Secret Fishing Spots

I received a call from a good friend a couple of months ago. Word had gotten around, he said, that I was planning on writing a chapter about a reach of river beloved of local carp anglers. He wondered if, maybe, I could see my way clear to leave that one out.

This reach of Brushy Creek, gorgeous and full of fish, probably doesn’t see a dozen anglers in a month.
Photo by Aaron Reed

It was a rather surprising request because a.) I had been back to this stream a dozen times in the previous year, sometimes with this friend in tow, and probably had been taking notes while fishing; I figured everyone knew I was writing about it, and b.) this particular reach of river is one I discovered and explored all on my own (though, to be fair, others had done the same independently).

That conversation did cause me to reflect on the tension inherent in being a lover of solitude and remote streams on the one hand, and the kind of person who thinks everyone should have the opportunity to experience them, on the other.

It’s not a unique conundrum, and it’s not the first time I’ve thought about the issue.

In a 2014 interview with Colorado Public Radio, author John Gierach said: ” You have to think: ‘If I say exactly where this is, how many people are going to come?’ This is something that every fishing writer has to deal with at some point.”

He wrote about the experience in All Fishermen are Liars: So in your stories you begin to casually omit the name of a stream or river, or change its name, or move its location from one state or province to another in order to protect the innocent. You don’t really think you can single-handedly hold off the inevitable, but you do hope you can keep it from being your fault.

Many Central Texas Rivers that offer phenomenal recreational opportunities are mostly unvisited outside of a few parks.
Photo by Aaron Reed

Of course, Mr. Gierach is writing essays that examine characters and relationships and places and some of the big questions of life, through the lens of fly fishing. I am writing a destination guide, the explicit point of which is to help folks experience the creeks and rivers I love best.

I am well aware that it is possible to love a place to death, or, by bringing attention to it, at least change it in unhappy ways. A lot of us who live in the Austin area cringe every time we see a new “Best Place to Live” or “Best Place to Work” listicle that includes our city. I mean, yes… but only if all y’all don’t actually move here.

As I said, I’ve given it some thought. In fact, I spent time weighing the pros and cons of writing about every single river or creek, or segment of one of those rivers and creeks, that ended up in the book. I did the same for the ones that didn’t make the cut. Just last week I spent an afternoon with my 9-year-old on two different local streams that you won’t find in Fly Fishing Austin & Central Texas. Not because I’m being greedy and want to keep them to myself, but because they are small waters and a little bit fragile and probably could not easily sustain very many visitors. If you find them on your own, congratulations, and joy to you, but I won’t be responsible.

But the overwhelming truth is, Central Texas streams are, with just a couple of exceptions, very lightly used. Folks jog around them, picnic on their banks, and admire the views from their porches or balconies, but most locals—those who are not anglers or paddlers—have never dipped a toe in a local river.

Not only are they missing out, but it’s a dangerous state of affairs for the future of our waters. We tend to actively care about what we love, and we love what we know, and we truly know only what we experience. In a nutshell, that’s the conservation argument for publicizing beautiful streams and terrific fishing: it builds a constituency for those places.

That argument may even be true.

You can find pools that look like, the photo on the top of this page, on several Central Texas streams, but this one — minutes from my home — stays in the family. Not because I’m greedy, but because it is such a small stream, and so hard to access, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for what might happen to either the waterway or a reader.

Standing room only. Hopefully this never happens on the Austin waters!
Photo by RyanJLane/

There are places in these United States, steelhead and salmon rivers, mostly, where anglers patiently (or not) wait in line for hours for the opportunity to enter the water and fish a run. There are other places, popular tailwater fisheries, where fly fishers stand nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with barely enough room to make a cast.

Central Texas is not either of those places. Most of our waters can accommodate many, many more anglers than they currently see, and still would not be overly crowded. Or at least they wouldn’t if people spread out a bit.

My hope is that Fly Fishing Austin & Central Texas, with more than 100 legal access points on 18 different streams within about an hour of downtown, will help people do that. My hope is that more people will get on the water, come to love our rivers and creeks, and, in the end, become advocates for them. My hope is that I’m not wrong about all of this, and don’t someday find myself standing in line to fish a stream I used to have all to myself.

Aaron Reed

Aaron Reed

Aaron Reed is an award-winning outdoor writer and Army veteran. He currently splits his time between his native Texas Gulf coast, where he drives a tugboat, and his home near the San Gabriel River in Georgetown, Texas. He is a founding member of the Texas Streams Coalition and has worked for the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department. In 2020, he was awarded the prestigious FFI Roderick Haig-Brown Award. When he is not working, chances are you can find him knee-deep in a stream somewhere around Austin, often with his wife and one or more of his three boys, trying like heck to become a better fly fisherman. His stories and photos have appeared in Southwest Fly Fishing, This is Fly, Kayak Angler, Texas Outdoors Journal, Texas Sporting Journal, Texas Fish & Game, Texas Parks and Wildlife magazine, Lone Star Outdoor News, Austin American-Statesman, Austin Business Journal, the Taylor Press, Soldiers magazine, Leatherneck magazine, Liguorian magazine, The Washington Times, and elsewhere.

6 thoughts to “Secret Fishing Spots”

  1. Aaron, my first thought about your book was that it might open up some really great fishing spots and make them so crowded the fishing would suffer. But I definitely see your argument in favor. A friend and I have fished a small stream in a national recreation area over the last 20-25 yeats. This park gets thousands of people showing up on a nice weekend, but in all these years, I have seen only a handful of people fishing this stream, including the locals. I introduced this stream to a couple of old friends, and they in turn told other people about at a Trout Unlimited meeting. Over the next few weeks, several people showed up with fly rods. Fortunately for us they didn’t meet with immediate success, so haven’t returned. About 25 miles from this stream is Blue River, a pretty good bass and sunfish stream in the warm weather, and a put and take trout stream through the winter months. During the warm season, we might encounter a lot of swimmers and campers in the public areas, but very few fishermen. During the winter however, the area is packed with fishermen from all over southern Oklahoma and northern Texas in search of rainbow trout. This has turned me away from flyfishing for trout unless I can go to areas where they naturally occur and the streams are not so crowded. I definitely agree with protecting the more fragile areas, but don’t really expect a huge influx of flyfishers because you mention some nice spots. Bud Priddy’s book on the Hill Country streams and Kevin Hutchinson’s update of the book informed the public of a lot of explicit access points and Phil Shook’s book also, but in my own limited excursions into the Hill Country, I hadn’t noticed much in the way of a massive invasion of flyfishers along these streams. Although we both know a lot of flyfishers , the sport is still a very small group of people overall as a part of the population. Even among the spinfishers and baitcasting fishers, I haven’t noticed all that many who are interested in fishing streams. Don’t let any naysayers get you down; I am not expecting the Apocalypse to occur on your streams.


  2. While I can see both sides of the argument, I’d like to comment as someone who just moved to San Antonio from Georgia.
    1.) The hill country rivers and streams are beautiful and excellent fly fishing spots. The fly fishing community as a whole should be promoting people respectfully fishing these spots. Additionally, there are TONS of spots to go fish, so it’s not like there are two or three “secret” spots in the area that are going to get trampled on. 2.) I’ve lived here for 6 months and have already found a couple of great spots that I fish nearly weekly with zero pressure. If it wasn’t for Kevin Hutchinson’s fantastic book I doubt I’d have found them at all.

    3.) One of the things that drew me to fly fishing years ago was both the camaraderie and the solitude as well as the character of the people who enjoy this sport. I think we should be trying to promote the sport, not putting people off due to ‘exclusivity’. Fly Fishers already have that image problem to tend with. There aren’t nearly as many die hard Fly Fishers out there as we think and most everyone I have ever met has been helpful and respectful of each other and the environment they enjoy. In my opinion, the types of people who will ‘wreck’ a spot aren’t the types of people who will stick with fly fishing long enough to come back and do it again. I’m not saying to give everyone who asks you on instagram the GPS coords to your favorite spot, but I don’t agree with keeping everyone in the dark, either. Can’t wait for the book, Aaron, and I look forward to supporting you for taking the time to write it.

    1. Aaron, welcome to (South) Central Texas. Glad you’re finding the fishing agreeable. And I agree … there is more good water than I can easily fish in a lifetime (assuming I continue working and raising my kids). “Both the camaraderie and the solitude ….” is an interesting juxtaposition, isn’t it? I feel it too.

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