring bites that fly under the radar when he mentioned one that practically smacked me in the face. The night bite for walleye. I immediately knew where. Happened to be our old standby lake. Before he moved up the mountain for trout-ier pastures, we'd fish off of his boat along this Front Range reservoir using sinking parabolic lines, sometimes experimenting with weightless flies. He, of the crossover breed, wouldn't shy away from spinning gear, but my stubborn fly-or-die mentality always put up a barrier against connecting with deeper fish during these trips. Plus the fear of losing flies on deep jagged rocks. Walleye were one of those fish.
There was something else about this conversation, on the banks of that high lake, firmly in trout country, making me think my time for walleye was finally here. The yin to balance out a yang. There was another helpful push. As I'm realizing my own blind spot–a lake just down the road from me–with an amazing spring bite opportunity–my indicator juts downwards and a silvery-brown flash reminds me I'm still planted in rocky rip-rap around a bucket of water at 10,000 feet.
The brown trout on that cold lake helped close one chapter, but another was already opening, down that winding road.
Gold
Luckily for me I had a couple weeks to get situated before the temperatures matched up with what we'd envisioned. So, I was fully engaged when the time finally arrived for the first rip-rap scramble across the dam face at twilight for my spring smallmouth and, maybe if lucky, walleye.
A lesson learned loud and clear throughout my fly fishing travels: give yourself more than one single shot. One day isn't enough. One day is a tough roll of the dice. But you also have to start somewhere. So start one day at a time. That was the plan.
The news across the web indicated that water temperatures were climbing into the 50s, and opening up shallow fishing just as I'd hoped. Also working to my advantage, the dusk-into-night window during a warming spring should alleviate several issues. First, boat traffic will be minimal, so no Creed blasting water-skiers. Originally, I hoped it too early for this crowd, but soon identified that distinct brand of recreation as the final boat blasted past the no wake zone towards the ramp on the first night. No boat traffic is big plus, as I've long suspected boat activity to suppress fish diurnal activity here. Next, walleye like to feed at low light, armed with the infamous tapetum lucidum, their eyes are fine-tuned to night feeding.
Clouser minnow in hand, the only thing left to do was to cast around and find out what would bite. Fortunately, the smallmouth were quick to cooperate.
Unfortunately, the rip-rap ate flies better than any fish. Walking the fine line between casting far enough (exposing your back cast to jagged rocks) and fishing just above the rocks (exposing your fly to sharp angled snags) my arsenal of clousers soon dwindled. After losing one too many flies, I decided my best option was to regroup.
In the parking lot that next night I converged with several other fly anglers at the trailhead. None other than the Avid Max crew! Partially surprised I'd find any other fly anglers, partially surprised I actually knew who they were, I was ready to double down on the endeavor. If we're all here right now, it's for the same thing.
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Between the smallmouth and eventual walleyes, those following nights offered non-traditional but engaging fishing. A quick flash of my headlamp lit up bankside walleye holding surprisingly close to shore. Over the shallowest water, I'd pull slow long strips on a blind clouser minnow (missing the dumbell eyes). A clever trick enabled by the rocks themself. One overly ambitious backcast blew the eyes right off the clouser, but that proved to actually help the fly from snagging up.
On my last night, fishing the waning opportunity before another blustering spring snow arrived, windy conditions helped me get away with heavier flies. The chop opened up opportunities to fish along deeper dropoffs without risking more fly casualties, waves suspended heavier jigged flies just enough to keep me off the deck. I snagged less (still lost the best fly though), and felt bites in bunches as fish cruised by. With no visuals, under a low hanging sky, and operating strictly on feel, I'd double haul, clear snags from the surrounding rocks and twigs, and target casts towards brighter or darker patches of water. Shimmers of latent light would outline the flashy Kreelex Variant I fished, if fish were nearby they found the offering quickly.
The walleye loosened up as the evening progressed living up to their low-light tendencies. I envisioned myself fishing for striped bass somewhere like Chesapeake Bay: marina lights, reflected city lights from across the harbor. The setting transported me to the coast, suppressing my saltwater angst.
Fishing at night often highlights that sense of surrealness. In one ear, I'd hear a splashy swirl but never see the fish, only rippling rings as my eyes tried to catch up. As I squint to examine the distant crime scene, my line tightens with another eruption bursting to the surface.
Finally, all that's left to do is to keep my balance on the return trek across the rip-rap.
Don't want to miss out on another spring bite?
You might be interested in our Fly Calendar when planning future trips! It helped dial in timing this walleye hunt, and is a great resource for all paid subscribers.
