There are few things in this world that are familiar as fishing with an old friend. A well worn pair of jeans, an old pick up truck, maybe an old hunting dog. Just this past summer a friend from childhood came out this way to do some trout fishing “western style.” Geoff and I had pretty much started our hard core fishing together and picked up the fly rod at the same time. After serving in his wedding back east I moved here to central Colorado. We lost touch for a while, but we eventually through the wonders of the internet we started e-mailing pretty much every day. So it was almost as if things came full circle when I picked him up at the airport. Despite a few airline glitches things worked out and Geoff landed fly rod in hand and ready to fly fish… After a few stop offs to see some college friends we hit the gold medal waters of a local stream where if you don’t catch the fish in front of you, there will be three more within the next ten feet. When you first look at the creek it looks like a typical pockety Mountain stream. Most people when they first fly fish it, fish it like a typical high mountain trout stream. That’s what keeps many from catching fish there. The secret resides in the fact that it is a high mountain trout stream but it fishes more like tail water. Meaning, you need the kind of small flies that make your mind wonder, “how small is too small?” And when you’re an “eastern” Fly Fisherman and a western fly fisherman hands you a bunch of size 24 nymphs and says “here use these.” You got to wonder, “is this a set up?” And, when I refer to a #16 as a big fly Geoff looks at me still wondering if I am putting him on or something. But that’s the way this thing fishes and it’s usually just a question of color. At the beginning Geoff had a little trouble getting the feel for the creek and the fly fishing style It called for but as with any solid fly fisherman after a short time of being left alone he managed to fall into the rhythm of the creek and landed some of his first wild Colorado trout on one of my favorite streams. It was proof to the fact that to gauge the skills of any fisherman their ability to adapt is the one skill that all skills depend on. Though Geoff was here for a short time he managed to get the feel for western trout fishing very quickly which turned the catching curve to his favor. Which was going to be needed for the next days fishing, we had a float planned for the next day and though the fishing isn’t exactly hard, you have to be on your game if you want to catch fish.We were up before the sun and out the door, weary eyes stared out the windows as we sped along rafts bouncing behind. Slowly the gray light of a mountain dawn hinted at the sage covered hills on either side of the two lane road. It seemed as though the excitement of things to come built it unison with amount of detail you could make out of the country side. By the time we got to where we were going to take the rafts out at the end of the day, there was enough light to make out a small herd of mule deer. We hurriedly parked the shuttle car and made for the put in. After a heroing experience getting the boat to waters edge, we set off. The flows on the river were pretty low and little did I know that it was going to be some of the toughest rowing I have ever done. There were multiple bone yards, that the boat needed to be picked through, and most of the time I’d set up one way and bump a small rock on the way through which at higher flows wouldn’t be a problem but I had no place to lower the sticks to make any adjustment. It makes it tough to avoid the rock in the first place. After the first half of the float we had boated a modest amount of average sized fish. After we had gotten into the good water our average size started over 24 inches. Between two boats three fisherman we boated more than 60 fish about 10 of those were under 24 inches. I’ll never forget the look on Geoff’s face when the first big fish started to pull. It is a thing of beauty to watch someone who knows how to catch big fish, fight a big fish. It’s almost like a dance and a test of wills at the same time. But again Geoff quickly settled into the fish, the fish showed off a little too. Taking some line and causing Geoff at one point to put the screws to the fish and make a stand. Because we were the first boat on the water on that day we would drift down a hole, ferry to the outside of the hole and row back to the top and fish it again slowly rowing upstream to slow the boat down. By the time the thunderstorms moved in later that day I think everyone had the same silent thought, how many big fish do I need to catch to prove whatever point it was I was trying to prove. So we pushed on and got the boats on the trailers by late afternoon. Which again was good because I had something special in store for my old friend tomorrow, and I wanted him to have something left, I was going to take him to a back country stream that would give him a chance to catch all five species of trout. A badge that every trout fisherman wants to wear, and I couldn’t think of any better way to highlight an east coast Fly fisherman’s experience better than catching a wild cutthroat on a native stream, that is almost as beautiful as the trout itself. Again before the sun had highlighted the towering mountains with the outline of gold, we were on our way. This stream was set in a high chasm like canyon. The high desert landscape was plush with sage and scrub oak with the more shaded parts closer to the stream being mostly old growth evergreen and willow. We crossed the stream and headed up on the main trail which ran along the stream at many places being bottlenecked between the stream and high cliffs. After hiking for about an hour we rigged up and gave each other about a hundred yards of fishable water. I told Geoff to use big bushy dry flies remembering to remind him that a #16 is a big fly. I also told him to not be scared to drop a small nymph off the dry fly. After a quick description of how to tell the what type of cutthroat he caught, because as of my last count there were 2 different types of cutthroat and one strain that was more of a cuttbow that a cutthroat. I didn’t see Geoff again that day till we met up at the end of the day. He managed to get at least one of each of the five species and a clear tone of pride when he told us was in his voice. Knowing this was an experience that we will talk about for years, being a long way from home and getting to fish with and old friend, and seeing a skilled fisherman who is put in a whole new element set his feet, square his shoulders and get to business is something more than just catching fish. It is a place that’s as familiar as catching large mouth bass out of the canoe back home, chasing squirrels with bb guns for tying material, and out fishing every fisherman on the water. Though Geoff never said so, I am sure there were visions of trout dancing in his head when he got home. Hopefully that trip was the first of a couple of more in the years to come. We only scratched the surface of water that’s available here in central Colorado. After being here for a while then leaving, the west calls you back. Almost like an itch you can’t quite get to. Hopefully in the years to come I can share some of my home water with my old friend. Norman Mclean once wrote I am haunted by waters, and I hope now that applies to western waters as well as eastern waters.