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Published: March 15th 2017
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I'd like to tell you that I was off with the sun for my foray into Black Canyon, but that would be a lie, It was almost 9:00 by the time I fired up the truck. The research that I had done from back home gave a pretty good synopsis of the fishing in the three branches of the Gila. The west and middle branches are considered the best for trout, or had been, before the awful 2012 fire, which burned for two months, and destroyed over 300k acres of forest. The east branch was not effected by the fires, but for most of it's length it runs in an open canyon, and the summertime water temps rise too high for trout. For the last few miles of it's run however, before it combines with the middle branch, it is cooled by the Black Canyon waters that join it for that section. There are both rainbows and brown trout in that length, along with smallmouth bass. I could not find much info about that lower section of the Black online, but it seemed likely that it would hold some good fish.
On the map I had, it didn't seem too
difficult to reach it, as there was an unimproved road that was shown to run along the east branch, almost all the way to Black Canyon. It looked to be maybe 2-1/2 miles each way, so -- do-able. I parked the truck at the trailhead, put my fishing stuff in my backpack, and headed out. It wasn't long before I saw the flaw in my plan, this was not all Forest Service (Federal) land, and before I had gone even a mile, I ran into a locked gate. There was a sign on that gate, and it was not at all welcoming. My only recourse then was to hike around the fence line of these private holdings. This would not be too bad, because the plots were small, but the terrain was anything but flat, so it required a good bit of climbing and descending. There was quite a bit of Federal land right on the river, but here too the water was running high and cloudy, I still wanted to get to the Black. My map showed a trail, wholly on Forest Service land, that ran over a ridge, with Black Canyon on the other side, so I decided
to try that. It was a struggle, very steep with a nasty loose surface that made for poor footing. I did make it up, but was thoroughly bushed by the time I did. From the ridge line, I had a spectacular 360 degree view. I could see a snow covered mountain with ski runs off to the east, maybe Apache? I could see some really big snowy peaks to the northwest too, probably in Arizona. And to the southeast, right below me, I could see into Black Canyon, with the flowing waters about 800' below me. I looked at my watch, and it was just past 12 noon. Realistically, there was no way in the world that I was going to climb down there, fish, and then climb back out, then walk the 2 miles back to the truck before sundown -- not a chance.
I studied the map for a bit, because I didn't want to double back on my crazy zig-zag outbound track. I decided to walk the ridge line south until I came to a canyon I had passed right near the trailhead, and then follow that back down. The ridgeline distance was covered easily, it
was pretty flat, and the terrain was mostly open, small juniper trees and bone dry brown grass. The views were great, and I especially liked watching the cars, trucks, and campers carefully working their way up and down that long, steep, and winding grade to the hot springs. After an hour or so I came to a lead that would take me down into the canyon. It was steep, and again with a very loose surface, but now at least gravity was on my side. At the bottom though, things were not so rosy. The wash channel there was full of boulders and snags, all kinds of things swept down there when the heavy rainstorms come here. It was miserable walking.
At this point though, I was committed (or should be) and so I just kept going. I had told Cathy that I would be back by 5:30, and the more I was held up by these obstacles, the more it seemed I would be late, and I knew she would be worried if I was significantly overdue. Around then, I came to a more open section, and I could see a ways down toward the river. I heard
a sound, and of all things, it was someone playing the flute! I reasoned that it had to be someone staying in the Forest Service campground at the trailhead -- so it couldn't be much farther.
As I worked my way down into the main canyon, sometimes progress would be better for a while, then again, worse. As I tried to look ahead, I would imagine that every next turn would be the canyons end, but every time I was disappointed. Then there were the thorn bushes, whole thickets of them. I worked my way through them as best I could, but I took some hits too. I saw some amazing sights along the way.. At one point, the water had cut back into a soft layer of sedimentary rock in the canyon wall, and had undercut it in at least 20 feet in. It was high enough that I could walk right through it like a long, curving cave, or even an auto tunnel. As remote and as difficult it was to get there, it made me wonder how many people have ever seen that? I took some pictures of it, but it was so dark down there that they didn't turn out well, and I'm not volunteering to go back and try to get better ones.
In the lower reaches, the stream bed, which had been dry the whole way, began to fill with water. The walls were so sheer that I had no choice but to walk right in the water. It was now past 5:30, and I began to fear that I would not get out before dark. Having to scramble over all these rocks in the dark, with only my little AA Maglite to show the way was not a comforting thought. Then, in a tangle of branches and grass, up against another snag, I saw it --an "Aquafina" plastic water bottle. The first sign of human life I had seen in several hours, and a welcomed sign at that. Only a little ways farther along, a fresh footprint! Then a worn pathway could be seen, and within another few hundred yards, the canyon mouth opened to the river, with the campground just to the west. It was now an hour and a half since I had heard that damn flute player, and he was nowhere in sight. I asked some guys in the campground if somebody here had been playing a flute, and they looked at me like I was a giant talking pickle -- just a blank stare. Another of life's little mysteries I guess?
Soon I was back in the truck, and headed up the road to our camp. I was almost an hour late, so I made a little extra noise with Moby's exhaust, because I knew Cathy would be listening for it, and she was. Soon she went right to work, picking the thorns out of my hide and dousing me with rubbing alcohol -- oowwww! So that's it, my Black Canyon fishing adventure included absolutely no fishing, but rather more adventure than I had bargained for, funny how things turn out.
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