February 24, 2013

Flow: 99

Water Temp: 38

In every adversity lies the seed of a greater benefit.

I may never have the word to describe today. We rescheduled a guided trip with forecasts of 50 mile per hour winds and snow. When the sun rose this morning, all I could see were large flakes falling straight down. I decided to chance that the wind wouldn’t arrive for some time and enjoyed my coffee and the company of my dog before suiting up. It was surprising as I pulled into the Nature Center to see a few vehicles of local anglers and a few others from places north. The first few spots upstream had angler activity, so I moved up a spot and on my third cast engaged a 21” ‘bow that would have made my day right there. The breeze being light still, I decided to work upstream. Every body of water I touched produced fish. I continued to work up and after an immeasurable time, I found myself completely alone. I’ll never know how long it took me to take notice of my solitude but the impact was profound to me. It was a winter of my childhood. Enormous flakes covering the landscape silencing the city combined with the monotonous din of flowing water made the river deafening and silent as the womb in the same instant. The universe consisted entirely of the sound of my cast, feeding trout and the occasional sound of glee as the pooch dug tunnels in the snow. In the height of each of these tranquil moments, an indicator dipped below the surface and it was time for action.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so separated from the world as I did today barely a few miles from my home. All of Pueblo should take pride in what we’ve accomplished here with the help of some resilient trout and local river stewards that fight endlessly for our tailwater.

In these conditions big flies entice big trout. The rest is up to you.

Tight Lines,

Ben