I felt naked without my knife (I ALWAYS carry a knife) and stupid for not bringing matches. As I drove by Fenton Lake and the Rio Cebolla where I fished on Saturday, the snow on the ground and bite in the air had me concerned. I told myself not to take any unnecessary chances as I continued on. 

I approached the section where last year I had to turn my Dad’s SUV around. My arms stiffened and my hands tightened around the steering wheel of my Mom’s 4 wheel drive sedan. My breathing quickened as I approached the narrow up hill section of canyon. There was snow on the road. I hoped no one was coming down as I was coming up as neither one of us would be able to stop in time. Even at the 20 mph, uphill, I was now traveling, the narrowness of the road and number of blind corners makes this a dangerous road in good conditions. My “don’t take unnecessary chances” mantra was playing my head. 

I crested the hill safely. The moment I had truly dreaded arrived- the downhill. I quickly learned that I had no control once gravity took over. All I could do was counter steer and hope to regain some control on the decent. There really wasn’t that much snow on the ground. Most of it was ice now but even the snow-less areas where slippery due to the saturation of red clay which turned to a slimy mud. I slide around many of the corners with very little control, all the while telling myself if conditions get just a little bit worse, I’d turn around and head out.  At one point, I almost slid into a tree. I should have considered that “worse” but didn’t. 

As I made my way along the slick fire road I marked my odometer at each cabin or farm I came to. Empty or not, they would provide shelter and perhaps someway to make a fire if I should have to spend the night. These were my thoughts as I made my way past the Rio Cebolla, Rio De Las Vacas and Rock Creek.

The Rita Café/Rito Penas Negras is what I call a rain gutter stream. Rain gutter streams are fairly common in this Jemez Mountains. They’re rarely more than two feet across and somewhere between 6 and 18 inches in depth. Usually surrounded by trees just at the waters edge with the odd treeless section which allows back casting in what is usually a meadow setting. The Rio Cebolla is such a stream in it’s upper and lower portions and would be such a stream in the middle section if it weren’t for the beaver ponds. I arrived at what I had thought was noon and told myself I would fish until 1 and leave. I didn’t want to chance getting caught in the changing weather of the afternoon. It had taken me 3 or more hours to make my way in and I wanted to be out by dark at 6pm. If I fished for an hour, I’d be out by 4pm, giving me a 2 hour cushion before dark. I had yet to realize that I had no consistent measurement of time. On the river, I used my watch which was still set at California time- 1hr behind local. The clock in my mom’s car was 1 hour ahead (the clock in my Dad’s SUV is 3 hrs ahead and no, they can’t program their VCR). Only the clocks in the house were correct.  It wouldn’t dawn on me until I was on my way out that I had no idea how long it had taken to get to where I was and how long it would truly take to get out.

The river was frozen. How frozen?  Frozen enough for me to walk on? No, I wasn’t silly enough to try that. It was frozen enough to carry the snow. That was frozen enough for me but apparently not frozen enough for the coyote whose tracks in the snow had shown that he jumped the river shortly before I arrived.

The ice made it difficult to fish the river. Some areas of the river appeared ice free but in fact had a layer of ice under a flowing top level of water. This was a new experience for me; I’d never fished ice before. I had sampled the river and found small size 18 and 16 mayflies and stoneflies as well as chunky size 16 and 14 green rock worms.  It most cases, I’d try to position myself so that my dual set up of caddis nymph and size 16 PT would float drag free along the iceless sections and under the ice. I guessed that there would be some fish directly under the upstream portion of ice waiting to pounce on insects as they floated under and taking advantage of the area of warmer water just above the ice.

By my watch, I fished for an hour. For a short time, I was tempted to extend my stay until 2pm. I wasn’t catching any fish and really wanted to catch at least 1 Cutthroat. It was only 1pm (by my watch) and I would still have a 1 hour buffer before dark (or so I thought). I gazed around, realizing that although the sky above looked mild, they sky over the route I had traveled earlier looked freighting. I rounded a bend on short hill above the stream and my line went taught. At this point I had stopped fishing, stopped the careful casting to open water, stopped the kneeling and crawling stream side. I was standing straight up and making my last few casts of the day. I stripped line furiously with my line hand and I jumped down the small cliff to the stream. I wanted to see this fish- badly. As I hit the bank next to the stream, the stream went brown with mud caused by my awkward slide down to the stream. I quickly grabbed the fish. Its colors where clouded by the mud. I rinsed the fish off and gazed down at my prize.

I was disappointed. I had expected a colorful fish with a vibrant red slash under its chin. This fish was practically colorless. It was a pale grayish color with black spots along its back and faded par marks along its side. It looked like an albino brown trout with the large head and narrow body that is often found in stunted brook trout. It was an ugly fish. It was 10 or 11 inches long. A good fish for a Rio Grande Cutt but I was summarily unimpressed.  I had so looked forward to taking a picture of a Rito Penas Negras Cutt but now I stood there in a confused stupor. Was it a Cutt? It didn’t have a red slash but had all the other markings. Was it a sickly brown? It didn’t have any red spots and I’ve never seen a brown of that length that still had par marks. I was truly disappointed and didn’t want a picture of this fish (a decision I now regret). Then, as if punishment for my arrogance,  the sky opened up and it began to snow- hard.

I released the fish, ran to the car and hi-tailed it down the mountain. I returned to this stream a few days later. I knew that karma demanded that I not catch fish, as just reward for my ungratefulness with catching a single fish on a tough day when I really wanted to catch just a single fish. Never again will I take a single fish for granted.

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