The cold, sapphire waters of Putah Creek flicker with phosphorescent blues and electric greens as they ramble under the balmy autumn sun. After winding down the yawning clefts of the Mendocino Mountain Range, the creek cuts through the dam at Devil’s Gate, and the densely forested four-mile stretch that follows affords fly fishers some of the most fertile water for wild trout in the Bay Area. At only an hour and a half from San Francisco, and even closer to Oakland and Sacramento, Putah is a go-to spot for hundreds of city dwellers looking to escape. But the creek’s proximity is its vice, and the piercing encroachment of civilization threatens to decimate Putah’s wild trout population.

Newly paved parking lots, driveways and public restrooms have sprung up around the creek in the last few months. As you read this, miles of trails are being cleared, and handicap-accessible fishing platforms are next on the list. But Putah Creek fly fishers refuse to watch in quiet desperation as the stream becomes another Disneyland-style California fishery, where flabby, impotent trout raised in concrete pools and fed by automatic food pellet dispensers are dumped into otherwise lifeless waters.

Greg Bonovich has been fly fishing on the creek for over twenty years, and he’s seen it change firsthand. “It’s not what it used to be,” Bonovich says. About two years ago, the rants of fly fishers grew to a crescendo, and the message board at Bonovich’s website was flooded with concerned voices. Bonovich felt he had to act, and soon a non-profit organization was born.

Other fly fishers eagerly jumped in to help him with his project, Putah Creek Trout, and the organization gained momentum. They seized the attention of the California Department of Fish and Game (DFG), and successfully persuaded the department to consider designating the creek an official wild trout fishery. Now the DFG is studying the creek, and according to Bonovich, Putah Creek will be a wild trout fishery within a couple of years.

If the designation is granted, the DFG will impose new, custom-tailored regulations to protect the wild, naturally spawning rainbow and brown trout that live there. A slot limit would likely be imposed, says Putah Creek Trout member Dr. Garrick Chang. This would mean that both the small and large trout would have to be released, and fishermen could keep only medium-sized fish.

Putah Creek Trout also garnered the attention of the operators for the dam, who Dr. Chang says endanger the wild trout by cutting water flow when agricultural demand is low, and when the canals are being cleaned. “Sometimes there’s barely enough water for the fish to spawn,” Bonovich says. The dam operators have responded to the organization’s concerns by hiring a biologist to study the effects of low flows. However, it is uncertain whether altruism or fear of lawsuits motivated their response. The members of Putah Creek Trout are not the only fly fishers looking out for the creek. Most fly fishers do their part to preserve the creek for themselves, and for generations to come, according to Bonovich. His longtime friend and webmaster Keith Bigelow agrees. “Rarely does a fly fisherman ever keep a trout, or any other fish—under any circumstances,” Bigelow says. Most fly fishers practice catch and release, but conventional fisherman are different. When it comes to poaching, it’s usually the bait fishermen, Bigelow says: “I’ve seen some of them come and catch two limits of fish.”

According to Bonovich, during creek clean-ups, it becomes evident that bait fishermen leave more trash. Worm tubs, beer cans and salmon egg containers are a common sight on the creek banks. Although not all conventional fishers are careless, many are, and this has created some animosity between the two groups. It’s not uncommon for a mob of fly fishers to severely lambast a conventional fisherman who stumbles upon the Putah Creek message board.

Lack of enforcement on Putah makes matters worse. Keith Bigelow has regularly fished the creek for eight years, and not once has he seen a ranger or a warden come by. This has led another fly fisher, who dubs himself Roark, to adopt vigilante tactics. When Roark sees someone fighting a large trout, he immediately heads over and offers his assistance. “I’ll ask if he needs help netting it, and then I’ll ‘accidentally’ drop the fish back,” Roark sardonically says. “I’ll say something like, ‘Dude, I’m so sorry, that fish just jumped out of my hands.’” On another occasion, Roark’s tact failed him, so he pulled out twenty dollars and successfully bought the freedom of a granddaddy brown trout.

Others don’t go to the lengths Roark does, but many attempt to reason with the fishers. They try explaining the regulations to them. Sometimes they’re met with respect; other times things get ugly. But like the Patwin Indians who defended the creek before them, the fly fishers continue to make a stand, sans spears of course, but with vigor nevertheless.