Three Rivers, Three Cutthroat

Within the past four or five days, I’ve been able to hit a few rivers in search of everyone’s good friend, the trout.

I’m not picky in the sense of solely chasing a particular species of fish, especially a particular species of trout. To me, that just sounds weird. If I catch all rainbows or all browns in a day…so be it, no big deal, trout are trout. But when I start catching an array of different species, I start to take notice and appreciate our local fisheries a bit more.

After work on Friday, I hit Boulder Creek up the canyon a ways. I was able to get in an hour or so before the sun started sinking and my stomach started grumbling. I did fair. A dozen or so browns and about as many flashes, short strikes, and misses. As the PMDs started hovering above the surface for their nightly happy hour, I decided to switch to…a PMD (duh). A light enough color that i could still see it in low light, and I was keeping my drifts close. The seven-inchers were eating it up.

Just as I made up my mind to pack it in, a “sizable” fish took my #18 with a voracious rise. As I landed the 13 incher, I quickly noticed that I had a beautiful cutthroat on my line, and not a rainbow. Nice! I set him on a rock and fumbled for my camera to get a quick snap shot, but he had other plans that included not laying still and getting back into the water. So you’ll just have to take my word.

A couple days later brought a day trip to the Eagle, followed by a stop at the Blue on the way home. The Eagle was so-so–which is really not how you want to describe a four-hour round trip to a superb river. Again, about a dozen fish–obviously bigger than on BC–mostly on Stimulators. They just weren’t that interested in anything subsurface. But again, on one of my last casts, I set the hook on a sizable fish. Another Cutt. This one about 15 inches. And again, a quick release with no picture.

As I headed back to the car, I slipped and busted my knees. I said “shit”…really loud. If fishing the Eagle, where cleats or felt. Rubber is worthless. Like walking on snot-covered bowling balls.

On the way back, I hit a beautiful–albeit not-too-productive–stretch of the Blue. A mix of small browns and rainbows entertained me for a couple hours. Then, you guessed it, on one of my last casts, a freaking Cutthroat.

Then I fell again. I hurt today.

The coolest part; they’re being caught in places that you really don’t associate with catching a ton of Cutthroat. Not like the Park.

I feel like a Major League Baseball player on a hitting streak. It’s my Cutthroat streak. And although I’m only at three, that’s like 20 in baseball player years. Or something like that.