Clear Creek canyon is my getaway for when I have a few hours. It’s not spectacular – so far the fishing has been ho-hum, and it’s right along one of the busiest state highways around, always crammed full of blackhawk weekend casino traffic when I fish it.
The brown trout aren’t big, there’s busted glass and rusted shotgun shells along the banks, and the river is super high gradient, so there are no long, peaceful runs where fish sip dries. But it is a quick getaway, a respite from the pavement and zero-lot lines and barking dogs of our northwest Denver neighborhood. It’s about 12 miles to the canyon from our front door, and it achieves the desired effect of feeling like a world apart. There are wild fish, crags, cold clear water, and plants that look like the lorax’s truffalump trees – enough of a taste of the rockies for someone like me who started his life in the flatlands of central Illinois.
So, in a word, fishing Clear Creek above Golden is serviceable. It scratches the itch, for fish and/or natural beauty, that, for me at least, starts to feel debilitating after about 2 weeks off the water. But I find myself wondering if just Clear Creek alone would be enough. If it were my only option, would I be content to fish it for years on end?
My wife and I dream about moving somewhere smaller, slower, cheaper, and while it’s not the rule, many of these bucolic kinds of places don’t necessarily come with a world class trout stream running through the middle of town. In other words, there’s a reason why a quarter of a million dollars will only buy you a 1,000 square foot condo in a place like Glenwood Springs – namely, the town’s proximity to what most skiers and fly fishermen feel is darn near paradise on earth.
And so, I have become obsessed with place. No, that’s not quite right. I have become obsessed with finding a place. A place where we can raise our son and he will have warm, golden-tinted memories of his childhood as a result; a place where we can be on quality water fairly quickly; a place with trails and forests nearby; a place where we could someday work part-time and still live a comfortable life; and maybe most importantly, a place where buying a quality house doesn’t also mean mortgaging our son’s future (or ours).
If I could achieve all of the above but not have quality water, I think I’d be willing to make that trade-off. But I’m convinced I can have it all, and it’s become a personal holy grail of sorts. I’ll check back in occasionally with updates on my search for the last (cheap) best place, and if readers have any ideas of their own on this topic, as always, please leave them in the comments section.
In the meantime, keep walking toward the light.



















