Boulder Bound

The mountain was calling, fall was in the air, and I needed to go. The beauty and tranquility that mountains provide me brings such satisfaction into my life. The boulder mountain, in particular, holds a special place in my heart. Its vastness, geography, potential record breaking fish, and beauty bring me back as many times as I can. October was here, and fall leaves and colorful trout were flooding my mind. With the workweek over, Mike and I were ready to fish this mountain one more time before the snow began to fall. With a  massive storm coming up from California causing major flooding, we were worried about the conditions. Would it be really stormy? Would we even make it up to these high alpine lakes without getting washed away? It didn't matter. My inner fly fishing drive was in full gear. The elements would not stop us from the mountain we so cherished. With snow/rain gear in tow, we grabbed our fly gear and headed for the mountain.

Upon arriving, it became apparent that this side of the mountain took fire a while back. Most of the trees were scorched black, however the young aspens were making a comeback illuminating autumn yellow and reds. With nightfall upon us, and taking in some much anticipated cool mountain air, we set up camp, and set off to do some nighttime mousin' (which proved to be rather unsuccessful). Lack of light, combined with an abundance of duck weed on the lake, proved tossing mice was not easy. With nothing showing interest in our bushy flies, we retired to our sleeping bags.

The following morning light rain was falling and the clouds were laying low casting a foggy scene. We enjoyed some hot oatmeal, readied our rods, and set off to the same lake the night before with higher expectations. After scouting the lake, there was only one spot we could accurately get our flies to the fish. This spot had numerous logs, and was plenty deep. Perfect brook trout water, although still tough to fish. After fishing the spot with what I figured every fly a brookie would take imaginable, and getting no love, we retreated back to camp to get ready for the next lakes. 

Duck weed lake

With full bellies, and gear ready, we were off to tiger country. The scene upon leaving consisted of light rain, and misty low clouds. Still, we were getting lucky with the weather. Having only light intermittent rain and not too cold of conditions, we felt blessed. It was beautiful, and gave us a Halloween type feeling hiking through forests of dead scorched trees, bright yellow aspens, and foggy clouds.  After a tough hike to the top, the lake finally came to view through the foggy air.

Scorched

It was a beautiful lake. Smaller than what I had imagined, but deep and gin clear with tiger trout freely roaming. I cast out my line, and with a few turns of my hand twist retrieve, my chironomid sank deep into a tigers mouth. It gave a good fight, but soon rested in the cradle of my net. It's colors were dark and vibrant, and I couldn't help but release a big smile. 

Maze of colors

After a little fishing, and feeling recovered from the hike in, we set off to the other group of lakes nearby. All of these lakes were fairly close to each-other, which made it really nice. After a short walk through the wet misty landscape, a couple lakes came into view. These lakes were fairly deep in some spots, with lots of foliage around, making for tough casting. We ran into our friend we met the night before, another die-hard fly guy. He was in the best, if not only spot to cast on the lake. After verbal exchange of our successes, we decided to try the smaller lake nearby, knowing we had no chance of fishing this lake.

We found an alright casting range, and tossed leech patterns into a foggy abyss. Stripping our flies in, we saw the dark glow of tigers following our flies, but not committing. These were picky, educated fish. Not your everyday stock, local pond that will take anything that looks buggy fish. After much hesitation of no tigers at hand, we retreated back to our first lake.

Sitting at the edge of the lake, I noticed the fish were slashing right below the film line. My thoughts were that they were keying in on emerging nymphs. After close inspection, I tied on a pheasant tail and cast out my line, hoping to replicate the phenomenon. Stripping in slow, I could not see any fish right away. However, toward the end of the drift with only leader in water, I began to raise the nymph up ever so slowly while noticing a tiger closing in. My nerves were high. I tried my best to keep a steady upward retrieve to make my nymph look as natural as possible. With my smooth retrieve, the tiger closed in and opened it's mouth. I waited patiently. The fish closed it's mouth over my pheasant tail, and I set the hook. Fish on. This is what fly fishing is all about. Close quarter sight fishing at its finest.

We caught a few more tigers at this lake, and it turned out to be a great day. As daylight dwindled, and nightfall falling upon us, we called it a day. Our gear was soaked, legs weak, but minds filled with the gift of the mountain.

Enjoy the video edit posted below of our trip. Tightlines everyone.