Rocky Mountain National Park: Day 3

Day 3

I struggled once more to find sleep. The excitement and exhaustion from the day before were of little help in my quest to find some rest. Once again, I was first from the tent and I made the short journey for the bear vaults. This morning, Steve would be making sausage and egg burritos for breakfast. After last night’s dinner, these would be a welcomed treat. The air was chilly at forty-six degrees and I longed for the other guys to wake. Soon enough they would both emerge from their tents to begin their own morning rituals.

Today’s fishing would consist of a much easier hike and for the first time this trip there would be no need for a back pack. This would be a welcome respite from the burden that has seemed to attach itself to my back. Free from the weight of my back pack, I felt as if I were dancing between the rock and along the stream.

After breakfast, we rigged up and headed for the river. We would hike upstream quite a ways before starting our fishing this day. In a promise to my friend Larry, I decided to tie on his favorite fly, an Elk Hair Caddis. He asked me to catch him one of those pretty cutthroats and that is exactly what I did. I am not sure how many I caught on his fly, but it was somewhere between one and thirty.

As the morning warmed, I noticed more and more bug activity around the stream. What wasn’t hatching would have been an easier question to answer on this day. After noticing several large stone flies, Steve suggested that we try hopper patterns. This would be a wise and exciting move. I was giddy with excitement as I watched my large foam hopper disappear at nearly every trouty looking pool. I was amazed at how confidently the fish would take this large piece of foam and hair. The trout in this stream would completely destroy three of my deer hair and foam hoppers. The poor flies looked like they had been used as a puppy’s chew toy.

We stopped for lunch and a quick recap of the morning. We also refilled the water bottles and rested our bodies for the remainder of our journey. As the trip began, I really enjoyed my cliff bar, but lunch would find me only slightly satisfied with my meal. It was soon time to move again.

We hopped from pool to riffle on our way to one of the most beautiful meadows I have ever seen. I felt content fishing that meadow. It was as if I were fishing a painting from some long ago artist. The place screamed western fly fishing to my eastern heart. I was there. I had arrived at the pinnacle of my fly fishing career. I was hiding in waist high grass flinging a grass hopper in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. And, I was rewarded for the effort.

We fished the meadow deep into the afternoon. Along the way, Steve showed us another small lake. Solitude Lake was a marshy, muddy edged  pool that seemed to be the perfect setting for moose sightings and smaller trout. I hooked into a half a dozen ten inch cutthroats as I waded through the monotonous mud. We were also blessed with the sighting of a cow moose and her calf. They were on the move and far too quick to get a picture, but they fit perfectly into the picture that I had created in my head many years before.

Our fishing would end here and soon we were on our way back to camp. The two mile hike would take us along the game trails that followed the river. Once again, I danced through the forest like I have so many times before. It was a fun and much less tedious hike than any from the previous days. After a quick clean up and some feet soaking in the river, we headed for camp and another less than memorable meal.

This night would find us in the tents early and no moose were seen. Instead, we watched the lightening brighten out tents as the thunder seemed to rip open the sky from one mountainside to the other, allowing the rain to spill out and onto the earth. It was another amazing experience that made me glad I was there. I would easily survive my first mountain storm.

Rocky Mountain National Park: Day 2

Day 2

I am not sure if I was excited or overly exhausted, but I did not get as much sleep as I had hoped for. Tight quarters, sore muscles, and everything nylon kept me awake most of the night. I was the first one out of the tent. I needed to get up and stretch a bit before we climbed the mountain. Today we would have an arduous hike to a lake that was situated at 10,700 feet above seas level. After a Cliff Bar and some water for breakfast, my abbreviated back pack was ready for the journey up the mountain.

The trail was steep and slow as we navigated the dead fall and switch backs along the way. The scenery was once again spectacular as we climbed in and out of the trees. The sounds of long waterfalls echoed through the valleys and the smells of fresh wildflowers filled the air. It was a wonderful climb that rested at Lake Nakoni.

Lake Nokoni is barren. There are no fish in this lake and it befuddles Steve. It is one of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen. It is nestled at the base of a sheer rock cliff and it is hard to tell where the cliff begins and the water ends. After a brief visit with the lake and with water bottles refreshed, we continued our climb to Lake Nanita. We had to trudge through melting snow as we crested the saddle and began our decent into the shallow valley that hid this gem. Once again, around every corner things were more spectacular.

The lake was calm and perfect. I grabbed a quick bite of peanut butter and water and was soon rigged up and ready to fish. There were trout rising all over this lake. I have never seen a lake so full of feeding fish. I was content to sit and watch as both Wes and Steve quickly caught fish. It was truly a place I will never forget.

Finally, I was ready to fish. A size 14 black ant would be the ticket for this lake. The trout were eager to sip the small fly from the surface film. I am not sure how many fish I caught in my two hours there, but it had to be close to thirty. I went one direction while Wes and Steve went the other way. After catching several fish, I returned for a snack and to see how those two were doing. On my way I found the lake’s outlet. There was a no fishing sign and I wondered why. After inspecting the outlet, I found out why. This is where the fish were spawning, thousands of fish. I have only seen things like this in a hatchery. There seemed to be over a thousand fish stacked in an area less than fifty yards long. It was truly an amazing thing to see in the wild.

Soon I was fishing the same bay as Wes and Steve and on several occasions we all had trout hooked up at the same time. Doubles and triples would be the norm for the day. After a short conversation, Steve implored us to make the hike back to Nakoni and then over the steep saddle to fish Pettingell Lake. Wes was having some knee issues and told us to go. We set a time to meet back at Nakoni and soon we were humping it back over the ridge.

The hike to Pettingell Lake was one of the toughest and most beautiful of the entire trip. We hiked from 10, 500 to 11,200 and it was steep enough to need my hands at times. However, the view from the top of that saddle is one that will remain with me until the day I die. I could have sworn that I heard Julie Andrews singing in the distance.

The hike down the other side was a little hairy. It was nothing more than a rock field in the woods. The idea of fishing for big, hungry, and dumb fish was enough to get me down there. After scrambling to make it to the lake, we quickly rigged up and immediately we were into fish. We had forty-five minutes to fish to make it back in time. In that time I caught twelve trout on a 16 parachute adams and lost a few more. It was amazing to think that I was one of only a few people to ever fish this lake. I was elated and humbled at the same time. It saddened me to think that I would probably never return.

The hike out was hard and fast. I could feel my heart beating in my ears. We made it back to meet Wes in plenty of time. We each told stories of the fish we caught and the hike we had. I soaked my feet in the gin clear waters of Lake Nokoni and smiled with the delight of knowing I had lived a true back country fly fishing adventure.

The hike down the mountain was both spectacular and tedious. I was whipped and I looked forward to food, a cold bath, and a warm sleeping bag. I found all three. Although the cardboard stew left a little to be desired. It was chicken, but it sure tasted like cardboard! Before I found sleep, the camp was once again invaded by another moose. This time it would be a very, very large bull. It was too dark for a good picture, but trust me it was impressive.

Colorado: Rocky Mountain National Park

All my life I dreamed of seeing the Rocky Mountains. States like Colorado, Montana, and Wyoming have always had this sense of outdoor romanticism. I have long wanted to hunt or fish in these states. Places known for their trout and big game. In my forty years, I have often wondered if I would ever have such an opportunity. Would this be a dream that faded or would it come to fruition. Thankfully, the latter would become a reality.
In November, I watched Ohio State beat my beloved Penn State. A day after the game, I would have a chance to meet Steve Schweitzer. Steve was an old high school buddy and classmate of my brother-in-law, Wes. Apparently, Steve had moved to the Denver area, taken up fly fishing and began exploring Rocky Mountain National Park. He enjoyed the park so much, that he decided to do ten years of research and write a guide to fly fishing this amazing place.
I liked Steve from the moment I met him. He was not a fly fishing snob, but a very personable and gracious man. We talked fishing, he showed us pictures that made me drool, and he invited Wes and me to join him this summer for a fly fishing/back packing adventure. It still did not feel like it would happen.
Within weeks, Steve had sent me a copy of his book and we were making plans to go to Colorado. He had a camp reserved and pictures to share with us, and the reality of this actually happening was starting to set in. I was really going to get my chance to fish the Rocky Mountains and finally catch the famed cutthroat trout!
Wednesday, July 27
Tonight I left to spend the night at the in-laws. We have an early flight and need to be at the airport long before my children will be out of bed. It was a tearful goodbye. I hate seeing the kids upset. I love them so much and I know I will miss them dearly. However, I hope to learn enough that someday I can share with them this special place.
Thursday, July 28
Travel Day
The morning ended a sleepless night. I had so much on my mind: The excitement of the trip, the hassle of the airport, my wife and children. I was anxious to get started. We were at the air port early and were soon waiting for our flight. It would stop in Chicago and then on to Denver. It was uneventful and that is exactly how I like to fly! We were soon in Denver and an hour later would find us at the door step of our friend.
Steve was very excited to see us. We made a quick visit to his local fly shop, The Laughing Grizzly, for some last minute gear and a hat. Then we headed to Wal-Mart for our fishing license. Thirty-one dollars later, I was ready and legal to fish the state of Colorado.
We went back to Steve’s to check our bags and make a few last minute pack adjustments and then we were off to a local pub for our last real meal before our strenuous hike. Steve has a great view of Long’s Peak, the highest point in the park at just over 14,000.

July 29
Day 1
I actually did get some sleep this night. I dreamed of high mountain, Colorado River cutthroat trout all night, but I slept. I was geeked and ready to get started. The ride from Steve’s house travels along the Big Thompson River. The road winds through one of the most beautiful canyons I have ever seen. I saw mule deer and beautiful pocket water as we made our way upstream for a stop in Estes Park. One McMuffin and an orange juice later and we were on our way into the park. I was speechless as we made our way up Trail Ridge Road. Steve kept asking me if everything was okay. I was just trying to mentally digest the magnitude of these magnificent mountains. Every time I would comment on how awesome one view was, Steve would tell me to wait a minute and soon the views were even more spectacular. We stopped for a quick picture at 10,500, two miles above sea level. We were at the summit of the highest paved road in the U.S. We had to stop for a few more pictures before headed back down the other side of the mountain.

On the way down the mountain, we crossed the continental divide. We were soon looking at the headwaters of the mighty Colorado River. It was amazing to think that this was the same river that carved the Grand Canyon. We had to make a quick stop at the park office to change vehicle identification data and we were soon at the trail head. I am not sure how excited I was to carry a thirty-five pound back pack for seven and half miles, but I was ready for my back country adventure to start.

The trail was deceivingly flat for the first mile and a half. We passed many day hikers on their way to Cascade Falls. Eventually, we would even have a local cross country team pass us and return on their way back. The weight of the pack was tedious, but the scenery helped to alleviate the burden.

Before I knew it we were at the half way point. A spot called Big Pool. It was agonizing to pass up so much fishable water, but Steve assured me that I would be rewarded. Now it was time to test the waters and one of my favorite flies. We stopped to take the packs off, eat a Cliff bar, and fish for my first ever Colorado River Cut Throat. I have to admit, I was like a kid in a candy store. I quickly tied on my beloved parachute adams and was soon flinging my three weight at one of the many seems in this pool. It did not take long to watch the trout travel three feet to the surface to slowly sip my fly. Within seconds I had my hands on the powerful little fish and I was as content as any fly fisher could ever be.

I quickly caught three more before handing the rod over to Wes. He was soon on the board with his first trout ever and burden of the back packs seemed to fade a little as we left the big pool. Another couple of hours of hiking later and we soon found ourselves unpacking and setting up camp. This would be our home for the next three nights.

With camp set up, we trekked to the river for a couple hours of fantastic pocket water fishing on the North Inlet Creek. I am not sure how long we fished, but there were eager trout to be found in every pretty pocket. I was a mess. I was like some giddy little kid. Steve was very entertained by my childish enthusiasm. I was very entertained by the foolish fish. I was able to hook close to thirty trout that first night. However, one of the memories that will stick with me forever was the sight of Wes, dangling his feet over a twenty foot cliff, dropping his fly and catching fish after fish while reeling them in like he was bass fishing. They were soon flying through the air on their way back to the water. It was quite a sight.

I, on the other hand was scaling walls and wading the fast water to fish a small canyon. It was sketchy and I am sure my wife would have been very unhappy with me, but I had to do it. The thought of fishing water that most would shy away from was too tantalizing to pass up. I was rewarded with several more fish and a long hike out. Our first day of fishing was coming to a close, but the excitement was far from over.

We stopped to filter some water and wash up a bit. Back at camp we boiled water and ate freeze dried meals that once seemed so romantic, but now tasted like a freeze dried meal! The mosquitoes and the long hike had taken their toll. We were in the tents before eight p.m. Wes and I slept shoulder to uncomfortable shoulder in a small two man tent. At least we tried to sleep. Soon Steve was whispering for us to look outside of our tents at the young Bull Moose that had meandered into camp. He was less than twelve yards away before Steve yelled at him. It was an awesome way to end the first day.

Even after a long day, the scenery and the fishing seemed almost surreal. Steve was right, around every corner the mountains become more majestic and the scenery more spectacular. The smells and sounds were dream like. The wild flowers reminded me of my wife. The mushrooms reminded me of Matthew and his fascination for the colorful fungi. The rocks and mountains reminded me of Morgan and her love of stones. Even looking back now, I have to ask myself if it wasn’t just a dream. And it just kept getting better!