Lees Ferry, Ariz. – In the way that all fishing zealots feel compelled to extol the virtues of their special branch of the family tree, it’s axiomatic that trout live in the most beautiful places.
Welcome to the St. Peter’s Basilica of the fly rod set.
Position yourself on one of the West’s largest rivers spinning like liquid air between red sandstone cliffs more than a thousand feet high, then sprinkle each gravel bar with flashing neon of rainbow trout. Now try to keep your attention focused on the tip of your fly line.
The extent to which you succeed will directly determine the number of these highly educated trout you catch, but have remarkably little impact on the overall experience. Put simply, there are few places on Earth where angling satisfaction has less to do with actually catching fish than this 15 1/2-mile reach of the Colorado River below Glen Canyon Dam.
There was a time when this was not so. During a remarkable decade that spanned the middle 1970s well into the 1980s, the reach of the river known simply as Lees Ferry contained the best of both worlds.
“In those days, Lees Ferry without question was the best trophy trout fishery in the world,” said Terry Gunn, who came to the area 23 years ago and later opened a fly shop that has become synonymous with the river. “If you pulled up to the dock with a 12-pound rainbow, it didn’t even turn heads,” he said. He remembered good old days that likely won’t come again.
This magic place below the towering concrete structure that supplies water for 20 million Southwest households still contains a remarkable trout population. It’s just that the language is spoken in inches rather than pounds. An average trout now measures 14 to 16 inches. Largest of late, Gunn said, pushed the tape to 27.
Time was when Lake Powell and Gunn’s sojourn on the river both were new, Lees Ferry trout seemed to swell before your very eyes, growing long and fat on the scuds that thrived on nutrients spilled from the big lake. Then, almost literally, the bottom fell out. The signal event in this place of constant change came in the epic snow year of 1983, when Bureau of Reclamation officials released a torrent of 100,000 cubic feet per second, scouring the river bed of vegetation and the scuds it supported.
Continuing high flows combined with a natural decline of nutrients flowing from an aging lake to cause a downward spiral. The giant trout either were caught or died, and none rose to take their place. An absurd daily creel limit of 10 fish that resulted in kept catches weighing more than 80 pounds contributed heavily to the crash.
More recently, the river has settled into a pattern that is neither great nor particularly bad: incredible setting, plenty of trout, not much size.
But another of those changes that makes the fishing game so fascinating seems to be waiting in the wings. Oddly, revival has begun from the very drought that earlier this decade brought things low.
“Lake Powell finally is rising to flood the areas that had been dry. This flushes a fresh load of nutrients into the river,” Gunn said.
The result is a thriving blanket of algae covering the river gravel from which will spring generations of scuds…and you know the rest of the story.
“The trout are in much better shape, and I expect them to keep growing,” Gunn said. “I’m more confident of the future than in many years.”
On a stretch of river that typically fluctuates almost daily between 7,000 and 12,000 cfs without a hint of traditional riffles or pools, most of the fish catching is accomplished on gravel bars where trout collect in the more defined currents.
Gunn has mastered a technique that generally involves long leaders, 12 feet or more, with tippets as fine as 7X.
“The amazing thing here is that if the fly goes by at eye level, the trout generally won’t eat it,” he said of finicky fish that in recent years have subsisted on a diet of tiny midges. “But if it bounces on the bottom they’ll grab it, even turn around and go back for it. There are two kinds of drifts: perfect and all the rest.”
In pursuit of such perfection, Gunn often employs a technique that involves paying out long loops of line for an extended drift in target zones along an extended seam of current. An acrobatic hook set to take up slack usually results in a trout on the line.
Between bites, those magnificent Navajo sandstone walls, often with a transplanted condor soaring aloft, help while the time.
“It’s a terrible place,” Gunn joked. “You just have to close your eyes and bear it.”
Lees Ferry lowdown
Getting there: From Denver, a 640-mile drive through some of the West’s most spectacular red-rock scenery. Air connection through Phoenix to Page, Ariz., 40 miles from Lees Ferry.
The fishing: Light tackle with small flies or lures for rainbow trout generally 12-20 inches.
Lodging: Either at several motels in Page or the 20-unit Cliff Dweller Lodge near Lees Ferry, $65-$75 for two people, 800-962-9755.
River access: Exclusively by power craft, jet boats preferred.
Guide service: Lees Ferry Anglers, $375 daily for two anglers, $300 for one. Boat rentals also available. Call 800-962-9755.
Charlie Meyers can be reached at 303-820-1609 or cmeyers@denverpost.com.
