The DJ never arrived for the Blue River party

blue-river-in-silverthorneIf you’re a party goer, you have to hate getting up at 4am so you can drive to the club in hope of getting a seat at the open bar before the other guests arrive. You shouldn’t care if a rave is deemed better than work – you wind up exhausted by 2pm and you’ll inevitably sleep way too late the next day, so make sure you do this on Saturdays. At the party the drink of choice is 158 parts of vodka clear (we don’t drink gin around here and we don’t drink much vodka either, but the phrase “gin clear” is quite tired). It’s mixed at a temperature around 40 degrees (F), while the air temp swirls at much the same.

By the time your feet are wet you realize everyone else wants to party too (i.e. the dance floor is shoulder to shoulder at 6:30am). Everyone is dressed for success but you’re on the wagon – you’ve sworn off subtle charm in favor of cockiness. You “peacock” your way around the venue, showing the audience every color imaginable. But the DJ never turns up. By the time you succumb to peer pressure, the guests have all left but the punch is all gone too.

You inevitably wind up mingling in the corner with with outcasts – seven lonelies, all seven inches or shorter. Your wing-man notes that you shouldn’t feel bad – everyone else went home alone. It’s little consolation – you’ve been talking smack half the summer because you’ve been “picking up” week after week.

It’s now mid-morning Sunday. You are sitting in your bathrobe in front of the computer, wondering whether your “rap” will ever return.

Fly fishing translation follows…

Yesterday we fished the Blue River, in Silverthorne and a few miles below. The water was running 158 cfs, and visibility was as close to ‘unlimited’ as one could imagine. As usual the place was crowded first thing in the morning. The idea was matching the streamer success of the last few outings on a stretch where the fish were notoriously picky, but hadn’t seen many streamers. We threw whites, yellows, pale yellows, olives, browns, blacks, purples, and reds to no avail.

Moved downstream several miles and repeated the process. Still nothing. On our last stop, we found a roughly half-mile stretch with only two humans/fly rods on it. We switched to nymphing, and picked up nine fish in about 90 minutes – mine were all dinks, but Really Jonathan nabbed two rainbows, one 18 and another 14. We tossed Black Beauties, Zebra Midges, thread midges, RS2s, Copper Johns, and a few UV-winged emergers. Sizes were 18/20, and colors were black, silver on black, green, grey, blue and green, and black, respectively.

Wound up at the Dillon Dam Brewery, and the buffalo burgers were the highlight of the day. Another humbling outing on the Blue.

Editor’s note: no fly rods were physically harmed during this trip.

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