I stood on the frozen bank of the river, racking my brain. My feet were cold, and inch-thick snow was caked under my boots. It was eerily quiet, only the sound of the river just a step away. The sun was out intermittently, but for the most part it was overcast with gloomy skies.
January in Colorado — and the fish were nowhere to be found. I was out of luck, but on the upside: I hadn’t seen another angler all morning.
Fly-fishing in the winter months of December, January and February is fairly different from fishing in spring, summer or fall. Those sometimes frigid and often stunningly beautiful days are just around the corner, and it is not too early to start thinking about your winter strategy.
If you change your tactics with the seasons and stack the deck in your advantage, you can have a challenging and rewarding experience.
First to consider is the trout’s behavior.
“Fishing during the winter months is essentially a game of extreme patience — waiting it out until the fish decide to feed,” said Jim Kanda, general manager of Trout’s Fly Fishing in Denver. “You will typically find fish hanging out in groups hugging the bottom of deeper holes and runs along the river. They seek refuge in these areas because it is easier for them to strike a balance between consuming and expending calories.”
Also, temper those expectations.
If you expect to see fish chasing big streamers or crashing grasshopper imitations on the surface, you probably will be disappointed. Understanding that trout are typically in deeper water, are more selective and do not move far or expend a great deal of energy will help.
“A trout’s diet during the winter months is made up of midges, winter stoneflies and some mayflies, but even that bug life is very limited during the cold season,” Kanda said. “The slower currents along the river’s bottom keep food coming to the fish, versus them having to swim aggressively against the current in pursuit.
“During the winter, I’ve found that finding the right depth and exact location of trout is even more important than bug selection,” he added. “If you are not ‘hitting’ the fish square in its nose with your flies, you will not catch many fish. Your best bet is to tie on your favorite midge pattern, put on some split shot and get down to the fish quickly.”
Another strategy is to be opportunistic about where and when you fish — especially from a weather perspective. Avoid planning a trip a long time in advance as the chance to get shut down by weather at the higher Colorado elevations is high. Watch the weather and look for a sustained forecast with clearer, warmer conditions without dramatic shifts in temperature or precipitation. Depending on the year, these windows of opportunity happen more than you think.
If you are not an avid winter angler, the value of research and preparation cannot be understated. Understanding what is going on in the river before you get there can be the make-or- break component of a productive trip. There are a number of great dam-controlled tail waters across the state that offer great winter fishing opportunities.
Once you’ve zeroed in on one, call a local fly-fishing specialty shop or, better yet, stop by on your way to the destination. Other great resources are local shop online reports, local message boards and the U.S. Geological Survey website, which gives real-time river flow information ().
Another game-changer to think about when the temperature drops and you have a fly rod in your hand: safety.
Never leave without telling someone where you are going and when you plan to return. As well, don’t leave the house without a full run of extra, dry layers. Extras should include a non-cotton top, bottoms, socks, gloves and an insulated hat.
“If you plan to be a good distance away from your vehicle, such as hiking into a dam-fed canyon, I would highly recommend that these items go with you as opposed to staying in your car,” Kanda said. “If you slip and swim, 45 minutes back to the car is 40 minutes too long without dry clothes.”
Patience is required on a cold winter day. Later during my day out last January, a blue-winged olive hatch drove a few fish to the surface, but the feeding frenzy was short-lived. After the brief flurry of productive action, I stared into my box for at least the 20th time that day. Nothing was working consistently.
As I was walking out the door, the kid in the shop had one last piece of advice. “And if none of those patterns work, throw something that will get their attention,” he said.
The words echoed in my head as I reached for a gaudy egg pattern that I had purchased three states away on a steelhead river the previous fall.
On my second cast, my strike indicator plunged downward and a healthy rainbow trout rocketed to the surface.
I did all the research, planning and preparation — but sometimes it truly is better to be lucky than good.
