Written by: Nolan Bluntzer
All photos by Nolan Bluntzer
My well-worn Tacoma has seen better days, but we’ve been on many road trips like this before—Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, the Louisiana and Texas coasts, and Arkansas—and she’s been a stellar fishing road-trip companion. Between my old truck, a sixteen-year-old Labrador who is too old to fish with me anymore, and my failing eyesight, it is becoming clear that nothing lasts forever. We have all aged in unison, and both my lab and old Tacoma (she just hit 300,000 miles) are subtle reminders that I should enjoy the ride. Our destination this time is the Taylor River in central Colorado.
Driving through the Gunnison Valley, it’s hard not to visualize what this country might have been like before mining and “progress” permanently altered the landscape. Although only four hours from the urban sprawl of Denver, the Gunnison River Valley feels more like western Montana than Colorado. A wide, flat plain with purple, snow-capped peaks in the distance, the valley is punctuated by the striking starkness of high-desert scrub brushes. Towering cottonwoods dot the banks of the Gunnison as I drive north on Highway 135 toward the hamlet of Almont—which is little more than a neat collection of small cabins, Orvis-endorsed Willowfly Anglers fly shop, and two small restaurants. The Gunnison River brings an abundance of life to the valley.
Almont, where the East River and Taylor River meet to form the Gunnison, sits at the bottom of Taylor River Canyon. Starting high in the Collegiate Peaks to the east, the upper Taylor tumbles through an alpine valley and into the Taylor Park Reservoir, created by the Taylor River Dam, constructed in 1937. The massive 206-foot concrete monolith is one of the few bottom-release dams in the state of Colorado.
Mysis shrimp were introduced in the reservoir as a forage item. Sensitive to light, they fled to the deepest and darkest recesses of the reservoir. Bottom releases from the reservoir push these high-calorie crustaceans into the feeding lanes of rainbow and brown trout eagerly waiting downstream from the dam’s release gates. The result is an overabundance of massive trout in a relatively small stretch—the approximately 1.5 miles of catch-and-release water at the beginning of the Lower Taylor River. Munching on crustaceans throughout the year, these fish grow to disproportionate sizes.
Pocket-Water Paradise
Veering right onto County Road 742 in Almont, I am greeted by vertical granite walls, piñon pines, and a two-lane road paralleling the bountiful pocket water of the Taylor. Empty pullouts and abundant public access points interspersed with private property are a welcome sight; there is hardly anybody fishing the lower sections of the river. Occasionally, I see a truck with a rod tube on the roof rack indicating that this spot is taken. But there are plenty of spots.
Around every corner, each section of wadable water looks better than the next. My endpoint is the catch-and-release portion of the Taylor directly below the dam. As I round the last bend in the narrow road, I can see the massive dam towering over the highway. There is not a parking spot in sight. Rows of trucks, some with in-state plates but mostly with out-of-state plates, cover the parking area. Wader-clad anglers, practically on top of one another, slap the water with their fly lines.
I am not one to combat-fish, so I quickly correct course with a U-turn and head back the way I came. There is plenty of river to fish, and the 15 miles or so I have just passed were mostly uninhabited. I go back through the mental rolodex of good spots. Picking one of them is the hardest part; it all looks like excellent water.
The Taylor is well-marked with public and private fishing areas. I want to make sure I do not commit the most unholy of Colorado fishing sins: touching someone’s private river rocks. I pull up my OnX app and scout a few property lines I saw on the drive up. There are quite a few areas to camp that also offer fishing access: One Mile Campground, Rosey Lane, The Cold Spring Campground, and Lodgepole Campground. All the campgrounds offer excellent wading access. In between these sites, there is lots of well-marked private land intermixed with plenty of public access points if one is willing to walk.
I pick a random pull-off, ready my gear, and head towards the river. Stumbling through pine laydowns, thick brush, and under overhanging pine limbs, I make my way to the riverbank.
The Taylor is a pocket-water fishing dream. There is a noticeable gradient, and the water moves quickly over moss-stained rocks and medium-sized boulders. Small pockets downstream of the rocks and recirculating pillows in front offer plenty of fishy-looking holding water. Well-defined seams of slow and fast water, deep guts, and hollowed-out depressions create ideal places for trout to hold in fast water. These features span the entire width of the river in many places. The water, slowed down by contact with the boulders and gentle turns of the river, creates soft inside flats ideal for dry fly fishing.
Caddis and More
For this day, dry-dropper fishing was the name of the game, so taking my 9-foot 5-weight Helios II, I rig a small Gee’s Supa Fly on a 7.5-foot 3X leader. A quick scan of the streamside bushes indicates a rather large number of caddisflies. A few skitter across the surface of the river, flip-flopping across the water, helplessly trying to regain flight before being devoured by a waiting rainbow or brown trout.
I opt for one of my favorite caddisfly patterns, the jighead Jesus Caddis (Jesus in Spanish), adding 24 inches of 5X fluorocarbon to the bend of the point fly. The Jesus Caddis is one of my all-time favorite flies and seems to work just about anywhere. It is tied extra heavy on a jig hook to ride point up and effectively straddles the fine line between being an imitative and suggestive fly pattern.
The hatches on the Taylor are excellent and varied. Blue-winged olives, various caddisfly species, golden stones, red quills, midges, and green drakes all make an appearance during the spring, summer, and fall months. Without a doubt, the late July/early August green drake hatch is the marquee event on the angling calendar. Caddisflies are present most of the spring, summer, and fall. Flipping over rocks revealed a plethora of square grannom case-builders and the small stone cases of Glossoma caddisflies.
Several hours of dry-dropper fishing yields many strikes and a dozen or so fish to the net. The topwater action is good, too. The vacant stretch of river, absent of other anglers, is even better. I work the upstream and downstream pockets of boulders. Small riffles and the slower, softer water a foot or two off the bank yield most of the trout.
When you’re nymphing the Taylor, flies with a quick sink rate are impiortant to effectively fishing the high-gradient, fast pocket water. Drifts are fast, and many of the fish hold in deep slots or seams a few feet off the bank or to the front, sides, and backsides of boulders. A jig-head nymph is made for this scenario, as a heavy tungsten bead head and lead underbody help the fly punch through the faster upper layers of the river’s current.
The middle of the river is so fast in places that it is hard to imagine a trout holding in such quick water. Most of the fish I catch are 10 to 15 inches long. None of the huge rainbows or browns from the C&R section are present , but neither were other anglers, so all in all, I consider it a win.
Ant Patterns on the Taylor
As I meander back downstream in search of other water, stumbling over fallen pines, I notice an insane number of ants present on the banks. There are black ones, brown ones, and red ones, all varying in size from small micro ants to huge ants close to a size 14 hook size.
I hastily tie a CDC ant pattern to a 9-foot 5X leader and start fishing the softer edges of the river. Directly upstream of my position, there is a slow inside bend with flat, glassy water three feet wide directly downstream of a moss-stained rock. The river’s faster current moves around it with no discernible pattern. The small glassy window of calm river water seems like it would be an oasis for a holding trout, eagerly posted up in a prime lie.
I dress the fly with floatant on the antron wing and hit the CDC overbody with some powder. The combination of the two floatants makes the pattern almost unsinkable in fast water. I make my cast and give the ant a twitch. The rubber legs send out subtle shockwaves, almost indiscernible to the eye. The fly vanishes beneath the water, and I set the hook on a nice 14-inch rainbow. There are many more that afternoon. It’s a good reminder of how important both observation and less visible hatches can be.
Ever since my guide days, I have always believed that ants are often overlooked by fly fishers. Ants are present in far greater numbers and for far longer periods of time than most other insects. They provide trout with a regular stream of calories in the short growing season. In addition, they are easily blown into feeding lanes; they are poor swimmers and floaters, which makes them easy meals for trout. While we might not often see them in huge swarms or hatches, they are almost always present and critical to trout. Unintentionally inserting themselves onto a trout’s menu, they are loved by late-summer fish.
Surface eats on ant dry flies are often subtle; the rise form is a delicate dimple breaking the continuous glare of flat calm water. This is a telltale sign that your ant pattern has been sucked into oblivion by a waiting trout. The action this afternoon is consistent, and as the sun sets on the Taylor River canyon, I fish until dark, unable to distinguish where my fly line ended and the nighttime began. Clicking on my headlamp, I find my way back through the darkening pine trees from which I had come.
With all the hype the C&R gets, I can’t believe how overlooked the rest of the Taylor River was in comparison. The post-COVID boom of interest in all things outdoors is good for our sport and conservation, but many of the more famous angling locations have become crowded and are at risk of being loved to death. This trip is a good reminder that there is still plenty of overlooked water to be found.
Nolan Bluntzer is a former guide who spent 10 seasons at Orvis-endorsed WorldCast Anglers in Victor, Idaho.