an amateur angler reports back from Colorado

Standing knee deep in fast moving, freezing cold water is not the time to lose patience. Fly fishing is supposed to be a calming, contemplative hobby, and, at moments, it is. But, for someone picking up the sport for the first time, those tranquil moments are cloistered by frustration and failure. So long as patience prevails, fly fishing can catch your enthusiasm—and your dinner.

Cebolla Creek tumbles into the Powderhorn Valley, gaining speed and volume as it collects water from hillside springs and mountain runoff. The valley is the dividing line between the Powderhorn Wilderness and the Gunnison National Forest, both of which are protected swaths of land in southwest Colorado. Every year, the spring thaw turns on a faucet of chalky, sediment-filled water, which drains out through the Powderhorn Valley and into the Blue Mesa Reservoir. By mid-June, the sediment has run its course. The water is clear and ideal for fly fishing.

In recent years, the popularity of fly fishing has increased, due in large part to the premier of the 1992 film “A River Runs Through It.” The film, starring Brad Pitt, was based on a novella written by Norman MacLean. But MacLean wasn’t the first author to expound on the noble pursuit of fly fishing. In 1653, an Englishmen by the name of Izaak Walton wrote “The Complete Angler: Or the Contemplative Man’s Recreation,” which is still considered by many modern day anglers to be the bible of fly fishing. Walton’s treatise plays a central role in David James Duncan’s classic 1983 novel, “The River Why.” It was these romanticized accounts of fly fishing that inspired my foray into the contemplative man’s sport.

My time in Colorado corresponded with the end of monsoon season in early August. Heavy rain had carried rocks, dirt and detritus down from the mountains and into the creek, creating a chocolate river, like the one in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Because the rain mucks up the creek, monsoon season can seriously impair the angler’s chance of catching a fish. However, the rain does wonders for the Powderhorn Valley, leaving a green wake of vibrant plant life in its path as the intermittent showers roll through the valley each day. Wild flowers pop like fireworks along the banks of the Cebolla and mosquitoes start hatching in droves.

Throughout the fishing season, processions of insects will hatch from their larvae. The fish are in tune with the rolling birth cycles of these insects, and their diets will anticipate mosquito season, dragon fly season or caddisfly season. Each morning, local radio stations broadcast a fishing report that states which insects are hatching that day. Before casting their line in the water, anglers will choose whichever synthetic fly the fish are expecting.

Knowing how to propel the fake insect in such a way so that it appears real to the fish is perhaps the biggest challenge and most elusive skill for the fly fisher. Basically, you have to outwit a fish. It sounds easy, but the way an insect lands on the water—whether it floats, hops or sinks to the bottom—helps determine its authenticity, and one mistake can spook the fish. But, before you can even offer the fish your fake bug, you have to know where the gilled monster will be. In a creek like the Cebolla, which has rainbow trout, German brown trout, brook trout and cutthroat trout, the fish prefer calm sections, like behind rocks, along the banks or in slow moving eddies. There they relax and wait for the food to come to them.   

My first fly cast was on a pond, a very small, dirty pond. So, it wasn’t the Brad Pitt casting on the Blackfoot River experience I was hoping for, but we all have to start somewhere (and, eventually, Angelina Jolie will be mine). I was staying at the Powderhorn Guest Ranch when Chris Henson, resident chef and fishing guide, offered a fly fishing clinic on my second day in Colorado. Henson has fished the Blackfoot in Montana, where “A River Runs Through It” was filmed. He even worked at the lodge where Pitt and the film crew stayed during the making of the 1992 film. According to him, both Pitt and co-star Craig Sheffer did all their own fishing.

A fly cast is a lot like a golf swing. There is an established method, a form and execution that’s time-tested to get good results. The difficulty with fly-fishing, like golf, is mastering this very precise action. A wrongly bent elbow, an untimely flick of the wrist or a poor stance causes the line to dribble out across the water or get tangled like a bowl of spaghetti.

After gaining sufficient skill on the little dirty pond, we moved up to what looked like a bigger dirty pond. Upon reaching Hidden Lake, a fish appeared at the surface and then ducked under water again. Fly fishing is most effective on rivers, but it can also be used to fish lakes and even the ocean. With high hopes, I dropped my line. 

The cast comes in three motions. The first motion brings the pole back over your head to the ten o’clock position. The second motion brings the pole forward to the 2:00 position. The fly fisher repeats this motion until enough line has been played out. The third motion brings the pole down so that it’s pointing where you want the fly to land. At this point, the pole should be perfectly in line with the fly fisher’s arm. A perfect cast creates a wave throughout the body, starting in the feet and proceeding up through the waist, through the torso, up into the shoulders, along the arm, into the wrist, hand and fingers, until finally the wave is imitated by the rod and line. It’s one perfect motion, ideally. Unfortunately, there were so many trees and bushes surrounding the lake that it was difficult to really let loose with the cast. Also, there were two snot-nosed kids standing close by, whose loud exclamations probably scared away all of the fish.  

On my last day in Colorado, Henson and I traveled up the Cebolla, where the water was clear and the surrounding hills were carpeted in low sage bushes. Casting on the river presented new challenges. Despite my greatest efforts, each cast strayed like a toddler without a leash. Submerged rocks, stubborn sticks and overhanging trees each took their turn grabbing my line and breaking my confidence. Even my shirt sleeve got snagged by the wandering, undisciplined fly. I can say with confidence that there is nothing more humiliating on the river then asking a seasoned angler to help you remove a hook from your shirt. Although I never pulled an actual fish out of the creek, I did manage to make a few worthwhile catches, which included a constant stream of staggering views, a few moments of tranquility and the desire to try my luck and patience another day.