Bidding farewell to Lake Granby and the IPWA, we swung a right on US-34E and began our brief trek towards the western entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park.
One last day in the IPWA.
Upon learning we planned to hike and fish the trail, the manager (a man who looked the part of a life long forest service employee) remarked: “That trail? A man died on that trail two weeks ago. Heart Attack. Maybe 50. Some girls found him half-way up…”
Though no insects were hatching, I tied on a #14 snowshoe hare yellow sally pattern left over from a spring visit to the Smokies and began the day prospecting a small pool overhung by dense vegetation. Within moments I was on the board…
A creature of solitude, I made the decision to surrender my position to the approaching horde and retreated to the roadway.
Marking off rivers within a 2-hour radius of Denver, and aided by a local Orvis employee with roots in the region (Thanks Chap!), I laid out plans for four days of fishing. Considering “rusty” to be an overly generous euphemism for the degradation of my skills, I told myself that I would be satisfied if I landed a single fish over the course of my adventures.