Thanks to Covid-19 I’ve been sitting on a planned trip to Arizona and New Mexico to fish for Apache and Gila trout for two years. That trip was finally realized by Blake and I over an extended Memorial Day weekend earlier this year.
The benefit of having to wait so long to make the trip was the opening up of wild Gila trout fishing in Arizona on May 1st of this year. It had been a few years since one could legally fish on a wild Gila trout stream in the state, but there was one stream that was recovered enough that AZGFD decided they could open it up for angling. That’s where we started our trip.
We flew in late on a Friday and drove straight to where we’d fish in the morning, with a brief Wal-Mart run for supplies. We threw up a quick camp near where we’d start our hike in. The campsite location was not ideal, but it worked for us as we wanted to hit the trail early in hopes of being the first folks on the water. I knew this would be a tiny stream that wasn’t too far from a metropolitan area (Phoenix) and the only wild Gila trout water open in the state, so I wasn’t sure how crowded it would be over the first holiday weekend after opening. I was trying to make absolutely sure we weren’t fishing water that had already been flogged.
I was also a little nervous because I really didn’t know much about the stream. It was added to our itinerary kind of last minute as we just got word it was opening in May. I sought out some help and the info I got was pretty odd, it was basically to find the dry creek bed and walk up until you hit water, soon after you’ll find the trout. An ephemeral trout stream just doesn’t compute to me, but I trusted the local knowledge.
It’s an strange feeling walking up a dry creek bed to fish for trout, but my guess is it’s not that strange to the anglers who frequent Mogollon Rim streams in Arizona. Eventually we found water and soon enough there were pools deep enough to hold fish.
It didn’t take Blake long to connect with the biggest Gila of the morning. Mine wasn’t quite as long, but I caught my first Gila shortly after. It hit a beetle pattern that I fished the majority of the morning.
The fishing would continue to be pretty solid as we worked our way upstream, most of the good looking pools held fish, so lots of hungry little Gila trout were brought to hand, with all of mine coming on surface flies.
I wasn’t sure what to expect fishing for Gila trout in Arizona, but our morning definitely exceeded what expectations I did have. As lunch time neared we hiked back to our campsite. We needed to pack up and drive three hours east to fish for what I wanted to target next. Our destination was the White Mountains and the native Apache trout that call the streams there home.
I have this idea that I would like to catch a fish in all 50 states. If it’s a native fish to that state, even better, but that isn’t necessarily a requirement. I want to fish in every state. That is the impetus for a lot of the trips I plan. If it’s a new state, or a new fish species to me, I’m more likely to plan that trip ahead of going back to places I’ve been. I have a constant desire to explore the country and see new water.
I’ll admit Oklahoma wasn’t my first choice for a trip this year. It wasn’t my second either. But these are unprecedented times and you got to play the hand your dealt. A trip to Arizona in May got cancelled. Then, a trip to New Mexico around Labor Day also was cancelled. The back-up, back-up trip I considered was the Lower Mountain Fork in Oklahoma. At the time it looked like a cold front was going to sweep down and it would actually be a pretty nice weekend to camp and fish Oklahoma in early September. That cold front never materialized, just par for the course in 2020.
We packed up the truck on a Thursday night and made the 6.5 hour trek up to Hochatown from Baton Rouge on a Friday morning. First stop was the Beaver’s Bend Fly Shop in the state park to find out where we needed to fish and what worked there. We are not tailwater fishermen, but we were assured this wasn’t your normal tailwater. Coach Eddie Brister runs the shop and was a great guy to talk to. He was eager to help us and it was really one of the nicer fly shop experiences we’ve had on a trip. Armed with newfound knowledge we set out to catch some trout on the Lower Mountain Fork River.
It didn’t take Blake long to hook a couple of rainbows right below the campground. What did I catch you say?
Native fish of course. That’s how much of a native fish magnet I am. Fishing the same water and the same flies as Blake. Even when I’m making every effort to catch their coldwater, stocked cockroach-esque neighbors, I end up catching bass and chubs.
It didn’t take long to wear out the water behind the campground so we hit another spot that had better potential to hold wild trout as the river does have natural reproduction of both rainbow and brown trout, so we were told.
We got into the little wild rainbows, I think we both caught several of them, so we had proof that there were streamborn trout here. I later had a good opportunity at a really nice rainbow that I hooked and fought in some fast water. I felt like I had him beat, but netting him was proving to be an issue as there was no slow water around me. I’d get to the point of bringing him into my net, then he’d take off and head back into the current. Maybe I didn’t quite have him beat. On about the third or fourth time of doing this he was finally able to throw the hook. It was a little heartbreaking, but the trip was still young, so I wasn’t too beat up about it.
I got a little redemption in the form of a nice little brown trout that was hanging out in a riffle while I was making my way back to the car (Spoiler alert, that little brown would be the best fish I’d bring to hand all weekend). After that fish we headed back to the campground to dine on jamabalaya and white beans to finish out a successful day. I could check a new state off the list.
On Saturday morning we got back out to what they call Spillway Creek, the part of the river that holds more wild fish, and we nymphed the runs hard.
Blake caught a few rainbows, I didn’t catch squat. So we hit the road and went to a local brewpub at lunch.
Mountain Fork Brewery had decent beer, a nice variety of old world styles, but they didn’t have much to offer us hopheads. No fruited sours, no pastry stouts, one hazy IPA – I don’t know if national craft beer trends seem to have skipped Oklahoma or if this brewer just turns his nose up at us hipsters and our fads. The burgers we had were outstanding though and it was nice to talk shit to a Sooners fan at a bar while in town.
Fishing in the afternoon was pretty uneventful. It was Saturday and it was pretty hot out so Beaver’s Bend State Park was full of people. The evening hole, which we’d heard so much about was always occupied. Zone 2 was unfishable as they were constantly generating power. Flow from the generation pushes backwater up all the way up until our campground (Grapevine) so any spots I scouted on Google Earth that looked good downstream from us were covered with water. Really the only place to get away from folks was on Spillway Creek. It was our first time up there and it showed. We had so much learn in so little time. Steaks and whiskey next to the campfire made it all better though.
Sunday we ventured out again, this time we hit the river from a different parking area. It was a good call as Blake was able to stick a nice fish pretty early that came up and sipped a Chubby.
It was a really colored up old male rainbow that made the trip worth it. It’s funny how one fish can do that.
We fished on up, working the seams, Blake was having better luck than I was. I wasn’t having problems catching the chubs or the little wild rainbows, but anything bigger was eluding me.
I got one more shot at a good fish that I hooked in a good looking run, but the fight didn’t last long and after a few headshakes it was over. Oh well, on to the next brewpub.
The beer at Beaver’s Bend Brewery was good (they had more than one IPA at least), but kind of reminded me of a lot of the beer you get from homebrew kits. The “gourmet” hot dog though was really damn good and was appreciated coming off the water.
We hit the evening hole Sunday evening and really had nothing to show for it. We got to chatting with a guy who had been euro-nymphing and caught a few fish. I was genuinely intrigued with his set up, but he ended up being pretty knowledgeable about the fishery and a good dude to talk to. As we’d come to find out we were that at quite possibly the worst time of year. It was late summer, the water was hot, the trout were deep. They were not as spread out as they are in the winter. Not only that, but the water was stained, the lake was possibly turning over, and the level was higher than it gets in the winter when they bring it down to it’s lowest point.
I don’t know if this newfound knowledge made me feel better or worse about the tough fishing we experienced. It does make me want to go back in the winter though because we really had a great time camping, the state park was very nice, and I’d much rather fish (and judge) a river at it’s peak than at it’s low point in a year. It’s going to be tough to make the trek back though because he made some really good arguments for some of spring creeks in Missouri…..
After driving north through the Ouachita Mountains and the Arkansas River valley we made it to our next destination with daylight to spare. At an overlook we got to see the river we’d get a chance to fish over the next couple days, it was as it looks in a summer time aerial image, low and teal in color. A sign told us the color was due to the high mineral content in the water. Large quantities of sulfur, manganese, and iron combined with the sediment load carried in the water causes it to appear aqua in color. We continued on and got camp set up fast to walk down to the river and try our luck.
Chucking spinning rods it didn’t take long to get into fish. The big green sunfish were ever present on this river as on the last, but so were the juvenile Neosho smallmouth. We were able to catch a few before it got dark. I even managed to catch a rock bass, a fish I haven’t caught since I spent some time in the Tennessee River watershed in North Alabama. This river was quite different than the last, far less elevation change, no more big boulders, but tons of gravel. Big long gravel bars along big long pools, not many fast flowing sections. A tougher place to fly fish due to the slow water, but we’d give it a shot tomorrow. I wasn’t too worried about tomorrow at this point, I was looking forward to dinner. The NY strip, onions, and potatoes that were made on the cast iron pot were incredible. I think we are getting better at camp cooking, even with interruption from dive bombing cicadas.
The next day was spent dodging rain showers and spot hopping along the river. There were several access points upstream of where we camped that we checked out. We fished at a few of them and probably should have spent more time at some rather than others, but that’s the joys of scouting. It was nice to have a road alongside the river for much of the way, the only slight annoyance was when the large groups of ATVs drove by. We must have been near some major OHV trails with the amount of ATV traffic that was in the area. The fishing was pretty good, no real big fish, mostly smallmouth with some spots and sunfish mixed in. There were plenty to keep us interested though which was nice.
After lunch we drove up to the local general store to have a look around. The Ozarks seem to have no shortage of these types of places. We each got a slice of caramel apple pie a la mode that may have been the real highlight of the trip. Really good stuff.
After pie we hit arguably the best spot on the river that we had found, where a major trib emptied into the main stem of the river, we fished sections of each and caught multiple Neosho smallmouth. This spot had more riffle and run than any other section we fished and that suited us perfectly. Wish we would have stumbled upon it earlier. It was there we wrapped up the fishing portion of our trip. We had a long drive ahead of us on Sunday so we would not be hitting the water in the morning. We had another solid dinner that night when Blake cooked up some chicken fajitas that had been marinating a couple days in the ice chest. The trip, even with the shorter planning period, came together nicely. I don’t know where the next one will be but I always have ideas.
Mountains to Marsh 