Ted's Place was empty when I filled the tank with gas and refilled the cup of coffee now resting in the cup holder beside me. It was ten past six in the morning, an early rise for a wannabe trout. Looking to the east the quiet of the Saturday morning hung in the air, the city was asleep. Pointing the nose of the Honda west, I said a quick prayer in hopes of finding the fish I had come so far to see. I was going up the Poudre.
The Cache la Poudre is an unapologetic river. A wild river defined by the canyon it created, slicing its way through Roosevelt National Forest on its seventy six mile journey east. The river falls 7,000 feet from its headwaters in Rocky Mountain National Park, finally pouring into the South Platte on the high plains of eastern Colorado. A life giver to a part of the country that fights hard to survive. The Poudre flows free, and asks for nothing in return. She's selfless.
I hadn't been on the water in a month. Something about a promise I had made to my wife after our move to Colorado. We had left Minnesota in a hurry, leaving two jobs for one. A choice that left me unemployed, and her nervous about paying the bills. So not unlike a gambler, we doubled down, packed the car, said our goodbyes, and left. We ventured off into the unknown, no expectations, nervous, and happy.
Pulling off to the side of the road, I found myself looking down into a small valley tucked between the highway on the north and rolling mountains to the south. The river fed lazily through the middle, looking more like a spring creek in western Wisconsin than the charging river I had been following for the last twenty miles. But for the first trip, this spot felt right. I opened the trunk, rigged up, and walked down the path to explore my new river.
I walked contently through knee high grass to a bend in the river I had seen from the road. The warming sun could be felt touching my neck, and played reminder to the sunscreen I had forgotten to apply in the rush to hit the water. Fish could be seen kissing the water’s surface, chasing a bug yet to make an appearance. An insect only visible to the fish whose life depended on them. Watching intently, I searched my memory trying to decipher a code in which I had no clue. PMDs? Who knows?
Carefully wading directly downstream from the dining fish, I checked my flies and leader for imperfections. I had tied on a stonefly pattern of which I was not familiar, but was assured by the kid at the fly shop it was a “sure thing”. The fact that only a few flies were left in the bin helped to ease my suspicions. Off the hook bend was tied a size 22 BWO emerger, a pattern that would work anywhere.
The first cast landed about twelve inches right of target. Rust I thought, stripping in the slack line as the newly wet flies drifted towards me. The next cast landed left, an overcompensation in my already poor stroke. So when the strike occurred, I was caught off guard. I missed. The fishing continued this way for the next hour or so. Missed strikes, bad casts, and poor drifts defined the morning's fishing. I was searching for some rhythm, something I had apparently forgotten to pack in the move.
Switching locations, I was blissfully optimistic of finding my first trout in over a month. Wandering upstream, I stopped at a deep pool that was being fed from a shelf at its head. Debating whether to fish or move on, I saw a fish rise confidently and the easy decision was made. The first cast hit the water just in time to throw an upstream mend in the line. A good drift. The line hesitated in the water for a split second, hanging in the moment. I set the hook. I was home.
Having lived in Colorado for the better part of a year now, I have become more aware of the struggle it takes to protect a watershed like the Cache la Poudre River. Unfortunately, It isn’t as simple as protecting the trout that call this river home. The Poudre is also a producer of life for much of northern Colorado. It feeds cities. It gives farmers hope.
The Poudre was officially designated a National Wild and Scenic River System by congress in the fall of 1986, becoming Colorado's first river to receive such recognition. In a letter written to congress, Ronald Reagan stated the following;
"...Balancing the development of our Nation's many natural resources with the need to preserve our national treasures is a formidable challenge. Continued economic growth depends in part upon prudent use of our natural resources. At the same time, we must protect wilderness areas and wild, free-flowing rivers for this and future generations to enjoy in their natural, undeveloped state."
People talk about the “good old days”, remembering much different times. They tell stories of hundred fish days, pristine waters, and natural beauty that will never be seen again. Trying to balance economic growth and an encroaching human population on these fragile resources has become painfully tricky. Our generation does not have the luxury of being lethargic, we have an obligation to act. We as fisherman are not entitled to the fish we catch, but rather expected to earn them through hard work, proactive conservation efforts, and compromise. Future generations need to be promised good days on the water, not stories from our past.
***I would like to thank both the OBN and Trout Unlimited for sponsoring such a great contest. A chance to visit Montana and learn more about TU and see some of their current projects would be an opportunity of a lifetime. I enjoyed being able to share the story of my favorite fishing trip, I had a ton of fun reliving it.
