With Rod and Line in Colorado Waters

In Short

First published in 1884, this chronicle captures the golden age of American fly-fishing and western exploration. Lewis B. France recounts his summer excursions into Colorado’s wild interior, traversing the high passes around Berthoud and the Grand Valley. Through vivid sketches of wilderness travel, riverbanks, and rustic camps, the book details the quiet magic of mountain streams alongside the practical hilarities of roughing it. Equal parts sporting guide and personal essay, it has endured as a classic of early American outdoor literature because of its easy warmth, sharp observational humor, and enduring reverence for the natural world.

The Story

The journey opens forty years prior to the narrator's contemporary travels, casting a nostalgic glance back to quiet riverbanks, abandoned wharves, and the sweet brackish air of early youth. From this contemplative frame, the travelogue shifts into the dramatic landscape of late nineteenth-century Colorado. The narrative begins in earnest as a happy party rides up through the granite jaws of Devil’s Gate and ascends the sweeping heights of Berthoud Pass. As the path winds past Red Mountain, the author reflects on the grandeur of unnamed peaks, where rushing torrents cut through living green pine forests away up to the timber line.

Crossing the range, the travelers plunge into the heart of Middle Park and strike out for the trout waters of the Grand River and Williams’ Fork. Accompanied by "the Doctor," an even-tempered companion whose casual directions often leave the author scrambling through thick sagebrush or hanging off steep riverbanks, the narrative follows their search for unexploited pools. Along the way, they encounter the varied humanity of the frontier: ambitious tourists laden with expensive tackle and useless colorful flies, local pioneers subduing the wilderness, and eccentric travelers wandering the mountain trails.

The narrative expands through a series of distinct expeditions. The party pushes up Roaring Fork toward the isolated waters of Black Lake, navigating dense fir forests, deep gorges, and treacherous log-jams. The seasonal rhythm carries the writer through rainstorms, high-altitude camps, and variable fishing fortune. Family life intertwines with wilderness adventure as the narrator takes on camping trips with ladies and an infant, detailing the simple domestic realities of tending a campfire, improvising a sheet-iron stove, and guarding a baby on a blanket under the western sky.

Later chapters venture toward Grand Lake and the tributaries of the Rio Grande at Antelope Park. Traveling by buckboard behind unpredictable mules, the author encounters the vibrant, plain-spoken inhabitants of the mountain ranches. The book concludes on a reflective note with a memory from childhood—a Sunday fishing trip under the tutelage of an impeccably dressed, philosophic mentor named Mr. Doe. Returning home in the dark with their questionable Sabbath spoils, the young narrator tastes a fried perch whose memory outlasts the years, cementing a lifelong devotion to the sport and the solitude of the open air.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins Leaving behind the memory of old eastern wharves, the party ascends Berthoud Pass through Devil’s Gate. They marvel at towering granite cliffs, pine-scented air, and the rushing streams that carve their way through the high wilderness.

Into the Grand Valley Striking out past black sagebrush along an Indian trail, the narrator and the Doctor search for hidden trout pools down the Grand River. The author suffers steep banks and dense timber before learning to trust his companion's quiet wilderness navigation.

Encountering the tourists News of successful fishing spreads quickly among nearby camps, drawing city visitors armed with expensive rods and absurdly bright flies. The narrator dispenses practical angling wisdom, offering grey and brown hackles over useless exotic tackle.

Over the range to Black Lake Crawling through log-tangles and dense forests, the expedition crosses the yellowed waters of the Blue River to reach Roaring Fork. They make camp beneath vast fir trees and ascend the high trails toward Black Lake's quiet waters.

Domesticity in the wild The author recounts the lighthearted trials of mountain camping with a family, from tending an unpredictable baby on a blanket to engineering a camp stove out of a simple eighteen-inch sheet of iron.

Rain and rough roads to Grand Lake Riding through mountain downpours behind a pair of stubborn mules, the party negotiates ancient glacial moraines. They eventually reach the secluded settlement of Grand Lake, nestled beneath towering mountain peaks.

The lesson of the Sabbath perch Reflecting on his earliest angling memories, the narrator recalls a Sunday outing with the pristine Mr. Doe. The day ends with a clandestine return in the dark and a memorable breakfast of perfectly fried trout.

The People

• The Narrator: A thoughtful, self-deprecating angler and writer who loves fresh mountain air as much as a quiet pool. He approaches the hardships of western travel with dry humor, deferring to experienced trail guides while maintaining a fierce, independent streak when exploring riverbanks.
• The Doctor: The narrator’s steady, even-tempered travel companion. Imperturbable in the saddle, he leads the way across mountain passes and through tangled deadfalls, offering mild retorts and knowing smiles whenever the author questions his choice of shortcut or trail.
• The City Angler: A visiting tourist outfitted with a fifty-dollar rod, a fifteen-dollar reel, and a broad-brimmed felt hat covered in bright flies. He whips the stream into a froth without landing a fish, serving as a hilarious foil to the quiet, tactical approach of genuine woodsmen.
• The Ranch Landlord at Antelope Park: A resilient, talkative woman running a remote mountain ranch single-handedly after her husband strayed. She greets weary travelers with a relentless stream of family history, offering warm hospitality and fresh milk amidst the rain.
• Mr. Doe: A figure from the narrator’s boyhood whose unblemished linen and polished shoes belied a chaotic home. A quiet philosopher, he introduces the author to the art of angling on the Sabbath while expertly balancing personal convictions with social harmony.

In Its Own Voice

"The ripple of the waves is a melody and the air is fragrant with a brackish sweetness."

Reflecting on the tranquil waters and vanished days of youth that frame the opening of his journey.

"The 'swish' of their poles through the air sounds like the sough of an amateur cyclone, and the fall of the lines upon the water as though some indignant father were having an interview in the woodshed with his first born, and nothing handy but a quarter strap."

Describing the over-enthusiastic, noisy efforts of novice city anglers attempting to fly-fish on the Grand River.

"The first step into the wilderness of life is filled with bright anticipations, and lack of restraint makes one’s happiness as limitless as the great unknown into which one is traveling..."

Pondering the shifting stages of human life and frontier settlement while sitting by the evening campfire.

What It's Really About

Beneath its entertaining anecdotes of stubborn mules and tangled fishing lines, the book explores the deep human need for untamed spaces in an era of rapid industrialization. France contrasts the artificial demands of city life with the humbling clarity found among mountain peaks. The narrative wrestles with the steady encroachment of civilization, lamenting how gold-mining and timber-cutting degrade the wilderness while acknowledging the inevitable pull of human progress. At its core, the text is an meditation on patience: fly-fishing serves not as a drive for conquest or harvest, but as a discipline of quiet observation, ethical sportsmanship, and reverent connection to the natural world.

Why Read It Today

Modern readers looking for a crisp, authentic portrait of the nineteenth-century American West will find a rich reward here. Lewis B. France writes with an easy, conversational intelligence that avoids both romantic posturing and dreary cataloging. His prose combines a naturalist's eye for alpine scenery with the understated, mischievous humor characteristic of early western travel writing.

The book does reflect its period; readers will encounter the casual mid-nineteenth-century prejudices of its era, particularly in brief, dismissive references to Native Americans and frontier labor. The narrative also meanders leisurely, taking lengthy detours into personal philosophy, Victorian literary allusions, and detailed commentary on fishing tackle that may test the patience of those seeking a fast-paced adventure.

Yet for anyone who loves the outdoors, classical essay writing, or historical Americana, the book remains a delight. Its descriptions of mountain rain, pristine trout streams, and campfire companionship feel completely fresh, capturing a timeless slice of wilderness solitude that speaks as directly to readers today as it did decades ago.