A light snow fell as we made our way up the freshly plowed hairpin curves on Berthoud Pass. Cody was excited to be back in the mountains as opposed to the flat lands of Dallas. He had spent the summer playing professional baseball and working out in the fall while attending school in Texas. It was December 22nd and most people were preparing for Christmas. Cody and I were going fishing!

Winter Park was foggy and cold. As usual, McDonald’s was our pit stop. We choked down a couple of “pigs on bricks” and hot coffee and headed down the road to the Colorado River. We started laughing at our expedition as the snow increased in Granby and the thermometer dropped to 19 degrees. We figured we may freeze to death but we were going to go out together. Cody needed a fishing fix and I was going to give it to him, no matter the cost!

Like his brother Craig, Cody had matured into a real man and a very good fisherman. His accomplishments and trials in high school, college and real life had rounded him into a humble, loving person. He had his eyes focused on the Lord and was seeking His will for his life. Seeing this, I was confident that God had a great plan for him. I hoped a successful day of fishing was also part of that plan.

As we drove, the old stories poured out from us as we revisited the past. As I listened to Cody, I started to feel like a dad again. My daughter Amy lived in Michigan with her family. My oldest son Craig was in Louisiana where he played college baseball and was searching to find his life. My wife Lindy and I were now empty nesters, with only our cocker spaniel Maggie. Time goes fast. I began to understand that life is like a vapor. Fishing, like living, is more enjoyable when your loved ones are with you. I wondered if this is the way God felt when I left Him out of my daily life?

Driving down Byers Canyon was slick but manageable. However, the river was iced over in most places. Again, we laughed at the conditions and wondered if our desire to fish was going to be worth the pain. I really wanted to place Cody on the fish but was realizing that it might be a lost cause. I mulled over other places we might go until we arrived at Parshall. There was open water down from the Williams Fork confluence and looked very fishable. The only problem was finding a place to park due to the snow banks created by snow plows. Once we squeezed into a spot, we put our waders on, bundled up and started our half-mile walk to the hole across from the handicap deck.

As we walked, I remembered when Cody was younger and how we butted heads on where and how to fish in a river. He was going to do it his way, no matter what. I was bullheaded and kept on him to fish my way or the highway. The end result was that I caught fish and he didn’t. But that never made me feel good. My pride blocked great teaching opportunities for both of us and kept us from fully enjoying precious times together. I was a fisher of fish, not of men.

When we got the hole, Cody asked me where to fish. A little shocked, I told him to fish the higher part of the hole and I would work on the lower. He then asked me what flies to use. I told him that small is the usual rule for the Colorado and that I thought a red San Juan on a 16 or 18 hook would be good with a size 20 green and black JujuBee trailing. We went to work. It didn’t take long for Cody to hook up with a 13” brown, followed by three more up to 15”. I then connected. In two hours, we had caught about thirty fish apiece up to 20”, when Cody complained about his right foot being cold. We struggled with the decision but headed back to the car to warm up. When we finally arrived at the car, Cody pulled his neoprene waders off along with about a half gallon of water. The fishing had been so good, he never noticed the small tear in his waders that allowed the ice cold water to flood his boot. I told him I admired his dedication and perseverance and started to laugh with him. I stopped laughing when I touched his foot and found it abnormally solid….like frozen solid. We started to worry about frostbite but the car heater warmed it back to normal, which caused us to start laughing again.

On the drive back home, we relived every fish we caught, the amazing fight each one gave us and joked about who out-fished who. When it quieted down, I wondered what God had taught me that day. God had given me a glimpse of a man ready to be used by Him for His purpose. Cody was my youngest child and, had been prepared to leave the nest. It was time. I have to admit that it saddened me but also excited me for Cody’s new adventure with the God of the universe.

Cody was married to Brittany last year, a beautiful, like-minded woman of God in Dallas. She graduated from college and is entering seminary. Cody is working as a personal trainer and is planning to attend seminary as soon as possible. He longs for fishing in Colorado and Wyoming but is confident he and Brittany are where God wants them. Lindy, Maggie and I miss them. My heart yearns for the times that my little boy depended on me to show him where the fish were. I remember the Colorado River trip fondly. I had no idea at the time. God was gracious in the way He had given us such a great shared memory. A couple of hours of fishing that would last a life time.

My first memories of fishing when I was growing up was during the summers in Boulder. We lived 4 or 5 blocks from a public fishing pond for kids appropriately called ‘The Kids Pond’ just off of 6th Street and what was then Water Street. I would go out the night before into the wet grassy area in the back yard with a flash light and search for night crawlers and get them into a tin can with a little dirt. I was great fun trying to grab them before they slipped back down into their protective hole in the ground. Often I was only able to get half of the little creatures  while the other half made it back into the ground to live another day.

My father wasn’t much for fishing or camping so I didn’t get much instruction from him but my mother had grown up fishing in the Adorondeks in up state New York and was one to encourage me to enjoy the out-of-doors. Today it’s ‘catch ‘n release’ but then it was bring your catch home and learn how to cook the little rainbow trout that I brought home.

It wasn’t until after high school that I had exposure to fly fishing and right away I found the ideal way to connect with God’s creation. It’s been a passion ever since.

091209- Hounds day out fishing the tributaries of the Colorado. The browns are biting and the rainbows are intense. We fished 20-22 SJ worms (red,pink), Rock worms (red), pheasant tails (gold), and of course the usual dry flies (caddis, bwo,etc.) and terrestrials. Our biggest fish were caught Nymphing and in deep pockets.  We caught smaller fish in the fastest moving water. Dry flies seemed to work mostly toward the evening and in the slowest moving water.

We had good cloud cover and dodged our share of rain drops, everyone caught their share of vicious browns and burly rainbows.

Check this out-

Viking lands a nice brown

Tbone fights a brown

This was a small one

Example of the faster water Tbone pulled some larger browns out of

Grey Beard fishing some of the slower water

Check out this Moose on the Loose Rainbow

A more than 20 inch Brown

(Top Two pictures) As you can see this water is moving kind of fast with the action concentrated on the outside of the white water.

(Next Two pictures) Slower moving pockets yielded some of the bigger fish.  Tbone shows off one his smaller ones but still a fighter.

(Next Two pictures) Grey Beard aka the fish whisperer, shows off one of the “Moose on the Loose” rainbows he caught.

(Last Picture) So this brown was over 20 inches, which is hard to prove in this enormous net, but trust me this monster was up to the fight.  When landing fish this big we make sure we land it as quick as possible and make sure they have “caught their breath” when we release them.

We will will update you on our next outing.  As the weather changes, the fish are starting to lay up for winter and that means good fishing !

So I guess I will be the one to tell this story. Tbone and whoever else, feel free to chime in.

The Miracle Mile River in Wyoming has been a legend in our family since I can remember. The tall tales of huge fish and 3 foot snow drifts have always aroused a huge sense of adventure in me. Well the time came for a trip to the rugged paradise.

The trip was going great as the weather was perfect and the fish were there. Now I was young and I still hadn’t developed the Graybeard swagger yet, so my line had been loose all day. As frustrated as that was, I did enjoy seeing fish being caught by others. Well, we were fishing in a great stretch of the river down below the bridge. GrayBeard was not feeling so hot so he was up in the car above the enbankment behind us. Pretty soon we heard some odd sounds coming from up there. I remember turning to see GrayBeard floored in the dirt looking like the pre-Buster Douglas, Tyson had caught him with an upper cut. He would then roll to his knees and hurl. Although we were concerned, the legendary river’s pull was too strong. I mean we did drive some 6 hours to get there. A little bit of throwing up would not ruin this. I would not let it.

Finally, after the sounds of GrayBeard behind us began drowning out the loons and the sounds of the great river, I went up to check on him. It got worse so we ended up having to take him to the hospital which was an hour away or so. I remember driving up, checking him in, wishing him luck and driving straight back to the water. Not even a kidney stone could draw us away from the Great River……Oh by the way, he lived to toss the fly another day…….

We were hiking the one mile trail on Jim Creek to our favorite beaver pond when Danny stopped. He stripped just enough line from his Martin automatic reel, false casted twice and pinpointed the gray hackle yellow fly just above the deep hole by some fallen aspen trees. I always marveled how Danny could use that old Shakespeare fly rod and line while I struggled not to hook myself in the back of my head with mine. We would fish and fish until our arms were falling off. I should say my arm because Danny’s casting technique was much better than mine and limited the strain on his arm. Just one more cast……

Danny was my best friend growing up. Our dads were partners in their bricklaying business and would take us fishing as much as possible. Both were very good fishermen and passed down enough enthusiasm to get us hooked. We lived for the opportunity to jump in the pickup, speed up Boulder Canyon and up to Sugarloaf Mountain. From there, it was on the Switzerland Trail to what would later become the Peak to Peak Highway. By the time we would get to Glacier Lake, the truck would be covered in dust from the dirt roads. Danny and I would be half-sick with altitude sickness from the fast trip. We would forget about our stomachs when we would first see the lake, boiling with feeding fish. As always, the excitement from anticipating our first strike impeded our progress in gearing up our spinning rods with a fly and bubble. It was always a dollar for the first fish, a dollar for the biggest and a dollar for the most! The evening would be turning into night as we hurried to get just one more hit on that beat up Renegade before we had to leave. Just one more strike…..

Attending Boulder High, Danny played football and I played baseball. Sports came easy for me. Danny was diabetic and injected insulin daily into whatever part of his body would accept the needle. Sports became very difficult for him. He turned more to fly fishing. He became an accomplished fly tier. We both got our driver’s licenses and no longer needed our dads to take us fishing. Boulder Creek was a short distance and allowed us to catch fish while honing our fly casting skills. Our spot at Eagle Rock was one of our favorite until sunbathers and swimmers took squatter’s rights. Brainard Lake supplied big headed, small bodied Brook Trout all day long. Fishing at night with lanterns using Hornbergs at Barker Reservoir helped us stay out of trouble in the summer months. We would sit on the north bank, talk about our futures, watch the stars, complain about bait fishermen and enjoy the company while waiting for the next strike. Just one more fish…..

Then there was the beaver pond on Jim Creek. The pond was about two acres in size and held some of the biggest browns in the area. Brook trout up to 16-17 inches were common. The beaver hut was on the west end of the pond and provided perfect cover for sneaking up on unsuspecting fish. Danny always fished his area on the northeast side and I would command the hut. One day, using a size 20 midge that Danny had tied called a Slim Jim, I hooked and landed a 24” buck brown. We had a friendly competition for fish, but, truly wanted the other to succeed. As baseball became more important to me, Danny and I started to drift apart. Time for fishing expeditions turned from reality to dreams. Dreams of fishing together the bigger waters of the North Platte, Colorado, Yampa, and Arkansas were put on hold. Just one more trip……

A number of years ago, I took my two sons to the beaver pond on Jim Creek. As we moved up the trail, my mind raced with memories, picturing Danny casting to the hole, seeing the hut where I landed my monster brown, watching the fish rise to an evening hatch. My anticipation was high but soon dissipated as we discovered the beaver dam destroyed, no pond, just another section of the stream on the journey downward. My boys were disappointed and probably wondering if this was just another one of those stories that dad had fabricated. I, however, was overcome with emotions from the treasured times I spent with my friend and being able to relive a part of my past. On April 3, 1967, Danny died at Boulder Community Hospital from a blood clot after breaking his ankle in a traffic accident. He had failed to close the door of the 1955 Ford F100 pickup he was riding in. As the truck turned left onto the street adjacent to his house, Danny fell out. I was the driver. A part of me died that day. Not until I married my soul mate Lindy and the birth of my three children, Amy, Craig and Cody did some of that part return. I was able to pass on things I learned fishing with Danny to friends, relatives and my kids. I even remembered the tying lessons Danny forced on me and started tying my own flies. I owe a lot to my dad for starting me out fishing. I owe a lot to Danny for loving me unconditionally as a friend when I didn’t understand what that meant. He was always there for me, lending me a hand, sharing his accomplishments and dreams, listening to mine and showing me how to fish. Just one more friend…..

Fishing is something that God has used in my life to illustrate His love and compassion for me. I have been blessed to be able to pass these on to my children and friends. These are things I want others to enjoy. What a privilege to help a father teach his children how to fish, or give a fly to a passing fisherman you’ve just met or develop deeper relationships with fishing buddies. Or to sit back in your recliner and remember the past times of fishing the beaver pond, watching your friend lay that tight looped line with a perfectly tied Adams softly out to a feeding brown, just one more time. Just one more cast….

I am a product of the Pacific Northwest where fishing for salmon is a way of life.  Practically every weekend my dad  and I  would get up at 4:00 am and make our way to the boat launch.  It seemed like it was always cold and miserable.  We would launch the boat and make our way out on to the Puget Sound.  We trolled Pink Ladies with fresh herring spinning behind. We braved rain, sleet and sometimes snow in the winter, and my dad and his friends would usually land some awesome salmon.  I never seemed to have the hot fishing rod.

Needless to say after a few weekends of this my enthusiasm was not at its peak.  On one particular day, New Years Day, my luck changed.  As we changed direction on the back side of our loop, my rod bent and I rushed back to make sure the hook was set.  After a good fight I landed my first salmon, a 12 pound Silver.  The rest of the day suddenly seemed warmer, the walk up from the boat ramp not quite as steep, and the ride home seemed  much quicker.