ANTERO RESERVOIR’S MARVELOUS DRAUGHT OF FISHES

by James W. White

Jesus said to Simon, “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.” When the disciples had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break. So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them, and they came and filled both boats so full that they began to sink. Simon and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon’s partners. —Luke 5: 1-10

For best late spring chironomid and callibaetis fishing, Spinney Mountain Reservoir has been our go-to still water. Dave Leinweber of Anglers Covey, however, said, “You oughta hit Antero. Right now it’s on fire.” “Then, it’s Antero, next trip,” I told my oft-fished-with friend, Bruce Kuster of Ft. Collins.

So on Friday of memorial Weekend from the north shore of Antero, he and I put in with our Water Otter pontoon boats. Using a slip bobber technique, we each took twenty rainbows this exploratory day.

Friday’s positive results convinced us to return to Antero on Saturday. And this turned out to be, not just a good day, but one outstanding—bordering on incredible, biblically “marvelous.” We launched from the Antero south side boat ramp and rowed out exactly 300 strokes. The water was glassy, the sky overcast. Anchors were dropped and rigs put into action. I dedicated one of my rods “for midges only” and the other “strictly callibaetis,” two flies per fitting. I wanted to know which setup might be the most taken. Bruce, fishing with only one fly per rig, said, “I’m going to change every second catch.”

Right away, bang-bang, he caught two beautiful bows on a size 12 Hebgen callibaetis, a fly we developed fishing Montana’s Lake Hebgen. Having succeeded with the Hebgen, he next put on a dark #12 hare’s ear. It took two, bang-bang.

“Okay, now how about a zug bug?” he asked without answering. It worked for two more.

“Hey, man, you’re on a roll!” I sputtered. “What’s next?”

“Think I’ll go with a bead head prince.’

It worked the same.

“Now what?”

“Maybe an egg or a San Juan worm.”

During the time of Bruce’s early-on eightcount success, I managed to take only two, one on a red #14 frostbite midge and the other on a #16 Mercer’s callibaetis. “Kinda slow

WATER OTTER READY FOR LAUNCH

here,” I lamented.

Bruce replied, “You had better come fish on the other side of me.”

“That,” I told him, “sounds like a Jesus-line, ‘Cast your net on the right side of the boat.’”

“Nay,” he let me know, “just advice from Ron Newman’s book, Fly Fishing: A Guide for Still Waters. Newman says to move if a location isn’t productive.” So I moved to Bruce’s east side, stopping en route to pick up one of his prince’s and to check my depth of bait-suspension against his. This check, it turns out, was critical. His flies were held at a depth of 11.5 foot in this 14- foot water. Mine, on the other hand, had been hanging just off the bottom, around 13 feet. (Both of our fishing depths were con-

CHIRONOMID NATURAL CHIRONOMID IMITATION CALLIBAETIS NATURAL CALLIBAETIS NATURAL

trolled by small, movable rubber bobber stops placed on 6-lb. monofilament. The indicator floats up and down between the stops.

Depth to the bottom was shown on our Fishing Buddy fish finders).

I shortened up and moved to a new nearby location. Positioned on Kuster’s “right side of the boat” [cf. John 21:6], I “let down” my baits. The zebra midge I was using no more than got in the zone but what the orange indicator went under. I lifted and was onto a scrappy rainbow. He jumped two times before submitting to my net. I measured him 17 inches and thick. Once released, I recast the midge rig for an 11.5-foot depth marinating. It was just starting to sink when the callibaetis bobber disappeared. It dropped for a second only, for this fish shot right to the surface and started pulling the indicator behind him. Dorsal fin exposed, he created a shark-like wake going away. Bobber on the surface, fly line and backing following, he went out—way out. Then he slowed and, at great distance, turned to fight doggedly. When he was finally in, I held an 18-inch beauty in my net. “These fish are so healthy,” I said to Bruce, “it’s unreal.”

“Got that right,” he let me know.

I reported too that the just-taken bows had small heads, large bodies, were healthy, dorsal to belly, and broad in the shoulders. Both trout were bright silver, undamaged, and hard to bring in. “Hot, hot, hot!”

Bruce next changed flies to a self-tied black callibaetis, and, soon, had a take and hook up. This fish jumped not once but four times, then came off. “Darnitall,” he fumed. “I think I’m netting only one fish in four takes. I either miss ‘em or they spit it quickly or they somehow work free.” In fact, quite a few fish did break us off. Our 5x tippet was seemingly too light. Mostly, though, we missed fish because we were too slow setting the hook, being occupied changing the flies on an out-of-the-water rig.

“One rod could be enough,” I suggested.

“Maybe,” he allowed, “but right now I’ve got another on the second rig.”

He did. Amazingly enough, by keeping one rod’s cork handle clamped in his teeth, Bruce managed, to get both fish in. Two beauties. It was a “single double.”

“Remember,” I said, “the time on Spinney when we had a double-double?”

“I do,” he said. “That was a rodeo.”

This day, when I got my first single double, I shouted, “Join me!” And he did. So, we had a “triple,” so to speak. I managed to net both fish. They were identical—17 inches. One had taken a #16 Mercer’s callibaetis and the other a #18 Kaufmann zebra midge.

Through the day, Kuster and I doubled maybe twenty times, but not always netting every fish. With my next and only-other single double of the day, I only managed to hold one.

We fished on, breaking only for on-board lunch and bladder tending, description of which requires TMI (Too Much Information) for non-curious readers. All along, the sky threatened to open up with sunshine, but, most unusual for Colorado, it never did. What else I can tell about this day is most other fisherfolk in float tubes and pontoon boats trolled about. We, on the other hand, stayed in place, letting the fish find us, flies moved only by wave action and underwater currents.

Late in the morning, two guys and a woman

chugged by in a large party boat. It had giant aluminum pontoons, a blue canopy-on-theready, and a charcoal grill on board. As they passed, I saw them watch Bruce fighting a fish. One guy on the craft spoke out to me, “Are you fishing flies?”

“Sure enough,” I replied.

“Which fly?”

“A callibaetis.”

“Like in the Robert Redford movie?” the woman asked.

That stopped me. “Not quite. A nymph, a fly that goes under the water.”

“Oh,” came the acknowledgement. Nothing more. They chugged on. “That was interesting,” I finally commented. “Give ‘em the benefit of the doubt,” Kuster opined: “They thought your orange indicator was a dry fly.” Yes, of course.

Now waiting for that orange float to drop, I remembered to consider my rig experiment of the day: Would the callibaetis or the chironomid rod be more productive? In general, I decided, the takes per rod were about even. But then an imbalance occurred. I began to miss take after take on the midge rod. Only the baetis rig was succeeding. Finally, though, the midge rod indicator disappeared in earnest. I lifted and felt that wonderful “solid something” on the other end.

“It’s a better one,” I announced.

The fish, first of all, dived deep and then started out on a long run, taking me well into the backing. Could he be fowl hooked in the tail? Possibly. Eventually strong runner turned and passed under my pontoons. As he did, I saw that he held a fly in his chops. Then came an abrupt reverse and the showing of a yellow flash.

I shouted, “I have a brown!”

“Take him slow,” Bruce called out.

I would have, but he went screaming out again, stronger this second time and again exposing the white nylon backing beneath the floating yellow line. It was only with slow “lift rod up/pump down” handling that the fish returned.

“This is indeed a bigger one,” I announced.

And he was. When I finally got him into the net and could measure him, he was a full twenty inches and, oh, so thick and deep. Likely four pounds. Best fish of the day, and he took the upper midge, a green frostbite with ice-cream cone head, size 12.

Then I noticed the point fly, my #16 red midge was straightened. My miss-after-miss during the previous period of time I now understood. Should have checked. Didn’t. Dumb.

Bruce made an offer: “Try my Kaufman’s zebra midge. I’m going to do more experimenting.”

I took it. He then put on for himself something he called a “chromie,” having a chrome body wrapped with black thread and black dubbed head. “Bingo,” he said, as the indicator went under.

SLIP-BOBBERS FLOATING ON THE SURFACE OF ANTERO AND SPINNEY RESERVOIRS

And, soon thereafter, “Bingo” again, causing him to add, “I got Ole Fighter this time. He doesn’t want to come in.”

I watched as the fish swam out and then began “circling and circling” Kuster’s boat “in ever widening gyre” (Yeats). Bruce and he did a 360-degree rotation twice. The fish, while resolved not to submit, eventually did. Ole Fighter entered the net, 19 inches, going on 20. A lovely, strong bow.

“Nice job. Good show,” I told him.

“Thank you. They really like this chrome midge.”

Soon we doubled but as catching stopped for me, Bruce went on getting quick take after quick take, some which he missed, two which broke him off, yet others succumbed. No fish was less than 13 inches. Most were in the 15-17 inch range; none skinny. Excluding my brown and two splakes, all were rainbows or cut-bows.

I glanced over at Bruce and then stared. He was looking himself over and smiling. I knew why, his waders, jacket, stripping basket, net, fingerless gloves, drying towel were all wonderfully shiny evidence of fish taken. He announced, most happily, “I’m slimed.”

“Just like you like it,” I affirmed. “Besides your chromie, what others have you tried?”

“Oh my. I’ve had luck with yarn eggs, a San Juan worm, red annelid, a green glass bead midge—and even a golden stone. If I’d let down a #8 royal wulff dry, I believe it would’ve worked.” Guess the age of miracles hasn’t passed! But, think you’ve had enough?”

“It’s 2:30,” came the reply. “I could quit.”

With the wind picking up from the south, we had a challenging 600-stroke row back to the boat ramp. Once seated in the Tahoe, his boat within and mine on top of the vehicle, I asked, “How many do you suppose you netted today?”

“I’d say sixty, plus or minus. You?”

“Fifty range. A biblical marvelous draught. Simon Peter and the sons of Zebedee, no doubt, are smiling.”

Actually: best catching day we’ve ever had in fifty years angling together. I mark it “Memorable Memorial Weekend Indeed!”

About The Author

James White is a retired “Senior” Guide for Anglers Covey in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He and his wife Patty live in a historic Victorian home in Colorado Springs, with their Golden Retriever, Gilda. You can contact James via our editorial dept. at Frank@HCAmagazine.com.