By Paul Lebowitz

Mark Olson paddled his kayak between the green banks of the Colorado River all through the long, brilliant morning. Every few seconds he glanced at the tip of his trolling rod, which jumped at each wiggle of the oversized hardbait tied onto the line. Olson’s beefy rod and reel, standard saltwater gear, looked out of place on the confines of the slow-moving river.

The sun slowly sank into the west without so much as a single strike, yet Olson continued his tireless paddling. With the clock pushing 9:00 p.m., he shrugged his shoulders and gave up for the night, but he was back at his stealthy patrol in the pre-dawn darkness.

On that second morning, just as the first rays of the sun dazzled the cold, clear water flowing from the bottom of deep Lake Mead, a monster finally smacked Olson’s rainbow-trout patterned A.C. Plug.

“Did you see that? That splash was like a cannonball!” Jeff Krieger excitedly shouted. Olson’s friend was just yards away when a powerful striped bass erupted from the river’s surface next to Olson’s lure. Unfortunately the mighty lineside somehow evaded the six sharp hooks dangling beneath the plug.

“That thing must have gone 40-pounds,” the awestruck Krieger said as he shook his head ruefully. The seasoned saltwater angler, a man famous for wrestling muscular thresher sharks onto this kayak, spent a few more moments marveling at what he’d just witnessed. That powerful pinstriped torpedo would’ve pinballed Olson and his kayak from one side of the river to the next. Then, like Olson, he went back to paying his dues, patiently yet hopefully towing his own large trout imitation up and down the slow-moving Colorado.

Olson and Krieger had been drawn away from their normal Southern California stomping grounds to chase after trophy-caliber striped bass. The biggest fish haunt river between the glittering lights of Vegas and its smaller, lower budget offshoot Laughlin. Like the tourists who crowd the gambling dens, the two knew the odds were favored the house. As Krieger said, the mission was big fish or no fish.

All or nothing is the necessary mindset for those who want to connect with the shining stars of this exotic desert waterway. That’s not the case for the other characters that swim between the verdant banks that are such a contrast with the surrounding parched and blasted landscape. Most of the river’s fish are smaller than the giant stripers found on Lake Mojave between Willow Beach and Cottonwood Cove, but these other finny opponents should not be considered lesser lights.

There are school-sized stripers that compensate for their modest size with prodigious numbers. There are trout, stocked where the chilly water issues from beneath hulking concrete damns. Where the river is warmer there are largemouth and smallmouth bass, catfish, and gregarious panfish. Seemingly everywhere along the way there are carp, unloved by many, but considered trophy-class in their own right by some. And the fishing kayak is a prime platform for getting to them all.

The same river that crashes its muddy way through the Grand Canyon usually flows placid and clear along the chain of reservoirs that stretches from just south of Sin City all the way to the distant U.S. – Mexico border.

There’s no whitewater here; it’s easy paddling all along the river that is the east coast of California and Nevada. Or, if you prefer, Arizona’s west coast.

What makes these reaches of the lower Colorado River such fantastic kayak territory? The backwaters: coves, cuts and pools too shallow and weedy for powerboats. The shoreline structure in the canyons: submerged trees and rocks that could tear the bottom out of anything heavier, but pose no danger for plastic kayaks. The launch-anywhere nature of the ‘yak, which means independence from developed and sometimes crowded marinas. And perhaps the most important reason where the waters are usually clear as crystal, the stealth factor.

Along the hundreds of miles of river, there are sections best left to the motorized crowd. The wider portions of Lake Mojave come to mind, as does party central Lake Havasu City during the height of spring break. For paddle-powered fishers, the semi-primitive zones where motorized traffic is regulated are better.

One such area, scenic Black Canyon where the river flows between soaring rock walls, extends from Willow Beach all the way north to Hoover Dam. Another is Topock Marsh, whose fish-filled quiet backwaters are located just north of the busy I-40 freeway. The 16-mile float trip through nearby Topock Gorge offers scenery comparable to if not quite as lofty as the more remote Black Canyon. Just watch out for the jet boats that rocket along the main river channel.

Or choose spots off the beaten path. They need not be all that rugged to filter out the crowds, just distant. One example is California’s Picacho State Recreation Area, located on the southern river between Yuma and Blythe. Getting there from I-8 requires bumping over 18 miles of graded dirt road.

Picacho, particularly the backwater sections of Lake Taylor, is a favorite of kayak bass chaser Ted DeBont. “You’re not going to take a powerboat in there, but the kayak excels,” DeBont said of the weed and reed choked location.

“It’s a different type of fishing. There’s solitude and quiet. It’s a great kayak and camping experience,” DeBont added.

DeBont launches his kayak anywhere he can find a break in the reeds that hedge the shore, and then pedals his Hobie kayak into open lanes and pockets in the fish-sheltering vegetation. Pretty much any bass trick works on these fish that rarely see a lure, but DeBont prefers to throw topwater baits most of all.  

“It can be pretty much wide open. The fish come up and attack. They are very aggressive. They’re mostly smaller bass and stripers, but really fun,” DeBont said.

In the deeper, less obstructed main river channel, DeBont changes tactics. “I point my pedal-powered Hobie kayak upstream into the current where I can stay in one spot while fishing deep diving crankbaits,” DeBont pointed out.

Back on the upper section of the river where big stripers are the prime attraction, fishing large trout imitation lures is common practice. Trout? Yes indeed, the water released from the bottom of prodigious Hoover Dam is cold enough to support trout year-round at Willow Beach. You can be sure the big linesides are keyed into the bonus forage. Farther south trout stocking is a seasonal activity. For those who enjoy rainbow trout in the pan, standard spinning tactics apply.

Just how big do the Colorado stripers come? Jeff Smith took the Arizona state record out of the river in 1997, a whopper 67-pounder. He caught it on a hand-carved A.C. Plug. That lure’s originator, Allan Cole, has caught hundreds of jumbo Colorado River stripers, topping out at an incredible 63 pounds. Clearly, baits that imitate stocked trout produce the big ones.

Cole said his bait works so well at Willow Beach because the plug wobbles its seductive way just beneath the surface. That allows it to be pulled right along the structure-rich shoreline. “If you fish deep here, you’ll get snagged,” Cole explained.

Big striper season runs from March or April all the way through October or sometimes November.

Cole recommends heavy gear, as much to stand up to the oversized bait as to handle a powerful fish. Cole spools up with 25-pound test line. “You could go with 20, but stripers pull pretty good. They hit hard, or sometimes swirl behind the bait,” Cole said.

Clear water and high, bluebird skies make getting on the water during low light situations critical. Once the sun is up, the bottom is often visible 15 or even 20 feet down. It makes for skittish fish. Cloud cover and a bit of wind chop can help. Cole said the bigger stripers bite in unpredictable spurts. “You’ve got to work at it like anything else,” Cole said.

Cole figured a kayak should work well for the Colorado’s magnum linesides. “It’s smaller, slower, and shouldn’t spook them as much,” Cole said.

Olson and Krieger took that advice to heart.

The pair of pro staffers for fishing kayak manufacturer Ocean Kayak hoped to experience the ultimate freshwater sleigh ride. The two paddled and trolled big trout imitations over the course of a long fall weekend. When they were done they’d racked up the river miles, and although Krieger’s new Spro BBZ-1 swam so realistically a sharp-eyed osprey swooped down to nail it, the only other hit they managed was that one near-miss on Olson’s A.C. Plug.

Trever Bray is luckier. He has two nice Colorado kayak stripers to his credit, not huge ones, but respectable fish at 18 and 23 pounds. A couple of years later Bray’s voice still conveys the thrill of those catches.

“It was incredible. They towed me back and forth across the river, zig-zagging from one side to the other. Stripers use the current to their advantage. One pulled me close to half a mile down the river,” Bray recalled.

Bray agrees the stealth factor of the kayak is a big plus. “It doesn’t spook the fish. You can get right over the submerged trees,” Bray said.

Bray wasn’t surprised Olson and Krieger blanked. “I’ve had more skunk trips than successful ones. You’d like to think you’d get something but that’s what it’s like out there,” Bray said. Go big or go home.

Going big is a mission some anglers can accomplish with more confidence. The catch is, instead of bonus linesides, these guys are after the Rodney Dangerfields that live in the river.

“People should give carp a chance. Fight one, and let the fish speak for itself. Carp are one of the best freshwater game fish out there,” Paul Sharman insisted in an accent that gave away his origin. Sharman, born in the United Kingdom, has carp fishing in the blood.

Sharman said the river is a strong, under-appreciated carp fishery. The fish in prime kayak territory, deep in the backwater sloughs and cuts, don’t see many hooks. They’re uneducated. That means those in the know can hook them with the simplest of techniques.

KAYAK FISHING GUIDE Jeff Krieger at Willow Beach.

ALLAN COLE'S A.C. Plug has been tallying trophy striped bass for years. The big rainbow trout imitation is a staple at Willow Beach and Cottonwood Cove.

THE LOWER Colorado River is chock full of structure-choked backwaters that are the perfect playgrounds for kayak anglers. PHOTO BY PAUL SHARMAN

ON THE MORE difficult to reach stretches of the river, kayak anglers can have the water – and the campsite - all to themselves. Pictured: part of California’s Picacho State Recreation Area. PHOTO COURTESY TED DEBONT

Both backwaters and the main river channel shelter catfish. The chief difference is the ones in the sloughs and cuts rarely see a hook. PHOTO BY TERRE DELONG

A LOT OF RIVER ANGLERS turn their noses at the plentiful carp. According to Paul Sharman (pictured with a nice one), that’s a shame, because their missing out on a fine game fish that can be caught with elementary techniques. PHOTO BY TERRE DELONG

A NICELY outfitted river kayak. Note also the incredible water clarity, which contributes to skittish fish

“I use dough balls dipped in the juice from a can of corn,” Sharman said.  Sharman prefers to use the inexpensive, freshly-baked French bread found at nearly every supermarket. He molds it onto a number 4 or 6 bait-holder hook tied onto 12-pound test mono. That’s all there is to it. Except for the thrill of sight-fishing, or the tough close-quarters battle when you get one on the line.

Fighting these fish is tough.

"You’ve got to turn their heads right away or they’ll find snags and cause problems,” Sharman said.     

Finally, a few words on weather and water conditions. The river flows through North America’s greatest desert. It’s wise to prepare for extremes in temperature and the fierce summer sun. Strong, gusty winds are a possible hazard along narrow canyons or on the wider expanses of the larger reservoirs.

River currents are generally mild and not a concern. However, the water level can fluctuate dramatically from hour to hour depending on unpredictable dam release schedules. Riverside camps should be situated high up on dry banks, and boats left unattended must be properly secured.   

And keep one more thing in mind. Olson and Krieger may have gone home without a trophy, but they took their memories of kayak fishing the beguiling Colorado with them. Soaring red rock walls, emerald banks, and one magnum-sized striped bass that splashed down like a cannonball.