One Thousandth of an Inch: Mike Clark and the Art of the Bamboo Fly Rod

Inside South Creek Ltd. With Bamboo Fly Rod Maker Mike Clark

Inside South Creek Ltd. in Lyons, Colorado, where Mike Clark has spent nearly five decades building bamboo fly rods by hand.

Mike Clark has been building handmade bamboo fly rods at South Creek Ltd.since 1979.

Talk to any fly fisherman on the planet and the conversation will eventually focus on this fish or that fish they so gracefully put in the net, usually with a heavy and repeated emphasis on inches. One time I caught a 35-inch something or other on this river, yada yada yada. The fish gets a little bigger as the night goes on, as does the fight needed to land it.

Mike Clark is a perennial fly fisherman, and that’s obvious when you see him lay down a cast, but in his business he deals with one-thousandth of an inch. That’s how precise the measurements are on his custom handmade bamboo fly rods. And that’s one reason you’ll go on a two-year waiting list after putting down a deposit for one.

Most folks without the fly fishing disease cruise right through the charming town of Lyons, Colorado, population 2,000, give or take, on their way to Estes or Rocky Mountain National Park. It’s easy enough to do. Lyons sits where the plains begin folding themselves into the foothills, a place people often treat as a sandwich stop or the beginning of somewhere else.

Those in the know, however, go out of their way for South Creek Ltd.

Mike Clark inside South Creek Ltd. in Lyons, Colorado, surrounded by bamboo cane and generations of fly rod history.

It’s not a fly shop in the traditional sense. There aren’t aisles of plastic gadgets a grizzled guide insists you need before your next day on the river. Even from the sidewalk, you can tell this place is different.

Inside the large front windows are stunning trout mounts beneath plush maroon curtains, pulled back to reveal a pile of bamboo that stands from the floor and kisses the vaulted ceilings. Walk through the door and you’re greeted by a panorama of exquisite rods and reels lining the walls and filling antique glass display cabinets. Everywhere you look there is wood, metal, cork, cane, old photographs, fishing history and the accumulated evidence of a man who has spent most of his adult life thinking about fly rods.

The design, presentation and texture of the room make it feel less like a store than a private fly fishing museum or art gallery that, somehow, you’ve been allowed into. Move closer, though, and you’ll realize almost everything is for sale. Even a rod made more than a century ago.

South Creek Ltd. is also home to antique rods made by some of the craftsmenwho helped shape the history of bamboo fly fishing.

Mike doesn’t only sell his own custom rods. He deals in antiques made by many of the legendary craftsmen who came before him, which means the shop functions as both his place of business and a physical timeline of the craft. Pick something up and there’s a good chance Mike can tell you who made it, when they made it and why it matters.

Speaking of legends, there’s a framed photograph sitting on the counter showing three men in fishing gear beside a river. To the undiscerning eye, it’s just that: three guys on a fishing trip.Again, to those in the know, it’s something else entirely. One of them is Mike. Another is John Gierach, the great fly fishing writer and longtime Lyons resident. The third is A.K. Best, the world-famous fly tier. Both were dear friends of Mike’s. Both are now gone.

“I’m short on friends these days,” Clark says.

A handwritten note from the great Eric Clapton - a customer of South Creek.

He doesn’t dwell on it. That seems to be Mike’s way. At 79 years old, there’s plenty of history around him, but not much interest in turning sentimental about it. The articles are there. The rods are there. The stories are there if you ask. But there is also work to be done. And you don’t keep company like Gierach and Best for decades as an Average Joe.

The fact of the matter is that Mike Clark is one of the last of a dying breed. Few, if any, will ever rival the level of craftsmanship coming off his workbench, which sits in another space connected to the showroom. If you stop into South Creek on the right day, you might get a peek behind the curtain and see the master at work.

Mike's workbench bears the accumulated tools, materials and evidence of nearly five decades spent building bamboo fly rods.

At first, watching Clark in his element might seem almost unimpressive. You might wonder, What’s the big deal? And why the hell are these things so expensive? His rods start around $3,000 and go up when you add things like custom engraving, 24-karat gold plating or a leather rod tube.

The answer becomes clearer the longer you watch.

Mike started building bamboo fly rods in 1979 and has been striving for perfection ever since. Nearly five decades of doing something over and over has a way of removing all the unnecessary movement. Today his actions are slow, fluid and economical. Nothing seems particularly difficult because he’s spent 47 years making sure it doesn’t.

Don’t be fooled.

Building a bamboo fly rod requires repeated handwork and measurements precise to one-thousandth of an inch.

Each rod is one of one and goes through roughly 1,400 operations and inspections before Mike will consider letting it leave the shop.

That level of thought begins long before he touches a piece of bamboo, all of which has been seasoning for four years. Mike wants to know where you fish. What kind of water. What part of the world. What species you’re after. How you intend to use the rod.

Those answers matter because they determine what he builds.

South Creek isn’t a place where you click a few boxes online, enter a credit card number and wait for a tracking notification. The person making your rod wants to understand why you want it in the first place.

Mike cares.

Each custom rod begins with seasoned bamboo and is built for the water, species and fishing style of its eventual owner.

That’s what makes his rods coveted. It’s also why he has no problem throwing one in the garbage if it isn’t 100 percent to his liking, even if the flaw is so minute that nobody other than Mike Clark would ever know it existed.

Think about that for a minute. After all the hours, all the individual operations, all the measurements and all the accumulated knowledge required to get a rod nearly to completion, nearly perfect still isn’t good enough.

Decades of repetition have made Mike's movements at the bench slow, deliberate and economical.

There are innumerable ways Mike could increase production. He knows that. There are machines that could make certain processes faster. He could hire more people. Streamline things. Increase output. Make more money.

He doesn’t care.

The final product is the concern because Mike knows the rod will outlive the person who ordered it.

His clients don’t buy these things because they need another fly rod. You can catch trout perfectly well with a mass-produced graphite rod that costs a fraction of the price. Mike will be the first person to remind you of that.

“The fish don’t care how much your rod costs,” he says.

That might be the best explanation for South Creek.

The fish don’t care.

The fisherman does.

Roughly 1,400 operations and inspections go into a Mike Clark bamboo fly rod before it leaves South Creek Ltd.

A Mike Clark rod will be cherished by its owner, then very likely handed to a son or daughter, and perhaps someday to someone who hasn’t even been born yet.

But Mike doesn’t build them to be mounted over a fireplace.

He builds them to be fished. To get wet. To be carried through brush. To bend against trout. To create memories. And maybe, decades from now, to create somebody else’s memories.

That philosophy makes more sense when you step into his workshop.

The place feels lived in because it is.

Mike’s lifetime of passion and hard work can be felt at the bench and in everything surrounding him. Antique wood cabinets are filled with tools. Exotic materials occupy corners. Photographs and art hang on the walls. Objects have naturally migrated into the places where they belong after years of use.

The details that separate one rod from another can be nearly invisible to everyone except the man who made it.

His domain reminds me of an old barbershop. Not one of the new ones designed to look old, but the real thing. A place where the tools, cabinets, pictures and furniture have developed a certain patina that can’t be bought or manufactured.

It only comes from repetition. From someone standing in the same place and doing the same thing well for a very long time.

Look at the linoleum around the chair in an old barbershop and you can see where the barber stood during decades of haircuts. Mike’s shop has that same feeling. You can feel his presence at the bench as he works each piece of cane down to one-thousandth of an inch.

There is something almost comical about that number when you consider how fly fishermen normally measure things.

We brag in inches.

Mike works in thousandths.

Mike doesn't build his rods to hang over a fireplace. He builds them to be fished.

At 79, Clark moves and talks with the bravado of a man with nothing left to prove. His Missouri roots never faded, and there’s a swagger to him, but it doesn’t come across as arrogance. It’s closer to the confidence of someone who knows exactly what he can do because he has spent nearly half a century doing it.

More importantly, he knows what happens after one of those rods leaves Lyons.

Someone takes it to a river.

Maybe in Colorado. Maybe Montana. Maybe halfway around the world.

They string it up. Step into the water. Make a cast.

Eventually, if things go right, a trout eats.

And for a moment, all those years of experience, four years of aging bamboo, 1,400 operations and inspections, and measurements made down to one-thousandth of an inch disappear into something wonderfully simple: a fisherman standing in moving water with a bent rod in his hand.

Meanwhile, Mike sits at his bench figuring out how to make an even better one.

After years of experience, thousands of individual steps and measurements made to one-thousandth of an inch, the rod eventually arrives where Mike intended it to be: on the water.

Photography & words by Rob Hammer

About the Photographs

I've spent years photographing fly fishing throughout Colorado and the American West, but the culture surrounding the sport has always interested me as much as what happens on the water. The people, places, traditions and skills behind fly fishing tell a much larger story.

Photographing Mike Clark at South Creek Ltd. is also part of a broader interest in people who have dedicated their lives to doing something well. Whether it's a bamboo rod maker in Colorado, a cowboy working cattle, a barber who's stood behind the same chair for decades or craftspeople making leather by hand, I'm drawn to work that still bears the evidence of the person who made it.

Explore more: Fly Fishing Photography | Fine Art Fly Fishing Prints | At Work Photography

Alaska Fly Fishing Photographs

Alaska Fly Fishing Photography

Fly Fishing in Iliamna and the Remote Rivers of Alaska

There are very few places left where getting to the river is half the adventure.

In Alaska, a normal day of fly fishing might start by climbing into a de Havilland Beaver, taking off from Iliamna, and flying over a seemingly endless landscape of tundra, lakes, braided rivers, and mountains. From the air there are almost no signs of people. No roads leading to the water. No parking lots. Just river after river disappearing into country that seems to go on forever.

Then the pilot picks one.

The plane drops down, the floats hit the water, everyone unloads their rods and packs, and the Beaver disappears again.

Now you're standing in the middle of Alaska with a fly rod.

That's a hard experience to beat.

The flights were almost as exciting as the fishing, with the landscape stretching out below.

Rod and gear in hand, a fisherman crosses the tundra on the way to the water.

Photographing Fly Fishing in Alaska

I've photographed fly fishing in a lot of beautiful places over the years, but Alaska is different. Not necessarily because every photograph is more dramatic, but because everything surrounding the fishing becomes part of the story.

The airplanes. The pilots. The guides. The weather. The bears. The long drives down dirt roads. Wet waders hanging wherever they'll dry. Whisky and bear spray rolling around on the dashboard of an old truck.

And eventually, the fish.

That's what interested me most photographically. I wasn't trying to come home with a collection of pictures of people holding trout. I wanted the photographs to show what it actually felt like to be there.

The de Havilland Beaver waits on the river, ready for the next flight.

Fishing a stretch of water in the Alaskan backcountry.

After a day on the river, a silver salmon comes out of the water.

Flying Out of Iliamna

Iliamna is the kind of place that immediately makes you aware of just how enormous Alaska is.

From the air, the scale becomes ridiculous.

Rivers twist through the tundra without a building anywhere in sight. Lakes appear below the plane and stretch toward the horizon. Mountains and volcanoes rise in the distance. Every once in a while you spot another float plane or a small structure, but mostly you see empty country.

For a photographer, the flights were almost as exciting as the fishing.

I'd spend as much time looking out the window as possible, photographing the landscape below and watching the light change across the ground. Then we'd land somewhere completely different and start all over again on foot.

The view from the cockpit on the way to another remote river.

By evening, the lake reflects the mountains across the water.

The Fish Are Pretty Good Too

Of course, nobody travels all the way to Alaska with a fly rod because they don't care about fish.

The fishing can be absurd.

Rainbow trout, Arctic grayling, Dolly Varden, silver salmon and other salmon species move through these waters depending on the river and time of year. Some of the trout are the kind of fish that permanently screw up your expectations when you return home.

But Alaska also changes the way you think about a successful day of fishing.

You might spend an hour working a stretch of river only to have a bear wander into the same area and effectively end the discussion about who gets to fish there.

The bear wins.

Every time.

Bringing the fish to the net marks the end of another stretch on the river.

A rainbow trout rests in the net after being brought in from the river.

Fishing continues into the evening under an Alaskan sky.

An Arctic grayling comes out of the river after the day's fishing.

Sharing the River With Bears

Seeing a grizzly bear from the window of an airplane is one thing.

Standing in a river with one is another.

Bears are simply part of fishing in Alaska. You're traveling through their habitat and fishing for many of the same things they're looking for. Sometimes that means getting out of the water, backing off, and letting them do whatever they're going to do.

Those encounters have a way of immediately correcting your perception of where you stand in the food chain.

They're also part of what makes Alaska feel genuinely wild. Not wild in the marketing sense of the word. Actually wild.

You're a visitor there.

Four fishermen share the river with a grizzly bear in the distance.

Grizzly tracks cross the sand along the river, a reminder that fishermen are visitors here.

Fishing in Alaska comes with the occasional reminder that you're in bear country.

More Than Fishing Photographs

The older I get, the less interested I am in photographing only the obvious part of an activity.

A picture of someone holding a giant rainbow trout certainly has value, but it doesn't necessarily tell you what the trip felt like.

Sometimes the photograph that stays with you is a fisherman walking across an empty landscape.

Or a guide heading back toward the float plane.

A rod leaning against an old truck.

The view through the windshield on the way to the water.

Friends laughing at the end of a long day.

Those pictures fill in the spaces between the fish. And years later, they're often the ones that bring the experience back most clearly.

That's the part of fly fishing photography that continues to interest me.

On the road to the water, fishing gear and the day's essentials ride along on the dashboard.

Fishermen make their way across the river beneath the mountains.

Alaska From the Air

There is also something about seeing Alaska from a small airplane that changes your understanding of the place.

From the ground, you're standing beside one river.

From a few thousand feet up, you realize there are hundreds more.

They snake across the landscape in every direction, most of them inaccessible by road and many without another person anywhere nearby.

It's impossible to fly over that much water without wondering what's down there.

That's probably dangerous thinking for a fly fisherman.

From the air, Alaska's tundra stretches out in every direction, with rivers cutting through the landscape.

Lakes and mountains spread across the landscape below the float plane.

Far below the float plane, a braided river winds through the tundra.

Why Alaska Sticks With You

Eventually the plane comes back.

You load the rods, climb inside, put on the headset, and watch the river get smaller beneath you.

Tomorrow you'll probably fly somewhere else.

That's Alaska fly fishing.

Yes, there are big trout and salmon. That's certainly part of the attraction. But reducing Alaska to the size or number of fish misses most of what makes the place special.

It's the uncertainty of where you're going that morning. It's flying over country without roads. It's standing in a river and realizing a grizzly bear has considerably more authority over the situation than you do. It's the people you fish with and all the strange little moments that happen between leaving the lodge and coming home.

The fish give you an excuse to go.

Everything else is why you remember it.

Taking a break and sharing a laugh.

Fishing gear and an old truck are part of the routine between the road and the river.

From above, mountains and glaciers stretch across the landscape in every direction.

Fly Fishing Photography, Prints & Licensing

This Alaska series is part of my larger body of fly fishing photography documenting anglers, guides, rivers, and the culture surrounding the sport throughout the American West and beyond.

Select fly fishing photographs are available as fine art prints, and images from the Alaska archive are also available for commercial and editorial licensing.

View more of my fly fishing photography or browse available fly fishing photography prints.

For all licensing inquiries, contact me directly at rob@robhammerphotography.com.

Rivers and lakes wind through the tundra as the float plane passes overhead.

Bullet holes cover a weathered road sign along the road to the river.

Sharing a laugh between the flight and the fishing.

Working a stretch of river with a landing net.

Casting across the river with the mountains in the background.

Patagonia Fly Fishing Photo Shoot

Fly Fishing Photography for Outdoor Brands: A Patagonia Assignment

There’s a difference between photographing fly fishing and photographing it for a brand like Patagonia. First off, the authenticity factor needs to be high. Their name carries a lot of weight, which means they wouldn’t even consider staging a scene for the sake of a beautiful photograph because they know real photographs come from real life.

This set of photographs came out of a shoot where the goal wasn’t just to document someone fishing—it was to create images that feel real, grounded in the environment, and aligned with the kind of storytelling Patagonia is known for.

Fly fishing rods, packs, and gear sit along the rocks while an angler prepares for time on the water.

Photographing Fly Fishing As It Really Happens

Nothing about this shoot was staged. Everything was left to chance and trust that we could make the most out of anything that came at us.

All of the variables involved with fly fishing is exactly what makes it worth photographing. So instead of forcing moments, the focus was on staying patient and letting things unfold:

• anglers moving through the river like I wasn’t there

• subtle interactions with the water

• quiet moments between netted fish and missed hook sets

Those are the images that feel honest—and the ones that outdoor brands actually respond to.

Two anglers move carefully through the canyon with fly rods, packs, and landing nets on their backs.

Standing below large boulders, the angler works along the river’s edge.

An angler kneels among the rocks, working with his line beside an open fly box.

Why Brands Like Patagonia Value Authentic Photography

Brands like Patagonia don’t need generic “guy holding fish” photos.

They’re looking for:

• connection to the environment

• restraint in the imagery

• a sense of place that feels specific, not interchangeable

The goal isn’t to oversell the moment. It’s to document it in a way that feels believable. That approach carries through everything—from composition to editing. Nothing overly polished. Nothing that feels artificial.

Patagonia has built an incredible reputation for themselves, so they certainly don’t need my approval, but I can’t say enough good things about them. Most commercial brand photoshoots have a relentless focus on logos. Not only does Patagonia care less about that, they aren’t even concerned about a fly fisherman wearing other gear in their photos. There are very few companies in the world with the confidence do shoot like that, but it’s because they know the experience sells the gear!!

From the edge of the rocks, the angler casts into the river below.

An angler moves through driftwood and loose rock while working his way along the riverbank.

Beside a tall rock wall, the angler keeps close to the quiet water.

The Role of Landscape in Fly Fishing Photography

In a lot of fishing imagery, the landscape becomes secondary.

Here, it’s just as important as the angler.

Wide frames that show scale. Compositions where the figure is small in the environment. Light that defines the mood more than the action.

That balance is what separates strong outdoor lifestyle photography from generic fishing content.

An angler steps between river rocks with a fly rod in hand, moving carefully along the water.

An angler sits low on a river rock, working with gear between casts.

An angler stands in clear water with a landing net in hand, surrounded by rocks, driftwood, and shallow current.

An angler smiles while tying a fly near the river as bright light moves through the canyon.

An angler crouches near the river with a landing net, framed by the scale of the surrounding boulders.

A Different Approach Than Traditional Fishing Photography

Most fly fishing imagery leans heavily on results:

• the fish

• the grip-and-grin

• the “hero” moment

There’s nothing wrong with that—but it’s not the only story.

This shoot focused more on:

• process over outcome

• atmosphere over action

• subtlety over spectacle

That shift tends to resonate more with brands that care about storytelling, not just documentation.

An angler climbs over the rocks with a fly rod in hand and a landing net secured to his pack.

A trout rests in the landing net, held briefly in shallow water.

Two anglers pause in the trees with fly rods and nets, adjusting gear before moving back toward the water.

Two anglers work different parts of the rocky river, moving through current, boulders, and fallen wood.

A wide stretch of river holds the angler small against the trees, rocks, and canyon terrain.

Fly Fishing Photography for Brands and Editorial Use

This work is part of a larger body of fly fishing photography created over the past decade for:

• outdoor brands

• editorial features

• conservation-driven campaigns

The focus stays consistent: real moments, real environments, and imagery that feels connected to the culture of fly fishing—not just the visuals.

A close view of the cast shows the motion of the rod, line, and water in the same frame.

An angler rests on a river rock with his fly rod and gear nearby.

Beneath the canyon walls, the angler stands in moving water with his fly rod in hand.

An angler moves through the brush with a fly rod in hand and a landing net on his pack.

Related Fly Fishing Photography Work

For more work in a similar vein:

• Fly fishing photography from the Colorado River

• Editorial work including features and cover imagery

• Duck hunting photography created in real field conditions

Prints and Licensing

Select photographs from this body of work are available as fine art prints.

View available fly fishing prints

Licensing is also available for brands, publications, and campaigns looking for authentic fly fishing imagery created in real conditions. Contact me directly for details - rob@robhammerphotography.com

Moving through rocky current, the angler steps carefully between stones with his fly rod in hand.

Boots, rods, and wet gear dry around camp after a day on the river.

Two anglers put their rode in a rod vault near a rock tunnel, taking in the light after a long day on the water.

Fly Fishing Photography in Estes Park, Colorado

Fly Fishing Photography Near Denver: Estes Park and the Front Range

Not every fly fishing trip is a destination trip.

Some of the most consistent time on the water happens close to home—quick drives when you only have a couple hours in your work schedule or you need to get back on a plane.

Estes Park sits right on that edge for Colorado’s Front Range. Close enough to Denver to be accessible, but far enough to feel like a different environment entirely. It might not come with all the fanfare of Colorado’s most iconic fly fishing locations, but it sure is pretty.

This series of photographs comes from time spent working in that space—fishing and photographing in real conditions, without the pressure of a “big trip” or a big name location.

Estes Park Fly Fishing

Fly Fishing Close to Denver Changes the Approach

Fishing within reach of Denver means working with limitations:

• tighter timeframes

• unpredictable weather

• more pressure on the water

From a photography standpoint, that changes how you shoot.

You don’t have a full day on the water, so there’s less waiting for perfect conditions and more adapting to what’s in front of you:

• shifting light through the canyon

• quick decisions on composition

• moments that happen once and don’t repeat

It forces a more responsive way of working—and often leads to more honest images.

A fly fisherman in a rocky canyon near Estes Park, CO

Real Conditions, Not Ideal Ones

In the Rocky Mountains there is no such thing as ideal conditions, and that’s a lot of the fun - you’re always finding a way to make the most of what comes at you. That part of the process is what’s so addicting about fly fishing and photographing the sport.

Instead of building images around ideal conditions, the focus is on documenting what’s actually there:

• anglers adjusting on the fly

• reading water in real time

• working through imperfect situations

That’s why the work separate from all the polished, staged imagery found out there on the internet for 50 cent a download.

Winter trout fishing in the Front Range outside Denver, CO

Rainbow Trout - Estes Park

Why Local Water Produces Strong Photography

When you’re not chasing a “bucket list” location, the mindset shifts.

You’re not trying to prove anything—you’re just paying attention.

That tends to lead to:

• more observational images

• better use of available light

• compositions that feel less forced

Over time, those images become more useful for:

• editorial storytelling

• brand work that values authenticity

• regional campaigns tied to Colorado and the Front Range

Fly fishing in the snow near Estes Park, CO

A mallard swims in front of a fly fisherman on the Big Thompson River

Fly Fishing Photography for Regional and National Use

Work created in accessible environments like this often translates well across different uses.

It doesn’t rely on a specific landmark or recognizable destination. Instead, it focuses on:

• the act of fishing

• the relationship with the environment

• moments that feel familiar and repeatable

That makes the images flexible for:

• outdoor brands

• editorial features

• tourism and regional campaigns

A fly fisherman kneels in the river to avoid spooking fish near Estes Park

Removing hook from Rainbow Trout

Part of a Larger Body of Fly Fishing Work

This series connects to a larger and ongoing body of fly fishing photography across different environments:

• larger river systems in the American West

• intimate canyon locations

• editorial assignments

Each location brings a different pace and visual language, but the approach stays consistent—real conditions, no staging, and a focus on the experience rather than the result.

A fly fisherman approaches with stealth to avoid spooking fish

Black and white photo of winter fly fishing in Estes Park

Prints and Licensing

Select images from this series are available as fine art prints, particularly landscape-driven compositions that work well in interior spaces.

View available fly fishing photography prints

Licensing is also available for brands, agencies, and publications looking for fly fishing imagery created in real conditions. Contact me for details - rob@robhammerphotography.com

Abstract river photograph

Cheesman Canyon Fly Fishing Photographs

Cheesman Canyon Fly Fishing Photography on Colorado's South Platte River

Few places in Colorado fly fishing carry the reputation of Cheesman Canyon.

For decades, anglers have made the hike into this rugged stretch of the South Platte River in search of some of the most challenging and rewarding trout fishing in the state. Steep granite walls, crystal-clear water, and wary wild trout have made Cheesman Canyon a destination that many fly fishermen dream about long before they ever step onto the trail.

These photographs were made over several visits to the canyon and are part of an ongoing project documenting fly fishing throughout Colorado and the American West.

A fly fisherman leaps from rock to rock in a picturesque Colorado trout stream

Why Cheesman Canyon Is One of Colorado's Most Iconic Fly Fishing Destinations

Located below Cheesman Reservoir southwest of Denver, Cheesman Canyon is often considered one of the premier trout fisheries in Colorado.

The hike alone separates it from many other rivers. Reaching the water requires commitment, and once anglers arrive, they are greeted by a landscape that feels far removed from the Front Range cities just a short drive away.

Towering granite formations rise above the South Platte River while deep pools, pocket water, and long runs create endless opportunities for both fishing and photography.

Fly fisherman wading across the South Platte River

A trout bends a fly fisherman’s rod in Cheesman Canyon

Photographing the South Platte River in Cheesman Canyon

What makes Cheesman Canyon so compelling from a photography standpoint is the combination of landscape and human experience.

The canyon is visually dramatic, but the people who fish it are equally interesting.

The careful approach to each pool.

Long drifts through difficult currents.

Hours spent studying rising trout.

The patience required to succeed here becomes part of the story.

Many of my favorite photographs from Cheesman aren't necessarily fish pictures at all. They're images that capture the anticipation, concentration, and persistence that define fly fishing in places like this.

A fly fisherman walking underneath large boulders

A trout illuminate by beautiful light

The Challenge and Reward of Cheesman Canyon

Anyone who has spent time in Cheesman knows that success is never guaranteed.

The trout are educated.

The water is clear.

The canyon demands effort.

Yet those challenges are precisely what continue to attract anglers year after year.

Part of Cheesman's reputation comes from the fact that it rewards patience and attention to detail. Every fish feels earned.

That combination of beauty and difficulty is what has made the canyon legendary among Colorado fly fishermen.

Fly fishing in Cheesman Canyon surrounded by granite walls

Motion blur photograph of fly fisherman

Fly Fishing Culture Beyond the Catch

One reason I continue photographing fly fishing, besides an addiction to the sport itself, is that the story extends well beyond the moment a fish comes to hand. Excitement about a destination trip or just a day on the water starts well before you arrive at the trail head. Most times, that excitement causes a lack of sleep, but it’s all made better when you jump in the truck with your buddies.

Nobody likes to get skunked on the river. And if someone says they “just like being out there”, that’s only partly true. Because the truth is being out there really does change you, if you let it. All the auxillery things are what make fly fishing special though. There’s always the anticipation of a hard bite, but you’ll never forget time on the road, water, and the campsite with friends.

Places like Cheesman Canyon reveal just how much of fly fishing is about the experience itself.

The river becomes the setting for friendships, traditions, and memories that often matter more than the number of fish landed.

A fly fisherman sitting on a rock preparing his gear

Fly fisherman with a bottle of whisky

Part of a Larger Colorado Fly Fishing Photography Project

These photographs are part of an ongoing effort to document fly fishing across Colorado and throughout the American West.

Additional locations include:

• 11 Mile Canyon

• Rocky Mountain National Park

• Clear Creek

• Colorado River

• Black Canyon of the Gunnison

• Big Thompson River

Together, these collections document not only the rivers themselves, but also the people and culture that make fly fishing such an enduring part of life in the American West.

Netting a trout in Cheesman Canyon

Colorado Fly Fishing Photography Prints and Licensing

Many of my fly fishing photographs are available as museum-quality fine art prints.

View the collection of fly fishing prints

Images from this project are also available for editorial, commercial, and advertising licensing for outdoor brands, publications, tourism organizations, and agencies seeking authentic fly fishing imagery.

For print or licensing inquiries, contact me directly - rob@robhammerphotography.com

Fly fisherman hiking out of Cheesman Canyon

Cheesman Reservoir

San Diego Fly Fishing

Blacks Beach Fly Fishing

San Diego, CA - Photographs

San Diego’s stunning coastline is a paradise for anglers, and Black’s Beach, located beneath the rugged cliffs of Torrey Pines, offers a distinct and rewarding fly fishing experience. Known for its seclusion, surf, and dramatic natural beauty, Black’s Beach is more than a surfing destination—it’s a hidden gem for fly fishing enthusiasts looking to try their hand at casting for Corbina from the beach.

If you’re looking for a fly fishing guide in San Diego, contact Tyler Vanosdell at Mission Bay Fly Fishing.

Tyler on Instagram - @missionbayflyfishing

Olivia on Instagram - @merlinoolivia

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San Diego Fly Fishing

Fly fisherman in Lajolla, San Diego

Two fly fisherman having fun on Blacks Beach in LaJolla, CA

Fly fishing for Corbina on Blacks Beach in San Diego, CA

A female fly fisherman surf casting in San Diego, CA

Two fly fisherman walking on a beautiful section of Black Beach in LaJolla, CA

A fly fisherman getting hit by a wave on Blacks Beach in San Diego, CA

A girl fly fishing in front of the beautiful cliffs of Blacks Beach in San Diego, CA

Two fly fisherman hiking up the dirt trail from Blacks Beach in San Diego, CA

Backpacking in the Flat Tops Wilderness - Yampa, Colorado

Flat Tops Wilderness - Yampa, Colorado

Backpacking - Fly Fishing - Photography

Only about 6 months late on this post, so yeah. Trying to chip away at the piles of images gathering dust on my hard drives from the past year. These are from an incredible camping trip in the Colorado backcountry. Specifically in the backcountry of Yampa. A very small and very remote town that is only frequented by locals, and those lucky enough to know about it. Our "campsite" was about a 5 mile hike from the car. So not crazy, but certainly enough to get far away from everything. Mojo was with me on this one, and he had a blast to say the least. We got in a lot of fishing and a lot of eating. One thing the Yampa backcountry is famous for is the "Devil's Causeway" (seen below).  It's part of a trail with a narrow strip of rock with very immediate and very long drops on both sides. If you fall, you're down. Walking up to it doesn't seem that bad, but once you're there, it gets in your head a little. I saw one kid completely freeze while trying to cross it.