Deckers South Platte River Fly Fishing Report 3/28/2014

We caught healthy Rainbows and Browns up and down the Deckers stretch of the South Platte River. My Friend Jim caught this nice 18 inch rainbow that we did not bother to stress by trying to take a better photo. The numbers of fish seem some what down but the fish are big and strong. Sight fishing is the most effective way to increase odds. Best flies were brown San Juan worm,  size 24 black beauty, and size 24 sparkle wing RS2. ("Same old flies"). Did not see any risers. Windy conditions. Respectable flows of aprox. 125 CFS. 

Off the Slopes and Into The Blue; Then Pueblo's Arkansas: First Days On the River in 2014

Hoped for snow Friday night. Never came. I skinned up the slopes 5:30 in the morning while it was still dark hoping for snow. Still delayed. Spooked out 3 moose. Saw their silhouettes running through the trees. Kind of spooky. Snow or no snow the moose made the early morning hike memorable. As with fishing, and running, and skiing, strange things that stir me seem most  likely to happen in the predawn darkness.  Best time of the day.  An hour later I skied down toward the sun rise. Still no new snow.

Then just before lunch it started. Just flurries at first but then it started coming down heavy. I cheated and caught the lift.  Timed it just right. Five inches of new powder on the slopes of Breckenridge ski area where I enjoyed tellemark turning and floating on snow. One of the greatest sensations in life for me that  ranks right up there with the initial contact of hooking a large fish on a fly rod.

For now, satisfied with skiing. Shift gears. Went down to the Blue River at Silverthorne and started walking the river up toward the dam looking for rainbows in the seam lines. Hooked up 5 or so good size rainbows on size 22 black beauties. Only casted to fish I spied. Saw them take the fly. Best way to fish. The only way for me.

Fished the Ark in Pueblo today. Fished the flag hole area and did well. I am not seeing the same number of fish as I did last year but at least there are some fish in the river and willing to take small black midges.  Midges hatching mid morning.  Best flies were size 18 beadhead PT,  size 22 black beauty and size 22 sparkle wing RS2. Again, sight casting makes a huge difference.

I am in transition with the seasons. I can fish but spring snow storms will continue to bring good snow to the mountains making great ski conditions.  I love this time of year. Great fishing and some of the best skiing of the year. What to choose? 

I keep my eyes on the skies while gazing into cold, clear. tumbling streams.

Self Imposed Limits On the Dream Stream

Of course I thought about going. There are big fish in the Dream Stream right now. They have been there for weeks.  Big spawning Rainbows, Cutthroats, and Cut-bows that make their way up from 11 mile reservoir.

But then I think of the crowds. I think of the assault on the fish. The fish are just trying to reproduce. Seeing the assault feels a bit apocalyptic. Looks as though we are swarming the river desperately trying to catch the last fish of the world?

Maybe it is more just the appearance of this assault than anything else that keeps me away. People running to "their" holes. Sitting on those holes  all day.with almost guard-like gestures. 

So I leave them alone. I leave the fish alone. I impose this limit on myself. I haven’t always done this. But this year I hold back. I wait. I have seen this assault, even in catch and release fisheries, drive the fish out.  I don’t know where they go. Some back to the reservoir. Some just go away. Many that die.

I listen to the reports. I see the pictures. Friends fish it often. I think of Thoreau when he said if a man does not keep pace with his companions perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer and such a person who hears that music should follow it no matter how far away.

From far away, I perceive a different pace as I feel the outer edge of winter pushing up against the inner edge of spring. I am in the midst of seasonal transition and so are the fish.  I can still wait. I can choose to wait. Let the fish spawn. Wait for them to revive and start feeding again and responding to hatches.

I almost feel the urge to fish but not quite. I need the edge of winter to move farther away  and the edge of spring to move closer.Need to allow the fish to move to new edges looking for food.

The edge of winter is receding. In the foothills I watch the snow line moving away from the grass line leaving narrower and narrower strips of snow. Some in the shadows are deep enough to still ski. Soon they too will melt away. Then, if I want to ski I will have to go higher up on the Peak in the colder air, to the bowls where blown in snow remains deep. But, eventually, these will also melt.

Melt into the rivers we fish. Melt into the rivers I fish. And will fish. Soon.  But not quite yet.  I impose this limit on myself.

Can Our Own Happiness Actually Make Us Unhappy?

 “Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted”.

Jesus says we are happy (blessed) when we mourn. Leave it to Jesus to turn things upside down. We are dealing with a paradox. It is difficult to understand. It seems to be counter intuitive and counter cultural.

It is difficult to understand because we are constantly told by our culture to be happy. And we are constantly told how to be happy and that we should be happy. It is one of those entitlements that is part of the culture.

It is difficult to not keep trying to be happy. I think we do our share of pretending. It is kind of difficult to be a party pooper when everyone else around is so happy (or so it seems). It is even more difficult to consider what Jesus meant about mourning as we keep trying to be happy according how the culture wants us to be happy. We rarely challenge the culture.  I am not sure we even know how to challenge the culture.

I think Jesus was challenging the culture when he said, “Blessed (Happy) are those who mourn”. This challenging paradox causes me to consider that perhaps my own happiness can block me from a deeper more true happiness.  As a Christian I have to realize that I am not exempt from the cultures attempts to make me happy.  I too can allow a superficial happiness to permeate my being. Happiness can become a sort of idol.

Regardless of what exactly Jesus meant when he told us to mourn it seems to be difficult for us to put aside our own happiness to feel any form of loneliness or sadness, let alone mourning. It seems we need the “feel good” kind of happiness to function day to day.   The issue is even more complex because at the same time it often seems that the church is pretty good at offering a religious form of superficial happiness. This superficial happiness insulates us from deep spiritual mourning.

But even if we wanted to mourn how would we mourn? What do we genuinely  mourn about?  Why mourn in the midst of a “be happy” culture whether it be society at large or the church?

I think a good starting place is to try to be honest with ourselves. Perhaps we grieve over how much time, money, and energy, (and a certain level of insanity) we have put into trying to be happy. Perhaps we can be honest enough to know that our own attempts at being happy have failed.  In some sense, dare to admit that we are not all that happy. Maybe, we can get to the point where we can admit that what the culture offers us really does not make us happy or perhaps bolder still, to question if happiness is even the goal and a realistic expectation.  And when we find our selves not very happy, maybe we can refuse to superficially be cheered up. Instead, maybe we can mourn. Intentionally mourn.

I get a sense that the quiet blessed place of mourning where we are alone in Gods silence and comfort (and in a sense alone in the world) is not the same happy place we are offered from this culture.

Blessed are those who mourn.

On The Edge: Living, Falling, Remaining.

There is an edge to life. When it comes to preserving the inner soul there seems to be a life and death aspect to much of life. Maybe this is just how life is or, has to be so that we don’t fall asleep and die in numbness.We have to be aware of these edges, approach them, and then make decisive choices.

Often, in work, family and our communities, to merely go along with others when in our heart we know we cannot, is to experience a death of sorts. It is a double edged sword. If we say nothing we are going to have to ‘live’ with our self, (and the dead abandoned aspects of our self), and the compromises we had to make internally.  But if we say something we may find our self alone and maybe even in need of a new job.

Joseph Campbell was fond of quoting a Hindu text, “A dangerous path is this, like a razors edge”, and describes how Lancelot while trying to rescue Guinevere had to cross over a river crawling with bare hands and feet on a swords edge. A dangerous path indeed. The true spiritual life journey has an edge to it. It is difficult to get too comfortable while walking on that edge.

I guess the trick is to know when to walk that edge and be willing to take your chances. I know when fly fishing I have to play the edge. But, life is more than fishing. More is at stake. A dangerous path is this, a razors edge.

I think the place I really feel this razors edge is when I try to draw near to God and ask, “God, where are you”?  It feels a bit uneasy for me to acknowledge the all too common experience of the absence of God and yet to remain in this vulnerable place. A dangerous place indeed.

 I may even be brought to the place where I dare to ask, “My God, my God, why has thou forsaken me”?  And yet still find myself believing, by faith, that he has not forsaken me. And again, to just remain, waiting, even when nothing changes. 

I also then wonder what it might mean to not feel the loneliness and sharpness of this edge and to never ask the question.

Other Voices

There are other voices. There may be one true voice inside of us that keeps calling to us yet, there are other voices outside of us competing for our attention.

Many voices call to us.  Many voices pull at us. I wonder how much we listen to those other voices.

Many of these voices are loud. Or, if not loud then, at least convincing and powerful enough to take us off our true path. They “tug at our ankles”, as Mary Oliver wrote, preventing us from continuing on our journey or sometimes, even starting.  

Voices, voices, voices, “Keep up with the Joneses”,  “You’re worth it”.  “You know what you want and you won’t settle for anything else”. “You’re special”. “You can have it all and you can have it now”,  “You deserve a break today”,   “You deserve to be happy”,  “If it makes you feel good, do it”. “You are entitled”, “The whole world belongs to you”.  

There is voice to buy things.  As Wendell Berry says in one of his poems, “When they want you to buy something they will call you”.  And, how often “they” call to us.  We can  buy so quickly that we don’t even stop to think what we are buying and if we even really want what we are buying. More importantly, we rarely question who is calling us to buy. Who is the “they”?

Until we ask the question of, “Who is the one that calls”? we might continue to just go along with those voices. The voices themselves will get inside our heads and we will become convinced that they are a part of us.  The voices will no longer have to shout. They will just whisper and we will conclude, “This is just me. This is what I want; this is my life”.

But, then perhaps there can be no true calling or at least one we might be able to hear.  

In order to have a chance of getting out of this madness perhaps we need another option. We have to utter a strong no to the main stream cultures voices.  If we hear even the faintest whisper of that one true voice that we forgot (and that I so often forget), but still recognize, we can begin again, and again on a new journey as we leave those other voices behind. As, Mary Oliver says,

 “But Little by little, as you left their voices behind, and the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own and that kept you company as you strove deeper and deeper into the world.”

Fly Fishing And Skiing in One's Back Yard: Finding You're Identity And Knowing Where You Live.

There are some wonderful places in my back yard. Well, not exactly in my back yard but, close enough. I have a special affinity to things being  near by. It feels like home.

I doubt anyone would believe my claim of catching a 14 inch brook trout around 17 years ago, in Fountain Creek just west of Ridge Road.  Who would have thought that there are   14 inch brook trout in our little Creek meandering through Manitou Springs (Of course the recent fires and floods have changed this creek).   

Pikes Peak, looming behind our city, has its reservoirs that hold populations of good trout. The numerous little creeks draining off the Peak are filled with Cutthroats and brookies. There have been some other surprises. It was just recently discovered that the last remaining pure strain of Greenback Cutthroats is surviving in one of those creeks. Who could have guessed those fish, the last remaining several hundred,  would be in our back yard?

I guess I ask myself: Do I even know what I have in my back yard? I have heard some fishermen speak of remote valleys with tiny creeks and beaver dams that hold nice fish. But I have rarely made the adventure to find those places.

In contrast, I also know fishermen who always, always hire a guide because they have not learned what is in their back yard or the backyards of others.  They can catch fish all over the world but don’t really know how to catch fish, on their own,  in their own home local waters.

Its not just hidden fishing places. We have some great ski places right here on the edge of town and in the forests surrounding Pikes Peaks. Now, when I say ski places I don’t mean the big ski resorts with lifts. But I do mean beautiful forest meadows and runs of mountain snow virtually untouched. I have skied on the flanks of Pikes Peak in June, in shorts and with out gloves and not see another soul. There once was a ski area on Pikes Peak. Anyone ever still ski it without the lift?  Even just a few weeks ago in my “back yard” I found snow in upper Crystal Park that was simply beautiful (see picture). True powder conditions and I was all alone. I could make the “first tracks”.

It is not just knowing where these local places exist but also having an intimate understanding of the seasons, cycles and climate of a particular place. This is true of both fishing and skiing. I have gone up to lower High Drive on the western edge of Colorado Springs when it is 60 degrees and not a drop of snow on the ground. But head up a canyon that lies in the shade and one can find ski-able snow. Fishing can be the same way. Timing hatches and seasons and the  time of day can make huge differences. It is all about knowing intimately what is going on locally.

Bill McKibben in his book, “Age of Missing Information” makes this point precisely. He says in this age of information we fail to know two things: Who are we and where we live?  He says that it takes only a matter of seconds to get the weather from around the world (or a fishing and snow/ski report for that matter), and yet, we fail to understand the particular conditions of where we live. Activities such as fishing and skiing in one’s local home place can help us better understand where we live and who we are.

Who are we? Wendell Berry, says that we need to appreciate our own local landscapes in order to know our true identity.  He says that knowing our local environment will help us know who we are. He says that familiar landscapes (ie. Perhaps for us, Pikes Peak) can help us understand our identity. He argues that our true identity is somehow connected to the local landscape.  Yet, many of us live divorced from our local land and waters.

Over the years, I have learned a few things about myself. I am beginning to know who I am. And, part of that knowing comes from knowing when I can fish a certain hatch on a certain local piece of water, or know when I can climb the flanks of Pikes Peak and find snow. This is me. Or, at least this is a part of me.  And this is me trying to know where I live.