January in Broken Bow, Oklahoma, is one of those trips that tests your patience—and rewards it if you’re willing to adjust. Cold mornings, cold water, and plenty of anglers on the river. This trip was a perfect reminder that winter fly fishing is less about forcing a pattern and more about reading the water, adapting your tactics, and committing to what the conditions are telling you.
Winter Conditions on the Lower Mountain Fork River
Most days started with air temps in the 30–40° range, and water temps hovered in the low-to-mid 40s. Some days were overcast with that soft winter light that feels fishy all day long, while others were bright and clear, putting the fish on edge—especially with moderate to heavy fishing pressure.
These conditions made trout less willing to move far for a meal. They weren’t looking up much, and they definitely weren’t chasing flies across the river. Everything about the water screamed slow, deliberate, and close to structure.
Starting with Dry Flies in Winter Conditions
Like most trips, I started optimistic—throwing dries during the warmer parts of the day. While there were occasional looks and a few half-hearted rises, dry fly action was limited. Winter bugs were sparse, and any surface activity was short-lived.
That’s when the switch needed to happen.
Committing to Streamers:
Once I stopped fishing dries and committed to streamers, the entire trip changed.
The fly that consistently produced was a damsel green olive marabou streamer. Simple profile, tons of movement, and just enough flash to get noticed without spooking pressured fish.
Why It Worked
In cold water, trout don’t want to waste energy. That marabou breathed with the current, even on slow swings, making the fly look alive without aggressive stripping. The color matched winter forage well, and the subtle action triggered reaction strikes rather than feeding strikes.
Reading the Water: Finding Winter Trout on the Lower Mountain Fork
The key wasn’t just the fly—it was where and how it was fished.
Seams and Soft Edges
Most of the better fish came from seams, especially where faster water dumped into slower runs. I focused on:
• The inside edge of seams
• Transitions from riffles into deeper runs
• Water where fish could sit comfortably and let food come to them
Casting across the seam and allowing the fly to swing naturally through that transition zone was deadly.
Big Boulders and Structure
The Lower Mountain Fork has plenty of large boulders, and in winter, those rocks are prime holding water.
I targeted:
• The downstream side of boulders
• Slight depressions created by current wrapping around structure
• Soft pockets directly behind rocks where trout could rest
These spots consistently held bigger rainbows, especially when other anglers walked right past them.
The Streamer Swing: Keeping a Tight Line for Reaction Strikes
One of the biggest producers on this trip was keeping constant tension on the line.
Instead of stripping aggressively, I let the streamer swing under tension, rod tip slightly downstream. That tight line did two things:
1. It let the marabou pulse naturally in the current
2. It allowed me to feel subtle takes instantly
Most strikes happened mid-swing or right as the fly started to straighten out below me. Big rainbows would crush the fly with intent—it wasn’t subtle when it happened.
Beating Fishing Pressure on the Lower Mountain Fork River
Even on crowded days, this approach produced more bites and better fish than what I saw around me. While others were cycling flies or pounding the same obvious runs, slowing down and working structure paid off.
Winter trout aren’t everywhere—but when you find them, they’re usually grouped up and willing to eat if you present the fly correctly.
Final Takeaways from January Fly Fishing in Broken Bow, Oklahoma
This trip reinforced a few winter fly fishing truths:
• Cold water means less movement, not no movement
• Streamers shine when surface activity fades
• Structure and seams are non-negotiable in winter
• Keeping a tight line on the swing triggers reaction bites
Broken Bow in January isn’t about numbers—it’s about dialing in tactics and being patient enough to let the river show you where the fish live. When it all comes together, those cold-weather rainbows make every frozen finger worth it.
If you’re heading to Broken Bow this winter, don’t be afraid to put the dries away and let a streamer do the talking.
Every year, the mountains of northern New Mexico pull me back with the same quiet force—towering ridgelines, a few icy creeks, and the promise of cutthroat rising in thin air. This year’s trip was no different, though the mountains definitely made me earn every fish. Between unpredictable storms, sharp temperature drops, and long miles of backcountry hiking, it was a trip that blended solitude, struggle, and some of the best dry-fly eats I’ve had in a long time.
A Week in the High Country
I camped in a stretch of the mountains where cell service dies, the wind carries the sound of nothing but water and pines, and the cold comes quick the moment the sun drops behind the ridgeline. My setup was simple and reliable—my lightweight backpacking equipment and my tent staked on a soft bed of pine needles in my regular spot, my sleeping bag rated just warm enough for the 30° nights, and a small cooking kit for coffee at sunrise and meals at dusk.
The river ran close enough that I could fall asleep to it and wake up with steam rising off the riffles. There’s a certain kind of clarity that only comes from unzipping a tent at dawn, breath hanging in the air, knowing you have nothing to do except explore water and find trout.
The Weather That Tried to Turn Me Around
Northern New Mexico always throws curveballs, but this year felt personal.
One morning brought blue skies and 65°, the next hit with hail and wind that bent the aspens sideways. Storm cells crawled across the Sangre de Cristos like slow giants, and I had more than one afternoon of sprinting back to camp with thunder rolling behind me. The cutthroat didn’t seem to mind, though—they just shifted where they held, huddling deep under banks until the sun returned.
It made the fishing more of a puzzle than usual, which honestly only added to the satisfaction.
Dialing in the Dry Fly Game
The cutthroat were keyed in on big terrestrials this year, but sizing mattered more than anything. Early in the week, I started tossing size 8 hoppers—big enough to ride high but small enough not to spook fish in clear, low water.
The sweet spot:
Size 10–12 tan parachute hoppers with a slim profile.
The fish would swipe aggressively at anything too bulky but absolutely crushed the medium-sized bugs that matched the natural grasshoppers landing in the shallows. Most eats came on the edges of seams or right up against undercut banks where the creek grass hung over the water.
When the water got a little off-color from storms, I switched to a hopper-dropper with a small beadhead nymph and picked up a few extra fish hiding deep. But the real magic stayed on top.
Black & Purple Streamers That Saved the Afternoons
When the clouds stacked up and the temperature dropped, the surface bite shut down fast. That’s when the small black-and-purple streamers came alive.
Stripping a size 8–10 leech or thin-profile streamer through the deeper pools produced some of the biggest cutthroat of the trip. Something about the dark silhouette in that glacier-cold water gets these trout fired up, especially right before the storms rolled in.
A slow, twitch-pause retrieve was the ticket. Too fast, and they didn’t commit. Letting the fly hover in the current triggered the chase.
Photography in the Thin Air
This was another trip where the camera never left my pack for long. With the Canon R5 and my go-to lenses, I found moments everywhere: mist hanging over the river, sun shafts cutting through pines, and the kind of mountain light that only lasts a few minutes but transforms everything it touches.
Low-angle shots near the water made for the best compositions—cutthroat colors glowing in natural light, textured rock beds, and reflections off still pockets. I played with longer exposures on the tripod during the slower fishing hours, capturing the smooth flow of the river as the shadows stretched across the valley.
Even when the fish weren’t biting, the camera gave me another reason to slow down and appreciate the place.
Why These Trips Matter
Every year, the world feels louder and busier, which makes trips like this one even more important. Northern New Mexico gives you exactly what you need—not always what you want. Some days were cold and tough. Some casts were blown sideways by the wind. But every fish, every moment of quiet, and every sunrise over the ridges felt earned.
Some days on the water require a little patience, a little adaptation, and a whole lot of appreciation for where you are. This was one of those days.
I made the drive up toward the Dolores River tailwaters early in the morning, winding through the rugged Colorado terrain with my 5 wt Sage reel in tow and a box full of my own hand-tied flies. The plan was simple—hit the river, work the riffles, and see what the fish were willing to take.
Hiking into the Tailwaters
After parking near the access point, I hiked down into the canyon, breathing in the cool mountain air and taking in the towering rock walls that framed the river. The Dolores tailwaters are a special place—remote, beautiful, and teeming with trout. The kind of water that makes you slow down and take it all in.
I started the day with dry flies, size 14 and 16, hoping for some surface action. The morning light filtered through the canyon, and for a while, the fish were cooperating. I landed a few solid browns on small dries, watching them rise in the gentle seams. But as the day wore on and the rain clouds rolled in, the bite slowed, and it was time to adjust.
Swinging Streamers in the Riffles
With the drizzle setting in, I switched gears. I tied on one of my hand-tied streamers—yellow and black, a pattern that’s served me well in these waters before. Instead of focusing on delicate presentations, I turned to the riffles, picking out lanes where I could swing my streamer through deeper pockets.
The rain had the trout fired up, and swinging streamers proved to be the right move. It wasn’t long before I felt that familiar jolt—a big brown hammering the fly mid-swing. The fight was strong, the fish pulling hard in the current before finally coming to hand.
Adapting to the Conditions
Fishing in the rain is all about managing comfort and efficiency. I kept my rain jacket zipped up, my gear as dry as possible, and my focus on adjusting to the changing water conditions. The rain added a bit more flow to the river, making the seams and runs even more defined, perfect for targeting fish holding in deeper water.
A Day to Remember
By the time I hiked out, I was soaked but completely satisfied. The Dolores had given me a little bit of everything—technical dry fly fishing in the morning, aggressive streamer action in the afternoon, and some truly incredible scenery along the way.
Days like this remind me why I love fly fishing. It’s not just about the fish—it’s about reading the water, adjusting to what the river gives you, and taking in the beauty of the places these pursuits take us.
Stay Connected with Beyond the Cast
Join the conversation, share your catches, and let’s keep exploring the water together.
“In the stillness of a riverbend or the hush of pine shadows on a mountain trail, I find something that feels closer to truth than anything I’ve found in the noise of daily life.”
Introduction: Where Silence Begins
There’s something sacred about the sound of your boots crunching on a trail before sunrise. When the only other noise is the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of water, that’s where solitude begins. It’s not about loneliness—it’s about space. Space to think. Space to breathe. Space to reconnect.
For me, that space has always been filled with two things: a fly rod in one hand, and a camera slung over my shoulder.
The Pull of the Wild
Fishing isn’t just a sport—it’s a rhythm. It slows life down. The act of watching a mayfly drift, of reading currents and shadows, and feeling the tension in a line before a strike—it pulls you into the present like few things can.
Photography is the same. It demands patience. Observation. The willingness to wait for light to break just right through canyon walls or for the breeze to settle before clicking the shutter.
In wild places, these two crafts merge. The fly rod casts for trout, the lens captures the light—and together, they etch a memory into your soul.
Solitude Isn’t Escaping—It’s Returning
People often think solitude is running from the world. But the truth is, it’s returning to what matters. Out there—along the banks of a freestone river or deep in a Texas marsh—you’re not bombarded by alerts, deadlines, or expectations. You’re just being.
Fishing forces you to observe. To learn. To fail, and try again. The same goes for photography. It teaches you to see what you missed the first time. And in both, you learn that success is quiet. It’s not always the fish caught or the perfect photo. Sometimes it’s just that you were there.
Why I Keep Coming Back
I’ve fished from the saltgrass flats of Galveston to alpine streams in New Mexico, camera packed tight beside my reels. I’ve camped beside waters that sang me to sleep, and hiked miles before dawn to reach a pool that might hold a single rising trout.
I do it for the adventure.
I do it for the peace.
But mostly—I do it to remember who I am when everything else is stripped away.
The wild has a way of revealing truths. It’s where I go to reset, to listen, and to create. And every photo I take or fish I release is a thank-you note to the land that gave me the quiet I needed.
What You Can Take With You
If you’re someone who’s felt overwhelmed by the buzz of modern life, I’d encourage you to pick up a fly rod, a camera, or even just a journal—and go.
Find a river. Hike a trail. Camp in the backcountry. Wake before the sun. Cast badly. Take blurry shots. But stay out there long enough to feel the noise fade.
Because once you do—you’ll understand this:
Solitude isn’t empty. It’s full of the things that truly matter.
Gear I Bring for Solitude
Fly Rod Setup: Sage Spectrum C reel, 4–6 wt rods depending on the water
Camera: Canon R5 + Sigma Art & Canon L-Series lenses
Tripod: K&F Concept carbon tripod
Filters: K&F ND filters for long exposures on streams
Editing Workflow: Lightroom Mobile on iPad Pro during the trip, stacked images for depth
Final Thoughts: The Quiet Places Need Our Voice
Solitude may be personal—but it’s also endangered. As more wild places shrink under development and public land access is threatened, we have a responsibility to protect what heals us.
I encourage you to support conservation efforts, educate others, and share your own moments in the wild. Whether through words, photos, or quiet action—remind others why these places matter.
Because if we lose them, we don’t just lose fish or trails—we lose a part of ourselves.
This July, I’m heading deep into the heart of coastal Maine, where rugged landscapes, wild trout, and historic coastal towns come together in a way only New England can deliver.
From the maritime history of Bath to the windswept beauty of Bar Harbor, this trip will blend fly fishing, hiking, and outdoor photography — all in pursuit of wild brook trout, forest light, and moments of solitude on the trail.
Wild Brook Trout in Acadia National Park
Acadia is one of the few places in the U.S. where you can still catch wild native brook trout in cold, clear streams surrounded by towering granite peaks and old-growth forest.
I’ll be fly fishing small mountain creeks and hidden pools — using lightweight gear, stealth, and dry flies to fool these beautifully colored fish. Expect fly patterns, rigging tips, and reports from the field.
Hiking Maine’s Coastal and Mountain Trails
Beyond the creeks, I’ll be exploring Acadia’s hiking trails, from rocky ridgelines like The Beehive to forested river paths winding through the park. Each hike offers a chance to reset, recharge, and reach hidden fishing water that few ever see.
Look for trail maps, gear lists, and scenic highlights from my time on foot across coastal Maine.
Photography on the Edge of Land and Sea
Maine’s dramatic light and texture-rich environments make it a dream location for photography. I’ll be capturing:
Morning fog and soft light on forest streams
Waterfalls and creeks where brookies hide
Sunset over Cadillac Mountain
Harbors, tidepools, and historic lighthouses
I’ll also be sharing camera settings, compositions, and editing techniques using Lightroom and mobile workflow setups.
A Bit of Maine History: Bath to Bar Harbor
This trip also dives into the history woven into the region. Bath, Maine, known as the “City of Ships,” still reflects its shipbuilding legacy. In Bar Harbor, echoes of the Gilded Age meet rugged cliffs and crashing waves.
Each stop along the way brings stories, heritage, and local culture into the broader journey.
Coming Soon: Full Blog Series + Field Notes
This is just the beginning. Over the coming weeks, I’ll be posting:
Fly fishing reports from wild Maine waters
Photography guides tailored to coastal and forest scenes
Hiking recaps with maps and tips
Behind-the-scenes gear lists for both camera and fly gear
Make sure to subscribe or follow on social media to catch the full journey as it unfolds.
Trout are more than just a favorite target for anglers—they are the pulse of healthy river systems. Across the U.S., conservationists, biologists, and local communities are fighting to protect this iconic fish. From restoring native species to safeguarding bug life and clean water, trout conservation is a story of ecological revival.
The Big Picture: Why Trout Conservation Matters
Trout are indicator species—meaning their presence signals a healthy aquatic ecosystem. Cold, clean, oxygen-rich water is a requirement for their survival. As rivers face threats from drought, pollution, invasive species, and urbanization, trout populations have suffered.
Conservation isn’t just about saving fish. It’s about preserving entire ecosystems, protecting biodiversity, and ensuring future generations can experience wild waters and native trout.
State-by-State Tactics: Unique Approaches to Trout Conservation
Every state has its own climate, terrain, and trout populations, which means conservation looks different across the U.S. Here are some standout efforts:
State-by-State Tactics: Unique Approaches to Trout Conservation
Every state has its own climate, terrain, and trout populations, which means conservation looks different across the U.S. Here are some standout efforts:
New Mexico
• Focus: Native Rio Grande cutthroat trout.
• Tactics: Remote stream restoration, stream temperature monitoring, and translocation of native cutthroat to protected high-altitude waters.
Utah
• Focus: The Utah Cutthroat Slam.
• Tactics: A public-incentive conservation program that encourages anglers to fish for native strains while funding habitat restoration through registration fees.
Montana
• Focus: Wild trout management.
• Tactics: Minimal stocking, strict regulation on water withdrawals, and temperature-sensitive fishing closures to protect fish during droughts.
North Carolina
• Focus: Brook trout and Appalachian streams.
• Tactics: Reforestation around streams, culvert removal for fish passage, and robust hatchery-supported native stocking.
Tennessee
• Focus: Southern Appalachian brook trout.
• Tactics:
• Native Restoration: Tennessee has been working to restore the only native trout species in the state—the Southern Appalachian brook trout—in the Great Smoky Mountains and Cherokee National Forest.
• Genetic Protection: Biologists use genetic testing to identify and protect pure strains of native brook trout, which have been diluted by historic stocking of northern strains.
• Habitat Rehabilitation: Streams have been restructured by removing barriers like old logging roads and replacing culverts to reconnect fragmented habitats.
• Partnership Programs: Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency (TWRA) works with the National Park Service and Trout Unlimited to monitor stream health, conduct temperature studies, and reintroduce brook trout into restored waters.
“Brook trout are more than just a native species—they’re a symbol of our mountain streams. We’re rebuilding those lost legacies one cold stream at a time.”
— Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency
Water Conservation: The Root of Trout Survival
Water is the most critical resource for trout. Without cold, clean, well-oxygenated water, nothing else matters.
Key Tactics:
• Riparian Buffer Zones: Planting vegetation along stream banks to reduce runoff, lower water temperatures, and provide cover.
• Flow Management: Coordinated water releases from dams and reservoirs to mimic natural stream flow and reduce thermal stress.
• Agricultural Partnership Programs: Working with farmers to limit irrigation drawdowns, reduce pesticide runoff, and restore stream access.
The Importance of Bug Life: Mayflies, Caddis, and Stoneflies
Aquatic insects are a foundational part of trout ecosystems. These bugs aren’t just trout food—they indicate stream health and play key roles in nutrient cycling.
Conservation Gains:
• Increased macroinvertebrate diversity is a sign of success in restoration projects.
• Studies show stream habitat improvements often lead to a 30–60% increase in bug hatches within two years.
• Healthy hatches fuel trout growth and reproduction—especially during the spring and fall feeding windows.
Restoring Native Trout: Bringing Back the Originals
In many watersheds, native trout were lost due to overfishing, logging, mining, and the introduction of non-native species. Conservation efforts now aim to undo that damage.
Examples of Success:
• Greenback Cutthroat (Colorado): Once thought extinct, small remnant populations were found and used for native reintroduction efforts in the South Platte drainage.
• Apache Trout (Arizona): Federally protected, with recovery projects in high mountain streams and strong community involvement.
• Lahontan Cutthroat (Nevada & California): Massive scale-up of reintroduction projects into Pyramid Lake and nearby alpine waters.
How Trout Are Raised: Inside Hatcheries and Wild Stocking Programs
Raising trout plays a key role in both conservation and sportfishing. But not all hatchery programs are created equal.
Modern Hatchery Practices:
• Genetic Integrity: Breeding programs now focus on maintaining native genetics rather than just producing numbers.
• Disease Control: UV filtration, oxygen monitoring, and isolation units prevent outbreaks.
• Stream-Ready Conditioning: Juvenile trout are raised in stream-simulation tanks with natural flow and live prey to prepare them for the wild.
How You Can Help: Small Steps, Big Impact
1. Practice Catch and Release: Use barbless hooks and handle fish with wet hands.
2. Volunteer with Trout Unlimited or Local Stream Projects.
3. Support Native Reintroduction Programs: Donate, advocate, or join citizen science efforts.
4. Fish Responsibly: Avoid fishing during warm-water conditions or low-flow events.
Conclusion: Conservation Is a Collective Story
Trout conservation is a powerful blend of science, tradition, and community. Whether you’re a fly angler hiking into a remote canyon or a weekend bait fisherman on a stocked lake, your actions matter. Together, we can ensure that cold, clean trout streams continue to flow wild and full of life.
After months of planning and a long drive through winding forest roads, I finally pulled into Beavers Bend State Park and set up camp along the Lower Mountain Fork River. The spring air was crisp, the dogwoods were just starting to bloom, and the sound of moving water echoed through the pines. It didn’t take long to shake off the road and get a line in the water.
That first evening, with the light starting to soften and the river glowing gold, I managed to connect with a few hungry rainbows. They weren’t picky—small nymphs drifted through the seams did the trick. The bites came steady enough to remind me why I love this place.
After a quick dinner by the fire, I settled into camp under a canopy of stars, the rhythmic hoots of owls echoing through the trees.
The next morning, I woke up early to fish the cooler temps. The water was still moving clear and strong, and once again the rainbows were willing. I caught several before the sky started turning gray and rumbles of thunder rolled over the treetops. I packed up just before the rain let loose. Back at camp, I waited it out with some lunch and watched the storm wash the dust off the forest.
By late afternoon, the weather broke just enough to slip back onto the water. The air was cool and damp, and the fish were active again. There’s something about fishing after a storm—the river feels fresh, the light is moody, and the fish seem to know it.
The next day I decided to stretch my legs and hike deeper into the park. The trail twisted along the river, past waterfalls trickling over mossy rocks and wildflowers blooming in hidden pockets of sunlight. With my fly rod strapped to my pack and my camera swinging from my shoulder, I made slow, intentional progress—fishing the deeper pools and riffles along the way. The reward? A mix of feisty smallmouth bass and more rainbows, all tucked away in less-pressured water.
Waterfalls I found hiking to the river
Between casts, I couldn’t help but take in the scenery. Spring in Broken Bow is something special—lush greens, sparkling creeks, waterfalls hidden in the woods, and skies that seem to shift with every hour.
I stopped often to shoot photos of blooming wildflowers, dripping foliage, and scenic overlooks. The light was perfect for moody forest shots and those soft, misty river images I love capturing.
Over the next several days, the fishing held strong. Morning and evening were best, especially with dry-dropper rigs and small streamers. Each night brought its own rhythm—raccoons rustling around camp looking for snacks, barred owls calling across the river, and the gentle hum of the forest settling in for the night. It was peaceful, wild, and exactly the kind of escape I was hoping for.
This trip to Broken Bow was a perfect blend of fly fishing, photography, and soaking in spring’s return. The combination of eager trout, backcountry hikes, and unexpected encounters—both wildlife and weather—made it one for the books. If you’re thinking about chasing fish and quiet in southeast Oklahoma, spring is a great time to go.
After a few peaceful days of fly fishing in the cool, clear waters of Beavers Bend State Park, I’m back home on the Texas coast. The trip was a perfect spring escape—misty mornings on the Lower Mountain Fork River, sight-casting to rising trout, and evenings by the fire with the sound of the river nearby. It’s hard to beat the mountain air and those deep pools filled with willing browns and rainbows.
But as great as the Oklahoma waters were, there’s nothing quite like home. The salt air, the sound of mullet flipping in the back marsh, and that first tailing redfish on a still morning—it all draws me right back in. With water temperatures rising and tides shifting into summer patterns, it’s time to return to chasing reds, speckled trout, and maybe even a few flounder on the fly.
I’ll be back out on the Galveston flats this week, rod in hand and camera packed, ready for what the tides bring in. Stay tuned for some coastal fly action—there’s plenty more coming.
Stay tuned for the full blog on Beavers Bend trip!
As spring breathes new life into the forests and rivers, I’m gearing up for a trip that blends fly fishing, photography, and camping into one unforgettable adventure.
Next week, I’m heading north from Houston to the beautiful Beavers Bend State Park in Broken Bow, Oklahoma — a true gem for coldwater trout fishing in the southern U.S.
This trip isn’t just about the fish — it’s about the full experience: long drives in the Ford Bronco, misty river mornings, evenings by the campfire, and capturing it all through my lenses and drone.
Here’s the full rundown of flies tied, gear packed, and the planning tools I used to map out this journey:
Fly Box: Patterns Prepped for Beavers Bend
For the crystal-clear waters of the Lower Mountain Fork River, I’ve stocked my fly box with a variety of proven patterns tailored for both rainbow and brown trout:
• Small Mayfly Patterns (Size 18–22) — Matching early spring hatches.
• Hopper Patterns (Size 12–14) — For opportunistic trout looking for a big bite.
• Small Leech Patterns (Size 10–12) — Especially effective for brown trout in deeper runs.
• Midges (Size 20–22) — Black, olive, and red variations.
• Soft Hackle Wet Flies (Size 14–16) — Perfect for swinging through riffles.
• Woolly Buggers (Size 8–10) — Olive, black, and brown for streamer action.
Each fly is barbless for easy releases and tied specifically to imitate what’s naturally present in Beavers Bend’s ecosystem this time of year.
Photography and Video Gear Packed
This trip is also about capturing the story — from the early morning mist on the water to the fire-lit nights under the stars.
Here’s the photography and video setup coming with me:
• Canon EOS 90D paired with Canon L Series lenses for high-resolution action and landscape shots.
• DJI Mavic Pro Drone for sweeping aerials over the river valleys and forest canopy.
• GoPro Hero 10 Black (chest mount) for wading shots, underwater releases, and immersive point-of-view fishing clips.
• K&F Concept Tripod and ND Filters for smooth video transitions and silky river shots.
Photography is about more than documenting the trip — it’s about telling the story of a place and a moment in time.
Fishing Gear Checklist
For the river, I’ve got a streamlined but reliable setup:
• Fly Rod: 9’ 5-weight rod, capable of delicate presentations and fighting feisty trout.
• Reel:Sage Spectrum 5/6 weight reel — strong drag for river browns and rainbows.
• Fly Line:Cortland 444 floating line, ideal for precise casts and great line control.
• Leaders and Tippet: 9’ fluorocarbon leaders with 4X–6X tippet.
• Net: Lightweight, rubber bag net for safe catch-and-release.
• Waders and Boots: Breathable waders and wadding boots with studs if needed.
I’m packing all my fishing gear into my Ghosthorn Fly Fishing Backpack — lightweight, waterproof, and easy to carry across the rocky trails and riverbanks of Beavers Bend.
Camping Essentials
Nothing beats setting up camp after a full day on the river:
• Lightweight backpacking tent and insulated sleeping pad.
• Down sleeping bag rated for cool river nights.
• Portable camp stove, kettle, and coffee setup.
• Firewood bundles for nights around the campfire.
• Headlamps, lanterns, and a solar charging station.
There’s nothing quite like brewing a morning coffee at the river’s edge, listening to nature wake up.
Trip Planning Tools: How I Mapped It All Out
Planning a trip like this starts long before the first cast.
Here’s how I mapped the route and fishing spots:
• TroutRoutes App — Invaluable for locating public access points, river sections, and local fly recommendations.
• Google Earth — Used to scout deeper river bends, trailheads, and potential drone shot locations.
• Oklahoma Fishing Regulations — I made sure to double-check daily bag limits, special rules for the Lower Mountain Fork, and barbless hook requirements.
In areas like Beavers Bend, staying aware of regulations is crucial — not just for legal reasons, but to protect the fishery for everyone who comes after.
The Road Ahead
It’s about more than the catch.
It’s about the drive through pine forests in the Ford Bronco, the moment a trout flashes in the current, the sound of a campfire crackling in the dark.
It’s about slowing down, listening to the river, and letting the story write itself.
I’ll be documenting the trip through both photography and short films, so stay tuned for updates from the water, behind-the-scenes captures, and a full video recap once I’m back.
Broken Bow, here we come. Tight lines, clear skies, and wide-open roads.
Exploring the backcountry through fly fishing, photography, hiking, and travel, I seek out remote rivers, hidden trails, and wild landscapes — capturing each adventure through the lens and the line. Whether chasing trout in alpine streams or hiking rugged terrain to untouched waters, every journey is a blend of exploration, creativity, and connection with nature.
This fall, I’m hitting the road for a 7–9 day fly fishing and camping adventure across Utah to complete the Utah Cutthroat Slam—an incredible opportunity to catch all four of Utah’s native cutthroat trout species. Along the way, I’ll be camping, backcountry hiking, and capturing the experience through landscape and wildlife photography.
This isn’t just about landing fish—it’s about exploring Utah’s best fly fishing rivers and lakes, experiencing fall trout hatches, and immersing myself in the wild places where native trout still thrive.
Photos – Hayden Cook – Assistant Slam Director for Utah Trout Unlimited
What is the Utah Cutthroat Slam?
The Utah Cutthroat Slam is a unique conservation-focused fly fishing challenge organized by the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources (DWR) and Trout Unlimited. Anglers are challenged to catch and release each of Utah’s four native subspecies of cutthroat trout:
• Bonneville Cutthroat Trout
Photos – Hayden Cook – Assistant Slam Director for Utah Trout Unlimited
• Bear River Cutthroat Trout
Photos- Hayden Cook – Assistant Slam Director for Utah Trout Unlimited
• Colorado River Cutthroat Trout
Photos – Hayden Cook – Assistant Slam Director for Utah Trout Unlimited
• Yellowstone Cutthroat Trout
Photos – Hayden Cook – Assistant Slam Director for Utah Trout Unlimited
• Catch and photo-document each species in its native range
• Submit your catches online and receive a medallion and certificate
This slam supports native trout restoration, stream conservation, and public access projects throughout Utah.
Planning the Ultimate Fly Fishing Road Trip in Utah
This journey through Utah’s high mountain lakes, clear-running creeks, and remote rivers is part fishing trip, part photography expedition. I built the route using:
• Topographic maps and stream overlays
• Trout Routes
• Google Earth
• Fly hatch charts by elevation
• Public land and fishing access maps (Trout Routes)
• Backcountry campsite locations
I’ll be camping near rivers and lakes in a mix of developed campgrounds and dispersed sites on public lands. Each area was chosen for both trout habitat and scenic value.
Fall Fly Fishing in Utah: Weather Planning & Elevation Strategy
Timing: Late September through early October
Elevations Fished: 4,000 to 10,500 feet
Weather Ranges: 25°F–70°F depending on elevation
Weather can turn quickly in the mountains, so I’ve preloaded NOAA zone forecasts, packed a four-season tent, down layers, and waterproof dry bags for gear and electronics.
Essential Cold Weather Gear for Utah in Fall:
• Merino base layers and thermal socks
• Midweight fleece and insulated down jacket
• Lightweight rain shell
• Waterproof boots
• Sleeping bag rated for 15°F or lower
Backcountry Photography Gear List
Capturing the beauty of Utah’s remote trout streams is a major part of the trip. I’ll be focusing on golden aspen stands, river reflections, early morning fog, and (hopefully) those buttery-yellow fins of native cutthroat.
Photography Equipment:
• Camera: Canon R5 (full-frame mirrorless)
• Lenses: Canon L 70–200mm, Sigma 24–70mm Art, Canon 16–35mm
• Tripod: K&F Concept carbon tripod
• Editing: Lightroom Mobile on iPad Pro
• Accessories: Circular polarizer, extra batteries, weatherproof storage (K&F Concept Camera Backpack)
Fly Fishing Gear Checklist
I’m using lightweight, versatile gear that works for small creeks and open lakes:
Rods & Reels:
• 9’ 4wt fly rod for small streams
• 9’ 5wt fly rod for alpine lakes and wind
• Sage Spectrum C reels with floating line
Line & Leaders:
• Seaguar Red Label fluorocarbon (4-8 lb for leader/tippet)
• Tippet rings, floatant, strike indicators
Top Flies for Fall in Utah:
• Griffith’s Gnat, Parachute Adams, BWO
• Ants, Beetles, Hoppers
• Zebra Midges, Soft Hackles
• Mini Leeches and Buggers for lakes
Route Breakdown: Fishing Locations by Species
A screenshot of Utah’s Cutthroat Slam map displaying the drainages of native cutthroat
1. Bonneville Cutthroat – Weber River
• Area: Above Echo Reservoir
• Best Flies: Midges, Adams, caddis
• Camping: Echo State Park
2. Bear River Cutthroat – Oakley Region
• Streams: Small headwater creeks
• Flies: Hoppers, beetles, ants
• Camping: Smith and Morehouse CG
3. Colorado River Cutthroat – Boulder Mountain
• Lakes: Dougherty Basin, Round Willow Bottom
West Fork Avintaquin Creek (from DWR WMA property boundary to headwaters)
Meadow Creek
• Flies: Griffith’s Gnat, beetles, mini leeches
• Camping: Singletree or dispersed
4. Yellowstone Cutthroat – Idaho Border Streams
• Streams: High elevation creeks
• Flies: Attractors, BWO, soft hackles
• Camping: Dispersed or Clear Creek area
Safety & Backcountry Preparedness
Navigation & Tools:
• Gaia GPS with topo layers and access overlays
• Compass and printed maps
• Satellite beacon (Garmin inReach Mini)
Emergency & First Aid:
• First-aid kit
• Water filtration (Sawyer Squeeze)
• Bear-safe food storage
• Spare batteries + power bank
( Anker SOLIX C300 Portable Power Station – 288Wh | 300W )
The Utah Cutthroat Slam is more than a checklist—it’s a tribute to the rivers that still run wild, the fish that still swim free, and the people working to keep them that way. Whether you’re drawn by the challenge, the scenery, or the stories, this trip is one you’ll never forget.
I’ll be documenting it all in a full photo essay and fly fishing trip report once I’m back—so stay tuned.
There’s a rhythm that sets in when you spend days wandering rivers, casting dry flies, and capturing the land through your lens. After hiking into La Plata, following the Pine River Trail, rising early on the Animas, and whispering along the Dolores, something starts to shift—not just in the way you fish, but in how you move through the world.
This final chapter isn’t about a specific cast or photo. It’s about what all of this meant once I came off the trail, rinsed the mud off my boots, and looked back at the miles behind me.
From Maps to Moments
When I first sat down to plan this trip, it was a checklist: routes to hike, rivers to fish, hatches to chase. I studied topo maps and overlays on Google Earth, watched weather systems roll in and out of the San Juans, and marked backup camp spots in case storms closed the trail.
But once you’re out there, none of that matters as much as the small moments. Like the first rise in a quiet pool. Or the sound of elk bugling across a valley at dawn. Or finding the perfect shaft of morning light filtering through lodgepoles, with a river bend waiting beneath it.
The Camera Changed Everything
I brought my Canon R5 to document the trip, but photography became more than just documentation—it became a second way of fishing. I wasn’t just casting for trout anymore. I was casting for light. Waiting for angles. Watching how clouds moved across the sunlit ridges. Timing the shutter for a take or the ripple of a rise.
Using Sigma and Canon L-series lenses, I played with depth and storytelling: wide shots to show scale, macro shots to capture tiny streamside blooms, long exposures for rivers flowing like silk. Editing in Lightroom on my iPad Pro, often while huddled in a tent during afternoon showers, gave me time to reflect while still on location.
What the Rivers Taught Me
Each river had something to say.
• La Plata taught me to slow down and observe.
• The Pine River showed me the power of patience and hiking deep.
• The Animas reminded me to cast boldly, to adapt, and to respect fast water.
• The Dolores whispered the importance of silence, solitude, and light.
Fly fishing in these places wasn’t just about catching trout—it was about connectingwith wild places. And photography made me see them differently. Not just as terrain to cover or fish to find—but as stories, shapes, and shifting light worth remembering.
The Final Campfire
On the last night, I sat at a bluff above the Dolores, fire crackling, stars just beginning to show. I had one more trout on the line earlier that evening, and one more photo of the sky turning peach above the canyon wall. The tent was pitched, the boots were drying, and my gear—rod and camera alike—was dusty but intact.
It hit me then: This trip was less about fish and more about presence. About choosing to walk farther, wait longer, and look more closely. About building a rhythm between motion and stillness, casts and clicks, silence and shutter.
So What Comes Next?
I’ll be back on the flats of the Texas Coast soon—casting from my kayak, camera tucked into my hatch. And later this year, another mountain trip to Maine where I’ll be fishing for brooks. Then up to Colorado and Utah. Maybe back to New Mexico. That’s the beauty of it: the stories never end. The rivers are always waiting.
Final Reflections and Tips
• Planning is critical, but stay flexible—rivers don’t follow your itinerary.
• Photography adds depth to fishing; carry your camera, even if it slows you down.
• Capture everything, not just the fish—landscape, weather, details, movement.
• Don’t chase numbers. Chase the experience. The cast. The quiet. The light.
• Bring a journal or use your camera as one. Tell your story while you’re still in it.
Thanks for following this journey.
Whether you’re chasing trout in the Rockies or tailing reds on a coastal flat, I hope this series inspires you to slow down, look deeper, and carry both a rod and a lens. The wild places are out there—and they’re best explored with muddy boots, weathered gear, and eyes open to everything between the casts.
If the Animas River is a bold, rushing conversation, the Dolores River speaks in whispers. Tucked between the slopes and canyons of Southwest Colorado, this river winds through rugged terrain, shifting between dense forest, rocky cliffs, and sage-covered meadows. It’s a place of stillness, where every bend feels like it belongs to you—and the browns that live here feel like a gift you earn, not a prize you chase.
The Approach: Getting to the River
The upper Dolores is more remote than it looks on the map. Depending on where you go—above McPhee Reservoir or toward the West Fork—you’ll wind down forest service roads, sometimes dodging rockfall or puddles from last night’s rain. I pulled off just before sunrise at a bend that looked promising. No signs, no crowds, no footprints in the sand.
I geared up quickly: 9’ 4wt rod, Sage Spectrum C reel, floating line with a long 5x leader. I grabbed my K&F Concept camera pack, Canon R5, and my Sigma 24–70mm lens to start, knowing the early light would be soft and perfect for river compositions.
Quiet Water and the First Cast
The Dolores at this stretch was gentle—glasslike pools framed by golden willows, with the occasional riffle tumbling over polished rocks. I rigged a single dry: a #16 tan Elk Hair Caddis, and started casting upstream into the seams. The fish here weren’t picky, but they were spooky. Long leaders and slow movements were the name of the game.
The first brown came from under an overhang, perfectly camouflaged against the river bottom. I crouched low, played it gently, and then paused to shoot—kneeling at water level to capture its golden flanks against the mirror-like pool behind it.
Photographing Solitude
Photography here wasn’t about action—it was about silence. I slowed down and started looking for compositions that told a story: a pool framed by sunlit pine branches, reflections of clouds in still water, the gentle curve of the river disappearing into cottonwood shade.
Using a circular polarizer, I cut glare from the surface and exposed the rocks and movement underneath. I stopped often to shoot macro shots—moss on river stones, fresh caddis cases on logs, wildflowers just beginning to bloom along the bank. The Canon R5 let me switch between stills and slow-motion video, capturing the way wind moved through the reeds like a painter’s brush.
Fly Selection and Brown Trout Behavior
As the sun climbed higher, the trout moved deeper. I switched to a dry-dropper setup: a #14 Stimulator on top with a #18 Zebra Midge below. The browns in the Dolores aren’t huge, but they’re aggressive and feisty, especially when your drift is clean and natural.
I targeted small plunge pools below boulder-strewn riffles and deeper pockets shaded by cliff overhangs. Most takes were subtle—a twitch or a swirl rather than a splash. The largest of the day came from a tight seam below a fallen pine: a buttery brown with red spots vivid against olive flanks. I wet my hands, admired him in the net for a moment, then let him go.
Weather Watching and Midday Reset
As with most Colorado rivers, the Dolores plays by mountain rules—sunny one minute, storm clouds the next. By noon, dark clouds were building behind the ridges. I took the cue to rest, retreating to a patch of grass above the river, checking radar, and reviewing my shots on my iPad Pro. I backed up files, edited a few images in Lightroom using preset adjustments for contrast and warmth, and ate lunch while a soft rain moved through.
Evening Glow and Last Light
By late afternoon, the rain cleared, and the golden hour was beginning. I hiked upstream a little farther to a stretch with higher canyon walls and a series of gentle cascades. The light lit up the canyon like fire—red rocks glowing, the water catching flecks of sun, and the air thick with golden reflections.
This was my favorite photography session of the trip—shooting handheld with my 70–200mm lens, I caught reflections of cottonwoods in the river, crisp landscapes framed with long shadows, and one last brown trout rising in the golden light.
Why the Dolores Stays With You
Some rivers give you a lot right away. The Dolores gives slowly. It rewards patience, attentiveness, and a photographer’s eye. You may not land a dozen fish, but each one feels earned. And the scenes—the ones you only find by walking, waiting, and watching—make it unforgettable.
Fly Fishing Dolores River Essentials
• Best Flies: Elk Hair Caddis, Parachute Adams, Zebra Midges, Stimulators, Streamers in fast water
• Rod Setup: 4wt or 5wt rod, long leaders, floating line
• Tips: Stay low, fish slow, take your time to photograph the river between casts
• Safety Note: Watch afternoon storms; bring a small first-aid kit and map (no service in remote stretches) Insure you have downloaded all your offline maps
The Dolores River isn’t about action—it’s about appreciation. It asks you to slow down, to watch the way light plays on water, and to cast not just for fish, but for the memory of that perfect, quiet moment in the canyon.
Next Up: Part 6 — Full Circle: Reflections, Routines, and What the Backcountry Teaches Us
The Animas River is a different kind of challenge. It’s not a quiet alpine trickle or a glassy meadow stream—it’s loud, wide, and unapologetically wild. Flowing straight through Durango, Colorado, the Animas is part urban fishery, part wilderness artery. It forces you to think bigger—wider water, heavier flies, longer casts—but still rewards that same backcountry patience.
This part of my trip was about rising early, walking the banks in the soft golden light, and chasing browns and rainbows with both rod and camera in hand.
Sunrise in Durango
I woke up before first light, the streets of Durango still quiet. With a thermos of hot coffee, my Sage Spectrum C reel rigged on a 9’ 5wt rod, and my Canon R5 slung over my shoulder, I made my way to the water’s edge just as the sky began to glow.
The Animas River Trail makes access easy through town, but don’t let that fool you—there are real fish in this river, and they know how to fight. I found a spot just below a rocky chute, where the water slowed into a deep green run bordered by cottonwoods.
Casting into the Current
Big water requires smart setups. I tied on a #10 Pat’s Rubber Legs with a #14 Flashback Pheasant Tail dropper, running under an indicator with a bit of split shot to get it deep. These trout hold tight to seams and structure, often near the bottom.
On my third drift, the indicator twitched. I set the hook and felt immediate weight—no acrobatics, just a steady pull. A few minutes later, I landed a thick rainbow, chrome-bright and peppered with tiny spots. I kept the fish in the net, let it rest, and grabbed a few quick shots with my 24–70mm lens and a shallow depth of field to blur out the river behind.
Photography on Big Water
The Animas is perfect for dramatic shots. With high banks, old iron bridges, and light that shifts quickly with the clouds, it’s a river made for wide angles. I switched to a 16–35mm lens, shot low from the riverbank, and captured the first sunlight hitting the canyon walls with the water reflecting every shade of blue and green.
I experimented with ND filters for long exposures, letting the current blur while boulders and logs stayed sharp. These kinds of photos tell the story of movement—how the river breathes and shifts around each bend.
Wildlife Along the Banks
Between casts, I kept my eyes open for more than just trout. I spotted a flicker of movement near a rock outcrop—just a blur of fur and a flicking tail. I crouched low and reached for my camera. There, nestled in a patch of wildflowers, a chipmunk was nibbling on a seed head, completely unaware of me. I dialed in my Canon R5 with the 70–200mm lens, adjusted for soft natural light, and waited. The frame came together perfectly: golden grass swaying in the breeze, the chipmunk centered in a moment of stillness. A quiet, unexpected portrait of mountain life, full of charm and detail. With my 70–200mm lens, I captured tight shots from a distance—one of the benefits of shooting early before the trail sees much foot traffic.
I also grabbed some frames of the little things—dewdrops on wild grass, close-ups of river stones, caddis cases clinging to rocks—the quiet details that add depth to both fishing and photography.
Urban Meets Wild
Fishing the Animas in Durango is a unique experience. You can hear the occasional train whistle or morning jogger on the trail, yet still feel completely locked in with the river. It’s a good reminder that wild places don’t have to be far from home—they just have to be approached with the right mindset.
With a few solid fish landed and a full memory card, I took a break under the old railroad bridge, watching the light shift across the river. That’s the magic of a morning on the Animas—you show up early, stay patient, and let the day unfold at its own pace.
Tips for Fly Fishing and Photography on the Animas River
• Best Time: Early mornings for light, fewer people, and active fish
• Gear: 5wt or 6wt rod, Sage Spectrum C reel, floating line with split shot
• Photography Musts: Wide-angle lens, polarizer, tripod for longer exposures
• Location Notes: Durango River Trail access is great, but hike downstream or upstream early for quieter water
Fly fishing the Animas taught me how to adapt—heavier flies, bolder casts, and a willingness to pause the fishing for a perfect photo. It reminded me that the story isn’t just about the catch—it’s about the experience, the light, the sounds, and the stillness between the casts.
Next up: Part 5 — Whisper Water — Solitude and Browns on the Dolores River
Some rivers don’t give up their secrets easily. The Pine River, also known as Los Pinos, is one of them. Tucked deep in the Weminuche Wilderness of Southwest Colorado, it requires effort, patience, and a willingness to hike into solitude. But if you’re after wild trout in clear mountain water—and the kind of light that makes your photos glow—there are few places more rewarding.
The Trailhead to Solitude
The journey starts at the Pine River Trailhead near Vallecito Reservoir. It’s a dusty parking lot, a worn wooden sign, and a reminder that you’re on the edge of something vast—the largest wilderness area in Colorado.
The trail runs along private land for the first few miles, so fishing and camping are off limits early on. But once you cross into the national forest boundary, the river opens up, wild and remote. The elevation gain is steady but forgiving, and the views just keep getting better. Towering peaks peek through pines, and wildflowers bloom along the trail like a postcard from July.
With my Canon R5, K&F Concept backpack, and 5wt rod, I hit the trail just after sunrise. The air was crisp, golden light filtered through the lodgepoles, and the river sparkled below.
Early Light and River Mist
I stopped just past the wilderness boundary where the river flattened into a lazy bend. The mist rose off the water like breath, and I dropped my pack to capture the moment. Using my 70–200mm lens, I focused on the layers—backlit pine branches, the soft swirl of fog, and the glint of sun hitting the waterline.
For long exposures, I mounted my tripod, dialed in a low ISO, and let the shutter run. These are the kinds of images I live for—where the emotion of the place shines through the frame.
Setting Up the Rig
The Pine River demands versatility. I rigged up a dry-dropper setup: a #14 Parachute Adams up top and a #16 Hare’s Ear Nymph trailing below. These fish are educated and spooky, especially in slow pools. I used long, fine tippet and cast from behind boulders, keeping my shadow off the water.
The first fish came from a seam near a fallen log—a small but healthy brown. I paused to photograph the catch, using my hand and net for scale, carefully positioning the fish with the sun behind me to avoid harsh glare. A few quick shots, then back in the water.
Fishing and Shooting in Rhythm
Backcountry fly fishing is about finding rhythm—between casts, between hikes, between light and shadow. I alternated between fishing pocket water and photographing the surroundings. A high ridge caught my eye, so I swapped out lenses and shot wide to capture the dramatic sweep of the river carving its way through the forested canyon.
I kept my camera settings flexible, using aperture priority mode to adapt quickly between moving trout and landscape shots. My K&F Concept backpack made transitions easy, with side access panels for grabbing a lens mid-hike or stashing a fly box fast.
Wild Trout and Wild Moments
The further I hiked, the wilder the water became. Cutthroat started showing up—small, brilliantly colored, and lightning quick. I switched flies to a #12 Yellow Humpy with a CDC midge dropper, and it paid off. Several fish rose in tight, riffled corners that required tricky casts and precise drifts.
I kneeled in cold, mossy shallows, capturing tight macro shots of wildflowers along the riverbanks—bluebells, Indian paintbrush, and buttercups reflected in the water’s surface. These images tell just as much of the story as the fish themselves.
Storms and Staying Safe
Mid-afternoon, the familiar rumble of thunder rolled through the canyon. I packed up fast, knowing that weather in the high country turns fast. The trail turned slick, and I was glad I had lightweight rain gear and a waterproof pack.
Back at camp, I dried off and reviewed photos on my iPad Pro, backed up my files, and journaled the day. A deep sense of satisfaction settled in—the kind you only get after chasing trout and light deep into the wilderness.
• Fishing Tip: Approach low, cast upstream, and let your dry fly lead the way
This stretch of the Pine River is what I chase—trout in untouched waters, scenes only your boots can reach, and photos you can’t take from the side of the road.
Up Next: Part 4 – Animas Mornings: Big Water and Bigger Scenes
There’s something about hiking into trout water that changes the whole rhythm of a trip. You leave behind the road noise, the cell signal, the crowded pull-offs—and start tuning into the sound of the wind through lodgepoles and the hush of a river just over the next rise. That’s what drew me to the La Plata River, tucked into a quiet stretch of high country in Southwest Colorado. Part fishing trip, part photo expedition—this was a day I won’t forget.
Starting the Hike: Pines, Shade, and Altitude
The La Plata River trailhead isn’t flashy. It starts modestly with a dirt pull-off and quickly dips into shady pine groves. The trail follows the contour of the valley with occasional glimpses of the river down below. What makes this hike special isn’t just the destination, but the quiet, ever-changing terrain: groves of aspen, mossy boulders, and alpine meadows dotted with summer wildflowers.
With my K&F Concept camera backpack strapped tight and a 4wt fly rod rigged up and ready to go, I eased into a slow pace, letting my eyes adjust to the light and scanning the trail for photo moments—a glint of water through the trees, a mule deer in the brush, shafts of light through pine needles.
Wildflowers and Wildlife: Photography on the Move
Early summer in this part of Colorado is a photographer’s dream. Bright orange Indian paintbrush, purple columbines, and patches of lupine lit up the trail edges. I switched to my 24–70mm lens, using a low angle to capture the pop of color against the green pines.
Light is everything here. I used a circular polarizer to punch up the color and reduce glare when shooting near water. My Canon R5 handled the dynamic light shifts like a champ—especially when a young mule deer stepped out into a clearing, perfectly backlit, right as I crested a ridge.
First Glimpse of the River
About two miles in, I heard it before I saw it. The La Plata winds through tight canyons and then flattens into glassy, slow runs bordered by grassy banks. I dropped my pack, switched into my wading shoes, and tied on a #14 Yellow Stimulator with a Beadhead Pheasant Tail dropper.
The water was crystal clear—trout country through and through.
Stealth and Strategy: Small Water Fly Fishing
Fishing the La Plata is a finesse game. These are wild fish, likely never hooked, and they spook at shadows. I crouched low, casting upstream into shady runs and behind midstream boulders. Several small browns darted for the fly but refused last second. On a good drift, the dropper disappeared and I brought in my first fish of the trip—a buttery brown trout with fire-orange spots. I paused for a quick photo with the fish hovering just above the net, backlit by the sun.
I love these moments—the stillness, the soft light, the ripple of success after a quiet approach. The fish here aren’t big, but they’re beautiful and strong.
The Midday Light Shift
By midday, the lighting got harsh—tougher for photos, but perfect for exploring. I shot reflections along a wide bend of the river, switching to a 70–200mm lens to compress layers of pine ridges and storm clouds moving in.
Back at a mossy boulder overlooking a slow pool, I set up my tripod for a long exposure of the water sliding through rocks. These are the frames I love—where fly fishing meets fine art photography.
Safety First in the Backcountry
Clouds started to build, as they often do in Colorado’s high country. I kept my eye on the sky, wrapping up fishing and heading back toward the trailhead before the afternoon storms rolled in. That’s one lesson I’ve learned: no fish is worth getting caught in a lightning storm above 9,000 feet.
On the hike out, I paused one last time to shoot the fading light over the valley, grateful for a day that felt more like a retreat than a mission.
Tips for Fishing & Photographing the La Plata River
• Start early: For soft light and calm water, hit the trail before sunrise.
• Use a dry-dropper rig: Small dries like Stimulators or Elk Hair Caddis paired with beadhead nymphs are deadly.
• Pack light, but smart: The K&F backpack let me carry camera gear, fly gear, food, and a rain shell without overload.
• Bring a polarizer: It transforms mid-day shots and makes colors pop.
• Shoot with purpose: Capture the fish, but also the landscape, light, and journey—it tells the full story.
This hike into the La Plata River reminded me why I chase these moments—where the line between fishing and photography disappears. The sound of moving water, a trout rising to a dry, and the snap of the shutter are all part of the same rhythm.
Up Next: Part 3 — Chasing Trout and Light on the Pine River Trail
Planning a backcountry fly fishing and photography trip is a lot like tying the perfect fly—you’ve got to think ahead, match conditions, and be ready to adapt. In this first part of my Colorado series, I want to share how I planned my multi-river adventure into the high country, blending two of my favorite things: fly fishing for wild trout and capturing the wild beauty of the mountains through a camera lens.
This trip took me deep into Southwest Colorado, targeting remote stretches of the La Plata River, Pine River, Dolores, Animas, and Florida River. Each river offered its own challenges, scenic backdrops, and trout behaviors—making the planning stage even more important.
Mapping the Adventure
I started with tools like Google Earth, Gaia GPS, and the TroutRoutes app to scout access points, trailheads, and water that looked fishy from above. Topo maps helped me estimate mileage and elevation gain for hikes, and I cross-checked each section with known public lands or wilderness boundaries.
The Pine River Trail and the La Plata River hikes stood out for their mix of beauty, remoteness, and good trout habitat. I marked down potential campsites along the trail and noted river crossings or sections that might become hazardous with runoff.
Timing the Trip
Late summer (late July through early September) is prime time for Colorado backcountry fly fishing. Snowmelt has usually slowed, making rivers more accessible, while hatches are still consistent. Wildflowers peak during this window, and the weather (though unpredictable) is often stable enough for longer treks.
I kept a close eye on weather reports, snowpack data, and monsoon activity, especially since lightning and flash floods are real dangers in the high country. I packed accordingly—with quick-dry layers, a solid rain jacket, and a waterproof K&F Concept camera backpack to keep my gear safe.
Fly Fishing Gear Considerations
I packed a 9’ 5wt rod for open water and a 7.5’ 4wt for tighter streams. I went with my trusty Sage Spectrum C reel and a variety of floating lines, knowing I’d fish mostly dries and light droppers. My fly box included a carefully curated selection:
• Parachute Adams (#14–18)
• Elk Hair Caddis (#14)
• Yellow Stimulators (#12–14)
• Beadhead Pheasant Tails (#16)
• CDC Midges (#20)
• Black Woolly Buggers (#8)
• Hoppers and flying ants (for summer action)
This wasn’t just a fishing trip—I had to think like a backpacker and a photographer, which made my packing even more dialed in.
Photography Planning
When it comes to fly fishing photography, weight and protection are huge. I brought my Canon R5, a 24–70mm f/2.8 lens for landscapes and action, and a 70–200mm f/2.8 for compression shots and wildlife. My K&F Concept carbon tripod gave me a lightweight but stable base for long exposures and evening light.
I also packed:
• Circular polarizer to reduce water glare
• ND filter for waterfalls and river movement
• Lens cloths, extra batteries, and SD cards
• Lightroom Mobile on my iPad Pro for quick edits in camp
When planning photography in the backcountry, it helps to scout shot locations beforehand using satellite images or even previous trip photos. I created a loose shot list: mist rising over pools, trout in hand with glowing light, macro shots of wildflowers, and long exposures of rivers at sunset.
Safety & Self-Sufficiency
One of the most critical parts of a backcountry fishing trip is safety. I carried a Garmin inReach Mini for emergencies and communication, plus a first-aid kit, headlamp, multitool, and bear spray (just in case). I let family know my plan, printed a trail map, and downloaded offline GPS maps.
Keeping camera gear dry was also a safety issue—because nothing ruins a trip faster than soaking your camera in a surprise storm or river dunk. The K&F camera backpack’s waterproof bottom and removable insert gave me peace of mind, even while wading or crossing creeks.
Building Flexibility Into the Plan
No matter how dialed in your route is, backcountry travel in Colorado demands flexibility. Storms can shut down trails. Rivers can blow out overnight. You can get to a perfect pool and find it unfishable due to runoff or debris.
So I planned several alternate camps and marked backup spots with easier access. I also packed extra food in case a day ran long, and my fly box had both attractors and match-the-hatch options.
Final Thoughts Before Hitting the Trail
Planning is half the fun of a trip like this—imagining where the fish might be, where the light will hit the canyon walls, and how to tell the story when it’s all over. I hope this series helps inspire your own adventures, and if you’re dreaming about chasing wild trout in wild places, stay tuned. Part 2 takes us into the forest along the La Plata River, where the trail narrows, the river gets clear, and every cast counts.
Up Next:Part 2 – Into the Pines: Hiking to the La Plata River with a Fly Rod and a Camera
New Mexico, often celebrated for its stunning desert landscapes and rich cultural heritage, is also a hidden gem for fly fishing enthusiasts. The state’s diverse geography offers a unique blend of fishing experiences, from high-mountain lakes to flowing rivers nestled in canyons. Whether you’re a seasoned angler or a beginner looking to explore new waters, New Mexico has something to offer. In this blog, we’ll take a look at some of the top fly fishing destinations across the state and share valuable tips to help you make the most of your time on the water. So grab your rod, pack your flies, and get ready to cast your line in the Land of Enchantment.
1. The Rio Grande
Rio Grande Gorge
The Rio Grande River flows through some of the most scenic parts of New Mexico, offering great opportunities for fly anglers. This river is home to native Rio Grande cutthroat trout, as well as brown and rainbow trout. It’s ideal for both beginner and experienced fly fishers, with sections that are perfect for dry fly fishing and nymphing.
Best Fishing Seasons:
• Spring & Fall: These are the prime times for fishing the Rio Grande, with trout being more active in cooler temperatures.
Fly Patterns & Techniques:
• Dry Flies: Rio Grande cutthroats are often attracted to dry flies. Use patterns like Parachute Adams, Elk Hair Caddis, or a smaller, light-colored Stimulator.
• Nymphs: For deeper holes, go with nymph patterns such as Pheasant Tails, Zebra Midges, or a San Juan Worm.
• Techniques: When nymphing, focus on pockets near rocks or deeper runs. Dry fly fishing is best during hatch periods, so watch for rising fish and match your fly to the hatch.
2. The San Juan River
Known for its world-class tailwater fishing, the San Juan River is one of New Mexico’s premier destinations for anglers. Flowing below Navajo Dam, the river is rich with trophy-sized rainbow and brown trout. The clear waters and consistent flows make it a favorite among fly fishers.
Best Fishing Seasons:
• Winter & Spring: The San Juan is a year-round fishery, but the best time to catch big fish is in the colder months when the fish are more concentrated.
Fly Patterns & Techniques:
• Nymphs: Patterns like the Zebra Midge, Hare’s Ear, and Egg Patterns are effective in the deeper runs of the San Juan.
Hare’s Ear
• Dry Flies: The San Juan also offers hatch periods with mayflies and caddisflies. Patterns like the Blue-Winged Olive, Griffith’s Gnat, and PMDs are great for dry fly action.
• Techniques: Focus on dead drifting your nymphs along the riverbed, especially in the deeper, slower-moving sections. During hatches, look for fish rising and cast your dry flies to them.
3. Chama River
The Chama River offers both challenging and rewarding fly fishing. Located in northern New Mexico, this river runs through the Chama Valley, where anglers can find wild brown trout, rainbow trout, and cutthroats. The river is divided into sections that are suited to different fishing techniques.
Best Fishing Seasons:
• Spring & Fall: These seasons offer good fishing conditions as the water is cool and the fish are active.
Fly Patterns & Techniques:
• Streamers: Large streamers like Woolly Buggers, Clouser Minnows, and Sculpin patterns are great for targeting larger trout.
• Nymphs: Go with patterns like Copper Johns or Prince Nymphs to target fish feeding on the bottom.
• Dry Flies: Use smaller patterns like Elk Hair Caddis or Griffith’s Gnat when fish are rising to the surface.
• Techniques: When using streamers, focus on casting across the current and stripping them back. For nymphing, look for the deeper holes and fish your nymphs near the bottom.
4. Pecos River
The Pecos River, located in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, is a pristine spot for fly fishing. The river has crystal-clear waters and is filled with brown trout, rainbow trout, and the occasional brook trout. It’s a great place to hike to, with a wilderness feel and little development.
Best Fishing Seasons:
• Summer & Fall: During these seasons, the Pecos River is perfect for fishing due to warmer water and increased fish activity.
Fly Patterns & Techniques:
• Dry Flies: The Pecos is ideal for dry fly fishing. Patterns like the Elk Hair Caddis, Adams, and Parachute Adams work great during hatches.
• Nymphs: Patterns like Hare’s Ear, Pheasant Tail, and Zebra Midges are ideal for the deeper runs.
• Techniques: Dry fly fishing is most productive during hatch periods when fish are actively feeding on insects. For nymphing, try the classic upstream drift technique, especially in slower sections.
5. High Country Lakes and Streams
For those seeking more solitude and high-altitude adventure, New Mexico’s high-mountain lakes and streams offer great fly fishing. Places like Santa Fe National Forest and Wheeler Peak Wilderness Area boast pristine alpine waters, teeming with native cutthroat and rainbow trout.
Best Fishing Seasons:
• Summer: High-altitude lakes are accessible during the warmer months and offer a peaceful, scenic fishing experience.
Fly Patterns & Techniques:
• Dry Flies: Small patterns like Parachute Adams, Griffith’s Gnat, and small attractors like the Royal Wulff are effective in alpine lakes.
• Streamers: Woolly Buggers, Matuka, and Zonkers are good options for larger trout in the deeper parts of these lakes.
Olive streamer size 10 3xl
• Techniques: Cast near the shorelines and retrieve streamers slowly through the deeper areas. For dry fly fishing, look for rising fish and match the hatch.
Essential Gear for Your Fly Fishing Trip to New Mexico
To ensure your fly fishing adventure in New Mexico is a success, packing the right gear is crucial. Here’s a list of essentials for your trip:
• Fly Rod: A 4- to 6-weight rod is versatile for most New Mexico waters. If fishing in high-altitude lakes, a lighter rod (3 to 5 weight) is ideal for smaller fish, while a 5- to 6-weight rod is great for larger rivers like the Rio Grande and San Juan.
Fly rod and reel
• Fly Reel: A quality reel with a smooth drag system is key, especially for larger trout. Make sure the reel is matched to your rod and has a good line capacity.
• Fly Fishing Line: Weight-forward floating lines are ideal for most situations, especially in rivers and lakes. For deeper nymphing, a sink-tip line or full sinking line may be needed for some sections.
• Leader and Tippet: 9 to 12-foot leaders are typical, with 5X to 6X tippet being common for clear water and smaller fish. For larger fish, go with 4X or 3X.
• Flies: Carry a variety of dry flies, nymphs, and streamers. Some of the top patterns for New Mexico include:
• Dry Flies: Parachute Adams, Elk Hair Caddis, Stimulator, and Royal Wulff.
• Streamers: Woolly Bugger, Clouser Minnow, Zonker, and Matuka.
• Fly Box: A durable, waterproof fly box to keep your flies organized and safe.
• Waders: For rivers, especially in the spring and fall, a good pair of breathable or neoprene waders is essential. Don’t forget wading boots with felt or rubber soles for traction.
• Casting Tools: Don’t forget a high-quality fly fishing net, nippers, forceps, and a fly tying kit if you want to customize your flies on the go.
• Sun Protection: A wide-brimmed hat, polarized sunglasses, and sunscreen are essential for fishing in New Mexico’s sunny climate.
• Backpack: A small, durable backpack will help carry all your gear, snacks, and water, especially if you’re venturing into remote areas.
Tips for Fly Fishing in New Mexico:
• Respect the Regulations: New Mexico has various fishing regulations, including specific season dates and restricted areas. Always check the latest regulations from the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish before heading out.
Special Trout Waters (Catch and Release)
Many rivers and streams in New Mexico have areas designated as “special trout waters,” where only catch-and-release fishing is allowed. In these areas:
• No fish may be kept – all trout must be released back into the water immediately.
• Artificial flies and lures only – in some areas, only flies or lures may be used, and live bait is prohibited.
• Barbless hooks – some waters may require barbless hooks to reduce injury to fish during release.
• Altitude Matters: Many of New Mexico’s best fishing locations are in high-altitude areas. Be prepared for the thinner air, especially if you’re planning on fishing in the mountains.
• Watch for Hatch Times: New Mexico has some great hatch opportunities, but they vary by location. Know the types of hatches that occur in your fishing spot to choose the right fly patterns.
• Stay Safe in Remote Areas: Many of New Mexico’s best fishing spots are in remote areas. Always carry enough water, a first-aid kit, and a map or GPS device.
Conclusion:
Fly fishing in New Mexico offers a wide variety of landscapes, fish species, and fishing techniques. Whether you’re seeking a quiet mountain stream, a big river, or a remote lake, there’s a spot for you. The state’s unique waters, coupled with the opportunity to catch wild and native trout, make it a must-visit destination for any fly fishing enthusiast. So grab your rod, pack your flies, and head to the Land of Enchantment for an unforgettable fishing adventure.
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