RICK SCHRODER
THE
GREENBACK
PARTY
It takes a lot of work to get
above treeline into rarified
air, but once you are there,
the even-rarer greenback
cutthroat trout rise eagerly
to a dry fly. by Jonathan Hill
RICK SCHRODER
(Spread) A random post on a fly fishing
Web site inspired a group of anglers to hike
in to Arrowhead Lake. (Above) The author
and a hard-earned greenback cutthroat.
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JANUARY/FEBRUARY 2011 I 51
S
itting in my gray, sparsely decorated cubicle one
January day, I came across a video of three guys
fishing a high-mountain lake somewhere in Rocky
Mountain National Park (RMNP). They were catching large greenback cutthroat trout, but the scenes gave no
clues, no distinguishing features to help pinpoint the locale.
I posted the video to www.coloradomountainfishing.com,
and after some vague and enthusiastic comments, someone
revealed the secret nirvana: Arrowhead Lake.
Several other people on the Web site saw the video, and a
few expressed interest in fishing Arrowhead. Finally, a threeword posting from a forum member named Bob set the ball
in motion: “Let’s go here!” I was in. Soon, there were other
anglers who wanted to join the expedition. That all sounded
great—in theory. But the reality is that Arrowhead is part of
the Gorge Lakes, and all but two of the lakes lie 11,000 feet
above sea level. Reaching Arrowhead requires careful planning
and a very difficult hike.
Still, not allowing the altitude and difficulty to deter us, we
began planning, fact checking, and digging for details. We found
only sparse information, and little of it was encouraging. There
are no designated trails to these lakes, and no campsites. There
were very few hard facts about the fishing or the fish in Arrowhead, which attests to the fact that most anglers would rather
find an easier place to cast a fly. We just knew some guys had
caught some fish up there, and we hoped to do the same.
We also discovered that greenback cutthroat trout (Oncorhynchus clarki stomias) were declared extirpated from
Colorado in 1937. The greenback did, however, resurface in
So, armed with only that little bit of information, five
other members of the Web site and I, ranging in age from
25 to 61, decided to test our physical and mental endurance,
and go exploring for greenbacks. We also hoped to find some
signs of reproduction, and if we did, decided to pass that
information on to park managers. Perhaps that information
could help their assessment, or at least confirm for us that fish
would continue to survive the winters if the stocking program
ceased, and give us reason to make a return trip to Arrowhead.
So the six of us—Bob, Mike, Rodney, Carper, Rick (the
owner of the Web site), and I—picked a weekend in August,
which at the time was six months out. We filled the restless
months by digging for more information, scouting topo maps,
and debating an approach to the lake.
JONATHAN HILL
the 1950s, thriving in the drainages of the Arkansas and South
Platte rivers. Biologists soon began raising fish in hatcheries and
restocking the greenback’s native waters. Unfortunately, there
was no such thing as DNA testing back then, and scientists
eventually discovered they had not been releasing greenback
cutthroats at all, but instead Colorado River cutthroat trout.
In 1973, the greenback cutthroat was added to the
Endangered Species List, and by 1978, successful restockings
of greenbacks in its native waters helped lift its status from
endangered to threatened. Greenbacks made their way to
Arrowhead in 1992, when biologists in the park released 5,000
fry in the lake. Currently, biologists in RMNP are reevaluating
their plans for stocking greenbacks.
At the Trailhead
We established the Milner Pass trailhead as a starting point. The
trail begins at Trail Ridge Road and meets up with the Continental Divide Trail, which eventually turns toward Mt. Ida and
beyond. Before reaching Mt. Ida, however, you have to go off
trail and head eastward along another ridge and then circle back
around to Arrowhead Lake. Since there is no trail to this area,
it’s rough going once you leave the Continental Divide Trail.
We camped outside the park on a Thursday night, with
plans to be at the Milner Pass trailhead around 5 a.m. the next
morning. If all went well, we figured we’d be at the lake and
fishing around 9 or 10 in the morning.
What we had not planned on was the roadblock—literally.
Staff for the RMNP were working on Trail Ridge Road and
had it closed off until 6 a.m. So we sat there on the side of the
road, just us and the elk, until the road re-opened.
We finally reached the trailhead just before 7 a.m., two hours
behind schedule. There, we introduced our packs to our backs
and headed out. The first part of the hike was uneventful but
tough—switchbacks through the aspens and beetle-killed pines.
Heading up above the treeline and on to the Continental Divide
Trail, with its rolling alpine tundra, the hiking grew easier and
our spirits were high until we discovered we’d taken a wrong
turn and had been on the wrong trail for nearly an hour. Once
back in the proper direction, we forged ahead—still feeling good.
After arriving at the off-trail section of our hike, we left
the Continental Divide Trail. We’d been hiking 4 hours and
had about 2 hours ahead. At this point Rodney and Carper
were a good 20 to 30 minutes in front of the rest of us, but
we had a good handle on our bearings and started to head
east. Everything was going pretty well until we heard the clap
The Continental Divide Trail (above) in Rocky
Mountain National Park runs well above the
tree line, and is just one leg of a hike that
leads to Arrowhead Lake and eager greenback
cutthroats (right). The final leg of the hike
follows no path (spread). At Arrowhead Lake,
the intrepid anglers plied the small feader
creeks (left) for greenbacks and signs that
the fish are reproducing.
RICK SCHRODER
JONATHAN HILL
RICK SCHRODER
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JONATHAN HILL
RICK SCHRODER
it, hoping to intersect with the lead hikers. Bob, Rick, and I, not
feeling comfortable with that route, decided to stay on course
and make the planned descent. By the time we made it around
the final rise of the southern side of the ridge and worked our
way down around Lake Amore and past Love Lake, we were
exhausted. Bob dropped his pack, rubbed his moleskin-covered
feet and said, “I’m thinking about search and rescue. I don’t
think I can make it out of here.”
Then, echoing up from the rocky shores of Arrowhead Lake
came a triumphant, “Yahtzee!” Carper was catching fish.
After nearly six hours of hiking, getting rained and hailed on,
bumbling over boulder fields and marshy tundra, we were finally
at our destination. Carper already had caught and released seven
fish, and Rodney had his way with another five. The sun was out
and the fish were biting just about any dry fly you could throw at
them. In just a couple of hours we caught and released roughly
25 greenbacks and missed a couple dozen more. Everyone was
catching fish, but with the sun setting, we had to pitch camp and
say goodbye to the fish until the next day.
On day two, the anglers fished around the eastern and western sides of the
lake and met up at the inlet. They caught plenty of fish on the western shore
and around the inlet, but none elsewhere.
Roughing It
Day two above the treeline had us hoping to meet three primary
objectives: make our way to the inlet and around the whole lake,
of thunder at our backs. We tried to pick up the pace, but the rain
catch some more greenbacks, and find signs of fish reproduction.
and hail caught us just as we entered a huge field of boulders,
The day began with a chill in the air, and by the time we made
which quickly grew slick with rain. It was miserable hiking, and
our way to the lake, the winds were howling. Rick and I decided
we dropped to a snail’s pace. It took an hour to make our way
to hike around the eastern side of the lake and to make our way
through the boulders, but beyond there, we headed diagonally up
to the inlet from there, and the other guys headed around the
the ridge and got our first glimpse of the Gorge Lakes. That amaz- western side. With no trails around the lake, Rick and I were
ing sight was just the mental boost we needed, even though we were confronted with frequent impediments, not just to fishing but also
still at least another hour from setting foot on the gorge floor.
to simply making progress. Stands of willows and other trees reWhen the thunderstorm moved to our north, we rejoiced.
quired bushwhacking and disallowed casting from shore. In other
Carper and Rodney were already off the ridge and heading down areas, fields of rocks made walking rough, or sheer ledges forced us
to Arrowhead Lake. The view inspired Mike, and he could see
to move away from the lake entirely to find passage.
a shorter route down through an avalanche chute, so he took
Still, if we had been catching fish along the way, the hike
I DENT I T Y
JOSEPH TOMELLERI
MI STAK E N
Colorado River Cutthroat
Oncorhynchus clarkii pleuriticus
Greenback Cutthroat
Oncorhynchus clarkii stomias
O
nce considered extirpated from Colorado waters, the greenback cutthroat trout received
stocking efforts from the Colorado Division of Wildlife and other agencies throughout the
1960s and 70s. By 1978 the species was downgraded from endangered to threatened. It was later discovered that many of the stockings
had been of the closely related Colorado River Cutthroat. In the days before genetic testing, techniques to distinguish between the two subspecies
were not available. The most diagnostic field characteristics of the greenback are its larger spots, which are absent from the head, and intense
coloration in mature fish. Due to ongoing recovery, the greenback today survives in 62 different populations, including in Rocky Mountain National
Park, where catch-and-release fishing is allowed. It is the Colorado state fish.
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There’s a reason it’s called Arrowhead Lake. This view was the first glimpse
the anglers had of their final destination. It took the author another 90 minutes to hike down to the lake from where he took this picture.
around the lake would have been more tolerable. But we didn’t
catch any. Maybe it was the high winds, maybe the time of day,
maybe it was that side of the lake.
But when Rick and I finally met the other guys at the inlet,
the effort proved worthwhile. The tundra was a lush green
with blue, white, and yellow flowers sprinkled about. It was just
beautiful—and we caught fish.
There are four separate waterfalls coming in to Arrowhead
Lake, each with small streams and pools. We all spotted fish hanging out in these small pools and streams, and landed a few.
The aspiring entomologist of the group, Rick, picked up a few
rocks in the streams to check for bugs but instead found greenback eggs. Bob and Rick each caught 8-inch greenbacks, and Rick
managed to snap a photo of the young trout. A couple of us also
saw some 3-inch yearlings swimming in the shallows. These were
surely signs of reproductive life.
We fished our way around the western side of Arrowhead. Spotting fish from a 20-foot cliff and casting to them—rushing down
to find a spot on shore to safely net and release was a trick that we
seemed to master with ease. For 45 minutes, Carper and I sat atop a
boulder, spotting fish, taking turns catching and releasing. You could
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drop your dry fly in the cruising lane and the fish would come up
for a closer look. If they looked at it and turned away, you would just
cast to it again, give the dry a little twitch—and fish on!
We caught roughly 50 fish that day, most of them in the 14- to
18-inch range. Carper caught the first fish, most fish, and biggest fish.
That night, after making our way back to camp, we talked incessantly of the days’ catch, signs of reproduction, and talked of
returning someday, even if the park never stocked the lake again.
Our final day arrived with sustained winds of 35 to 40 mph
and visibility at about 30 yards. We had to decide whether to
wait it out or start the hike in hopes that the weather would clear
up as we went. Opting to wait, we finally started our trek around
9 a.m. With a better idea of where we were going, and avoiding
wrong turns, the hike to the trailhead took only 4½ hours. We
headed back to our cars and ice cold beers.
Our final thoughts about the trip were mixed with one
exception: the fishing was phenomenal. We may never get back
to this pristine and secluded area of Rocky Mountain National
Park—but we might. Perhaps, though, someone else will be
inspired as we were to take up this fantastic adventure.
When Jonathan Hill moved to Colorado eight years ago, a friend
gave him some fly-fishing tackle. He’s been using it ever since. He
resides in Littleton with his wife, Karen, and son, Brennon.
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