I was not sure whether I would be able to fish on my trip to Taos. We would only be there for a few days, and it was a get-together for my wife's family. But I finally managed to sneak away on my final day. The only prep I did was to bring my gear and read a single thread on Texags about fishing near Taos. I had been to a Doc Thompson presentation on fishing in northern New Mexico, but that had kind of washed over me partially because I was parked where I could not see the screen for his powerpoint, and partially because I figured I would never get to New Mexico.
Based on Texags reconnaissance and the requirement that I had to be dropped off rather than having access to my own vehicle, I settled on fishing below the Red River Hatchery. However when I stopped off at the fly shop to buy my license, the guy there suggested I fish on the Rio Hondo next to the John Dunn Bridge. The bridge sits over the Rio Grande. If you have never seen the Rio Grande gorge, it's pretty spectacular.
[Viewing south from the large bridge where the hippies sell stuff]
The water is brown much like the Rio Grande we are familiar with in Texas. But unlike Texas, the water is cold. The history of the Rio Hondo, the Rio Grande, and the John Dunn bridge is kind of interesting. As you can imagine, the Rio Grande gorge was a fair obstacle when it came to getting around. When the US Calvary was in chase of the Jicarilla Apaches in 1854, Kit Carson led them down the canyon formed by the Rio Hondo. The Rio Hondo starts in the San Cristo mountains and goes along about 20 miles until it confluences with the Rio Grande. This approach from the east is relatively easy. After swimming across the high river, they were able to lead their horses up a steep trail up the very formidable walls of the gorge on the west side. There at the John Dunn bridge, you are part of this history.
My plan for fishing the Rio Hondo was pretty simple. Three liters of water, some snacks, and all the fishing gear I could carry. When it came to deciding on whether I should wet wade or wear my chest waders, I followed my very simple rule, is the water cold and is the water wet? If the answer to either of these is "yes", then wear waders. In addition to my 4 weight, I brought my 5 weight as well. Just in case. You know, the 4 weight rod could break. Three boxes of flies? What the hell, at least I left the 4th box of bass bugs and saltwater streamers in the car. And so forth. I was wearing my costas, my buff, my chest waders, and my Simms vest more packed with gear than the US Calvary carried with Kit Carson.
There is a dirt road that parallels the Rio Hondo. At the confluence of the rivers, of course, access to the Rio Hondo is easy. But a mile upstream, the drop from the road down to the river is quite substantial. I descended into the river when the drop off was easy. About 20 feet. And started working my way upstream. The first thing that was apparent was the gnats. They were getting in my eyes, then going up my nose--and the final straw--going into my ears. The buff, thank goodness, solved the problem of the ears and nose. But the costas, not being goggles, did not entire prevent the gnats from going for my eyes. They did not bite, but did annoy the hell out of me.
[View of the Rio Hondo not too far from the confluence with the Rio Grande]
The guy at the shop had recommended I either fish dries or nymphs. I mentioned I rarely get to fish dries, so he said "go for it." So I did. As I moved up the river, I of course noticed how shallow it was. There had been much rain in Taos in the weeks prior, but the water had lowered and was manageable. Still, this was more akin to blue line fishing than anything else. This made the Spillway Creek of the Lower Mountain Fork River seem large. The guy at the shop had told me to expect Browns and the occasional stocked Rainbow that had made its way upstream from the Rio Grande.
I found holes of deeper water. But I saw no surface action. Despite using my Costa x-ray vision, I couldn't see any fish either. But I saw evidence of a lot of prior fishing at these holes. Broad trails. Broken glass. This was probably fished out. I kept moving upstream. I saw no surface action, no sippers. That didn't look promising.
As I continued without success, I began to wonder if there were any fish in this river at all. You have to understand something, I am the second worst fly fisher on Texags. For me the debate is always 1) are there fish, or 2) is my technique so bad that it is impossible to catch fish. As I walked along upstream, I could see the occasional very small fish dart out of a shaded embankment. So I knew there was life, but those fish looked awfully small.
After a bit, I switched from my stimulator to a single nymph with a thingmabobber and weight. Still nothing. Screw this, I didn't come to New Mexico to nymph. I came to catch with dries. When my nymph broke off a few minutes later, I switched to a caddis dry pattern with a red stimulator tail. I cast upstream and BAM a fish rose and hit the fly. I lifted my rod and pulled the line, but I had missed! But the excitement rose within me. There were trout in this river. And it was just up to me to catch them. Moreover, they had gone after a dry despite the lack of action on the surface. I knew approximately where that fish was. I cast again and again. And again. Switched flies. It rose on its own to hit something on the surface. I cast again and again, and it hit again, but I missed again! Keeping my lines more taught I tried again and again. And nothing. It was done. I had missed my chance with this fish. I continued up river.
I was beginning to realize that despite carrying a frightening amount of equipment, I was not equipped for this little river. My 4 weight Lefty Kreh TFO was not giving me the action I needed. I also probably needed a shorter leader. In this small space, I was barely getting line out at all from my rod. As you can imagine, combined with my poor mechanics, the casting was hit and miss.
As I moved up the bank, I had probably my most exciting moment. I almost stepped on the back of a very large yellow and black diamond-pattern snake. I took some pictures with the Gopro, but the lack of a zoom and the surrounding brush made the pictures just about worthless. The snake had the interesting behavior of using its head to try and dig an escape under a rock. I had never seen that before. A snake digging with its head.
[zoomed photo that shows banding on the large snake]
I continued my journey up the river. Still no sign of surface action and no luck. I spotted a hole just ahead of me. And I made my fateful cast, not much more than 10 feet in front of me. A strike! And he was on! The fish was so small that I had lifted him out of the water as I kept my rod tip up. I got him back in the water and netted him. Great feeling, all of this work and all this distance and no prep or homework, and I wasn't going home empty-handed. After a couple of quick pictures he was back in the water ready to find a bait fisherman's stomach on another day. Exciting, my second ever brown trout, and my first ever wild brown trout.
[The hole described above]
[the wide angle of the gopro and the depth of the net makes it look smaller than it actually was, but it was still pretty small].
I continued up the river but saw no action. In fact, the one rise I had seen among the two ill-fated strikes earlier was the only rise I saw the entire time I was on the river. I decided to head back to the confluence of the rivers, maybe cast a few times in the Rio Grande and wait for my wife to arrive as previously planned.
[A large hole further upstream from where I caught the brown]
I climbed straight up out of the canyon, picking my way in the thin mountain air, and reached the road. It was about a mile back to the bridge. As I walked down the road, I saw a couple of fly fishers. They were about 150 yards behind me and working their way upstream as well. The first fishermen I had seen on the river. They were using small rods for the close action required. I took note. I needed the same.
[View of the Rio Hondo canyon, unfortunately my Gopro does not do the view justice.]
As I continued down the road, a family driving an old Ram truck with wooden sideboards stopped. The man, who looked more than a little like a Lebowski-esque Jeff Bridges, asked how the fishing was. I explained how it went. Then his wife, brown-faced with a granola/hippy aura said "You sure have a lot of stuff." I realized then what a ridiculous picture I made. My wide-brimmed hat, costas, buff, Columbia fishing shirt, chest waders, extra rod stuffed into my waders, and vest with enough stainless steel equipment to carry out minor surgeries in the field. Later on when I got down to the river, I managed to mingle with some of the locals. A couple of middle-aged white guys were smoking pot under the bridge. One of them said "those are some really nice waders you got on." He said it in the tone that one might expect while walking the mean streets of Harlem, and someone who might or might not be packing comments "those are some REALLY nice Jordans you're wearing." I protested that they were the cheap ones from Academy, but I cut myself off noting to that this was not likely to be a productive conversation on the value of off-brand waders compared to Simms. Gentleman, you have just met a Type-A personality Texan who came here to get on the fish. Continue as you are.
There on the other side of the bridge, there were some younger Indians drinking beer next to their truck. I kinda and continued walking, but they called out to me and asked if I had caught any. Yes, I explained, not very large, caught one. "NO, I said, what's the BIGGEST you ever caught." Oh, not big, 12 inches, something. "Well my brother last week caught a 20 incher just 100 yards up the river there." Oh, I realized where this was going. I congratulated him. And them. They were actually nice. Not far upstream were a couple of bait fishermen with two dogs. I stepped into the mud and threw out my caddis. Half-heartedly. Knowing the chances of anything striking were about the same as Godzilla rising out of the mud. Then I heard a large splash in the water behind me. The dog had jumped in. For the next 15 minutes, every time that dog jumped in, I turned around quickly expecting a large fish. Made me feel like a moron every time.
Getting tired of this scene, I decided walk back up the canyon road. I caught the two fly fishers as they exited the Rio Hondo canyon. I called out to them whether they had any success. "A few! Seems like they are just starting to bite now." Great, missed the action dinking around on the Rio Grande. But such it is. I really had a great time for so little action. I think that means I'm growing as a fisherman. And a human. Or something like that.
----------
Links to prior fly fishing reports - Washington State and Henry's Fork in Idaho: http://texags.com/Forums/34/Topics/2133703
[This message has been edited by shiftyandquick (edited 8/11/2014 6:23p).]
Based on Texags reconnaissance and the requirement that I had to be dropped off rather than having access to my own vehicle, I settled on fishing below the Red River Hatchery. However when I stopped off at the fly shop to buy my license, the guy there suggested I fish on the Rio Hondo next to the John Dunn Bridge. The bridge sits over the Rio Grande. If you have never seen the Rio Grande gorge, it's pretty spectacular.
[Viewing south from the large bridge where the hippies sell stuff]
The water is brown much like the Rio Grande we are familiar with in Texas. But unlike Texas, the water is cold. The history of the Rio Hondo, the Rio Grande, and the John Dunn bridge is kind of interesting. As you can imagine, the Rio Grande gorge was a fair obstacle when it came to getting around. When the US Calvary was in chase of the Jicarilla Apaches in 1854, Kit Carson led them down the canyon formed by the Rio Hondo. The Rio Hondo starts in the San Cristo mountains and goes along about 20 miles until it confluences with the Rio Grande. This approach from the east is relatively easy. After swimming across the high river, they were able to lead their horses up a steep trail up the very formidable walls of the gorge on the west side. There at the John Dunn bridge, you are part of this history.
My plan for fishing the Rio Hondo was pretty simple. Three liters of water, some snacks, and all the fishing gear I could carry. When it came to deciding on whether I should wet wade or wear my chest waders, I followed my very simple rule, is the water cold and is the water wet? If the answer to either of these is "yes", then wear waders. In addition to my 4 weight, I brought my 5 weight as well. Just in case. You know, the 4 weight rod could break. Three boxes of flies? What the hell, at least I left the 4th box of bass bugs and saltwater streamers in the car. And so forth. I was wearing my costas, my buff, my chest waders, and my Simms vest more packed with gear than the US Calvary carried with Kit Carson.
There is a dirt road that parallels the Rio Hondo. At the confluence of the rivers, of course, access to the Rio Hondo is easy. But a mile upstream, the drop from the road down to the river is quite substantial. I descended into the river when the drop off was easy. About 20 feet. And started working my way upstream. The first thing that was apparent was the gnats. They were getting in my eyes, then going up my nose--and the final straw--going into my ears. The buff, thank goodness, solved the problem of the ears and nose. But the costas, not being goggles, did not entire prevent the gnats from going for my eyes. They did not bite, but did annoy the hell out of me.
[View of the Rio Hondo not too far from the confluence with the Rio Grande]
The guy at the shop had recommended I either fish dries or nymphs. I mentioned I rarely get to fish dries, so he said "go for it." So I did. As I moved up the river, I of course noticed how shallow it was. There had been much rain in Taos in the weeks prior, but the water had lowered and was manageable. Still, this was more akin to blue line fishing than anything else. This made the Spillway Creek of the Lower Mountain Fork River seem large. The guy at the shop had told me to expect Browns and the occasional stocked Rainbow that had made its way upstream from the Rio Grande.
I found holes of deeper water. But I saw no surface action. Despite using my Costa x-ray vision, I couldn't see any fish either. But I saw evidence of a lot of prior fishing at these holes. Broad trails. Broken glass. This was probably fished out. I kept moving upstream. I saw no surface action, no sippers. That didn't look promising.
As I continued without success, I began to wonder if there were any fish in this river at all. You have to understand something, I am the second worst fly fisher on Texags. For me the debate is always 1) are there fish, or 2) is my technique so bad that it is impossible to catch fish. As I walked along upstream, I could see the occasional very small fish dart out of a shaded embankment. So I knew there was life, but those fish looked awfully small.
After a bit, I switched from my stimulator to a single nymph with a thingmabobber and weight. Still nothing. Screw this, I didn't come to New Mexico to nymph. I came to catch with dries. When my nymph broke off a few minutes later, I switched to a caddis dry pattern with a red stimulator tail. I cast upstream and BAM a fish rose and hit the fly. I lifted my rod and pulled the line, but I had missed! But the excitement rose within me. There were trout in this river. And it was just up to me to catch them. Moreover, they had gone after a dry despite the lack of action on the surface. I knew approximately where that fish was. I cast again and again. And again. Switched flies. It rose on its own to hit something on the surface. I cast again and again, and it hit again, but I missed again! Keeping my lines more taught I tried again and again. And nothing. It was done. I had missed my chance with this fish. I continued up river.
I was beginning to realize that despite carrying a frightening amount of equipment, I was not equipped for this little river. My 4 weight Lefty Kreh TFO was not giving me the action I needed. I also probably needed a shorter leader. In this small space, I was barely getting line out at all from my rod. As you can imagine, combined with my poor mechanics, the casting was hit and miss.
As I moved up the bank, I had probably my most exciting moment. I almost stepped on the back of a very large yellow and black diamond-pattern snake. I took some pictures with the Gopro, but the lack of a zoom and the surrounding brush made the pictures just about worthless. The snake had the interesting behavior of using its head to try and dig an escape under a rock. I had never seen that before. A snake digging with its head.
[zoomed photo that shows banding on the large snake]
I continued my journey up the river. Still no sign of surface action and no luck. I spotted a hole just ahead of me. And I made my fateful cast, not much more than 10 feet in front of me. A strike! And he was on! The fish was so small that I had lifted him out of the water as I kept my rod tip up. I got him back in the water and netted him. Great feeling, all of this work and all this distance and no prep or homework, and I wasn't going home empty-handed. After a couple of quick pictures he was back in the water ready to find a bait fisherman's stomach on another day. Exciting, my second ever brown trout, and my first ever wild brown trout.
[The hole described above]
[the wide angle of the gopro and the depth of the net makes it look smaller than it actually was, but it was still pretty small].
I continued up the river but saw no action. In fact, the one rise I had seen among the two ill-fated strikes earlier was the only rise I saw the entire time I was on the river. I decided to head back to the confluence of the rivers, maybe cast a few times in the Rio Grande and wait for my wife to arrive as previously planned.
[A large hole further upstream from where I caught the brown]
I climbed straight up out of the canyon, picking my way in the thin mountain air, and reached the road. It was about a mile back to the bridge. As I walked down the road, I saw a couple of fly fishers. They were about 150 yards behind me and working their way upstream as well. The first fishermen I had seen on the river. They were using small rods for the close action required. I took note. I needed the same.
[View of the Rio Hondo canyon, unfortunately my Gopro does not do the view justice.]
As I continued down the road, a family driving an old Ram truck with wooden sideboards stopped. The man, who looked more than a little like a Lebowski-esque Jeff Bridges, asked how the fishing was. I explained how it went. Then his wife, brown-faced with a granola/hippy aura said "You sure have a lot of stuff." I realized then what a ridiculous picture I made. My wide-brimmed hat, costas, buff, Columbia fishing shirt, chest waders, extra rod stuffed into my waders, and vest with enough stainless steel equipment to carry out minor surgeries in the field. Later on when I got down to the river, I managed to mingle with some of the locals. A couple of middle-aged white guys were smoking pot under the bridge. One of them said "those are some really nice waders you got on." He said it in the tone that one might expect while walking the mean streets of Harlem, and someone who might or might not be packing comments "those are some REALLY nice Jordans you're wearing." I protested that they were the cheap ones from Academy, but I cut myself off noting to that this was not likely to be a productive conversation on the value of off-brand waders compared to Simms. Gentleman, you have just met a Type-A personality Texan who came here to get on the fish. Continue as you are.
There on the other side of the bridge, there were some younger Indians drinking beer next to their truck. I kinda and continued walking, but they called out to me and asked if I had caught any. Yes, I explained, not very large, caught one. "NO, I said, what's the BIGGEST you ever caught." Oh, not big, 12 inches, something. "Well my brother last week caught a 20 incher just 100 yards up the river there." Oh, I realized where this was going. I congratulated him. And them. They were actually nice. Not far upstream were a couple of bait fishermen with two dogs. I stepped into the mud and threw out my caddis. Half-heartedly. Knowing the chances of anything striking were about the same as Godzilla rising out of the mud. Then I heard a large splash in the water behind me. The dog had jumped in. For the next 15 minutes, every time that dog jumped in, I turned around quickly expecting a large fish. Made me feel like a moron every time.
Getting tired of this scene, I decided walk back up the canyon road. I caught the two fly fishers as they exited the Rio Hondo canyon. I called out to them whether they had any success. "A few! Seems like they are just starting to bite now." Great, missed the action dinking around on the Rio Grande. But such it is. I really had a great time for so little action. I think that means I'm growing as a fisherman. And a human. Or something like that.
----------
Links to prior fly fishing reports - Washington State and Henry's Fork in Idaho: http://texags.com/Forums/34/Topics/2133703
[This message has been edited by shiftyandquick (edited 8/11/2014 6:23p).]
[/url][url=https://flic.kr/p/azA3nn]Low Bridge on Rio Grande, Taos