“Imagine going bowling only to find there are no pins at the end of the lane. How many people would pay to do that?”
Steve Puttmann’s analogy mentioned the sport of tenpins. But the real subject was fishing, specifically the way customer satisfaction relates to the true opportunity available at the end of a different kind of 60-foot toss.
Imagine, Puttmann suggested, that someone keeps snatching pins from the rack until only one or two remain, these about half the size of the regular kegs.
That’s precisely the situation that exists on far too many of Colorado’s fishing waters as a result of kill pressure. Despite definitive studies demonstrating the sad consequences of harvest in places with intense angling pressure, Colorado officials steadfastly resist suggestions to require more fish being released.
The reason, of course, is fear of a backlash from those anglers who cling to a “if-it’s-hooked-it’s-cooked” mentality that might have applied to fondly remembered places and times long past.
Wildlife managers embrace controversy in the way that campers love grizzly bears. Even the timing of Puttmann’s pronouncement – when he was retiring two years ago as primary biologist for the Colorado Division of Wildlife’s Northeast Region – echoes this sensitivity to dissension.
During three decades with the agency, Puttmann was noted for a degree of candor rare among public officials. But it wasn’t until he had one foot out the door that he tossed the hand grenade of catch-and-release.
Thing is, most biologists in Colorado and other states hold this same sense of things, but don’t want to deal with the complaints such action might bring.
The wisdom in Puttmann’s words form a hollow echo in all those dozens of public ponds where every worthwhile bass has been hauled away. It resonates in hundreds of small streams where trout are laughably small – provided you catch any at all.
A sad reality of Colorado stream fishing is this: The only places worth spit are those larger waters on which some sort of limited kill is in effect. Small streams with easy public access where the law allows a standard creel limit is a place for fools, or at least someone with nothing but time on his hands.
Every angler willing to face the truth knows the syndrome all too well. Put an 18-inch limit on any body of water and all you’ll catch are 17-inchers. Remove that restriction and you don’t get much at all.
This actuality holds true even on large reservoirs if the pressure is great enough. Don’t believe it? Try boating a legal-size walleye at places such as Pueblo or Chatfield, where every fish that sticks its nose past the mark gets its head cut off.
For all the empty calories in those falsely touted public miles of trout streams, the situation rings worse in the small lakes and ponds in our metro areas. These are the places where city dwellers, some old or disadvantaged, should find accessible recreation.
They also are the nurseries in which the next generation of fishermen are developed, where hopeful parents take children in those precious moments of spare time. How sad that so many fresh angling careers shrivel on the wrong end of an empty line.
“You can’t have good fishing unless you keep something in the water,” Puttmann said, echoing the sentiment of every thoughtful angler who takes the time to consider the real reason we go fishing.
This image of a bowling alley devoid of pins makes the point where we cannot see the emptiness beneath the waves.
Set ’em up.
Charlie Meyers can be reached at 303-954-1609 or cmeyers@denverpost.com.
