The jet skis were the first to fade, a noxious noise suddenly notable by its absence. As the sun dived toward the mountains to the northwest, the loudest sounds kept fading until only a solitary water ski boat remained, its occupants staging some sort of freeze-out against a biting wind that threatened whitecaps on 60-degree water.
Then, as city lights twinkled on, Colorado’s most urban reservoir once again became the exclusive province of fishermen, those alternately stubborn and optimistic souls working the night patrol.
Most had come with the thought — the hope at least — of one of Cherry Creek’s trophy walleyes. Maybe even a big wiper. After all, fish nudging ever closer to 20 pounds had been documented at the southeast metro impoundment. If Colorado Division of Wildlife crews can catch such leviathans in their nets, it stands to reason that one periodically will inhale some bait or lure, if only by accident.
After all, a man recently caught a 31-inch walleye while trying for trout in shallow water.
The time was 10 p.m. and the bait, I recall, was a dangled night crawler. Stuff happens out there in the dark.
Lonnie Johnson was different. He just wanted to catch something. Anything. That Johnson previously had not hoisted a fish from this lake very near his Aurora home suggested several logical explanations.
Foremost is the Jacuzzi syndrome. Anyone who tries to catch a fish at Cherry Creek during daylight hours must contend with an armada of powerboats whose prop wash keeps the surface stirred to a froth, like the inside of a blender. I have this mental picture of all the fish bunched, nose to tail, in the deepest part of the lake, waiting for the madness to end. I imagine them wearing ear plugs.
There’s also the fact that, for all the above reasons, Johnson really hadn’t tried all that hard. A lake trout enthusiast, he gravitates to lonely mountain places with more fish than boats. He’d tried Cherry Creek only a couple times and then only for a little while.
Now, with his regular fishing buddy, Dave Bryant, he’d made this late-day launch with a different mind-set. This was different. This was night combat.
Even in the middle of a large city, or perhaps because of it, there’s something intensely special about fishing at night. A reservoir becomes a massive buffer against the hurly-burly of the day. Tall buildings seem to fade into the distance; automobiles morph to noiseless beams of light.
Adrift in the dark, an angler’s thoughts wander back to other nighttime excursions, events that seem to grow larger and more profound when freed from the reality beam of daylight.
As if to emphasize this special occasion, Bryant brought along a box of leeches. It should be understood that leeches are to walleye what Twinkies are to Rosie O’Donnell. Fix a leech to a jig head bounced along bottom and a walleye likely will appear.
At this time of the year, it’s possible to catch walleye on grubs, crank baits or worm harnesses. But if you want to seal the deal, try a leech.
June is the magic month for all the Colorado places where walleye and their hybrid cousins, saugeye, swim. Optimum water temperature joins with a special food condition to prompt a feeding frenzy like no other time of the year.
Later, a seasonal hatch of bite-size shad and other baitfish provide an ample banquet that make walleye and wiper more difficult to catch. For the next month, these fish are hungry and eager to deal.
Johnson set up a line of drift in 15 feet of water off the face of the dam, a favorite location for walleye moving up from the depths to feed. As if to ratify the strategy, a man in a boat moving nearby said he caught 30 walleye here the evening before.
Trouble was, he’d managed only two this time and was headed home.
Johnson didn’t have long to wait. The first bite stole the leech. The second came back with a walleye attached. None of the 20 or so fish that followed were large, 16 or 17 inches at the most. But the Cherry Creek curse had been lifted and the season remains young. The big ones still are out there.
