Red Drum - Black Drum.. It's not just about the oysters.

Acme Oyster House - $1.35 local.

New Orleans for fresh oysters is reason enough. But a focus on food must change to an intense eye straining focus on the marsh water as three well dressed Denver Trout Unlimited fly casters take on the Mississippi Delta where the Denver South Platte river water mingles at last with salt water.

Peche and Cochon two more reason for New Orleans.

Acme Oyster House - Grilled Oysters w/Parmesan

The real reason for New Orleans is powering out into the delta to find Redfish preying on mullet.

After a two hour ride in Capt'n Greg's new pickup to the Cypress Cove Marina, Fred gets the first solo shot with Greg while Nick "volunteers" to guide newbie John and experience Redfish hunter Ned out into the West Bay.

 I'm fishing an eight weight Orvis rod and a weight forward saltwater line, although wisdom on the boat thinks my drag is not strong enough.

Capt'n Nick has tied on a bright chartreuse streamer to help counteract the overcast weather and lack of sun.

 We head out into the West Bay looking for birds, chasing bait fish, and surely the Redfish will be nearby.

 Oil and gas deposits lie under the marshes. The delta has been extensively exploited but the pumping and processing activities are largely unheard and invisible except for the occasional christmas tree valve cluster, loading depot, and gas burn off stack.

After a half hour or so we cruise into a marsh and Capt'n Nick kills the outboard, drops in the trolling motor and mounts the lookout/poling pulpit to spot Redfish and complain about the overcast sky.

Fred's as concentrated on the water in Capt'n Greg's boat, miles away, doing the same thing. The two boats are in constant cell phone contact. "I actually don't know where the hell I am."

Fred's ready.

Who can keep tight loops all the time.

Put it there. THERE. DROP IT. DROP IT. aww shit.

From the fresh perspective only available to someone who has never fished in the delta before this is what Redfish fishing seemed to be:

1. A harrowing, bone crushing, fiberglass stressing pounding through light chop at 38 mph in an open boat to a salt marsh cove that looks exactly like the 34 coves we passed on our 40 minute trip.

2. Silent drifting along the marsh reeds while standing on the bow pulpit or sitting down in the cockpit praying not to get hooked during your partner's cast.

3. After 30 minutes of missed opportunities and constructive criticism, powering for another 1/2 hour to another identical spot and doing it all over.

4. Panic on the pulpit as you try to overcome the excitement generated by the Capt'n as he spots a Redfish coming right at you but can't seem to scream the direction, distance or speed in a way you can understand. Finally you just cast and hope for the best which of course turns out to be the worst; in the wrong direction, "NO YOUR OTHER RIGHT",  wrong distance, "10 YARDS, NOT 10 FEET", and stripped with the wrong speed, "AHEAD OF HIM, NOT BEHIND HIM!"

Missed it. Move on past an oil dock.

Move on. 

New fly. This time put it on his nose. 

They're in here somewhere.

Will Fred's immaculate new shoes impact his chances? Only if they're standing on his free loops.

But finally, as they say, even a blind monkey will find the banana.

 FISH ON. 

As I concentrate on keeping tension on the line after the strip strike, I notice that free line is wrapped around the reel seat, so I trap the fly line to the rod with my gloved finger while I feverishly try to unwrap it. 

SNAP. 

The Redfish has turned and started his run, just as I've trapped the line. "Well DAMN." After two of these ballets, Capt'n Greg pulls out a leader spool, hold it up for me to see and says, "Can you read this?"

"50 lbs," I ask? 

"Right. Let's see if you can snap this."

 We are into a huge pod of Redfish and mullet. And it is not long before I get all the acts together and 

Fish ON!

20 minutes later.

 After a dozen runs pulling line past my splice of extra backing, I work the Redfish closer to the boat.

Almost in.

When he decides to give up, Capt'n Greg just reaches over the side, loops his finger around his tail, cradles him under the chin with his other hand in lifts him into the boat. Miraculously, he stops moving and just freezes. What could be going through that Red Fish mind? These fish could be 15 or 20 years old. They are in healthy condition and spectacularly colorful.

Hello Redfish. Nice to have you aboard.

Small forward teeth but massive grinder teeth down his throat for crushing mollusks.

John's Red.

Fred's Red.

Ned's Red.

John's Black Drum.

When the skies clear and the sun comes out, it's obvious why these marshes have such allure. There seem to be possibilities everywhere.

Miles and miles of marsh.

30 fish in RMNP on one fly in 4 hours.

Thirty fish in 4 hours on a single fly in a National Park along a busy hiking trail. 

An Elk hair egg-laying green caddis. Looks a little beat-up, doesn't it.

John and Fred w/buffs to make us disappear in the forest. I always take a before picture to show the investigators that he wasn't coerced into this trip.

    Within two hours of Denver, there is a National Park with many small streams loaded with hungry trout. The reason they are hungry is that at the elevations in the park, insect life is difficult and the trout as a result do not grow large but are always looking for food of any kind.
    The parking lot fills up with hikers, mostly families on Rocky Mountain motor vacations. The few fly fishers spread out along the trails which follow the streams or take a feeder branch. I have very seldom run into another fly fisher on these marvelous mountain streams.
     The wading, casting, and drifts are not easy. Roll cast and bow and arrow casts are all you'll be able to use unless you are casting parallel to the stream. Even then a set will often put you in the branches. And there will be lots of sets.

An Easter Brook trout descendent. Stocking of these easterners probably can be blamed on the Railroads.  The higher you go and the further you hike the more likely you are to encounter cutthroats. 

The trail follows one side of the stream but the other side of the stream, with the fast rushing waters will give you complete silence and solitude. 

The brookies do have beautiful colors though.

     Fred does a flash back to fishing from the pier and demonstrates the cast called dappling that's been around since 1653.

Fred does a perfect release.

It's not just about the fish.

     Don't forget to take a break once in awhile at this altitude. I used a 6 1/2ft  4 weight rod and 5x tippet. Fred even devolved to streamers at one point but I wanted to see if I could do it with one fly. Somehow it lasted all day, through 30 fish brought to the net and another 15 that were hits, runs, but none left on. ( We call that a Trout Unlimited in-stream release.)

A 20 rainbow day on a trico pattern, a pegged egg, and public transit.

The iconic Colorado fishing experience usually involves a long hot drive in an expensive van on dangerous interstates to a mind numbing elevation. Can it be done in one day using only the Rapid Transit Denver system?  I did it today.

I won't disclose the location because it is somewhat fragile at this point in time. I will disclose some of the pictures and that both light rail and bus were used. I did not wear my waders on the train and I did pack away my rod heeding the call to "please be aware of the closing doors."

Great places to fly fish near Denver do exist on RTD routes. To name just a few:
1. The Denver South Platte.
2. Boulder Creek.
3. Clear Creek.
4. Waterton Canyon.

The rainbows were a mix of recently stocked and overwintered. The stronger more colorful were also the highest jumpers. I fished a Wednesday and a Thursday with just a fishing buddy. No other anglers were on the stream. All seemed to be about the same age. Sadly no smaller recruits were present but hopefully once dam managers and municipalities recognize the positive benefits of guaranteed minimum flows and the importance of water call timing, spawning will be easier for the trout.

I think I'll try them all out and then publish a "Fish Before You Catch the Train." Check Amazon to see if I've finished it yet.

Check out this monster trico hatch.

Plenty of risers.

Mayfly Genus Tricorythodes (Tricos)

Healthy strong rainbows.

Released. Ready for you to catch.

Fishing Spinney from a float tube, or was it a tire chain thong?

Some times there is just no choice but to fish a high country Colorado lake.

 

Spinney Mountain Reservoir - Near Hartsel,CO

In this case,  Fred and Ned convinced me, once again, that Spinney Mountain Reservoir in South Park, 2 hours from Denver would be ON FIRE. Last year with Elbert Bivins, I have to admit, we had one of the best fly fishing days ever                         for number of fish, size of fish, action on the surface, action on nymphs, and connections using 3x.

     

Last year on Spinney - 8/9/2012

 With the water level way down in the reservoir, and it just being reopened 4 days ago, we couldn't miss. It was certain to be even better.

It is a great spot with snow capped mountains to the West and North, no traffic noise, and a nearby fly shop, Chaparral Country Store, Fly Shop, and Camp Ground.

Fred sent me a text while I was awaiting his pick up at the Tiny Town RTD lot saying they were delayed, the SUV was packed, and I should pick the one item I wanted to take along. I guess if you only load your pontoon boats once a year never quite master efficient packing. My float tube however, rolls up into a compact ball about the size of a back pack and can fit on my lap if necessary.

Ned Lynch

Fred Miller

Fred and Ned

set out to set up and inflate. With my simple float tube, I topped off my inflation with Fred's hand pump, (thanks Fred) and I beat them to the water line by a mere two hours. I had stuffed wading sandals into my flippers so that I wouldn't have to wear my heavy wading boots. Even with my zip-in life jacket, I could picture myself being pulled by my heavy studded boots when my over inflated float tube inexplicably explodes in 35 feet of water. 

I carefully stepped into the float tube with my flippers on and strapped tightly to my ankles, snapped the seat's crotch strap and tightened it up so that my thighs would just fit. Hopefully, this time after three hours on the water it would not feel like I was wearing a tire-chain thong. I velcrowed my 6 weight Redington in front of me across the tube and pulled the float tube up with the side straps, like my grandson in his first set of pull-up. I slowly with baby steps backed into the water. In two shuffles I could feel the mud sucking me toward bed rock. I shuffled faster then fell backward into Spinney Mt Reservoir soaking my arms but fortunately not turtling. I pushed off with my heels against the mud and soon could flipper kick away from Fred and Ned, who were still on the shore.

Actually, this wasn't so bad. I've had much worse entries. The wind was not blowing, the sun was out, and it was about 40F. The water temperature at 42F, perfect, according to Clint Packo, for the fish to become active. This could be OK. 

I trailed an articulated Galloups Sex Dungeon (who names these flies ?) as I kicked out toward  a weed bed Ned had shown me on his map. But the water was very murky and I saw no hatches, no jumping fish, no cruising fish, no feeding fish, no feeding ducks, and no other anglers anywhere nearby. Fred and Ned, for some reason, were still not launched. Were they missing parts? Were they bailing on the adventure? Should I kick my way back to them? 

 Finally some grebes did appear. I changed flies. I saw one fish actually jump, but neither pegged eggs nor the red chironomids I just bought at the Chaparrel fly shop worked. In fact, those half dozen flies had fallen out of the plastic container into my breast pocket and were now working at giving me nipple piercings.  

I checked google earth on my iPhone and was surprised to see that I was still a long long way from where I picture the weed bed to be. I half heartedly started casting around the float tube for another 45 minutes. I'd made a point of emptying my bladder at every opportunity and vault toilet we'd passed on the way to Spinney Mountain Reservoir. As my fishing buddy Shawn Ballinger has said, "Never pass up an opportunity to pee."  But for some reason (be it the cold water, the impossibility of relief, the boredom, or the perversity of the float tube experience,) I now had a call of nature that was resounding in my head like a 4 ton Nepalese prayer bell.

Just in the nick of time, Fred's little electric motor brought his pontoon boat along side. "You doing any good  out this deep? The guys fishing from the shore are landing fish." OMG. WTF am I doing out here. 

"I think I'm ready for a break. Can you haul me in?" "Grab on", he said which I did. I hung on for dear life as the crotch strap really dug in to my lower body. Water surged over the float tube, soaked my upper body and started running down into my chest waders. Not a good thing for a bladder ready to explode. I wasn't about to tell Fred to slow down. I tried to adjust my grip on his oar lock to pull the float tube closer to the pontoon without losing him. I had to make it to shore. I lifted my flippers for minimum drag but this just made the crotch strap cut deeper into parts of my body that were between numb and excruciating. Are we having fun yet? When his motor started to churn mud he swung back around and I let loose. With a couple kicks my heels soon hit the mud. Black goo boiled up around my immaculate yellow float tube. I forgot that running with flippers in a float tube high up against my butt  while sinking into soft mud might be unstable. Some how I made it to shore, unhooked the M.....F...... excruciating crotch strap, pulled my flippered feet out of the float tube, jettisoned the flippers and race walked over the 50 yards of sand beach to the graciously provided Division of Wildlife vault toilet. 

 Not every crawfish makes it all the way to the facilities.

Does anyone want to buy a slightly used float tube? Really. I'm serious. Brenda says I say this after every float tube experience.

I broke for lunch, and then fished from shore for a couple hours and finally landed and released this nice fat 16 inch rainbow on the pegged egg just off the black goo drift line. 

Nice rainbow 4/3/2013 - from the S.E. Shore.

Another shore angler who passed by reported he'd caught 4 all day but that 2 days ago, Wednesday, Spinney was just on fire. He'd expected today to be better, but, "It just never turned on." 

I think next time, I'll just fish from shore and then wander down to the Dream Stream 

Dream Stream cutbow 10/20/2011

where the calls of nature are all bird calls, fish slaps, or elk bugles.