Just about 10 years ago, Andrew Todd was working as a research biologist in the wilds of Colorado’s San Luis Valley, living out of his truck with time on his hands at the end of the workday.
“I’d go run and fish,” he says, “and I always had good craft beer around.”
It’s the story leading to an ultimate confession: “It’s my dumb idea,” Todd says.
By that he means the small, free-spirited world of Flyathlon and Troutman — a world that has slowly grown around Colorado and beyond, luring a certain breed of outdoor people sharing Todd’s love for running, fishing and craft beer.
Most of all, these people love all three together. And they are grateful for the man who had the wild hair more than 10 years ago, this big-bearded man looking for high-altitude fish and a good time with friends away from his cabin in Westcliffe.
Todd “has put the cult in the Flyathlon culture,” says one regular practitioner, Katie Mazzia of Eagle. “It’s so awesome. Hope it becomes more mainstream.”
Though, Mazzia is aware of the tough sell.
People sit and fish. They wade into the water and fish. They raft and fish, and some backpack and fish.
But long-distance running and fishing?
“People that don’t do this are like, ‘You do what?’” Mazzia says. “’You run with your rod the whole time? And what?’ It needs an explanation.”
First, the Flyathlon part.
These are the annual events put on by Running Rivers, the nonprofit Todd created. Running Rivers celebrated the 10th Middle Creek Flyathlon in August, back in the San Luis Valley, and this month returns the Lake Fork Flyathlon near Gunnison.
These are races that Running Rivers prefers not to call races. Yes, there are courses of varying lengths, and there is a finish line, just as there is a starting line, where runners head off not at the crack of a gun, but at the chugging of a cringe-worthy, domestic beer.
Speed matters, yes. But the type and size of fish caught along the way could matter more, according to a quirky set of rules. The fish are measured and photographed en route to the finish line.
“Say you have someone finish in two hours and 30 minutes with a 6-inch brook trout,” Todd says. “Then someone comes in a half-hour later with a 12-inch Rio Grande cutthroat trout, which is a double bonus, because it’s a native fish. The person who finished a half-hour earlier would lose because of the time adjusted for the native, bigger fish.”
Many of the 50-85 people coming to the Flyathlons — registration caps vary at the two events in Colorado and the two now in North Carolina and Iowa — don’t worry about the odd, nuanced rules so much as the fun intended. Flyathletes might focus more on the afterparty cornhole match, which determines the grand champion.
Todd would especially appreciate participants focused on the good they did: Over the past 10 years, he says Flyathlon registrations have helped raise almost $800,000 toward Running Rivers’ mission to fund habitat conservation.
After all, there had to be some good to Todd’s “dumb idea.” For the Colorado native who has spent his career in government jobs studying contamination, water quality and fish health, there had to be more than running, fishing and beer.
Todd has taken pride in that government work. “But it’s a slow-moving ship, right?” he says.
“So the Flyathlon and everything we do with Running Rivers allows me to be creative and drive the bus myself, and the impacts are seen quicker I would say. Which is good for me. Moving slowly could wear someone out like me.”
He prefers to move fast and far. Which leads us to Todd’s Troutman idea, which soon followed the Flyathlon idea.
The idea: a challenge netting a trail marathon length (at least 26.2 miles), more than 3,000 feet of vertical gain, four different trout species and a celebratory, high-octane beer with alcohol content greater than 12% — all within 12 hours.
Runners Rivers’ website posts an exemption: “We understand some people don’t drink alcohol for perfectly legitimate and/or responsible reasons. … That said, you are required to do ‘something’ special at the finish of your attempt to celebrate the relative insanity of your accomplishment.” (Listed examples: a Caroline Reaper pepper, a quart of Half and Half or a half-dozen jelly doughnuts.)
Troutman is a team challenge, the website emphasizes, requiring at least one other companion.
“Safety in numbers, bro,” the site reads. “That, and with multiple people involved, you can better document your accomplishment so we don’t have to call bull(expletive) on you.”
With bourbon barrel-aged beers in tow and remote lakes and creeks charted for their chances at four trout species, Todd and two others took to western Colorado’s Weminuche Wilderness to achieve the first Troutman in 2017.
Word got around; along with other obscure challenges outdoors, the 2020 pandemic marked something of a breakout moment for Troutman.
Still, “it’s super niche,” says Bryon Powell, the well-known ultrarunner and brains behind sporting website iRunFar. “It is and always will be a small group.”
Last year, Running Rivers’ “Hall of Unicorns” logged 21 Troutman and Troutwoman finishes. That included the fastest-recorded Troutman: five hours and 50 minutes. And there were another three finishes by Powell.
Last month, he took it up a notch: seven Troutman finishes in seven days through the San Juan Mountains.
That was 237-plus miles, 33,000-plus feet of elevation gain, dozens of fish and seven very boozy beers that added annoying weight to Powell’s pack, never more than 18 ½ pounds altogether.
Powell called the endeavor “ridiculous to contemplate, foolish to attempt, unlikely to succeed and, beyond all odds, possible to complete.”
So goes the ever-evolving world of Troutman.
The world now includes Ültroüt (50 miles, 5,555 feet of elevation gain, five different fish species and a 15% beer within 18 hours), Lucifish (replace those 5s with 6s), and FINSANITY! (an idea involving 100-plus miles).
“With FINSANITY!, don’t forget the all caps with an exclamation point,” Todd quips. “And with Ültroüt, it’s important you’ve got the umlauts over the Us, because umlauts are underappreciated in this country.”
This was the not-so-serious world of serious adventure that Powell stepped into in 2018. He arrived at the Middle Creek Flyathlon after many years competing in global. prestigious trail races and writing about them at iRunFar.
The Middle Creek Flyathlon was unlike anything he had seen in the not-always-friendly, not-always-inclusive world of running. “They were just having fun in the woods,” he recalls.
Such was the observation of Kristine Hoffman. She finished last at her first Flyathlon, and yet she was “hooked,” as she likes to say. She has gone on to win several events and record multiple Troutwoman finishes across far-flung mountains.
“I love looking at a map and figuring out how to link up different lakes into a big loop,” Hoffman says. “And the faster you run, the more you get to fish, and the more you get to see. It’s really about getting out and seeing these amazing places.”
That’s largely what it’s about for Mazzia. She’s the first woman to record an Ültroüt, taking that 50-mile, five-species challenge to the Collegiate Peaks.
It was indeed about the challenge, Mazzia says. About discovering new places. And about friendship.
“The most special part was having four other people there finishing a Troutman/woman on the same course that day,” Mazzia says.
Maybe it was all a “dumb idea,” as Todd put it.
But there was something about that 10th annual Flyathlon last month — something that reminded him of the strange ways bonds grow, no matter how niche and absurd.
“That 10th annual was like a family reunion,” Todd says. “Definitely not something I planned for, but it’s a nice outcome.”
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