Rocky Ford Creek Report: The Last Fish of Winter

Winter has retreated to the high country. There it will make its last stand.

Down along the creek it's already spring even if the calendar says it's winter for one more day.

You've brought your new ties, and over the afternoon each pattern--PMD, Lady McConnell, and Adams variant--brings trout to the net.

You bring one in on a black humpy and discover a nice little mayfly tie broken off in the corner of its jaw.

The afternoon goes from breezy to breezier, in the great tradition of March. The pelicans sail over now and then tilting like kites.

The best fly of the afternoon is the little yellow and quail soft hackle. You trail it in the meniscus behind a high-floating stimulator for awhile.

The sun angles lower. On the last trip, this was the time for a lively evening rise. This time the fish stay down.

You change tactics and present the soft hackle with a brisk strip. It works.

It's on the strip that you catch the last fish of the day and the last fish of winter.

You get home and the moon has a halo around it. Looks like a change in the weather.

Rocky Ford Creek Report: Perspective

It was the first day of Spring, and I wanted to be at Rocky Ford Creek at the exact time of the vernal equinox.

On my journey to Rocky Ford I pass right by Lake Lenore, a Lahontan cutthroat fishery. I noticed on my last trip that it was open: fishermen were all over it. This time I stopped and talked to a couple guys who said the fish were in the north and south ends already, something they don't normally do until April.

I made a note to get the float tube ready and give it a try on my next trip, but, as the guys said, "Be ready to squeeze in elbow to elbow."

Rocky Ford was a little more crowded than usual, too. I wasn't the only one who wanted to celebrate the first day of Spring on the water.

I found the fishing slow. I managed to hook a few small fish, but the larger trout were eluding me.

At least I wasn't distracted by constant action, so I was able to keep track of the time and be ready for the moment of the equinox. So here is what the the arrival of Spring looked like at Rocky Ford Creek. 

I fished some more, but I wasn't doing very well. The truth is, all the time I wasn't catching anything, or catching another little trout, there was a guy downstream on the opposite bank reeling in one nice fish after another.

My competitive nature kicked in for awhile, and I tried hard to outfish him. But after a time I had to admit that my heart wasn't in it anymore. It was time to accept that sometimes it's someone else's day.

There were two things weighing on my mind. The first was that when I got out of the truck there was a fluid leak under the engine. I didn't open the hood then, but I checked the fluid. It seemed to be plain water, but I couldn't think of any explanation for it. I decided to worry about it later, and now it was later. I wanted to have some daylight for troubleshooting, and some extra time in case someone had to drive down and pick me up.

The other thing on my mind was that I had lost a good friend that week. He had gone in for knee surgery on Monday, and died suddenly early Tuesday morning. His memorial service was going to be the next morning, and I had some things to do in the service that I had been going over and over in my mind.

So I left the water and headed for home. The first test was to see how the truck ran. It ran fine. So now I could stop worrying about that and concentrate on my friend's memorial service.

The view of the mountains to the west fit my mood, and I had some extra time, so I pulled off on a couple of gravel roads to get a better vantage point.

It was good to see those snowy peaks rising out of the misty distance. It was good to remember that they had been there for eons, and would be there for eons more. They helped put everything else in perspective.

It had been a good day, and tomorrow would be a good day, too.

"Here in the Time Between" by Jack Ridl

Here in the time between snow

and the bud of the rhododendron,

we watch the robins, look into

the gray, and narrow our view

to the patches of wild grasses

coming green. The pile of ashes

in the fireplace, haphazard sticks

on the paths and gardens, leaves

tangled in the ivy and periwinkle

lie in wait against our sill. This

drawing near of renewal, of stems

and blossoms, the hesitant return

of the anarchy of mud and seed

says not yet to the blood's crawl.

When the deer along the stream

look back at us, we know again

we have left them. We pull

a blanket over us when we sleep.

As if living in a prayer, we say

amen to the late arrival of red,

the stun of green, the muted yellow

at the end of every twig. We will

lift up our eyes unto the trees hoping

to discover a gnarled nest within

the branches' negative space. And

we will watch for a fox sparrow

rustling in the dead leaves underneath.

"Here in the Time Between" by Jack Ridl, from Practicing to Walk Like a Heron.

© Wayne State University Press, 2013.

Postscript: As I took these photos I saw a fox sparrow rustling in the dead leaves under these branches. Happy Spring.

Welcome to Spring

 

It's official. Spring is here. The vernal equinox--the moment when the sun crosses the celestial equator--happened at 10:14 PM Monday night for us here in the West, which was 12:14 AM today for those of you in the central part of the country, and 1:14 AM for those of you in the East.

Welcome to Spring. Sigh of relief, all together now: "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh......."

If weather permits where you are, you may want to take notice of the sun. It will rise due East, and set due West.