Fish on the Rocks

DESPITE DAD’S BEST EFFORTS, somewhere along the way, I lost the fishing gene. I enjoy fishing; for Dad, though, fishing was serious business. Family vacations meant camping at Horsetooth Reservoir, west of Fort Collins. Like clockwork every morning, long before sunrise, Dad would wake my older brother and me. We’d dress in the dark, gather …

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Time is but the Stream …

By Hal Walter

My life in fishing began, literally, because I could not be held in captivity, as evidenced by my escape from the daycare facility by digging a tunnel beneath the fence.

The tunnel – inspired by episodes of the sitcom Hogan’s Heroes – was really not much more than a trench beneath the chain link, but it was large enough for a skinny kid to wriggle through. My partner in crime elected to not follow me under the fence. Within seconds a general alarm had been sounded, and I was apprehended in the side yard between the daycare and the neighboring house by a woman who contained and tackled me with all the deftness of Von Miller.

Since it was clear I was not happy at the daycare and was possibly an escape risk, my mom elected to turn me loose with a fishing rod along one of America’s great rivers. I was perhaps 8 years old. This was before the advent of “Free Range Kids,” and I thank her for this experience to this day.

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Arkansas Traveler: Fall Fishing for Brown Trout

Dateline – Near Salida and Cañon City, Colorado. It seems counterintuitive, a misnomer. The Arkansas River heads in the high country of southern Colorado, and a portion of northern New Mexico. It’s the fourth longest river in the United States, obviously named for an encounter in its namesake state. But it seems like it ought to be called something else, like the “Rio Truchas” or “Boulder River” or “Pike’s River.” Its moniker doesn’t fit, here at least. Zebulon Pike passed through here under Jefferson’s watch in his zealous attempt at exploring the then-northern Spanish colony. Pike got arrested for his endeavor, and in the complex outcome, was paroled in Mexico. For it all, he got a peak named after him; its waters feed the Arkansas.

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Deep in the Temple of Catch-and-Release

Essay by Alan Kesselheim

Fishing – June 2003 – Colorado Central Magazine

NOT LONG AGO, a friend told me a fishing story. He and his son were paddling the Big Hole River, one of Montana’s renowned trout fisheries. Along the way they decided to catch some dinner. They cast over those legendary waters until they had three trout, which they bonked on the head and stowed. Then they quit.

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A Trout to Remember

Column by Hal Walter

Fishing – April 2001 – Colorado Central Magazine

WHEN I WAS a young lad, maybe 8, I watched my mom, single and struggling to make ends meet, take a ballpeen hammer to a glass pig.

Then from this, her actual life savings, she doled out some coins and sent me off on my bike to the store for milk. I left the grocery with the half gallon of milk in a paper sack, rolled the top of the brown bag around the right grip of my handlebars

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