Tributary Eight
The Uhlhorn Wilderness Area
By Carl Pudlo, Colorado
"Stern discipline awaits him who leaves the path;..." Proverbs 15:10
Every fisherman has a secret place, a place
that holds a spell, even an enchantment over
the angler. There was no exception to the
gentleman who had me spellbound with his
tales of the South Platte. He had mentioned
places like 'Boulder Canyon,' 'The Ranch,'
'The Confluence,' and the one that stuck in
my mind most, 'The Uhlhorn Wilderness Area.'
I looked feverishly on maps to locate the area
he described in such detail and with such awe.
I checked topographical maps, bookstores, I
even asked locals about the 'Uhlhorn Wilderness
Area.' No one seemed to know anything about
the area. I was again fortunate to run into
the modest gentleman of the South Platte. I
just had to know where, and what, the 'Uhlhorn
Wilderness Area' was...
"My sons and I have named our favorite places
for fishing with nicknames that sometimes
describe the area, but more often than not,
it describes an event or an occasion of a
fishing experience. We named a place 'Boulder
Canyon' because the river is filled with boulders
the size of houses. We named a place 'The Ranch,'
because there is an old run-down cattle ranch
where we fish. We named a place 'The Confluence,'
because it is the confluence of two rivers. 'The
Uhlhorn Wilderness Area' is named after a person
and an incident involving that person. I would
like to say 'the name has been changed to protect
the innocent,' but in this case, the name has been
retained to indict the guilty.
I had been to the 'Uhlhorn Wilderness Area'
several times before, so I was familiar with
the three mile drive on the gravel road,
pitted with potholes and heavy-rain runoff.
The drive into the parking area passes through
a large fire damaged area. Four wheel drive
roads shoot off the main road like the branches
of a tree. Each road leads to a dead end in a
mineralogist heaven. The rocks in the steep,
winding roads can puncture an oil pan with the
ease of a pin through a balloon. The many
roads end near two rivers, one being the mighty
South Platte, home of brown and rainbow trout,
the object of our endeavors.
The parking area is a roundabout at the
beginning of a trailhead. The trail to
the river is short, only half-a-mile to
the river. The trail starts with a
moderate descent, and there is no indication
the hiker is anywhere near the river. As
one walks down the first stretch, the path
crisscrosses a trickle of a stream. The
first time I walked down this stretch,
the path was clearly defined, with signs
of the fire damage on both the right and
left mountainsides. The second time I
walked down the stretch was after a major
rain. The fire had damaged all the foliage
so there was nothing impeding the water from
the heavy rains until it reached the trickle
of a creek. Logs and rocks were strewn all
along the path, carried by the mighty force
of moving water. Grasses, that only two weeks
earlier were standing tall and erect, had now
been bent from the rush of water.
Three hundred yards ahead, the trail takes
a right-hand turn along another ravine with
another trickle of a creek. For the return
trip to the parking area, hikers need to note
the turn and identify the proper time to turn
left to find the way back. The remaining
stretch of the trail can best be described
as a leg-burner. The trail is incredibly
steep. Hikers carefully zigzag through
downed trees, burnt logs, large boulders,
and gravelly slides. The slides reach out
and grab the ankles of a hiker to pull them
down the trail in merciless falls. The
crashing of the river current is heard
long before the river is seen. By the
time one arrives at the river, legs are
burning from holding body weight, fishing
pole, and waders carried over the shoulder.
When I hike the trail to the river, I carry
only the bare necessities, which includes
drinking water. Fishing this section of
the South Platte River makes the twenty-five
minute hike well worth the effort.
Plans were made the previous Sunday for a
companion and me to meet at the river at
the end of the trail. I had given very
explicit directions to find the trailhead
and to hike the trail to the river. Since
my companion had some early morning errands,
we planned to meet at the river around 9:00
AM. Since I was going to make the effort to
hike the trail, I thought I would get to the
river about 6:00 AM so I could do some early
morning fishing. Plans worked out well, I
arrived at the river about 6:15. I put on
my waders and stored my hiking shoes behind
a large rock. I hiked an additional four
hundred yards downstream to a spot I know
contains some big fish.
The fishing was sporadic. The first hole is
fished from either the upstream or the
downstream side. A narrow channel marks the
head of the hole where the water crashes
between two garage-sized boulders. The
cascading waterfall washes out the riverbed,
so the water is over six feet deep. The
boulder on one side forms a ledge where a
cautious fisherman can stand and make
downstream casts into the middle of the
elliptic pool which is about forty feet
at its widest. The current of the water
rushes down the center of the pool and
becomes gentle toward the bottom. I
usually begin fishing the hole from
downstream. From there, I can cast to
the left, right, or the middle. There
are large rocks surrounding the entire
hole, giving ample cover for trout.
Next I went upstream to a second hole only
one hundred yards downstream from the trail.
This hole is similar to the first hole, except
not as large. The current collides into a
large boulder and forms a very nice drop-off
next to the boulder. This is an exceptional
place for drifting a nymph through the drop-off.
I spent over an hour here drifting nymphs and
catching and releasing brown and rainbow trout.
It was getting time to get back to the trailhead
to see if my companion had arrived.
As luck would have it, my companion was late,
so I went upstream for some additional fishing.
Ten o'clock had arrived, and I saw my companion
descending the steep trail. We fished another
three hours. I showed my companion the many
holes and watched him fish the holes I had
fished only five hours earlier. I spent time
watching and waiting for the finicky fish to
strike the many presentations of nymphs,
streamers, and wet flies. The fish would
occasionally rise to a well presented fly,
but the hot sun and bright blue skies made
the fishing difficult.
It was time for me to leave. The walk back would take thirty minutes, and another forty minutes to drive back to town. I had talked again to my companion to make sure he knew the way back to the parking area, but I could not help but think I ought to drag my partner with me. He had decided to fish a little more since it was a long drive back to Colorado Springs, and he wanted to get in as much fishing as he could. I returned home and went to my part-time job.
About 7:00 PM that evening I received quite
a surprise while working. My fishing companion
stopped at the store on his way home. When he
walked into the store, he was visibly shaken.
I didn't notice it at first. I was somewhat
confused as to what took him so long to get back
from fishing and why he had stopped.
* * * *
My Companion's Story
"I fished another two hours, and decided it
was time to head back to the car. I started
going up the steep rocks, there was no other
way to go except up. I was following a ravine
with a small creek, but the creek soon disappeared,
and so did the trail. I knew I was going the
wrong way. I had water with me, but that ran
out rather quickly during the three hours I was
trying to find my way back to the car. The heat
of the sun and the weight of the fishing gear
were taking its toll on me. I kept going up
a ravine but I never found the car. I finally
decided to leave a trail behind me so I left
my equipment piece by piece in order to find a
trail back to the river. First I left my fly
line clippers hanging in a tree. Next I left
my vest, and last I left my fishing rod and
case. It was still very hot walking with my
waders on. I kept following the small gulley
hoping I would find something familiar. My
life was flashing before me, would I ever get
out, would I have to spend the night in the
middle of nowhere, would I ever see my family
again? I finally got to the top of an open
area, and there was a road. Relief oozed
from my body. I should be able to follow
the road and reach some familiar sight if
not civilization itself. I followed the
road down, and got to an intersection where
I recognized the number of the road. As I
had hoped, the road took me to the parking
turnaround where I was overjoyed with the
sight of the car. Fortunately I had more
water in the car because I think I was
dehydrated from the hot sun and the long
hot walk.
* * * *
I was laughing, in my mind, whole-heartedly while
he was telling me his story. I felt guilty for
not dragging the poor soul with me when I left.
For me, hiking the 'Uhlhorn Wilderness Area' is
like walking to the bathroom. I know my way in
the dark. I just assumed that anyone else would
be able to find his way from the river back to
the parking area. Boy was I wrong! I totally
underestimated the skill of my companion in
navigating through the wilderness. It would
be ill-mannered of me to ridicule my companion
since I did not know his outdoor skills...but
what the heck. I thought it was hilarious that
he got lost for so long. The story amuses all
to whom I tell it. I am fortunate my companion
is of such good nature. I can tease him about
the experience, for wearing waders to descend
the trail, for not taking note of the trail
markings along the way, for carrying all his
equipment on such a rigorous walk. We frequently
talk about the 'Uhlhorn Wilderness Area,' the
peril and the beauty, and how someday my companion
will return to the area with a global positioning device."
To be continued... ~ Carl Pudlo, Colorado
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