It is hard to believe that less than five weeks before this trip down Interstate 70 would have taken more than two hours, with ski traffic slowing the 65mph stretches to a crawl. My fishing partner and I made the trip to the Blue River in under an hour and fifteen minutes, with hardly a car on the road. It was the beginning of May, which is a great time to fish some of Colorado 's freestone streams and rivers. The mornings have a chill, but the weather always warms with the rising sun, and the water is not yet muddied by runoff.
This was an especially beautiful morning, mostly sunny with a few clouds pillowing some of the higher peaks. It was slightly below 50 degrees at seven in the morning, but the sun hadn't snuck above the Loveland Pass peak yet. There was only one other car in the lot, which usually indicates a spin-caster is down working the reservoir. We hop out of the truck, I stretch my old bones and quickly change into my waders, snug my boots, yank down my gaiters, grab my rod and reel, throw on my chest pack and net and wander across the two lane highway to the trailhead next to the river. The trail isn't much to look at. It has a parking lot and is visible from the road, but the trail is mostly used by the occasional spin fisherman who is content to lug cooler and lawn chair to the reservoir's edge to toss plugs, spoons and spinners. It is also right next to a treatment plant and a quarter-mile boat ramp.
The Blue here is a vibrant and noisy stream that runs under the highway bridge. As you dress in the parking lot you can peek over the edge of the bridge for a view of the clear, icy-cold water. A smile comes to my face as I see that runoff has not hit yet --temperatures are still chilly at night, so the water is indeed gin clear. I cross the road and stop on the bridge to see if I can spot any trout hanging below. I never do. The bottom is rocky with multicolored chucks of rounded granite; I look more from habit than interest. My partner is anxious --the river is calling her name. The first good hole is no more than twenty yards beyond the bridge, so I drop down from the path to the river's edge. There is a calm in the air this morning. I hear only the sound of rushing water, far off vehicles, and small birds chirping their welcome.
It is amazing to think that this stretch of the Blue is a couple of miles outside one of the busiest winter recreation areas in Colorado , and is seldom less crowded during the summer. There are four ski resorts within a fifteen mile radius and two bustling downtowns with everything that entails. Spring and fall are different, the crown jewel seasons to visit the area. There are fewer ski bums and tourists, complemented by cool but moderate temperatures and weather patterns. The best part is that the fishing is overlooked on this side of the reservoir, especially since the Blue is a Gold Medal tailwater below the dam.
As I string up my rod, my partner is even more restless –fishing just isn't her thing. She'd rather be wet and chewing sticks. If you haven't yet guessed, my my companion is Cabo, my four-year-old Chocolate Lab. We make many trips throughout the season to give Mom a chance to sleep in without the noise and distractions of a man who would rather be fishing and a dog that would rather be chasing a ball or stick, though this has been complicated recently by a new addition to the family.
