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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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 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.
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.
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.