For any angler, man or woman, there is no argument; the worst day fishing beats the best day working. Don’t believe it? In 2021, says the website Statista, 838,000 fishing licenses were sold in Colorado. That is not a misprint! More people bought a license to cast a line in our state than there are people in all of Wyoming!
And while there is certainly no empirical answer, many would argue that you can’t beat southern Colorado for the state’s best fishing. One person who may know is Deacon Aspinwall, an Alamosa city planner and member of Trout Unlimited.
“I think one thing that makes San Luis Valley (fishing) remarkable is the amount of diversity of streams,” said Aspinwall, a long-ago Virginian who moved to Colorado with his family as a young boy, later settling in Alamosa.
“You can find every type of water you could wish for if you’re willing to drive or hike to it.” The choices are boundless, he said. Almost any site you choose in the San Juan or Sangre de Cristo Mountain ranges will take you to a place of pristine beauty. For him, distance is no impediment. Nor is the arctic-like Valley winter. He fishes year-round.
Aspinwall, like thousands of others, favors rivers and streams. He’s a fly fisher. Like the fraternity and growing sorority of fly fishers, he finds a special, “almost spiri- tual connection” to this avocation. “Your mind is clear, and you’re intently focused without distraction.”
Now and then, there are small prices to pay for attending services in these high-country cathedrals,’ said Aspinwall. Anyone who’s spent a day in mountain stream vespers will admit that this special form of contemplation sometimes has a downside. “There’s been times when I’ve been eaten alive and not enjoyed (fishing),” he said. “It happens two or three times a year” when mosquitos see you like the early bird special.
To most anglers, said Aspinwall, the rewards vastly outweigh any downsides, including downsides from nature itself. At higher elevations lighting is a summertime danger. Each year lighting strikes are responsible for a handful of deaths. “I’ve also run across bears a couple of times,” he said. A solitary bear is less of a concern, said Aspinwall, than a bear with cubs. He also once saw a mountain lion.
For Bill Lucero, fly fishing took him from a casual affection of the sport to something approaching an almost “Zen-like” level of serenity. It became a whole new way to recreate. It went from dropping a line into the water and waiting to wading into the water and watching everything.
The new sport was as different as flying a jet compared to riding a bike, time zones away from what his grandmother taught him and his younger brother, Pat, as young boys. That was ‘fishing 101.’ Fly fishing was a different sport altogether.
“I had an acquaintance who invited me to go fly fishing,” he recalled. “We went dry fly fishing,” basically the first step in learning the technique.” Dry fly fishing is the proverbial ‘putting your toe in the water.’ But he was hooked. That experience was “35 or 40 years ago.”
Fly fishing is a war of wits with an unseen foe, a game of patience and focus that begins suddenly. From under the water, your adversary takes the bait and the fight is on. It’s sudden and exciting, a recreation of an age-old contest replete with adrenaline, joy, a test of wits and strength, engaging an adversary that has been there for millennia.
“You get into a zone,” he said. “It’s not so much catching a fish,” as it is the battle, said Lucero. It’s the culmination of preparation and planning.
In retirement, Lucero’s been tying flies—another ele- ment of the sport and a science all unto itself–and fishing as often as he can. A regular partner for a day in the water is his son, with whom he shares his passion and who, he admits, long ago ‘surpassed the master.’ “He’s good enough to be a guide.”
Lucero has fished much of Colorado and has his favorite spots, many in southern Colorado and the Valley. “The Conejos River in the San Luis Valley,” is one. The fishing is good, and “It’s also far enough away that you don’t get a ton of fishers along the river.”
Fly fishing, especially after the movie, “A River Runs Through It,” exploded. It inspired a whole new generation to pick up the sport. Luckily, for dedicated fly fishers, it amounted to no more than a quick dip in the water for many and on to other things, thus maintaining the serenity of the rivers.
For anglers like Lucero and Aspinwall, it’s generally a game of ‘catch-and-release.’ A respect for nature means returning the fish, perhaps to do battle another day. Of course, there are times when an adversary can also be dinner, a dinner of cut-throat, brook, brown or rainbow trout. But Whirling Disease a few years ago, said Aspinwall, reduced rainbow populations “and they haven’t recovered.”
But the reward, both Aspinwll and Lucero agree, is communing with nature; hearing the symphony of the river, the individual instruments played by the wind, birds and insects. Another joy is reading the water, its flow, its depths, its warmth; the dappling of the sun in certain spots, watching where insects settle. It is nature’s full production, a day-long performance with a cast of thousands, certainly many times more.
The cost for fishing varies greatly. A Colorado state fishing license is mandatory for those over 16. Residents 16-65 will pay around $20. Seniors pay a $10 discounted rate. Single-day licenses are $11.
Lake fishing, after the cost of the license, may be the cheapest way to enjoy the sport. Fly fishing, on the other hand, allows you to spend as much or as little as you choose. Entry-level starter kit sells for less than $100. But custom-made rods can sell for $1,000 or more. The reel, waders, vest, hat, repellent and the rest are up to each individual budget.
