Blue River

A Weekend Off

July 18, 2016 by n.taylor Leave a Comment

We start west of the divide where we battled obnoxious road construction and sweltering heat to spend the night below a run in the bowels of a canyon of the Blue River.

Not Sure About the Look

If you have never rowed a raft full of overnight gear let me tell you that you have a real treat in your future. The raft handled like you had an elephant in the back and within the first mile I already had a new found respect for drivers of Grand Canyon cargo boats. The campsite was a few short miles from the put in and was framed by two perfect runs and an elevated (and flat) campsite.

Pulled Over at Camp

Kitchen

The next morning we had leftover carnitas with corn tortillas, ibuprofen, and lukewarm water before we packed the elephant back into the back of the raft. The second day was focused on trying to fish a little bit instead of just getting the gear to the river. The run above camp held a few fish that were eager to share breakfast with their upright walking land lovers.

Breakfast Companion

We threw some streamers, polished off the rest of the beer, and enjoyed a hot summer day. Most of all I was able to listen to Wells tell me about every bend on the river and how it had changed over the last 20 years. Wells informed me that he had floated this stretch 10-15 times/year since 1996 and if you know this stretch and the logistical nightmare it poses then you will know what kind of feat that is.

Brown on the Ranch

The Master in the Canyon

Float over, boat on trailer, wheels up, over the divide we go until we end up in Salida. We now have a circus of people, some from as far away as South Carolina ready to experience the Arkansas River in all its grandeur. The day began as most days do on my boat, with a Bud Light Lime to get things started. You know that it is getting serious when you drink a beer that has to tell you it has alcohol in it.

This is Beer

Of course after “BLL” you can start to lose your coordination, potentially endangering the lives of not only your crew, but also the fish.

Grip n’ Grin

As we floated through downtown we met a very enthusiastic young man who was eager to show us his cowboy. We gave him a target, the kid just needs some more practice.

Rope Work

The Spinner Brings them In

The Hayden Pass fire had started on Saturday and by Sunday the smoke was visible from Salida. Tuesday brought even larger clouds of smoke and a faint smell of burning pine in the air. Reminded me of summers in Montana.

Hayden Pass Fire

The Death March

October 22, 2014 by n.taylor 2 Comments

Day 1: Two Rivers to New Castle (12 Miles)

Keeping our personal oath we left the bobbers at home, instead opting to fish the flies that makes fall the season that anglers dream of. Large and articulated, or small and skinny we threw them all.

Pushing Off

Eventually you always pull a few off the bank. Stretches of river would yield follows on 4, 5, or even 6 consecutive casts. While there might be silence on the water for upwards of an hour just a few bends down the river.

Quality over Quantity

Not even on the lower stretches of the Colorado can you escape the fish hatcheries of Colorado. Pictured here is a square faced, soft bellied rainbow. There are simply no similarities between a wild fish and its hatchery impostors.

A Disgusting Specimen

Day 2: Catherine’s to Two Rivers (17 Miles)

The fish on the Roaring Fork loved the black circus peanut. Vast stretches of the upper river are surrounded by private property, limiting your ability to work the various seams and riffles. Regardless, it vaguely reminded me of floating Rock Creek outside of Missoula, with substantially less hazards of course.

All Fish Love Peanuts

I’m not one to comment on art or things that are “beautiful” but in this instance there is no other way to describe the scenery. In another week I’m sure most of these leaves will be gone but for now it is fantastic.

Roaring Fork Valley

This small specimen had an unfortunate encounter with a larger predator who took off most of his dorsal fin. He took the opportunity to aggressively chase something smaller than him as we threw boufaces against the banks.

There Must be Larger Predators Around

Day 3: Lower Blue (14 Miles)

My dad always used to say, “you gotta look good doin’ it”. While looking good is open to interpretation in this instance, it nonetheless makes a statement.

Harnessing the Spirit of the Wolf

The finest apparel available at Wal-Mart is proudly displayed in the canyon stretches of the Blue River. Rarely do you find a fishing partner, and even less common is two people independently wearing the ugliest outfits imaginable (also note intentionally purchased Bud Light Lime).

Trashy as They Come

Day 4: Pumphouse to Rancho del Rio (9 Miles)

I’ve always thought that fall fishing is best from first light until noon and these four days only furthered my resolve. The steam coming off the river at first light signaled a frenzy every morning.

The Early Start

The quintessential Colorado River float on perhaps one of the last green weekends of the season. Water levels were still nearly double historical averages but the fish didn’t seem to care.

High Fall Water

Some of the final oar strokes of the Death March. At the take out employees at Rancho Del Rio were busy cleaning the whitewater rafts with anticipation for another big spring runoff.

The End of the Line

Over 4 days we logged roughly 52 river miles. To many that may sound pedestrian, but then again those people don’t know how to row.

Revenge of the Fallen

April 20, 2014 by n.taylor Leave a Comment

“These bolts aren’t long enough to secure the lean bar…”

“Here, use the ones from the rear section of the frame, they’re long enough, I probably got them mixed up, I don’t remember which ones are supposed to go where sometimes…”

That fateful conversation put events into motion that would later haunt my unfortunate angling partner. You see, instead of using a bolt and nut to secure the leaning bar, I encouraged him to use springer clips instead. That was very poor advice.

The Faulty Assembly

We push off to begin our 13 mile float, the weather is 34 degrees and spirits are high. I row us into the current and yell to the front of the boat, “If you don’t start fishing, I’m going to kick you out of this boat.”

As Mr. Nick stands to make his first cast and leans into the bar. What follows was an acrobatic display for the ages. Plunging head first into the stream he luckily avoids a large boulder, while I proceed to run him over with the boat.

Sorry comrade, I didn’t do that on purpose, but things like that happen to me. Fair warning for the future.

Scene of the Crime

We empty his waders as best we can, I offer him my jacket to at least make sure he doesn’t freeze to death. We still have 12.95 miles left on the float after all. He refuses my offerings, afraid that it would result in more “mishaps” downriver.

6 hours later, the day is coming to a close, conditions are tough with snow and rain beating us throughout the day. I only have a few casts left in my arm and Mr. Nick has one more set of obstacles to maneuver through.

Just as he commits to his line, a scream from behind alerts me to trouble. I turn around and a finger is pointing back towards the front of the boat, “BAG! BAG! YOUR F*CKING BAG!”

Sure enough, my gear bag is floating 15 yards off our stern, and taking on water fast. I instinctively throw the only accurate cast all day, landing the Barr’s Bouface a foot past the sinking bag that represents my lifetime collection of flies.

A hard strip set and I have the largest catch of the day. I revert to my training, attempting to keep the bag above water, forcing it to the surface while testing the limits of the rod. Eventually the bag is retrieved, minus a few incidental items.

We will never know for certain if my partner did it on purpose, he swears he did not. Then again, I swore to him that I didn’t throw him overboard on purpose…

Water Never Hurt Anything