Written by Dick Davis AKA Rbaileydav

Well for those of you that haven’t spent early September in the south it is still solid steamy summer and the mountains are hot and the trout streams are warm and low making it a less than optimal target for a backpacking/trout fishing trip. Walking four miles with 40 pounds on my back is tough enough as it is without having to do it in 100 degree heat, well that might just kill this old fat man and that might be taking the total relaxation part of the trip just a bit too far. So I decided that Cool Colorful Colorado would be the destination for this trip. Well the other rule for my fall get away has been that it has to be someplace I haven’t been yet so I was in the market for locations in Colorado that I haven’t been to, well that left a whole **** of a lot of real estate as potential sites. So I called a friend of mine Matt Schliske, a fellow fisherman and bamboo rod maker that I had met through various inter-net groups a number of years ago, and invited myself to come to his region of northern Colorado if he thought he could hook me up with some locations to fish. Matt was kind enough to agree to help me and he even agreed he would try to take a day or so and maybe even fish with me, which I thought was pretty nice considering I had just invited myself and asked him to share some of his secret spots with me. So it was set, I would spend a week in early September fishing and camping in various places in Northern Colorado.

Well when you are anticipating a fishing trip time really drags along like church service to a 7 year old, right until it is time to leave, then you realize that you haven’t done half the preparation that you really should have. That is how I found myself on Saturday night about 8 pm with nothing packed when I was scheduled to leave at 8 am on Sunday. I was rushing around throwing things together and stuffing my fishing stuff in one bag and filling my backpack like crazy. I had lists of my lists and but couldn’t find a single one of em, so I just threw stuff together and decided not to worry about it … … … these days you can find a Wal-Mart almost anywhere. So soon enough I found myself in a rental SUV headed out from the Denver airport driving toward Steamboat springs to hook up with Matt. There is nothing quite like the freedom of heading off on a week long fishing and camping trip when you have no set plans, can’t really even identify a specific itinerary other than to find some pretty scenery, catch some fish and to let your life catch up with you for a few days. I didn’t really even know where or what I was going to do other than I was supposed to meet Matt and we would discuss where I was going from there. I was so happy to be free and moving that I felt like I was flying. The country along the Blue River was absolutely gorgeous, the sun was shining, the air was crisp and clean and I had found a classic rock radio station that was coming in loud, clear and commercial free. Life doesn’t get any better than that. I just covered miles dreaming of fish, firelight and star light, anticipating what was to come. Little did I know that the anticipation wouldn’t be half as special as the actual trip was to be.

Trip of Firsts

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Click to Enlarge

Matt and I met up that afternoon just like clock work. He had arranged for us to fish some private water close to Steamboat, so within a few minutes of hooking up we were dressed out in our waders and heading toward a stream, GAME ON. He had talked about some really large fish in this particular stretch of water but when I saw the cruisers hanging in the first stretch of water I almost tripped over my own tongue. Man they were huge and clearly feeding on emergers and maybe even some dries. I strung up a borrowed 6 wt Schliske made bamboo so fast that I barely had time to marvel at the workmanship and beauty of the rod, and before you knew it I had a Hopper pattern and small soft hackle dropper tied on and was firing a cast into a corner where I saw a rising fish. On the second cast of the trip I saw a huge head rise and take the soft hackle just as it settled into the water, the set was good and the rod went tight but just as quickly he was gone, missed the set up dang… … But man a giant fish on the second cast of the trip, this is gonna be a great trip and I must be a **** of a fisherman… … I spotted another riser and laid a few nice casts in his direction watched him rise to the hopper and set the hook in a perfect arc. The big fish took off in a bull rush charge across the hole and I was able to feed the slack from my hand back to him. Just as the slack came out he paused and I began to tighten to the reel. He made another huge run ripping line like a pulling guard on his way to a cornerback. Somehow in the adrenalin rush of the hook up and my fumbling attempts to get all of the line back on the beautiful peerless reel that Matt had let me borrow I had somehow gotten the line looped around the reel foot, not a forgiving mistake when you are tied into a runaway freight train which is leaving the station. The sound of the tippet popping was audible and heart breaking. Dang……………. But I thought to myself “Hey two giant fish in the first 10 casts, man this place has gotta be easy pickins for a great fly fisherman like me this day is gonna be golden”. I bet most of you reading this will know what words like that mean to us fisherman don’t you, EGO BUSTER ON THE WAY. I quickly went back to work, but the fish were skittish and no longer cruising, Matt was smart enough to go try another stretch of water but the sight of those big behemoth cruisers was more than I could take so I spent the next hour flogging the same patch of water with everything in the fly box getting just enough follows or half hearted interest from the fish to keep me thinking it could happen any second now. Matt managed to catch a couple of really, really large fish down below but I just couldn’t seem to break out of the fixation of those 22 plus inchers cruising at the surface in plain sight. So I staid put casting and casting. Finally Matt caught a third large fish down lower which broke the trance and I headed down to see what I could do. Nothing is what I could do, I did land two smaller fish one about 10 inches and one about 15 inches which is normally what I would call decent fish, but when you are seeing fish best described in pounds swimming at your feet and you can’t catch even one, the ones described in inches just don’t scratch the itch. I managed to hook up with big fish two more times but both times ended up with "operator error" induced long distance releases which were not helping my fishing self esteem. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse for my fishing ego I look up and see Matt back at the original stretch of water and his rod is bent in a deep powerful bow as he clearly fights another giant of a fish from a hole that I had beaten to death not more than an hour ago. Thanks for the fishing lesson Matt; oh by the way didn’t your mother teach you it isn’t nice to show the guests up. Oh well I have a week of fishing left so what if I stunk up the place on day one. A day of fishing where the catching sucks still beats a day of doing anything else in the world … … and I have a whole week left.

The next day we decided to head up to a small stream Matt had found high on the pass where we were going to meet another friend Nick who runs the Smallstreams.com board. Another internet friend I knew well and liked but who I had never laid eyes on. The internet makes for some interesting friendships. We found Nick right where he was supposed to be and he was just sliding into his waders so the timing was perfect, which is amazing considering the 30 minutes it took the Colorado State Trooper to issue me my safe driving award. Anyway Nick was just like I had pictured him which is crazy how many times that works out that way, where when you finally meet someone in person that you have only talked to by phone or internet they end up like the mental picture you had of them. Anyway the little stream we were to fish looked precious. It really was scenic but was in a little canyon right next to a major road and was small I mean really small. It was one of those streams I guess that people usually just pat on the head and say “oh how cute, what do you want to be when you grow up” instead of realizing what a jewel it had already grown into. Matt and I rushed into waders taking only enough time to rig another Schliske made bamboo rod this one my older son Ricky’s beautiful flamed 7 ft 3 wt and enough time to pour a local Cutthroat Porter (what fisherman could resist a name like that) down our throats. As we walked down to the stream they kept telling me about the potential to catch Grayling and Greenback Cutts. Two species I hadn’t yet had a chance to catch so I was pretty pumped up. On the way by, Matt even went so far as to point out a hole that he wanted me to try because he had caught a really large grayling out of it on past trips and was positive it would still be there. I was a little nervous based on my lack of "catching" the previous day but I sure didn't turn down the offer. Well as we all know small streams can be very forgiving teachers and a great confidence booster and this stream was no exception. As the guest I was given the first hole and had two small greenbacks in the first five casts. The greenbacks were some of the prettiest fish that I had ever seen. I reached into my vest to find my camera but found it empty as I had left the camera back in the car. Fortunately Matt is a great photographer so he took some pictures for me of my first ever greenback. Thanks Matt for letting me use them here.



Well I was stoked by then but the next cast took that to a new level as I hooked into my first ever grayling. I had heard about these fish and seen pictures but never hooked one before. Much less had the joy of having one on the line and in hand. They are truly a magical fish with flashes of light dancing through the sail and constantly changing colors in the water, to me they are the magical unicorn of the coldwater fishing world. No words due them justice so here are a couple of Matt’s pictures.

In spite of its size this stream was so productive that we were soon all catching fish. And not just any fish but very nice size fish, not just nice for this size stream but plain nice for the species and unbelievable when you thought about the size of the water



Soon enough we were nearing the hole where Matt had pointed out that he thought there would be a really nice fish sitting. We had been hole hopping and generally just kind of playing along upstream with everyone catching plenty of fish. Well, I assumed that since I was the foreigner to this part of the country that I would get the honors, but no…………. I guess I must have taken too long catching and releasing fish as I looked up and Matt was nowhere to be seen. Just then I heard a loud whoop and spotted him up a hole or two with a deeply bent rod and a splashing and thrashing fish in the exact spot he said the fish would be in. Well it turns out it was an absolutely lovely Grayling of about 15 inches, just a stunning fish. Oh well, I guess good manners just can’t hold a candle to the opportunity to catch a large fat fish, thanks Matt. Anyway the creek was unbelievable and we spent the rest of the afternoon catching many, many greenbacks and grayling from just about every likely looking spot around. So many so that we were all feeling that fat full contentment of having caught enough fish so the next time we all caught up to each other we plopped down into the grass at streamside and pulled some cold Dale’s that had been stashed in the stream and sat and talked and shot the breeze. How long we sat their enjoying the conversation, the beer and the scenery I don’t know and we might be sitting there still today, but an afternoon thunder shower passed overhead and pissed rain on us so hard we retreated to the car. Sunshine found us about an hour later as the three of us sat on a bench overlooking a lovely stretch of the Poudre River near a campground where I was going to spend the night, drinking yet another New Belgium 1554 while watching a local guide and his client work a pod of fish. The client hooked a big one but couldn’t land him and that was our cue to part ways as Matt and Nick had to return home so they could go back to work the next day … … … and I had to go set up camp because I get to spend the next week fishing and doing nothing… … I am sure that they felt sorry for me as they headed down the mountain. Thanks guys for fishing with me.

The little forest service campground was pretty, right on the river and empty when I arrived which is a combination to make anyone happy. I found the campsite farthest away from the road and closest to the river and set up my camp quickly. This was a one night only car camp as the stop off to a longer 3 day backpack trip that was to begin the next day.

When camp was all set up I still had about an hour of daylight left so I did what any self respecting fisherman does, I went fishing. The guide earlier in the day had said it was tough fishing and that the fish we had seen them lose had been the only one they had hooked that day. There was another angler coming off the water as I rigged up and headed down to the stream and he indicated that he had been skunked for the afternoon, that and the beating I had taken from the private water fish canceled out the memory and confidence the little streams many fish had built back up so I was wondering if I could pull anything out of this new river in the last hour of light I had left. I fished hard using a variety of dry dropper combinations but couldn’t seem to get any attention. I was fishing in such low light conditions that I was having trouble seeing my fly. It was relaxing and peaceful watching the ripples and current flash silver like flowing mercury reflecting the last low beams of light still hanging in the mountain sky. The final sunset had turned the clouds a watercolor orange, the sun an orange ball and the color running from it like watercolors doused by two much water on the paper. Just when I had decided I would have to hang it up and that I wasn’t going to catch anything else tonigt I got a strong rise to my Wulff tied Adams and hooked into a solid fish. I couldn’t see into the water because of the low light so I had no idea the size or type fish I had but it felt large compared to the fish of this afternoon’s small stream. My adrenalin was racing and my heart was singing as I finally beached the fish and found myself holding a fat 16 to 17 inch cutthroat, cream belly, lavender fins, beautiful gill plates painted red like a young teenage girls first time trying to learn how to use rouge and the tell tale reddish orange lines on the throat. It was a gorgeous fish that I sat and admired while I pulled my camera out and took a picture. Slipping it casually back into the water and watching it slip from sight, nipping off my fly and reeling in completely satisfied and happy like a starving man that had finally eaten his fill of fabulous food. As I climbed into my tent I fell asleep to the sound of the river dreaming of fish and of the days to come.

Photo of the Poudre river Cutt, little did I realize at the time that the flash was turned off and the only picture I got was a dark blob in a even darker background oh well so much for my photography skills.

I awoke the next day to a beautiful sun rise and a beautiful river, it was so pretty I wanted to stop and fish but the urge to be up and away toward my backpacking destination was too strong and I packed up quickly and headed up the road, but not before snapping a few pictures of the river

The route to my next destination was clearly marked and annotated in my Delorme from Matt but was no less an adventure in traveling. First road construction had me detouring around where I WAS SUPPOSED to turn so that I had to find another small forest service road to backtrack me to the road I wanted. From there it is the usual worries when you are traveling to new unknown destinations, did I go far enough, have I gone too far, is this road supposed to be this bumpy, should these branches be scrapping the sides and making this much noise and my internal response was one of my favorites … … "who cares this is a rental car, give er ****". The views of the road were gorgeous and worth the ride alone even if there hadn't been a fishing destination waiting for me.


But soon enough I was parked at the trail head transferring the last details into my backpack and getting ready to start the next leg of my adventure………….. 3 days alone backpacked into beaver pond/ small stream heaven for greenback cutts and solitude.  READ MORE...........Part 2 of the trip report

Written by Dick Davis AKA Rbaileydav