Walliebloggin': NIL DESPERANDVM (nothing is to be despaired of)

Today was a hike day with the goal (my goal) of fishing a new alpine lake. Crystal Lakes, comes with an upper and lower lake. The upper was an additional two miles one way and wasn't really in plan A (B or C...). The lakes sit below Mt. Crystal, which rises to 13,852 ft.

With the weather looking sketchy for the next several days for precipitation, today was our best shot at a good hike. We packed up our day packs, Miki with our food and me with my fishing gear (priorities you know). Our trail is just south of Breckenridge, so we arrived at our turnoff within 30 minutes from our campground. Spruce Creek Rd. turned us into a subdivision of sorts, if you can call a bunch of houses (very nice mountain getaway homes) scattered throughout the forest, a subdivision. Our road now transitioned from asphalt to groomed gravel. After the last home on the smooth like road, the road transitions to crap. I guess you would call this a somewhat maintained borderline 4-wheel drive road. Most any car would be fine to the trail head. The road does not stop at the first trailhead, this is Colorado, where ground clearance ranks up there with engine size in the midwest. If you choose to continue on, you find the road deteriorates further (crap+) in smoothness and steepness. Of course we continued on...we have a Chevy 4x4 diesel! The only problem with this picture, is our truck's suspension is so stiff (to handle the 5th wheel) that every bump is magnified. So up the trail we crept, occasionally letting other 4x4s pass us with normal cushy suspension. We were only going slightly faster than someone walking beside us, but we reached our parking area in good shape and all four tires still inflated.

The joy of taking the truck that extra distance was a difference of additional miles to our trail. We were now down to a little over 2 miles. We grabbed our packs and headed up. We had a choice...a trail or FWD (4 wheel drive) road. Both got you to the same place, but not sure where the trail was. The road was more obvious. Up the road we went. It was pretty cool in temperature and we were layered up for the day. Not far up the trail we started peeling off the first layer...the road had a pretty good incline (thus the FWD). About an hour after we left the truck, we arrived at the lake. It was a welcome sight because the wind had picked up a bit.

As far as we could tell, we had the lake to ourselves. There is just something special about a body of water in the shadow of a mountain peak. The colors, being above tree line, the remoteness...pretty special.

Down to business. Miki found a good place to get prone while I strung up a new fly rod I had to have, just for such an occasion (hiking). I chose what looked like a delicious fly from my case and before I knew it, I was casting for trout that I hadn't met yet. They were cruising the shore and were what I thought were pretty good size for an alpine lake. My experience in the next mountain valley over, the Mohawk Lakes, only gave up smaller sized cutthroats, but some of these were easily 15" or so. I was jazzed. If Tooga were me, he'd be drooling.

I quickly tried a number of different flies, trying to decipher their appetite. They spared no time in meeting my flies, but turned their noses up and cruised away. As I was casting, there was only low willowy brush about waist high to stay clear of and was very manageable. I had just changed flies and was casting out to where there was some surface action, when I noticed the last foot and a half of my NEW rod was missing from the rest of it and was floating out in the water. Let me put this another way. I had somehow just broken the only fly rod with me within the first 15 minutes of arriving at nirvana. I collected the tangled mess and assessed my situation.

Pre-catastrophe, I knew they wanted me.

Fishing poles (rods) work because they flip the lure due to their flexibility or whippiness. I lost most of my whippiness when the last foot and a half of my rod decided to break (still not sure how). Since I figured I still had a good few hours to fish, I was going to fish, even if it meant that I hiked back down to tree line and found a suitable branch from a tree and did it Huck Finn style. I removed the broken piece and pretended it never happened. I am sure my elbow and rotator cuff will never be the same, but as if I were Bear Grylls, I found a way to keep going. My learning curve with my new rod was pretty intense, but I was able to cast out far enough to tease the fish into thinking I was still a fisherman.

Post-catastrophe, I was hoping they weren't laughing at me.

I only brought a small selection of flies to keep the weight and bulk down for the hike. I had worked through most of them and almost 3 hours had passed without accomplishing my goal to catch at least one fish. I stopped to eat lunch, rest, and regroup for a few minutes, then back at it. The water was very clear and was easy to see them as they saw me. I was about ready to call it quits when I made a Hail Mary cast. No sooner than the fly hit the water, it was gone. I had to shake the moment of disbelief to raise what was left of my rod to set the hook, so as to not lose this wayward fish that found its way onto my fly. I would chalk this miraculous event up to my skill and adeptness at this sport, but I taught long enough to know that in a classroom of students, abilities vary...are you getting my drift? I figured that I found the one fish in the lake that rode a different length bus than most of the other fish and I don't mean that in a derogatory sense.

One little fish, one big goal.

It was AWESOME! It fought, I laughed in amazement. I really had put the day's attempts to rest and was ready to pack it in, when this magnificent cutthroat trout had a weak moment and made my day. With half a rod and my last fly, goal accomplished. It sure beat sending Miki in to catch them with her bare hands.