It's hotter than a firecracker. Dusty and dry. The sun's nearly straight up, beating right down on my balding head. Doesn't seem like trout country in the Gila. Too hot. A jay skirts the ground, alights in a pine and squawks at me, making me feel like an intruder. I've worked my bones to get to this place in the wilderness, a few miles in from my truck. My knees are numb, the joints feel like melted cheese. But my elbow's loose for casting a short three-weight rod; my enthusiasm's stuck in overdrive.

Trout fishing is at once an illness and elixir. Why else punish my body to tussle with little copper-colored fish in a far-off canyon?

The canyon is deep, parts of the creek bottom dark and shaded, save for a spattering of yellow sunlight that slips through the ponderosa pines and brittle streamside alders that keep the creek cool. That's where the trout lie, in the shaded waters, pools scoured by water pouring over downed boles. It's a little stream, and it's hard to hide from the Gila trout who know a terrestrial predator when they see one. Riparian ribbons are among the finest of edges in nature, but stalking here is difficult, stealth nearly impossible save for lying on my belly. The coppery flashes of startled trout seeking cover are evidence that I'm too noisy and too big to hide. It takes some work; a bow cast delivers a tiny dry fly onto a riffle. It bounces over the rocks and streams into a glassy glide and wafts in a slow circular motion.

Then it happens. A Gila trout sips the offering off the surface and at once knows it's been outwitted. That's the reward of persistence and determination, first, to arrive at this wild place, and second, to try to think like a fish. It's a scene that's played out time and again, but only in the wild places of my mind.

The Gila trout is off limits to fishing, and has been since before I was born. It's an endangered species, the only endangered trout in the U.S. Not since 1958 have anglers been allowed to fish for these copper trout, denizens of the Gila River headwaters.

But persistence and determination pay off in conservation, too. Biologists from the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, the New Mexico and Arizona game and fish departments, and the Forest Service have worked diligently over the years to improve this trout's lot in life. The Gila trout could soon be down-listed to 'threatened,' and with that will come the real opportunity to go fish, perhaps as soon as spring 2004.

The Gila trout is native only to the upper reaches of the Gila River in New Mexico and Verde River in Arizona. Biologists estimate that the trout originally occupied about 600 miles of streams. At its absolute worst condition, Gila trout retreated to about 20 stream miles from habitat loss and competition with non-native fishes. The good news is, today they occupy 60 miles, and scientists reason that that's enough for the improved conservation status.

Gila Trout Credit Courtesy Bill Roston

Fishing will be a reward, the dividends of conservation. And dividends will be paid elsewhere, if two other native trout are any example. Greenback cutthroat trout, native to the Rocky Mountains of Colorado once looked grimly at extinction. Aggressive conservation efforts by the USFWS, Colorado Division of Wildlife, and National Park Service, moved the fish from just three small endangered populations in the early 1970's, to a threatened species, with a serious following of ardent anglers. This cutthroat trout provides a premier destination fishery, the kind you read about in sporting magazines.

The Apache trout in eastern Arizona faced a similar fortune. Today, anglers travel from well beyond the Southwest to fish for these lemon-yellow trout. The White Mountain Apache Tribe, whose land the Apache trout mostly occurs on, and neighboring towns benefit from expenditures made by visiting anglers. The money spent by people who enjoy catching native trout in native habitats puts people to work.

As with both of these rare trout, I'm convinced the same will happen with Gila trout. Anglers will buy essential gear; they'll spend their money in hotels; they'll eat at restaurants and buy gas. Some will pay for guide services - a new market segment will open up for these important locally owned businesses. Money changing hands in the pursuit of a copper-colored trout will feed families.

The numbers bear this out, and the numbers are staggering. According to the USFWS's 2001 national survey of fishing, hunting and wildlife-associated recreation, angling reels in big bucks in New Mexico. Some 314,000 people bought fishing licenses in New Mexico, laying down $175 million for their piscatorial pursuits. More than $90 million went toward travel, food, and lodging. Another $77 million went for rods and reels, waders and boats. Magazine subscriptions, membership dues, land leases and fees accounted for another $8 million. Across the nation, 34 million licensed anglers spent nearly $36 billion in 2001, about $1,000 per angler.

Fishing is big business. And when the Gila trout moves from endangered to threatened, I expect the benefits will ripple through the economy like a dry fly landing on a glassy glide. Conservation success will be measured in cash registers and pocket books, and even county treasuries.

Angling's great apostle, Izaak Walton, wrote three centuries ago that "angling will prove to be so pleasant that it will prove to be like virtue, a reward unto itself."

He was right. I've caught greenback cutthroat and Apache trout, and I hope to be among the many that will angle for Gila trout when the time comes. And though I might purposely labor for aloneness in the experience, the rewards will be shared in legal tender.

Bob David (l), Alchesay-Williams Creek NFH,  and Jim Brooks, New Mexico FRO, ready an oxygenated tank to carry endangered Gila trout from Mora Fish Technology Center into the wild via helicopter.  Craig Springer/USFWS photo

All content and photos © 2003 by Craig Springer and other credited photographers

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All content and photos � 2003 by Craig Springer and other credited photographers