Who is the best angler in Northern Colorado? Here's the generic answer

 By Bill Prater

Newcomers to the Loveland Fishing Club often ask, “Who is the best angler in these parts?” Even when my name doesn’t come up, there is considerable debate over what even constitutes “best.” This is a subject more divisive than the best way to skin a catfish. Nonetheless, we are prepared to answer.  

The problem is, this sport is infested with narrow-minded anglers dedicated to one darned species or another: bass, trout, walleye, bluegill, carp. But the truth is, there is neither a single best sportfish nor a single best way to catch them. Dave, Barb, George, Kathleen, John may tell you something different, based on their angling skills of choice. But the Honest to Abe truth is:

You can catch a hell of a lot more fish if you drastically downsize your gear and stop worrying about which species or size of fish should be encouraged to take a bite of your worm. There is a related truth you may not be prepared for: You really oughta just appreciate whatever kind of fish is nice enough to cooperate on any given day.

The best angler, then, or at least the one I admire, is the guy or gal who regularly sizes up the water they’re given, chooses miniscule baits with big appeal, and then proceeds to catch whatever swims by that day. I am impressed by anyone who wins a bass tournament, or harvests a limit of tasty walleye; I truly am. These require skills and single-minded dedication I admittedly lack. But I do try to emulate the guy or gals who regularly win the Loveland Fishing Club’s monthly Fish Bingo contest for catching the most species of fish in the previous 30 days, regardless of size of fish, weather conditions or chosen body of water.

These days I fish totally from the shore or an aging but seaworthy Fat Cat belly boat. This mostly confines fishing to smaller lakes and ponds, but it turns out, that’s okay. Buddies and I do sneak onto bigger water when the weather turns blustery enough to discourage paddleboarders and wake boats. We also, by necessity, fish with the speed of a predatory turtle. We do it for fun, and because it catches fish.

One revelation I’ve had in the past decade is that some - not all - small public fishing holes are home to healthy populations of small, medium and big fish. They’re just typically hard to find because they feel vulnerable and live in a scary place, like introverts in New York City.

Admission time here: I admit, I stopped eating what I catch a long time ago; fish to me are more like friends than snacks. At some point in a life spent seriously fishing, harvesting starts to seem like dating the neighbor girl you’ve known since first grade. You can do it, even enjoy it. But for some reason it just doesn’t seem right. Some people question the ethics of bothering the fish at all with no intention of having them for lunch. But I enjoy their company, not their taste. Also, I selfishly want a lot of them around when I return. Which is why I also crimp the barbs of my hooks, don’t tell Tom Miller where I’m going, or post too many details on the Loveland Fishing Club blog or Fish Explorer.