LEARNING ON THE FLY
Trip to Colorado yields an enjoyment of fly fishing
Ed Godfrey, Outdoor Editor

CREEDE, Colo.—“Welcome to fly fishing,” my guide said, as I stood knee-deep in the Rio Grande river, wondering what the heck just happened. I am not a fly fisherman. I like to catch fish. Fly fishing always seemed to be just to danged sporting. However, like a lot of people, I saw that Robert Redford movie a few years ago and was mesmerized. I could picture myself weaving a tapestry overhead with a fly line while standing in a river that runs through it.

My name isn’t Earl, but I also keep a list of things that I want to do before I die. Fly fishing for wild trout in a true mountain stream is one of them. So on a family vacation to Colorado last month, I slipped away for a few hours to try to find out why Charles Kuralt was never unhappy with a flyrod in his hand. My fly fishing instructor would be Dave Marlin, ranch manager and fly fishing guide on the Broadacres Ranch near Creede, Colo. Broadacres Ranch is located along a portion of the Rio Grande River which has been redeveloped by its owner, Charles Nearburg of Dallas. Nearburg bought Broadacres Ranch in 1998 and has focused on bank restoration and creating more trout habitat along portions of the Rio Grande and Shallow Creek, both of which snake their ways through the ranch.

A variety of insects are abundant on the river and are the main food source for the trout: browns, rainbows, cutthroats, brooks, and cutbows, a hybrid cross between cutthroat and rainbow trout. Some of the best fishing is from June through September, when the warming waters attract swarms of insects that lay their eggs in the water. Broadacres has 2 ½ miles of streams running through its ranch, and all fishing on the private waters requires a guide for safety reasons. The river current at times is very swift. The fly fishing is catch and release only. No more than 10 anglers are allowed on the Broadacres Ranch at a time. If you don’t want to see another angler, you won’t. If you really want seclusion, you can opt for some high country fishing on Rio Grande National Forest streams. Broadacres is one of about 40 Orvis-endorsed fly fishing resorts and attracts serious fly fisherman from across the country. During my visit, a father and son from Connecticut also were fishing there as well as some buddies from Dallas. Surprising to me, Marlin said most of their customers are like myself, rookies to fly fishing.

I had held a flyrod in my hand only once before, during an impromptu lesson on the Lower Mountain Fork River. I cut the lesson short that day and quickly picked up my spinning reel, so I was a true novice with a flyrod. A spinning reel was not an option at Broadacres. I was diving headfirst into fly fishing this time. Marlin gave me a crash-course in casting with a borrowed flyrod that morning. It took about a half-day before I felt comfortable casting. I practiced at the ranch’s trout bond before moving on to the real show: the rushing Rio Grande River. In the beginning, everything about casting a flyrod seemed foreign to this lifelong bait caster. But as the day wore on, my cast was getting pretty decent, I thought. At least I could put the fly pretty close to where I wanted.

Whether I caught a fish or not, there was something peaceful and relaxing about standing and casting in that beautiful water with the San Juan mountain range as a backdrop. I would cast upstream as Marlin instructed and let a grasshopper imitation fly drift back over holes where hopefully trout were holding. The stream was moving so swiftly I had trouble reeling in the slack with my left hand. Marlin kept emphasizing how I would not be able to land a trout if one hit with slack in my line. After wading into the middle of the stream to fish some deeper pockets, I netted a nice 18-inch brown for Marlin, a typical-size fish for the Rio Grande, he said. Marlin then caught a glimpse of a fish lurking in the shadows below a small ledge that jutted out from a cliff embankment. It required a backhanded cast to deliver the right presentation, but I managed to put the fly in the right spot and it drifted just inches from the ledge. To my amazement, a big brown trout shot from the shadows like a golden torpedo. It must have been a big fish, because even the guide was shouting. The trout gobbled up the fly, and I instinctively wanted to set the hood, but I did as instructed and just raised the rod tip. The trout was hooked. I had him. For a brief, exhilarating moment I felt like a fly fisherman. Then the fish started a run and was gone. I stood in the water bewildered. “He broke you off,” Marlin told me. “How big of a fish do you think it was,” I asked him. “It was bigger than mine,” he replied. I felt sick. On the drive back to Oklahoma, I kept seeing that fish in my head, convincing myself that I didn’t deserve such a good trout on my first outing with a fly rod. Heck, some anglers probably fish all their lives without seeing a trophy like that one, I rationalized. Before crossing the Colorado border, I had decided on one thing for sure. I was buying a flyrod.