San Pedro Parks Wilderness, NM

Wes and I just returned from San Pedro Parks Wilderness, northwest of the Valles Caldera near Los Alamos in my continued search for wild trout. SPPW is the one place in NM I've never visited to flyfish.  I figured, "Well hell, if Williams and I are gonna write an EAT SLEEP FISH book on NM, I better hike in there and see what's poppin'.

SPPW is not exactly mountainous, but rather it's an enormous area of many uplifted plateaus with cutthroat streams running off in every direction. It's waaaay back in there if you're coming from the east, as we did. This isn't the kind of water that runs next to highways with turnouts and rest areas. No no. This is backcountry wilderness. And well worth the effort.

Wes had never backpacked before. First time. That's not to say that he and I have never hiked plenty of wilderness trails to slay some wildies.  Believe it -- (La Jara, Latir, the Red) -- Wes can lay down some tracks. And when cutties are out there somewhere in front of him, he'll do whatever to hook some. He's a chip off the ol' block.

We got lucky and crossed paths with two dudes who had a Toto-lookin' scruff dog, and a Spud Mackinzie look-alike sporting a saddle pack. They told us the Rio de las Vacas was where we should fish. So we listened to them. More on that in a moment... but first... a little bit of info about the maps of the area.

3 miles in, and being the mapsmith that I have become in the footsteps of Williams, I took notice of this non-comital sorta blue, dashed, river-wannabe, kinda line (that intermittent trickling stream sorta-looking shit you see on all your maps all the time but really there ain't no water there whenever you seem to show up) heading north to south on my $17 map I'd just bought at REI -- the one I ordered online never showed in the mail. It seemed intriguing. I knew we'd cross it going to the Vacas. So I could't wait. But then I noticed something strange. My NEW Forest Service map and the maps I'd printed online (the one below) were different!

I'd like to mention that the map you see above from this guy's blog is different than other maps, and possibly incorrect enough to get you into trouble out there. Don't trust the above map as far as trail names it uses. At least one trail is clearly mislabeled. The mapmakers printed plain as day "Clear Creek Trail" on the dotted trail just to the left of the word "Sante Fe." That is NOT Clear Creek Trail, but rather the "Las Vacas Trail".  Also, there is a trail leaving the Vallecito Damian not even shown on this map. 

My NEW map labels the Las Vacas Trail starting at the parking area on FR 70 and continuing past the "Y" you see in red (see the pic of Wes resting under the sign at the "Y" below). Clear Creek Trail actually begins there at the "Y" and continues to the left and is actually named "Upper Clear Creek Trail." Now that I am home and looking at all of this on multiple maps, it makes perfect sense now why so many hikers seemed lost, disoriented, and confused on that trail. If you go, I highly recommend purchasing the Forest Service map of the area. San Pedro Parks Wilderness Map. 

Now, on with the fishing!!

We began our trek on the Las Vacas Trail (or what they should have called Clear Creek Trail since it parallels Clear Creek. It may be called Clear Creek Trail at the parking area, but the Forest Service Map calls it Las Vacas... you'll figure it out) heading north out of the parking area on FR 70, skirting the tiny fishless Clear Creek much of the way. Disappointed about not seeing a single fish the entire length of it, I knew there were other (better) streams, and we'd find them soon enough.

Wes hiked so hard with a rather heavy pack! I'm very proud of him! LOOK AT WHAT ALL HE CARRIED!

About a mile and a quarter in, we arrived at San Gregorio Reservoir. Pretty awesome sight~

We passed on fishing the lake because we were excited to pitch camp in Vallecito Damian... a beautiful wide open "park" that we'd read was a sweet place to camp and chill. About that detail, this guy's blog was right on. Vallecito Damian is definitely a cool place. Dead center in the middle of the "park" is a huge, exposed flint quarry where looking at all the rocks was a nice quiet way for us to spend the evenings. We didn't take any, for you archeologists out there who might be wondering. 

Vallecito Damian in the early morning light... Look closely and you'll see my green tent under a three just left of center. Wes was still crashed out asleep, and I was looking for arrowheads in the exposed flint at my feet. 

But our goal was to find more wild Rio Grande cutties like this one Wes caught on a different trip! 

This fish got Wes addicted to wild trout.

I'd studied the maps and decided to head over to the upper Rio de las Vacas. Hiking there, we'd TRY to fish Clear Creek, but too much debris, thousands of downed trees, and not a single sighting of a trout the entire way up had us somewhat deflated. But that's when we ran into the two dudes with two dogs bearing good news about the "Vacas."  

Clear Creek trickling by the trail... a damn shame a stream this pristine is dead. 

Does anyone know why? It used to be a helluva cuttie stream. 

Wes hiked like a champ, despite boot issues.

I could see on my good map that we'd pass a couple of no-named springs/creeks on our way to the Vacas. My philosophy where maps are concerned is this... when maps are created, it's a snapshot in time. Just because it's a dotted blue line on a map made in 1998 doesn't mean it isn't flowing well and holding fish today. The converse is true as well. Solid blue lines on a map signifies constant flowing water, but I've hiked into some, and when I got there, nary a drop is found.  

Changing weather patterns effect stream flow, and ultimately fish habitat. Honestly, you never know what you're gonna find. But when you do your research, and you arrive at a stream you've spied on a map, even if it IS tiny, don't give up on it until you scout it out. This diligence frequently seems to pay off big for us. We've discovered several of our favorite waters this way. And yes, the fish you saw Wes holding a minute ago was found this way. And how we caught all but ONE fish of the weekend. 

The picture above is of this no-named stream where we found tons of wild cutts. And oddly, every angler we saw stepped across this stream, passing it over and continued walking to the Vacas. Even when they saw Wes and I slaying trout, they wanted no part of it! Go figure. They passed over great trout lies to fish mediocre water.

NOT WES AND I!

First Rio Grande Cutthroat of the day! Sorry it's blurry... I was excited!

Wes prepares to cast a dry into a tiny cut in the earth where a 12" cutthroat is sitting!

My next one -- small but wild and gorgeous.

Yup! This is all it takes to hold wild trout! WE FISHED HOLES LIKE THIS ALL  DAY AND SCORED! Not spooky fish at all. They'd practically stare you down like Clint Eastwood, waiting for your fly.

My map showed the Las Vacas Trail crossing this tiny "stream." (We nicknamed it Twisted Ankle Creek because Wes turn his ankle pretty badly here at the end of the day. He never even told me until I noticed him limping on the way back to camp. A true Mac!) The map also showed this stream forming a small pond about halfway between the Las Vacas trail and where it meets the Rio de las Vacas (and I told Wes while we were hiking to it, it should be full of cutts if it truly exists). But it didn't exist. We looked for it, but all we found was a sloppy marsh where a smallish pond might be in early April, but not late-May.

Hiking to the pond, the stream slides down a small rocky canyon where, still, trout are holding sometimes shoulder to shoulder. This is where one of the coolest things happened. I cast to two trout sitting next to each other, literally side by side. The water was so shallow it looked as though the trout were simply hovering over the streambottom. My fly hit one on the back and it didn't even move. Then I cast further up. the fish actually moved out of the fly's way, then seemed to recognize it was food, looping around this miniature pool like a shark only to nail my fly about 18" farther downstream! Amazing instincts.

Another cool event I witnessed... these fish were so eager to eat, I watched one rise to take my fly... he spat it out and looked at it underwater for a minute... then launched at it again and took it down, which is when I set the hook and brought him to hand. The water was so still in these pools you could almost see their thought process in action.

WATCH THESE VIDS...

Finally we decided to head to fish the Vacas, as well as Rito Anastacio. Not gonna lie to you... the upper Rio de las Vacas is breathtakingly beautiful water! However, it seems to me that it's been overfished. Even though the shortest path to the upper Vacas is no less than a 4-mile hike in on the Palomas Trail from FR 70, there were no less than 20 people on the 1.5 mile stretch of water we fished. I was actually shocked we weren't alone.

Wes caught one palm-sized cutt on the upper Vacas. I caught ZERO. I saw fish, but they were very skittish and puny. We didn't see any fish larger than 6", where, strangely, the small water we'd fished earlier in the day possessed far less spooky cutts, in far greater numbers, and twice to 3x the size. Perhaps if we had more time we could have moved further upstream and done better on the Vacas. But we'd already hiked 18 miles in two days and it was getting late in the day..

Here are a few facts, if you go:

1. ALL the waters in the area are either milky, or stained brown and resemble ice tea. Don't know why.
2. It may be called a "wilderness" but there are a shit ton of people in there. Don't know how.
3. Fishing the San Gregorio Reservoir with flies is a proposition typically only at dawn and dusk.
4. Cuba Ditch looks like a manmade canal cutting through the area. No fish. Weird.
5. There is plenty of wondrous scenery for those other than anglers. But with all the downed trees in certain areas, it sometimes can appear to be a depressing place.
6. The trails can get muddy in places but there is no need to wear waders or even wading boots.
7. Elk are everywhere~ keep an eye out for shed antlers. We found one!
8. Vallecito Damian is a cool place to camp. No camping near the lake.
9. No signs of bears, despite rumors.
10. A Recurve bow with a 45 lb. draw can shoot an arrow 723 feet! We took mine and it was a blast to shoot at the campsite. Vallecito Damian is so expansive, we thought it would be fun to see how far I could shoot an arrow. 2.5 football fields!


All in all Wes' first full-on backpack trip was killer! We hiked a total of 27 miles in 2.5 days according to my iPod Nike workout pedometer. We were/are exhausted. I'm so proud of Wes. And I'm glad we got in there and fished the San Pedro. It's an amazing area. Can't wait to return... 

A Backpacking Flyfisher's Checklist

• back pack (You don't need pack by The North Face. You need the lightest pack you can find for the money.) 
• hydration pack (CamelBak or similar)
• sleeping pad (we recommend the Big Agnes)
• sleeping bag (lighter weight in spring/summer, heavyweight in fall/winter)
• camp pillow (Eureka makes a great one.)
• hiking poles or staff (Mountainsmith for $13 ea. is all you need)
• tent or bivvy sack (love my Mountainsmith 1-man Altura) 
• camp stove (JetBoil type) to boil water
• stove fuel 
• 1 liter or 1-gallon clear empty vessel with lid for storing purified water
• compact lantern/headlamp/flashlight (Cyclops is my fav)
• extra batteries
• hatchet (Gerber... nuff said)
• camp shovel
• WetFire tinder (stuff is amazing and burns even when wet)
• flame source (lighter, waterproof matches, magnesium striker like what Bear Grylls uses)
• toothbrush and paste (Like what Barely Grylls (me) uses)
• biodegradable soap (Camp Suds)
• knife 
• spork or other eating utensils
• mess kit
• brightly-colored bandana (more uses than you could imagine)
• fly rod setup (rod, reel, line)
• flyboxes (lightweight foam boxes by Orvis or Morrell for backpacking are perfection)
• vest, chest pack, whatever you use (I used the San Juan pack by Fishpond)
• extra leader
• tippet 
• floatant
• nippers
• Thingamabobber
• water purification method you prefer (I use tablets)
• first aid kit
• signal mirror
• emergency pancho
• emergency blanket
• pain reliever, anti-inflamatory, fever reducer, allergy med, eye drops... 
• TP and antibiotic wipes (unscented)
• extra rope, lashing, paracord, straps, hooks, clips, etc
• night glow sticks
• bear bag 
• extra Smartwool socks
• under armour type thermals
• wet shoes or wading boots 
• neoprene socks
• dry shoes or boots to hike in
• zip lock bags to keep stuff dry
• campfire pants
• campfire hoodie or top 
• fishing wading shorts/convertible pants
• fly fishing shirt (color appropriate please)
• rain jacket (We use cheap packable Anoraks by Gap Kids and Old Navy)
• warm fleece or zip jacket (Kuhl makes amazing fleece)
• trash bag for packing out 
• bug repellent (Bullfrog )
• SPF 35+ (unscented) 
• polarized shades 
• hat with a brim (my A-Mac trucker cap is all I need)
• maps of the area (laminate them if possible for durability and waterproofing)
• gps navigation if possible
• compass
• book you're reading at the time, survival handbook (I like taking my mini Tao Teh Ching)
• plastic thermal coffee cup with lid (I clip mine to the outside of my pack)
• coffee singles (Starbuck's Via's work great and quicker than anything else I've found)
• hot chocolate/cocoa packs
• camp food (cous cous, Idahoan mashed potato packs, backpacker ready-made meals, dry soup mixes, fresh pack tuna, oatmeal packets, nuts, energy bars, trail mix tortillas, dried pastas, seasonings for cooking fish over fire, crackers, beef jerky, Wylers bullion cubes, Snapdragon Pan-Asian Cuisine makes soups ready to go and come with a handy plastic bowl and lid. I tear off the label and throw it all in the bowl and it packs great)
• hand sanitizer (unscented)
• hand lotion (unscented)
• needle and thread for repairing torn shirts, tent, or for giving your clumsy bud stitches
• digital camera 

This is by no means a complete backpacking list, or fly fishing list. There is no such thing. You might like to take a hook sharpener, but I never use one. You might like waders... I hate them. Or you might be going in the dead of winter and you don't need a hat with a brim but you better take a parka and wool gloves and HeatPaks. Or, you might be a female and need a few products not mentioned on this list-- and I suggest you take some no matter if it's that time of the month or not. 

This is simply a guide to get you started... 95% there. And it's your personal quest to get your pack down to a bearable load -- say under 50lbs if possible. 65lbs maximum. I've gotten mine down to about 45lbs when headed out for 3 days 3 nights. 

In the beginning, you'll want to take way too much food. Take enough to live, and catch something with your rod if you're about to starve! And ladies, you'll want to take way too many clothes. I wear the same shorts all weekend. Why?  1.) Because I can.  2.) Out there I'm sleeping alone and I can smell however I please.  3.) Clothes take up space and I like taking luxuries like a good bottle of scotch rather than a pair of perfectly clean shorts for each day. 

Make sure you have the stuff YOU need. Go through your head and pretend you're about to string up the flyrod and fish a stream... Do you have everything? You're about to start a fire... Do you have everything? You gotta go #2... Do you have everything? You're about to cook a meal... Do you have everything? You're about to EAT a meal... Do you have everything? You're about to go to sleep... Do you have everything? 

Remember, bears sense of smell is amazing, and they love scented items like perfume, soaps, and anything that smells sweet or fruity. Bears have been known to tear into a tent just to dig out a single scented diaper. They can smell candy a mile away. They can smell you. Be smart. Pack unscented stuff.

More later!

 

AFG January Newsletter

Fly-ku: The Art of Haiku on the Art of Fly Fishing

From the confines of the strictest of Japanese disciplines,

Men wielding the pen, as it were, as a weapon of defense—

One wrong move, and perfection of life destroyed.

The first two lines, contrast, divergence. A duet of duality.

With a final phrase that magically coheres,

Almost impossibly bleeding the couplet 

into watercolor lovers…an inspirational liquifaxion of differing ideas.

  

So, too, is the art of fly fishing…

Also, true, a creation of perfection and order,

The most sublime of creatures, in the simplest of elements;

A brief evanescence of Man amidst the endless descent of water.

Both arts dependent upon the tautest of lines,

A most delicate approach, unreserved control,

And the freest sense of imagination to hear those ever-so-subtle utterances of Nature.

But since art is rarely satisfied,

Since bliss so distant, and originality aloof,

The artistic union of the two seemed inevitable, natural.

With bamboo and silk, with ink and paper, with mastery and craft, and time and patience,

Just as poets weaved their thoughts, inscribing their parchment,

Just as anglers enter the river, ensnaring their game,

These, as well, shall coexist in the ethereality of the artful mind.

Together, here, yes. One after another,

But intended to exist in isolation, to stand alone,

Demanding, of their own respect, their oneness, their singularity,

As do the majestic trout in the pools of our dreams.

Take these eternal marriages of art, quick breaths of creation,

And caress them in their dreamy states, but do not allow one to influence the other,

As gravity influences the water, this, my friends, may destroy their identities.

Sparkling ribbons flow.

Below, the speckled rainbow—

each in the other.

   

Stones wait in silence

while fish and insects rush past,

upstream, and then down.

   

   

The fly gently drifts.

From below, the fish rises.

Splash! The two vanish.

   

The sun rises high.

The prone river roars below.

I bathe in them both.

   

The boughs of the pines

sway to and fro in the breeze

like crafted bamboo.

   

Erosion’s dull tool...

Trout spring forth from the green deep—

Life’s endless cycle.

   

Water rushes past

as my line slowly unfurls

in its perfect loop.

Wandering about

like a child lost in a crowd—

this river is home.

   

Much like the bee’s flight,

water’s winding path does not

seem deliberate.

    

   

Fighting the current,

the fish never seem to rest.

I fight fish to rest.

   

Braided waterways

separate these fallen stones—

…each cleanse the other.

   

Bugs swim through the air

as trout fly up from beneath…

and so goes the Dance.

  

Swarming above and

below, the water betwixt foes

cannot possess them.

   

Pockets behind stones

hold trout tightly, though their grasps

are far too subtle.

   

   

When the sun and the

trees and all in the river

fade, I too shall wane.

  

Mathew Arnold wrote,

“Nature, let me learn from thee.”

And thus, I found me.

   

The pines and I stand

as sentinels over the

prone kings below us.

   

Rocks divert the stream—

the steam arranges the stones…

Which one persuades which?

   

The trout’s world and mine

are separated by the

thinnest of unions.

Winter Truchas

I want to fish in the snow. When grey blankets of clouds stratify over the mountains and white, powdery flakes begin angling across the horizon and sticking to the long, leafless branches and piling up on the shoulders of my jacket, I feel the same yearning to hunt for trout as I do in late-summer. I may need a little more scotch in January than I do in July, but I can buy more scotch. 

It intrigues me to think that no matter the weather above the river, the weather within remains relatively constant year-round. Insect life revolves around the four seasons, water levels and clarity varies as well, but the temperature itself, the aquatic atmosphere, the relentless flow just doesn't change much from season to season. And so many newbies often ask me, "Can you fish for trout in the winter?" Which I usually answer with something like, "Trout don't care about snow -- they can't make snowmen."

However, snow fishing may require a subtle paradigm shift before it becomes enjoyable, as I've found it. One must dress adequately enough to remain alive, though comfortable enough as not to mimic a grilled sausage about to burst. Footing and safety become paramount. As if it's not dangerous enough already treading upon wet, moss-laden stones, adding the element of ice or snow intensifies the treachery. And removing ice from the line and guides every few casts eventually thins even the most patient angler. And then there's the flies.

You think threading tippet through a #22 midge hookeye is tough under normal circumstances? Try it when your digits are popsicles, with gloves on, when your breath is fogging up your lenses, warm snot is glistening in your mustache, and the stream is so clear you can see your next 22' rainbow hovering in a four foot deep pool just waiting on you to finish your knot. Keeping your cool (bad expression) will help your success rate.

Finding places to fish in winter can be tricky as well. We tend to stick to our favorite spring-fed streams or tailraces. In northern New Mexico, that would be the Red River below the hatchery, the Rio Grande, Rio Pueblo de Taos, Costilla, Chama, Cimarron, and a handful of others. In southern Colorado, we might fish the Animas, or a number of Conejos streams, lower La Jara, San Juan (upper and tailwater), Taylor, South Fork of the South Platte, South Platte, SpinneyMile, Arkansas, and a slough of others. But I'm not gonna tell you the others because I don't want you to go there without me.

The key in wintertime will be fly selection, and fly size. Tiny Midges, Mayflies and a variety of worms make up the majority of what you'll be imitating. I still resort to a common dry-dropper rig -- a Stimulator trailed by a #18-20 red Copper John seems to work in many spring-fed winter streams. I know a trout ain't takin' that Stimmy in winter, but it works well as an indicator. Otherwise I use a Thingamabobber and a number of weighted nymphs like beadhead Hare's Ears or Pheasant Tails.

Microscopic Midges and mysis shrimp are essential flies on many tailwaters. When shrimp inhabit the reservoir above, that's just about all a trout will take below. Know your water, your bugs, and experiment a lot.

If I want to go dry fly only, I stick to smaller Parachute Adams or similar natural-looking bugs that a trout might have fed on a month or two before rather than attractors or terrestrials.  Presentation is often less important in winter -- fish, although more sluggish due to less direct sunlight, trout are feeding more frequently since their meals (insects) are so much smaller. Frequent, repetitive casts into dark pools and deep runs is how I typically score big in the cold. And scoring in the cold kicks ass.      

Don't put your gear away just because it's getting frigid. Trout still feed. And the liquor store still sells scotch. You just have to find out where, and get a buddy to go with you (to the liquor store first, and then to the stream). I couldn't think of anything more dangerous than fishing in winter, alone.

Good luck. And whatever it is that you're in search of... here's to that!        <," ))))) >< ~~~~~~

No right angles

After a few summer months of fishing icy streams amid the clouds, dashing here and there along the highways of the warming front slope of the Rockies, it was time to slow down a bit and try to relax and begin thinking about fall and book deadlines and gathering info and sitting down in that chair and actually writing books again. It was time for all this. The calendar said so. But an internal clock within me always sees and hears the intoxicating yellow applause of faraway aspen stands with a sense that something is dying inside of me -- the end of something I love. I'd seen a single aspen tree bursting yellow inside a cluster, and I felt a bittersweet pinprick upon the inside my heart. It was coming.

A close and generous friend invited Laura and I to stay at one of his cottages in New Mexico at the headwaters of the Brazos River. I've stayed there before with a large clan of friends and strangers who became friends, all of us bullshitting it up like champions, and I, snapping photos and all of us trying our hardest never to talk rot, and not to speak of better places in the world than where we were right then and there, and certainly never to speak of leaving, for this sort of talk is sin, and as everyone knows there can be no sin upon the river, for the water is constantly washing it away. So here, we are all clean and can be in heaven for just a little while.

This place we went, the Brazos River Ranch, it is truly a heaven of sorts, and when I'm there I feel alive and yet somehow constantly aware that a place like that cannot be real unless one stops breathing for a long period of time. So, at times, when I am not able to think of good things, it does not exist. And yet, a man should want to live there and die there all the same. The streams are quiet, moving and whispering through a silent grassland with the immeasurable sound of a beautiful lover slowly turning over in a warm bed in winter after a pleasant dream, and it's here that I know I can get my Laura casting well enough to fat fish in the wide river, and casting to brash, wild trout in the tributaries, that maybe she can cast to and land her first honest to God trout all on her own.

I helped at first. She is innocent and wise at the same time about all this, and she has caught plenty of trout on the streams we've walked in side-by-side, but has never quite completed the entire sacred cycle all on her own -- reading the water, casting line, the epic battle, a graceful landing, and finally the gentle release. There has always been an intervention on my part during at least one stage of that cycle, either for the benefit of Laura, or for the fish. But it was time. The calendar said so. And while fishing up a particularly favorite stretch, I walked away and allowed her the freedom to breathe uninhibited and cast without scrutinous eyes upon her, without the fear or shame of hanging up or casting imperfectly or not knowing where or how to stand upon the riveredge, or what to do when a fish splashes at her fly and to keep calm and just... be. 

Much of fly fishing is instinctive, so it was time for me to let the primate cavewoman in her out, to live in the light of that gorgeous day, just to see what might happen. 

There was a curious ferret with a black tail popping in and out of a hole near where we were. And a thick chested prong-horn antelope seemed to be witnessing humans for the first time nearby, and it didn't know whether to trust us or if we might slaughter it, whether or not to bolt away or to nuzzle at the leafy tendrils sprouting from the ground as it had been doing before we appeared, eventually deciding to trot over the hill and out of sight. And a mesmerizing plunge-fall echoed through the corridor of this canyon upstream of us, and I found myself taken from the earth and put back again by the hand of God, only then recognizing the significant beauty of a world untouched and without the fingerprints of man upon the sides of buildings and the angularness of every street corner and the loud panic rush of life on the outside, beyond of the fences of this place. 

Here, there are no right angles, except decisions, and so I wandered upstream like a lost child in a crowd, giving Laura Li space enough to live in a heaven unknown to her until that moment when she'd finally done it, pulling her bowed rod up to the cutbank where she stood, bringing to her side a fish of such magnificent color and patterns that they could only be the fingerprints of God upon its glistening back. Her smile spoke every word of the book. I was allowed to witness beauty from this distance, and again, I snapped pictures to capture this in time, to freeze heaven, so that I might reflect upon this moment someday down the long hallways of my future when I'm lying in a bed and maybe my mind isn't as clear as today and the wrinkles upon my face wear like the beat lines of an ancient map and I just want to remember what it will be like to close my eyes, and go home.      

Another Laura Li Trout!

        

Writing isn't always so damn cool...

I have been far too busy writing and gathering photos for the next "Mac and Mark" book;  49 Trout Streams of Southern Colorado with University of New Mexico Press. It'll be more of a coffee table pictorial than our previously published destination guide... full-color photos on every page, and only 150 words to write for each of the 49 streams. It's going to sell like hot bread. But it isn't all that fun to write.

I challenge any one of you to write up one of your favorite places in the world in only 150 words and do the place justice at the same time. Plus the directions need to be included in that 150 words, so really we get 100 words or less to describe a killer stream, all of it's unique characteristics, insect info, terrain, flies that work well there, and make each stream seem one of a kind, ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

Here is one of those pieces:

Willow Creek 

West of the Collegiate Peaks, beginning simply as several trickles of water converging near the wee town of Tincup, Willow Creek abruptly forms into one of Taylor Park’s unsung fisheries. A gold miner named Jim Taylor (for whom many area landmarks are named) harvested gold nuggets from Willow Creek in a tin cup, spurring a short-lived rush and bringing notoriety to the region.  

Today Taylor Reservoir’s tailwater brings the valley its notoriety. But when anglers tire of world-class fishing for huge trout, the quiet and numerous bendpools, beaverponds and cutbanks of Willow Creek come as quiet relief. Williams and I adored it so much, we chose a picture of Willow Creek for the cover of another of our books.

From Almont, travel north on FR 742 along the famed Taylor River until the road hooks right just past the Taylor Park Trading Post, crossing over Willow Creek and skirting it for several miles.

See what I mean... nothing funny, dark, literary, or profound. Just 150 banged out words doing their damnedest to do what the pictures in the book will hopefully do without the words. Writing isn't always so damn cool.


You would probably like to see a few pics of Willow Creek, wouldn't you? Well, here they are.