Chapter 7: Private Water

I could have called this entry a lot of things. Yes, we got to fish some private water. But it also was the first time I learned to nymph fish and go with a guide, of sorts.

At the time, I was working for a nonprofit in Colorado. We had a biannual fundraising auction. As it also happened, one of my coworkers, Bob, owned a condo in a private community in the Roaring Fork Valley. The property included private river access to a stretch of the Roaring Fork, and a series of streams that cut off the river at the top of the property and flowed back into the Fork at the lower end. I suspect these streams were originally irrigation ditches back when the land was a ranch. The developers and homeowners had put a sizable investment into dredging, widening and adding fish habitat improvements over the years.

So Bob donated a weekend “guided trip for two” out of his place, and I bought it. Bob’s a pretty good fisherman, and I hoped I’d finally catch some fish. My son went along as the extra guest.

Summer, that year, was pretty busy. As it turned out, we didn’t get the trip in until October. The Roaring Fork Valley would already be getting pretty cold at night, and we could only hope for decent weather during the day.

On a Friday morning, we loaded up the car and drove the over the Divide and down along the Colorado until we turned south Glenwood Springs. Bob’s community turned out to be a nice development with golf and tennis to go along with the private fishing. We unloaded the car and strung up our rods. Bob spent a half an hour building some dropper rigging for us to use and explaining how it worked.

Pretty simply, Bob said that if we wanted to catch fish, we should nymph. Dry flies are fun and fine. But if you want fish, you need to put your line where the fish are, under the surface, not on top.

This all makes sense. On the other hand, I could have stuck with bait casting before I had spent all my money on the fancy fly-fishing who-ha.

We took a five-minute walk to a section of the stream on the property where it tumbled over a small waterfall and formed a great pool with some nice tail-outs. Bob explained, much as we had heard, that the fish would be in the pool, feeding on insects as they tumbled over the fall, and in the feeding lanes of the tail-out. He showed us how to cast a waited dropper rig and how to methodically cast through the lanes where the fish would be feeding.

The cast, as it turned out, was not the fancy fly-fishing loops that we all learned and loved the look of. Though there was considerable technique to it, it was more of a lug then a loop. So now, I feel like I’m bait fishing with a pole that casts a mop handle with a rope attached.

But, the fish were there. It wasn’t long before both my son and I started landing a few of them. This was very cool. And the trout were reasonable, too, probably 10” to 12” inches on average. Some may have been up to 14”. Not monsters, but good fish.

Then it occurred to me… I was fishing in a bathtub. Not literally, but we were catching fish because the little pool area we were in was where they all lived, pretty much all the time.

So now I’m getting the image of a little kid at a church carnival fishing booth where I’ve got a little stick with a string and a magnet on the end of it. A little trough of water sits in front of me and little magnetic gold fish float around waiting to be captured by a polarized piece of iron. Then, I win a prize.

Now, to be fair, it’s not all that stupid and easy. It still takes skill, patience, and knowledge. And it was fun and I did learn some things. Realizing that most fish feed on the bottom and seeing the fish strike in places they are supposed to be reaffirmed a lot of what I had, and was still, learning. On the other hand, paying for a guide to take you out on private water where they know the fish are is both worthwhile, but somehow feels a little like a set up. I think everyone should consider it from time to time. It can help your skills and your bruised ego.

We fished the stream again in a few other places for the next two days. The results were mixed, but still good.

At one point on Saturday, Bob walked us over to the Roaring Fork. The Fork in that stretch is wide and strong. In the spring, I could imagine it to be too fast to wade across. But in October, it was easy enough to get out a good ways.

I found a nice seam to explore and started working on it. After several casts, I felt a tug. Then all hell broke loose. I’m used to catching small fish on small stream. Apparently, this was not a small fish and I was on a big river with a fast current. This was new!

The fish had turned into the current and headed downstream about as fast as it could. Uncertain what to do, I suspected that when Bob looked over to see what was going on, he saw utter panic in my face. He told me to “let the fish run, then turn it.” I’m wondering what “turn it” means. Fortunately, Bob saw the wheels in my head freeze up and he grabbed my pole to show me. Then, handing my pole back to me he ran downstream to gather the fish up rather than fighting it back up to where we were. As it turned out, it was an 18” Whitefish. Not pretty, but the biggest fish I had caught up until then.

Well… maybe I caught it.