epilogue

Yep, I caught my fair share after all, on hopper/dropper rigs mostly.  Ran a double nymph rig for some of the big fellas when the creek was blown out. 

Speaking of blown out- I see this particular pair nosing a feeding line at the foot of a pool, maybe 12" down.  I look away to change rigs out, look back up to make my cast, and there's nothing but chocolate milk where white water did flow.  Yep as fast as that, as I'm sure you know.  Spooked myself out of heading into the box, what with that crazy rain in CO fresh on the mind. 

Did manage to top out into that upper meadow before calling it a day.  Trudged back to camp in, you guessed it, a downpour.  




Staring at the prospects of another cold camp, another drenching night, I set my sights instead on that peach cobbler made by that nice Abuela on the road back home.   

 
Hmmm, my choice was made, and a wise one it proved: read later 2" snow blanketed my meadow that very night.  

the fall backpack 2013 series:
fair warning
discovery
elk smoke
epilogue

elk smoke

elk smoke [elk smohk]; noun  

Def: those wisps of backcountry storm clouds reminiscent of the vapor of elk bugling on a frosty morning.

Origin: First coined by toddler Will the Thrill on one of his first camping trips

 

Usage: peering out of the tent at the remnants of last night's storm, WTW exclaims- 'Look Dad! Elk Smoke!' 

Indeed it is son, indeed it is. 

the fall backpack 2013 series:
fair warning
discovery
elk smoke
epilogue

discovery

elk smoke on the ridge

don't matter, so long as it's hot

The next morning dawned bright and clear...
...somewhere far, far away from my small valle.  My morning was met again with squalls punctuating the steady downpour.  Slowing to a drizzle after breakfast, I made the most of the opportunity to gear up, boot up, hit the trail for that feeder I had my eye on.  

I wasn't a half mile up the trail before a monumental squall breaks over the far ridge.  There I stand in the middle of the trail, exposed as the day I was born, rooted in complete fascination as the squall envelopes the head of the valley.  The clouds slink down the rock face like elk smoke, while below the rain sheet is a moving, quavering, curtain of battleship grey.  

I'm shaken out of my boots by a peal of flash/thunder/flash/thunderrr, and I'm thinking oh sweet jeebus, this ain't gonna be good. But a minute, and I'm getting hammered by rain, sleet, grapnel, the trail now a veritable river. I hoof it into a clump of spruce, hunker down under some big boughs, and wonder aloud just what the hell it is that I'm doin' up here. 

In the far backcountry, in the pouring rain, lightning all around.  Without a lick of sense.

torrent

So I had some time to ruminate and thank dog for what Awesomeness could be found in the moment.  Like Gore-Tex.  And Redington waders.  And loved ones.  And oatmeal-raisin cookies, don't forget those.  And cutthroat trout, without whom I would not be in this fine mess.  ;-) 

cutthroat waters

All kidding aside, nothing quite like those big boomers in the high country to make a guy feel alive, amirite amigos?

the box in a brief lull between storms

Well wait ten minutes and the weather will change adage proved dead-on dontchaknow.

I soon found myself at the foot of the canyon, stringing my favorite 3wt.  That stealth black 3-piece, crafted by an old rod maker, sorely missed, who will never make another.  

native

It is there, peering through the gloom to where my first glory pool awaits, that I find...myself.  Once more.  

For I suddenly realize, despite the steady downpour, the numb fingers, the cold trickle down the back of my neck- that most all is Right in my World.  

And so it is, with a murmured- Well, let's get after it, I make my first cast into what is to be another glorious day in the high country. 

why we fish

the fall backpack 2013 series:
fair warning
discovery
elk smoke
epilogue

fair warning

So yeah that crazy weather front that rolled through Saturday-Sunday washed me right out of the mountains.  Cut my backpack trip short, darn it, but it was an adventure nonetheless.

absolutely not by mountain bikes, frackin horses

The trip started out pleasant enough, mostly fair skies though with scudding clouds that portended something else to come. Trail was an unholy, soul-sucking mess from the drenching rains the week prior, and the horses, my Dog the horses. 

See, that's the problem with backpacking the Wild during the hunting seasons of Fall.  Add a string of hoofed, sh!#ting, pissing, foul beasts to a muddy trail and that right there is reason enough for a backpacker to join the Sierra Club for life.  And that's to say nothing of the Outfitters' actual pack animals, badda-bing!   

Thank you, thank you, be here all week~ ;-)

Sooooo, anyhoo, I digress.  

From Backpack Fall 2013

Made it up to my base camp meadow after a hard slog, to say the least.  No-one else camped in sight, all chasing elk in the high country.  I made short work setting up camp, then busted back down to the foot of the meadow to sample that oh-so-sweet water I reluctantly passed on the way up. 

is this heaven?

Water was absolutely gorgeous, tho I admit I ruined most of it stubbornly casting various terrestrial attractors on top, knowing mostly I should set aside my pride and dance with the girl that brung ya.  You know, with so little fishing under my belt this summer, I just wanted to catch my fair share (on what could well be my last high country trip this season) my way.  You know what I mean? 


So yeah, I blew my chances on more than a couple pigs nosing the bottom of pools, bringing their younger brethren to hand with beetles, ants fished up top.

My way.

Fishing done, dinner was a rushed affair, dodging rain squalls as those scudding clouds gathered in strength.  While duly waiting my 8-9 minute chicken-alfredo-in-a-pouch to stew, I hunkered in the downpour, counting the seconds between flashes and those big rolling boomers crashing thru the hills.  I ducked into the tent early, finally executing the good sense to get in out of the rain.  Having brought a metric ton of nothing by way of entertainment, I drifted off, counting again as the next wave of boomers broke over my camp.

the fall backpack 2013 series:
fair warning
discovery
elk smoke
epilogue

to hand

dry flies 2012

From Dry Flies Stoke 2012

colorado native

dry flies 2012

From Dry Flies Stoke 2012

la junta

dry flies 2012

From Dry Flies Stoke 2012

sunset

dry flies 2012

From Dry Flies Stoke 2012

backcountry cutthroat

dry flies 2012

From Dry Flies Stoke 2012

the great christmas tree hunt 2012

 

We have made the pilgrimage into our nearby mountain ranges to find our past Christmas trees more often than not.  

Not 2011 though, to our great regret.  

redrock

Christmas tree hunting in the Jemez range would not be the same without a stop for biscochitos homemade by everyone's favorite roadside Abuelita.

one more

...to stoke the fires before a long winter's nap.

high country gold

Well it looks like I almost missed it entirely.

Gold season in the high country.

When my window finally, finally!, arrived, I was astonished to see October 13 on the calendar, yikes!




That's opening day of elk rifle season round here, that could make for an interesting time on the water.

To top it off, I was flying in on the heels of that stormfront that sailed thru Friday, gawd I hope it doesn't put the fish down, I had too much riding on this trip.

This last trip of the high country season.

So Saturday's drive up was filled with more than a little angst, wondering if I managed to blow it this final trip of the season.  You know the feeling- no aspens, no color, no thick bodied, big headed browns.  

No gold.

Saturday, round 1pm, I realized I needn't have worried so much.  

What color was lost in the hillsides seemed to have found its way into the stream, with buttery browns around every bend.

Yes there was my fair share of the catching.  But the most memorable fish was that One I never pricked.

With autumn's low water and fishing season all but a distant memory, many of the solitary browns take up station in the skinniest water- ambush stations.  Stalking up a riffle, hunting for those familiar current breaks, I see him. One of the largest of the trip, his back to me, in a shallow pool at the tail of a tongue of current.  Tucked neatly into the shadows of an overhanging rock, blissfully nosing the conveyor belt of food while his enemies remain absent.

I practice a coupla side casts to work out the distance, send that beetle, #16, into the fray.  The first cast goes unnoticed, the second has his full attention.  As the beetle floats past and tips into the current, the big brown turns to give chase. The beetle hovers on the brink, the big snarking nose breaks the surface to inhale the hapless prey.  But he's just a scosh too late- the fly darts down into the current leaving the cavernous maw to snap shut with with an audible pop, leaving only a solitary bubble where beetle once was.

That exact moment freezes in my minds eye.  A single rod's distance separates we two.  His one eye above the surface, we two adversaries stand frozen in time, locked in conflict.  Literally eye to eye.

Hunter v Prey

One look of startled recognition, slap of a barn door tail, roostertail wake.  He's gone!

Until next year my friend.      

Next year.

season's end

road trip

Getting out of town in a last ditch attempt to wring one more high country trip out of the disappearing season

awesomeness

Now this is one cutthroat angler who gets it.

I mean really, really gets it! sniff ;-)



Oregon Coast Range Cutts from Sam Brost-turner on Vimeo.

HT: This Is Fly

sbt in pixels

What a great trip.  Gotta get back up there~

From South Boundary Trail 2012

ipad users click into embedded linkage- curse you google-apple wars! Can't we all just get along?

south boundary trail

heaven on earth

What with all the training, racing, shredding under our treads this summer, it seemed like a good idea to finally pull the trigger on one of the more renowned trails in this great state.  

new mexico high country

 

knobbies

 Yup, South Boundary Trail was marked into the calendar to coincide with the changing season in the high country above Taos, NM.

she wolf in her natural habitat

For the uninitiated, the SBT is a spectacular ride in any season.  You'll start by heading up in Angel Fire at around 9.5K, cresting at 10.8K over Osha Pass in the first 1.5 miles. Whew!  

there was much suffering here

Once peaked out, riders are then rewarded with a gradual descent thru mixed conifer forests, aspen groves, verdant meadows in and around Garcia Park.  In the last 3 miles closer to Taos, the forests transition to mixed oak, pinon, juniper, with plenty of babyhead-littered rock gardens and rockledge steps threatening an OTB round every turn.  Considering the shortest run drops 3500' in over 22 miles, the SBT has earned EPIC status from locals and traveling mountain bikers alike.

carving turns in the aspens

Sounds like just the challenge for our crew, no?  

Caroline, our twelve year old racer on a borrowed 29'r, 

10 yr old Will the Thrill on his 24" 36-pound (yes you read that right) Schwinn, 

Sweetness on her venerable 4" dualie, 

and this here blogger of indeterminate age and questionable judgement. 

Add to the mix, another gung-ho family of consummate shredders, now we have a par-TAY!

  

cast of characters

 So Sunday am has us huffing up that first ridge, leap-frogging each the other as we slowly gain first the aspen groves, then the pass itself.

But a moment atop Osha Pass, before the kids point their rigs downhill and the fun begins.  Dam, but those kids have some skilz!  

shredder

Caroline now drafts the wheels of passing pros, gives them a run for their money.  

getting his game face on

WTT, irregardless of hauling a veritable metric ton of weight in that Schwinn, can still outclimb a goat on the ups.

On the downs?

 he lets his visage do the talkin.

Ah, Mrs Wulff now, she channeled her inner she-wolf, gritted her teeth bared her fangs in the rock gardens and never looked back. 

descent

 Back at the parking lot, ride done, the kids all swap stories with some of their fellow veterans of the SBT, some 20 years their senior.  Cya on the trails Dude!  

el nogal plunge

 Gotta love it~

Hearty thanks to the Matlins for hosting and helping get the the SBT D-O-N-E, done.

trail's end