We got up early on Saturday morning, and of course, I had a plan.  Today would be the day we would delve into the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area, at the recommendation of my old friend Steve Schweitzer, esteemed author and fly fisherman.  I had maps.  I had trails marked.  I had alternative trails marked.  We had our gear ready, food and water packed and off we went to find Hallie Trailhead to start our hike.

The trailhead was not a far distance from where we were staying.  There was a local running event going on and we were careful not to hit anyone despite our eagerness.  We got to the trail area and it was a mob scene.  There were vehicles EVERYWHERE.  It seems that a multitude of people had the same plan we did.  We drove back and forth a bit, just to see if a spot would open.  My disappointment started to grow.   

I searched online for an alternative to parking.  We could drive back to town, about 20 minutes, and park in a lot there, catching a shuttle.  Hmmm.  Despite my frustration, I was doing the math in my head.  THAT many cars meant THAT many people.  I started thinking of other options.  Back to Rocky Mountain National Park?  Hubby did not care either way.

The morning minutes were ticking by.  We decided to cut our losses and turned the car north up the Peak to Peak Highway once again.  I was disappointed that we could not do what I had planned, but there were plenty of areas on RMNP that we had not yet explored.  The day was absolutely gorgeous, and the sky was clearing of the smoke allowing for much better visibility of the mountains.  Yes.  Wow!

While on the 50-minute journey to Estes Park to enter RMNP, I ran scenarios by Hubby.  We settled on another recommendation by Steve, and I referred to his book.  My enthusiasm for Plan B started to build with each mile we got closer to our destination.

Once at the entrance gate, we showed our park pass and eagerly asked the ranger about access to Bear Lake Trailhead.  Closed.  What?  Closed.  The area was already at maximum capacity and would likely NOT open up until midday. 

Are you kidding me?  Now what?  I was getting grumpy.  I know that is a shock to those of you who know how much I love to plan.  Hubby and I sorted out our options.  We knew the Big Thompson was fishing, despite it being tough fishing.  We decided to head back to Moraine Park and fish a different area than we had the day before.  Again, we were confronted with parking issues, but the area was not closed, so there was hope.  We drove slowly, watching for openings.  While we were still on the dirt access road, we could see the stream just off to our left. 

We stopped at a small bathroom area to answer the call of nature.  While returning to the car I stopped.  “Did you hear that?” I said to Hubby.  Oh yes… he heard it. 

A bugling elk!

That one sound pushed all of the disappointment of the previous hours away.  As we drove along the access road looking for a spot to park we saw them.  A herd of elk was coming out of the meadow and into the stream!  The bull stopped on the shoreline turned towards us and bugled!  WOW!  We quickly snapped pictures and moved on.  Just up the road, we found a spot to park.  After the elk encounter, we knew we were fishing in the right spot! 

We enjoyed another fine day of fishing on the Big Thompson.  Hubby honed his dry fly fishing skills.  The fish were no easier than the day before, and there were more people accessing the stream to make things more difficult.  Despite all of that, we had a grand time.  By early afternoon, we decided to give the fish a break and go for a drive. 

The area that was closed earlier that morning was once again open.  Although we did not have time for a long hike, we took a ride in to Sprague Lake for a walk.  It is a beautiful lake, with the mountains surrounding it.  It is fully accessible, so it was busy.  We decided to take our fly rods, just in case, despite the fact that dark clouds seemed to be rolling in closer and closer.

As we walked, we watched people and ducks.  Every now and again, a small dimple would appear on the water, although too far for us to cast.  We walked a bit further and the dimples were closer.  We each found a place to stand and cast a line.  We talked about how fish in the lake differed from those in the stream, in that they would be cruising the water rather than sitting and waiting for food to come by.  We both cast repeatedly to the dimpled waters with no takers. 

I put on my thinking cap and started going through my fly boxes.  I decided to try an experiment.  Years ago, dear friend and I traveled to Wales.  We fished with a another long-time friend on a local lake.  I had tied flies for the trip, but had not used them since, as I do not have the opportunity to fish still water.  I tied on the fly. 

As I stood there watching the water, the dimples started again.  I cast out to where I thought the fish might be heading.  I watched as I saw a fish come to the surface, inspect the fly, and retreat to the water.  CRAP!  I pulled the fly in and cast again.  And waited.  This time, when the dimples started, one of the fish took the fly and it was ON!  Hubby asked, “What did you use?”  “A buzzer!” I exclaimed. 

“A what???”

I landed the lovely brook trout, we admired it, and I slipped it back into the water.  I handed Hubby a buzzer and told him the story.  You can read more about the wonders of the buzzer here, at my friend Martin’s Joergenson’s website.  We started fishing again, and the raindrops started to fall.  They were light at first, and we kept fishing.  As the rain became a bit more persistent, we decided to call it a day and head back towards civilization for food. 

As we drove back towards Moraine Park, there were cars parked near the small ranger station.  A herd of elk (likely the herd we saw that morning) was in the distance.  We stopped and watched for a few moments.  I urged Hubby back to the car, and thought we might get a better vantage point elsewhere.  We moved to the other area and got out of the car to watch.

The rain had stopped, yet there was a rainbow in the sky behind us.  The herd was slowly making its way back towards the Big Thompson, and closer to us.  Every now and again, the bull would lower his head, bugle, and move the 20 cows further along.  There were also two or three babies with them, one that still had its spots.  When he got to the bank of the river, he stuck his massive antlers down in the water, and tossed branches and dirt into the air in a display of dominance.  It was breathtaking to watch!

Over the course of about 30 minutes, the herd kept moving closer and closer.  They came to within about 25 yards and a ranger cautioned the collecting crowd that if they came closer, we would need to make a wide berth for them to pass through.  It was an amazing show.  We moved on to allow others the ability to park and watch.

What a day.  As we drove back to Nederland, we recounted the day and the debacle of the planning that went so very wrong that morning.  If we had done as planned, we would not have seen the elk. 

Note to self….

You do not always need a plan.  You do, however, need to take the trip.