Some stare at a mountain peak from the valley, and though moved by its beauty, are content to enjoy it from afar. Others are much too curious for admiration alone. Be it a blessing or a curse, they are driven to take in the view only the summit affords. Somewhere inside them they feel drawn to something… not so ordinary.

These individuals live to walk the landscapes where earth and sky meet, where mountains cut a jagged line across the horizon a mile wide, and rivers dig canyons just as deep. No one would argue such places are reserved for the wild at heart.

What is it about the unknown that is so alluring? Why do some of us have such an obsession to explore the unexplored, or to see what lies beyond? Fascination is some of it, the thrill of something new and different another. Regardless, it’s a passion that runs deep in our veins as humans – some of us more than others.

Every time I step foot into the back country I’m reminded of this passion. Whether climbing a fourteen thousand foot mountain or descending the depths of a remote river canyon, the intrigue of traversing a new trail or discovering water I’ve never fished is exhilarating! It’s the closest thing I know to being a kid again. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy the ease of familiarity. I do, but there is something special about stumbling upon the unfamiliar… unexpectedly.

I had such an encounter just the other day while fishing one of my favorite stretches of water on the South Platte River. I had parked my truck at the trailhead and was making my way into the canyon, when I came upon an opening in the trees just several hundred vertical feet above the river floor. Stopping for a quick breath, I starred over the tops of things. Boulders the size of small houses teetered one against the other, while north facing pines – still holding remnants of a recent snow – towered overhead. Like a long lost friend the morning sun finally crested the mountain. Its warmth nudged the forest from a winter’s sleep and removed the chill from my face. Being mid February the sun’s arc in the sky had began to steepen, but still not enough to illuminate the deepest recesses of the canyon… where I would soon be. Listening closely I heard the sound of water crashing below. It reminded me of why I was there, and why this place never seemed to get old, and why those who questioned God’s creative handiwork shouldn’t!

I continued my descent into the canyon as the trail morphed into more of a free climb than single track. Scrambling over and under giant chunks of granite I methodically made my way toward the river. From time to time I’d come to a fallen tree that had wedged itself precariously between the rocks. Without hesitation I’d tightrope across its whitewashed trunk, without even the slightest fear of falling. Something about the vastness of open space, and the thought of a trout awaiting, gave me incredible focus.

Soon stream side I dropped into an opening between several large slabs and within a step or two I found myself in a micro slot canyon. At my feet was the river, all around me a sanctuary of sky-scraping stone. Upstream from where I stood the water flowed wide and slow. Downstream it narrowed and built speed before disappearing into the shadow of the slot. I observed the motion of the current as it passed over the river bottom. Intermittent reflections of a cloudless sky sparkled in each rise and fall of the ripple. Adjusting my focus I spotted a pocket of prime water just several feet from the bank. It was there I made my first cast of the day.

A ribbon of blue and green carried my fly from the top of the riffle and into a shallow pool. After a short pause it continued into the tailout of the run where it made a leisurely, but intentional deviation from the main current, and then vanished from my view. Intrigued, I stepped a bit further downriver so I could see around the other side of this giant rock formation and into the center of the slot. As I did I found a hidden gem…

Tucked back behind the face of the rock was an isolated section of water. Years of erosion and the stacking and leaning of boulders had created a secluded little hollow in the middle of the river – a place out of sight and out of reach for all but the most curious. Amazed by my find I studied the current for a while. I noticed a small portion of water was somehow being siphoned off the main stem of the river and was funneling back upstream in a giant eddy. At the upper end of the turn, just several feet from me, a handful of nice trout were feeding. With these fish facing downstream and my presence hidden behind the rock, I was in perfect position to hook one of these beauties.

Ready for the challenge, I reached for my fly box and began thinking through my approach. This scenario was an interesting one and I didn’t want to spoil it. I started with a nymph setup and pinched on a small indicator. After several drifts through the run, I got no interest. Rigging and re-rigging several times I finally found success… a dry dropper with an Adams up top and a size 18 Zebra Midge below. I hooked four trout and landed three. What a start to the day!

It’s not often I find a treasure like this, at least one fished so infrequently, if at all. When I do I definitely feel blessed. For I know places like these are not found everyday. They’re not intended to be. They’re reserved for those who have purposefully taken the path less traveled, in hopes of finding something… not so ordinary.