With a little less than two weeks until my second year of college starts, I've got a pretty busy schedule. I finally finished up my seasonal job at Rapid Image, leaving me with some time to prepare for school and for fun.
I just finished the first item on the agenda, the annual Halama-family camping trip. We drove to our favorite spot in Colorado, Chapman Campground, located exactly 29 miles south of Basalt on the Frying Pan Road. It's right in the middle of White River National Forest, which is my favorite, since it has some of the best fly-fishing in the state, red-tinted rocks, and incredible aspen forests.
My parents have brought my brother and I to this campsite, number 79 to be exact, since we were first able to walk. I caught my first fish in the Frying Pan river when I was eight. Since then, my family and I make at least one trip per year to our traditional spot.
Yesterday, my dad and I had an epic day of fishing. The Frying Pan is known for its challenging hatches, picky fish, and forever changing conditions, which give fisherman dozens of variables to consider while fishing and a most certain headache.
We started the day in a new spot on the river for us, and found a massive hole just upstream of a sharp bend. My dad stood waist deep in the hole, casting towards the bank for about 45 minutes, when he eventually called me over.
He called over to me, "I've got a fish family!" I waded over and discovered at least 30 fish stacked up behind him, embracing the slower current and easy swimming produced by the hydraulics of his position in the river and the big hole.
We were pretty desperate at this point. So far, our day had been filled with bad karma. We had tangles, almost-slips into the current, all while tying and untying flies in attempt to figure out the hatch. So, out of desperation, my dad told me to start casting towards him, into the school of fish hanging out behind him. Of course those picky Frying Pan trout wouldn't take the bait.
Eventually he gave me his spot in the hole, and told me to cast in towards the bank, there were tons of fish rising there. It was a tricky cast, the current was much faster closer to me and slower by the bank, giving me a challenging mend in my line. In the cold mountain stream— I was soon numb from the waist down. "Oh well," I thought, "gotta sacrifice something for the fish gods."
I cast from this spot for about an hour and our family of fish never moved. One fish swam straight into my leg, almost knocking me over in surprise.
We had no luck in this new hole, but returned to our usual places and began catching fish, we were in the midst of a pretty awesome pink PMD hatch. Then the sun came back out, pushing the fish towards the bottom of the river, and we decided it was time to find some dinner.