The Guadalupe River below Canyon Lake is the southernmost trout fishery in the United States. Canyon Lake Dam was completed in 1964. Cold water released from the dam keeps the river cold enough to hold trout (they generally need water below 69 degrees) for about 8-10 miles. Since the 1970s the Guadalupe River Trout Unlmited (GRTU) chapter has stocked and focused on expanding the fishery. Each year the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department and GRTU stock thousands of rainbow trout. Some survive the Texas summer heat and warming water, but most do not. The trout fishing season goes from about November-March, which is quite different from other parts of the country.

For the last 4-5 years, I have averaged fishing 20+ days there each season. This year, I got a late start, as I was recovering from CAR T-cell Therapy. So, I only got in 12 days.

For my last trip for this season I was joined by Tom Strawther and Steve Edwards. I had planned to go over early Monday morning and fish a few hours before setting up camp—this was a tent camping trip. I had loaded all my gear Sunday afternoon and got up early, prepared to go. But when I stepped outside, the wind was so strong it almost knocked me over. So, I decided to wait and head over a little later in the morning. Around 11:00 am as I was driving down River Road and nearing the river, I sensed myself anticipating my first glimpse of the river. Every time I round the last curve and get my first peak at the river a feeling of peace fills my spirit. I take a deep breath and breath in the river canyon air. This Monday was no exception. It felt good to be in my sanctuary. “Fishing is the chance to wash one’s soul with pure air. It brings meekness and inspiration, reduces our egoism, soothes our troubles and shames our wickedness. It is discipline in the equality of men–for all men are equal before fish.” (Herbert Hoover)

Tom and I arrived late morning and began to set up camp. Though the wind had settled some, it was still blowing steadily from the north, with some really strong gusts. It took Tom and I both to hold on to his tent to get it set up. My tent is a different style and weight (Gazelle), and it went up fairly easily. After we got camp set up, we both took off for an afternoon of fishing. I was able to put a few fish in the net despite trying to cast with a strong north wind coming down the river. Steve arrived while we were fishing and got set up at camp.

After the sun set, the temperature began to drop. It was overcast, but the wind died down some. We fired up the Solo stove and enjoyed visiting around the fire and sipping hot chocolate and other beverages. It got down into the low to mid 30’s that night.

We woke up to a cold morning and ready for some hot beverages—coffee for me and Tom, tea for Steve. After the sun came up over the hills, we all headed out fishing. It was one of those great mornings for fishing but tough mornings for catching. I only caught one fish in a place that I had caught quite a few just a few weeks earlier. No one was really catching fish. I’m not sure what happened, but I suspect that the norther that came through just shut them down.

For lunch I had set my mind on having a hamburger from the Horseshoe Grill, as I had heard good reports on their burgers. The restaurant is open seasonally and is normally closed when we are there. But I figured it might be open for spring break. And it was. So I had a juicy and delicious cheeseburger and onion rings. As I have heard it said in the south, “I was as full as a tick on a blood clot.” That quickly led into a short nap on the gravity lounge chair I had brought for just such an occasion.

After a nap, it was back to another session of fishing. The wind was still blowing quite a bit, though the direction had changed and it was blowing from the south. Again, it was challenging to cast. But I was able to put a few fish in the net. At one point I was intently watching my fly line and fishing one seam. Behind me I heard a squawk that scared the bejesus out of me. I turned around so fast that I almost fell, and I saw a Blue Heron chasing a White Egret. I guess the Egret had infringed on the Heron’s fishing hole. I was hoping I was not too close.

That night it was not quite as cold and the sky was clear. We enjoyed an evening under the stars and conversation around the fire on what would be our last night on the Guadalupe for this season. In our discussion, I inquired with Tom and Steve about their plans for the next morning. Both indicated they needed to pack up and head home. I indicated that my plan was to fish in the morning before heading home. I jokingly told Tom I planned to catch 20 fish in the morning. I really didn’t think I’d catch 20 fish, but I had a feeling that the fishing might be better. I’m not an expert on the influence of the barometric pressure on fishing, but I had a gut feeling that the change in pressure with the norther had slowed the fish down and that by the next morning the fish might be adjusted and ready to feed. I was optimistic. “The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” (John Buchan)

Wednesday morning, we all got up early, had coffee, tea, and breakfast, and started packing. Once I was packed I said goodbye to my friends and headed to a stretch of the river that I had finished the season on for the last several years—it’s almost become a season closing ritual for me. I started catching fish fairly soon, and before I knew it I was up to ten in the net. I took photos (for proof!) and sent some of them to Tom and Steve, who were both on the road home by then. I continued to fish and caught more fish. I was catching some on a nymph rig and some on a streamer rig. The water was so clear that I could see the trout chase after and take the streamer. That was fun. It was an absolutely gorgeous morning. Several times I just stood still and soaked in the beauty, the feel of the water pushing on my legs, taking in the smells and sounds, realizing this would be my last trip to the Guadalupe for awhile. I felt a mixture of gratitude and sadness.

As I fished on, I kept catching fish. At one point I realized I was up to 18 trout and 2 sunfish. Thus, my 20 fish. But by then I determined to catch 20 trout before I left—after all I had made a “promise” to Tom! The last two were a little hard to come by, but I finally caught them—and it was time to quit for the season. I had caught the 20 trout—after all a promise is a promise. Seriously, it was one of those outings where everything seemed to go well. I was casting accurately; I had the right flies; I found the right depth; I was getting natural drifts; I was making quick and solid hook sets; the trout were cooperating. It was one of those mornings when all the stars lined up in my favor.

So, it was a fitting end to my 2025-26 trout season on the Guadalupe River—I went out with a bang.

“More than half the intense enjoyment of fly fishing is derived from the beautiful surroundings, the satisfaction felt from being in the open air, the new lease of life secured thereby, and the many, many pleasant recollections of all one has seen, heard and done.” (Charles F. Orvis)

I’m ready for the next season.