Welcome To The Dark Side (Another "First Carp" Story!)

Written and Contributed by Brian Shepherd


My brother and I met one of my fly fishing buddies at a lake in the Broomfield/Westminster area. My buddy had recently sent a photo of a massive carp that he landed so I knew we were in for some fun.


I woke up early that morning and quickly tied up some Backstabbers and other crawdad patterns. We suited up and were on the water by 7am. In addition to the water being somewhat murky, it was an exceptionally windy day; which made it initially difficult to see carp (and to cast with any measure of precision and grace). We eventually spotted some carp jumping out of the water so we approached and threw some crawdad patterns. No action and the carp seemed to have moved on.

I switched to a black Bouface streamer (Barr's version) and started working the edge of a weed line. After a few strips, I felt that unmistakable tug on the line and set the hook. Instead of a carp on the other end, there was a nice largemouth bass.

We moved on to a part of the lake that was somewhat sheltered from the wind and spotted a few carp tailing in the flats. We chased a few into the thick weeds where they likely stayed the rest of the day. I began working the edge of some cat tails with some long casts with the same Bouface streamer. I was about to move on when I saw bubbles come to the surface and an almost undetectable shape that was only slightly darker than the murky water. Without blinking an eye, I cast the fly to the right of the shadowy figure (this happened to be the side where his mouth was) and in a split second it was fish on.

I had my Sage 5 weight trout rod so I let him run as often as he wanted to. After 8 minutes of incredible battle and multiple runs after getting him close, the carp finally relented and let me get a photo of him before sending him back to the flats.

Looking forward to my next redneck bonefishing adventure!

Lyons, tigers, and bears

Contributed by Matt Powell


It was a slow day on Pinewood Reservoir above Loveland. We had seen a grand total of around 12 fish, none of which wanted anything to do with our streamers and 20 lb mono. Normally, over our numerous trips to this tiger musky haven over the past month, a few fish had at least humored us with a follow but nothing even close to what had occurred today. On our walk back from patrolling the banks in search of one of the elusive predators, my friend Joe spotted a large tail protruding from a shadow cast by the spillway. I made a dumbfounded sub-par cast to where I imagined the fishes nose to be and started stripping, stripping....nothing. As my streamer approached the bank, I saw a massive olive torpedo speeding towards my fly in my peripheral vision. It hit the fly and I prematurely set the hook. My heart was beating like a snare drum and gazing at the situation, a voice in my head told me to keep stripping. He smacked it once more and I was careful not to make the same mistake twice...FISH ON! The brawl lasted around 10 minutes and resulted in yelps from Joe and I that could be heard all across Larimer County.

The toothy behemoth measured a hair over 40 inches with k-9s that were easily a half inch long. I never understood watching the musky fishing videos and hearing from musky connoisseurs how one fish days were considered "epic", but now I know. A new pursuit and a new style of fishing always gives me a diffrent perspective on the game and for that, I thank you mr. tiger musky.

Woodland Lake Debacle

Report Contributed by Joshua Fortenbaugh

We hiked in Saturday the 19th and eventually found ourselves on a less than established path through snow, runoff, and scree. The normally 4-5 mile, 2-3 hour hike turned into a 6+ mile, 5 hour slog uphill into increasingly brutal weather. We stopped and set up my trusty 12x12 behemoth of a tarp in the shelter of some pines and drank a few beers. Set up our 3 season tents in some decidedly 4 season weather and got out the topo map. Determined that we were on a little ridge just above 11,000 feet between Skyscraper and Woodland. Both lakes were frozen, and I was less than motivated. I peeked at the turnoff to Lost Lake on the way back, but decided that a beer and a slice of pizza at Backcountry were what we really needed.

But...

Last weekend, took my girl out fishing. Her first time with a fly rod. Up to Crater Lakes. Eager little brookies. Lots of wind. Beer in the snow. We're going back for more.

(Send in your fishing reports! jayzimangler@yahoo.com)

When the cat’s away, the mouse will play (or fish)

Written and Contributed by Tevis Blom (a.k.a Black Death)

Well, my girlfriend is out of town, which means my fishing addiction is in full blown form that could qualify for an intervention. Night bassing, impromptu road trips across the state in the wee hours of morning, fiendish tail-water sightfishing behind outlet malls and at the famous toilet bowl, wiper chasing in a pontoon, a lonely carp, and a few hours of sleep in the back of the car all were part of my obsessive ‘bachelor’s fishing weekend’. The next time you are granted a reprieve from your relational duties, I highly suggest you put together a fiendish fishing weekend of your own to satisfy that craving. After all, fishing really is an individual activity. Personally, I’m still coming down…

Friday afternoon was spent at the Blue in Silverthorne: Eager brooder fish stocked a few weeks ago took a variety of standard #18-22 tailwater midges and even ate a few hoppers on top to spice things up. I spent most of the afternoon breathing brake dust from the I-70 overpass, but being alone at one of the best holes on the river, I stayed put until near sundown. No monsters were sighted or caught, but a baker’s dozen were brought to hand with 9 being between 15-20”.

A Good Times double cheeseburger and five hours of sleep at a crowded campground were enough to get me on the road toward the famous Frying Pan river by 3am. By 5:30am I was rigged up at the ‘Toilet bowl’ and slaying some chunky fish on leeches and rainbow warriors. Not many Mysis takes… white snot nymphs= stinging lips. My favorite fish of the day was not landed, but I got to watch a ~20” rainbow eat a hopper off the top and got to fight with him for about a minute of head shaking… smart guy just wouldn’t run and get on my drag! The Toilet bowl is not the romantic fly fishing experience we wax poetic about. It is akin to a fisherman’s crack den. The fix is good, but eventually the drone of the generator and the beat up fish remind the angler that a more wholesome experience waits downstream. On the way out, fishing at the Bend hole provided more solitude and some traditional fly angling with midge emergers under a big dry. A few smaller and less beat up fish were eager enough for my midges and rounded out my day on the Pan. As predicted by NOAA weather, 40+ mph winds came in Saturday afternoon and I was on the road back to the front range.

Sunday found me kicking around my pontoon on Union Reservoir for a change of pace. I made several futile attempts at following a few baitfish eating birds around in hopes of catching my first wiper. The wind would pick up and larger fish were busting prey up top, but being in the right place at the right time was crucial. Wind and waves blew me back toward the car, where I finally hooked up a crappie, and several smallmouth bass. Exhausted from the boat, I waded the south shore and hooked up a carp (I believe) which promptly broke off some old 3x tippet… All I saw was a flash of gold and scales. Never buy clearance tippet, especially Climax! No pics, only small fish landed that day.

Memorial day I headed to my favorite quiet little bass and carp pond. Heavy winds made for challenging conditions and poor visibility, but a small carp and a perch were caught close to shore to add to my weekend species list. Being the fiend that I am, I continued fishing past the long weekend and headed out for some PM bassin’ on Tuesday after work. A few nice large-mouth came to hand around 10pm. After five days I had quite a nice fish list: Brown, Rainbow, Cutbow(?), Crappie, SMB, Carp, LMB, Perch… no wiper yet! I miss my girlfriend dearly, but life is all about taking advantage of opportunities. So if you can, go out and get your fiend on, in a good healthy fishy sort of way!

A Tale from the Taylor River

Contributed by Ben Schloesser


In the second week of April my little brother was looking at colleges, so as soon we raced through some tours on the front range we headed up to the Taylor. This hen was hooked in the deep run just above the bridge. Saw it flash 10 feet directly upstream of me and got my heart going right away. It thankfully took my large weighted stone fly on my stone-mysis-mysis rig on the first pass. The fish went airborne (fully out of the water) 3 times, and there was less than 20 feet of fly line off my rod tip the whole fight. I usually save describing fish as 'beautiful' or 'pretty' when that's all they have going for them. At 28 inches, the fish was big and had many options for adjectives, but pretty came to mind right away.

Tax Day Carp

Written and contributed by Dana Stephenson

On my way to meet my accountant and to pay my taxes all that was on my mind was the weather. There were no clouds and no wind--a perfect day to go carping. As I passed a favorite lake I gazed forlorn at the waters edge...and saw a tail at least three inches out of the water. Instinctively, I pulled over and popped open the back of my ride. Finding only a four weight trout rod I strung it thinking, "pretty sure this rod has a warranty." I hurriedly walked to the waters edge and found the carp still feeding. I yanked out some line, cast and a few strips later POW! Fish on! I kicked off my shoes and had to wade into the lake to land the fish, but lucky for me a father who had taken his daughter to the park noticed the commotion and walked over to be witness to the spectacle. I got him to snap a picture. This grim morning had suddenly turned into as good of a day as it could be, taxes and all...

Winter Fishing With Justin

Written and contributed by Justin Schlosser


Colorado around this time of year. It’s truly a Winter Wonderland- right up until you’re freezing your ass off in ice cold water and there’s no fish in sight. So is Winter Fishing In Colorado really worth it? Hell yes. A much better question to ask is “What are the ways I can keep all ten toes... and maybe even catch some fish?”. So let’s take a look at a few things that can make or break a winter fishing trip.

1. Gear: Picking the right gear is a must. Arms, legs, and so on can be covered by the classic long underwear/fleece combo, plus whatever jacket you like. If it’s snowing, don’t forget to put your jacket over your waders! Feet can have a thick pair of socks, a couple pairs of socks, and maybe even some foot warmers if it’s really cold. Now hands, those are the tricky part. Gloves have to be super flexible in order to handle the casting, and unless you want to be taking them off every five minutes, they have to be fingerless. Hand warmers prevent your hands from moving enough too. If you find a good way to keep your hands warm, please tell me.

2. Picking the Right River: If you go fish in the Winter, you want to make it worth the work. Go to a place where maybe you’ll catch a big fish, because working all day for a fish the size of your thumb will make you question your sanity. Unless you’re me of course. I already know I’m insane. Places like the Taylor and Frying Pan come up a lot because of their potential for monsters, and Winter is the only time of year you won’t be combat fishing on them. Pick your rivers wisely.

3. Flies: One of the differences of fishing in the Winter is that the big fish sitting on the other bank most likely isn’t waiting for a size two hopper. Midges are key, and the smaller the better (If you ask me, and only to a reasonable point. No size 60 hooks please). Do I fish size 32’s? No. Do I have friends that do, and catch fish on them? Yes. The smallest flies I throw will usually hang right around the magic number 24. Ever heard of the 20-20 club? Getting in is a matter of catching a 20 inch fish on a size 20 hook. Go out and put yourself in the club this Winter!

Life and Fly (One Bug Is Fake)

Written and contributed by Brandon Robinson


Fly fishing sometimes is located between a therapist’s office, and the Catholic “Sacrament of Penance”.  The angler plays the role of both therapist and patient or, sinner and priest.  Ex-girlfriend is dating again, and you found out about it?  2 hours on the water equates 20mgs of Prozac, 40 double-hauls replace 40 Hail-Marys.  However, when your problems fade away, fly fishing adapts as well, returning to pure enjoyment.   In the meantime, the 4 weight is there; along with weight forward floating line, #12 Caddis, and some pocket water, ready to work through your troubles with you.  The rhythm of the cast becomes a melodic chant; the sound of the line pulling through the guides preparing the mind for meditation.  Similar to Prozac or the rote of Confession, it doesn’t solve your problems for you; it’s only a starting point.  The rest is up to you.  I don’t know how to proceed but, I do know where I am hurts.

The sky never criticizes, and the water will never judge.  The wind is too busy traveling to share your secrets with anyone and the fish are fearfully preoccupied with what the giant will decide of their fates, to care about your problems. I think it is better that way. I always felt that if the choices you made put you on a path of destruction or pain, and you followed through knowing the outcome, you lost the right to have any pity-parties.  That is the time for you to work through your problems on your own time.  Instead of complaining to whoever will listen, I will yell into the wind.  No good can come from explaining pain to the person who hurt me, instead I will whisper to myself; all the while fishing through decisions and turmoil.

Sometimes the therapist is passive, forcing one to work through issues with no fish-tractions.  This of course only frustrates the angler more, yet in time the issue fades and the dedicated angler overcomes the slump.  They work it out by observing the issues at play: what possibly caused the fish to refuse the chosen flies, or which tactic to use to overcome weather conditions.  In that, the priest shows the sinner a metaphor for life.  Change out what isn’t working and push through.  Pay attention to your gut.  I personally believe that your mind registers observations that you don’t.  That is where your gut feeling comes from, listen to it.  I know what is coming; I will become an awkward footnote.  Shane rode away when he saw his time was finished.

I learned this by chance.  No one warned me of the therapeutic powers one unlocked when divining fish to hand, yet they were there.  After the first cast, 4 years of post-service issues immediately began losing the battlefield advantage.  Suddenly I had the ringmaster’s chair and whip to fight the beast off with.  Life started improving, more current issues began to loosen their grip, and I started living.  The ex and I learned together, and suddenly we felt even closer than ever before.  Just over two years later, the curtain was pulled back, revealing the end of a relationship that never was.  Immediately I was catatonic, only the primary functions survived.  Work was my only escape, but it was an exhausting distraction.  I tried to fish, and found instead bitter heartsickness.  Everywhere there was a sign of us.  We had a great day here; she caught her first over there…  Suddenly my therapist had her picture hanging above the couch. 

I stubbornly kept trying, looking and searching for the key.  Slowly a “medicine road” showed up like the faintest of trails in the sparse brush of a desert.  I had to make it [fly fishing] my own again.  I had to take it with me down the road and open up new experiences.  I needed friends and a world she didn’t exist in.  I turned to the internet, and eventually found Twitter.  I made a simple list I would accomplish.  I started to enjoy my time off.  By following the list, I was becoming whole again.

1.       Fish more.

2.       Fish longer.

3.       Fish different.

      I met new people; the first of many was Shawn and Ena Bischel.  I entered tournaments as the fly fishing “David” going up against spin tackle “Goliaths”.  I made a connection with an awesome company called Diablo Paddle Sports.  I went out and fished so hard and so often that people quit asking, “How are you feeling/handling/doing?”, and replaced it with a disinterested and near-rhetorical, “How’s the fishing?”  Meanwhile, I pushed further forward; allowing for new experiences to be had and healing to continue.  Eventually a disjointed group of webmasters convinced me to develop my Twitter account into something bigger.  One accidental posting, a couple of repeat queries into the status of a website, and a request to write laid the ground work for a new direction, destination unknown.  There was plenty of fishing involved, and it was forward progression, so I stuck with it.  I’ll let you know where it ends when I get there and find out.

The beautiful thing is the fishing experience slowly turned off depressing, drove straight through healing, and turned back on fun.  No longer did I think of her, like I used to.  Even if she was there, I wasn’t fishing with her; she was fishing with me.  It wasn’t the same, and I was glad for both the change and the company.  Then the inevitable happened.  I smelled the smoke long before I knew what was burning.  Suddenly, I was being replaced.  Sub-consciously it seemed, but replaced none-the-less.  Slowly I understood (and eventually I saw) that even though the fishing was different, few things had changed for the two of us.  I knew I was headed for a repeat heartache.  I was stubbornly immobile, determined to sink the unsinkable rather than change course.  She is a great person, we get along fine, and it’s easy.  It wasn’t until I thought I had run aground that I snapped out of it.  The jolt still hurt, and I knew the real moment (where I’m transformed from needed friend to awkward explanation) would set me back further.  I had to get back to my Medicine Road, swiftly before the pain multiplied.

So here I am, back in the confessional.  I bought a pipe (it’s new), I still follow my list, and I am determined to write more.  I remain her friend, but I am trying to move her out of the “default friend” spot.  It’s depressing, but after a year and a half it’s beyond necessary.  I decided that 120 spent on strippers, was more desperate than spending the same on 3 months of eHarmony, which is a start at least.  Finally, I am looking to relocate, somewhere I have never lived before like Colorado, Arkansas, or Washington… When you see me out there in the universe, be it at the Church of the Flowing Waters or the various social networks, and something strikes you as out of focus, remember that this picture is still developing.  Keep checking back, I’m just grateful you took the time to look.