Audubon's "Violet Green Swallow"

John James Audubon's rendition of my favorite summertime swallow, the Violet Green. They are almost constant companions at the lake and over meadows and hayfields. Audubon plate published 1840 to 1844.

Early Lake Report: Paying Your Dues

It was another March-like afternoon, but without the whipping wind. I was ready to offer the dry fly option to the stockers still getting accustomed to their new home.

I had tied up a pretty little stimulator, and within two minutes of launch I had a fish on the line. I was drifting the fly behind the tube and the fish hit the fly and missed, then followed and sucked it in deep, making sure it wouldn't get away again. I had to use the forceps to get it out.

I released the first fish, flipped the fly out on the water, and began untangling fly line still stiff and coiled from the cold. While I was busy with that, another fish came along and inhaled the fly. Back to the forceps. I tried to be careful, but by the time I had removed the fly a second time it was in bad shape. But it had done its job well.

I went to a muddler and caught a few fish on a lazy drift behind the float tube.

Then the wind came up and the fish went down.

I was pretty sure the wind was here to stay, but after awhile it backed off.

And some fish came back up.

I wasn't the only one fishing, but I was happy to share the water with these experts: a loon, and an osprey.

The osprey tried to call me off as I neared his perch, but I had to pass right under it to reach the shore where I planned to take a break.

This shoreline is across from the road and is a little oasis of wildness on this built-up lake.

There is a grove of trees and then the steep, almost cliff-like ridge face. It would be a hard climb up and down for me, but I have found deer and bighorn sheep in these woods. They had no trouble getting up the ridge when they heard me coming.

I took my break then explored a little. I have found bones and feathers here, and even fishing lures hanging from shoreline branches. This time I found a single downy feather blooming on a branch like a spring blossom.

I launched into a calming lake.

This was what I was hoping for. In the chilly calm midges, a few caddisflies, and other assorted bugs were hatching. They swarmed around me. Would the fish get together for an evening rise?

I cast out a little elk hair caddis and kept an eye on it as best I could.

I was distracted, though, by the swallows. They flew up and down the lake making the most of the heavy hatch. I love these birds.

A few fish rose randomly, giving me hope, and I worked the little caddis as enticingly as I could. An evening rise, however, did not materialize. It will come as days get warmer, but for now I switched to a fat nymph and trolled it slowly toward the take out. Before I got there one more little trout was on the line.

I released it and kicked in to shore. I had been in the water for almost five hours. My feet were a little numb, and I was shivering as the temperature dropped toward a low in the thirties.

I'm eager for warm weather fishing, but I have to admit, there's something appealing about being out there in these early days of the season. At the least, it feels real good when you finally quit and get inside to warm up. At the most, it feels like you're paying your dues and renewing your commitment to the lakes and streams that sustain you all year long.

Early Lake Report: The Urge To Catch a Trout

March felt like April, so it shouldn't surprise us that April has come in like March. I took the float tube out for the first time this year on a chilly, very windy afternoon last Friday.

This is a local lake that opens on April 1st. It provides a good place to get back into good floating form by the last Saturday in April when Trout Lake and all the other local waters open up.

It offers fresh little stockers who are easy, but not pushovers.

On this blustery day they were laying low, but could be enticed to hit a stripped or trolled bead head woolly bugger.

The real attraction of the day was the hundreds and hundreds of violet-green swallows flitting, darting, and swooping everywhere. There is no color like that iridescent violet-green when they turn glinting in the light--something I have not yet been able to capture with my point-and-shoot camera.

There was high overcast when I arrived at the lake, and within a couple of hours it was thickening, and rain showers could be seen ranging over the land. The wind was still blowing hard, the temperature was dropping, and I was getting cold. The swallows would go on until dark, but this time I was ready to call it a day.

So I caught one more fish and kicked for shore.

It took me 20 minutes to get home instead of the two hours it took from Rocky Ford. And the nice thing is it will only take me 20 minutes to get back the next time I get the urge to catch a trout.

Trout Lake Report: Celebrations

You usually leave good weather behind and drive into rain when you go up to the lake. This time you leave the rain behind.

It's dry at the lake, but you notice the first unmistakable signs of the turning of the seasons.

You tie on a hopper, just to be seasonal, and start across to the inlet. You notice that the sky is full of swallows. This is the time they flock and head south, so you are happy to be able to see them again before they go.

While you're looking up you see an eagle riding the high updrafts on the edge of the storm as it slides by the lake.

And over by the inlet you watch two Kingfishers noisily fishing.

You get down to fishing, too. You cast the hopper out in open water and let the breeze drift it. There's a splashy take, a ripping run across the flats, and some work to do to get the fish to the net.

Here's why: foul-hooked.

You tie on a smaller hopper and work around the babbling inlet stream.

Fish begin making themselves known, and a cast to a rise gets an enthusiastic take.

Callibaetis start their dance, midges and Little Black Caddis join them, and fish begin to rise everywhere. This is an evening rise like the old days, a celebration of summer's bounty. 

Before changing flies you show them the little hopper. They're more than willing to take it.

Then you hook something that quickly breaks you off. There are some big fish lurking in those weed beds. Was it that big Brown you've been seeing?

So you go with a small green muddler and continue to catch fish.

One of them is yet another Brown.

You catch a survivor with half a tail. You think you know what might have happened. Over the last few evenings you have been seeing other things lurking around the weed beds. Otters have been rolling and slashing through them.

After awhile the activity dies down. You're ready to go.

You watch the swallows as you kick back across. Hundreds are swooping and gliding up and down the lake. The sky seems full of them from horizon to horizon. It's beautiful and poignant, a joyful celebration of the summer that is--and was.