CUTTHROATS
The first account by Yale Fishing Club President, Joshua Perez-Cruet, a sophomore majoring in Chemistry.
I worked with Dr. Kevin Rogers of Colorado Parks and Wildlife last summer, and one of my favorite parts of the job was driving with him. “You should definitely check out this lake,” he said as we sped along the country road, “it will have some state-record tiger trout if there wasn’t a winter kill.” Regardless of our destination, I assure you of one thing: Kevin would be pointing out places I needed to explore along the way, places often overlooked by even the most experienced and venturous Colorado-native fishermen.
I love cutthroat trout. In my opinion, their beauty surpasses all other creatures (although I hear dolly varden are incredible), and I was researching cutthroats with Kevin. He is one of Colorado’s foremost experts on these trout. We collected eggs, shocked rivers to recover fish, and hiked into the backcountry to collect data and conduct surveys. And we brought our fly rods too. His motto is, “There’s nothing like getting paid to go fishing.”
When Kevin told me about this tiger trout lake, I was excited. I had not yet landed a tiger trout, although it had always been my dream, but to have a chance at a state-record fish was above and beyond that. “Oh,” he said, “and you should also check out this lake. It’s just half a mile past the first lake.” I couldn’t have cared less about the second lake.
The first lake was small, gin clear, and loaded with scuds; this place looked like it could hold monster trout. After prepping my gear, I threw a streamer as far into the deep water as possible and let it sink. I retrieved it, but I felt nothing. I casted again and again, each time varying my retrieve and depth, until I had circled the lake. Even though Kevin said there might have been a winter kill, I had been extremely optimistic.
I remembered the other lake Kevin noted, and decided to check it out. There was no room to cast from shore, but I noticed a large floating log that stuck out into the lake. I tiptoed out as far as I thought would be safe in waders. I saw five of the largest cutthroat I had ever seen chasing and biting each other, and I smacked my streamer into their midst. The largest fish rushed up from behind, opened his mouth, and right before gulping my fly turned and swam in the other direction. Before I had time to be disappointed, he spun around again and inhaled it. I set the hook and lost my balance on the slippery log, plunging over my head into the shockingly cold water. Water rushed into my waders as I pulled myself onto the log, and to my surprise, the fish was still on the line. After a feisty battle, I netted one of the most beautiful cutthroats I had ever seen, and the largest I’ve landed to date. All cutthroats have a scarlet mark under their jaw, and many cutthroats have scarlet cheeks, but this one was almost completely scarlet, and sported a hooked jaw characteristic of a mature male. Encountering this fish was something I hadn’t expected, and it far outweighed the disappointment of the previous barren lake. Unexpected sagas are what I love best about fly fishing. No matter how much you prepare, trout will find ways to surprise you with their ferocity and unparalleled beauty.
The second account by Vikram Shaw, a sophomore majoring in Molecular Biochemistry and Biophysics, who has been with the fishing club for two semesters.
After sleeping in a pick-up truck and hiking 6 miles into the Colorado backcountry with our food, water, and shelter strapped to our backs, the trail opened onto a dark blue, football-field-sized lake that made the entire trek worth it. Joshua Perez-Cruet and I set up camp and then hiked farther up to explore the Hutchinson lakes, a series of 7 high-alpine lakes nearly level with the tree line. We picked our way through brush and over several icy rivers until we arrived at the mouth of the Lower Hutchinson Lake.
As someone who did not grow up fishing, I had never seen fish in the water so clearly. Each one could be seen facing upstream and occasionally rising. Josh quickly tied on a black dry fly and casted it a few yards away from a group of cutthroat trout. The fly drifted, slowly and in perfect rhythm with the water, until suddenly we saw a splash. Josh set the hook, and the line came tight. A few moments later, the fish came close enough to the bank for me to catch a glimpse. I was quite surprised—it looked like it was bleeding. Relegated to net duty, I grabbed the handle and faced its mouth upstream until the fish worked its way into the soft netting. It was not until I pulled the fish out of the water that I realized it wasn’t bleeding, but rather those were its natural colors—an olive body, black spots near the tail, and a deep, blood-red around the neck and down the belly of the animal. It was truly a magnificent fish, and thankfully, I now know why they call it cutthroat.
The last account by Charlie Markert, a first-year and new member of the fishing club.
The unique part of fly fishing is that we’re constantly drawn back to the water, whether it’s wading into the morning mist of a hidden stream to hunt down wild trout or standing shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, casting to spawning salmon as vibrant leaves on the surrounding trees fall around us. The scenarios change, the experiences change, our company changes, but we always return. I cannot name another activity that, within a moment, can swing from the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs. As any fly fisherman can attest, this feeling is like no other. Often, it is a single, 10-inch, wild trout, whose colored patterns are unparalleled that is the most memorable of all.
One particular spot I love lies 4.6 miles up a hidden trailhead in Rocky Mountain National Park. Every summer, my family and I hike up to this high alpine gem with our fly rods in packs, and recently, we have been so excited that we disregard the elevation gain and trek it as a “warm up” hike. Coming from Rhode Island, where the highest point is 812 ft. to face a hike starting at 8,540 ft. leaves us panting as we step out of our cars to strap on our packs. Nonetheless, the pain is pushed aside as memories of the lake energize us.
After following a mountain ridge for miles, we dive into a tucked-away valley of blossoming flowers, sparkling water, and jumping fish. Immediately the packs drio, the rods are unleashed, and flies are chosen: Grey Humpy, Royal Coachman, Pale Morning Dun or Adams. As we delicately place our flies near a recent rise, we peer through the glassy water and watch. The fish seem to jump out of their skin for the flies. The feeling is like nothing else. Exhilaration. After a 5-mile hike, we have struck gold. As we play the trout, we often see the flash of the blood red underbellies. These are not just any trout – these are greenback cutthroat, arguably the most beautiful trout and certainly the most incredible I have caught. Just one of these fish satisfies me.