Pena Blanca Lake in Arizona: It's One of Southern Arizona's Real Angling Gems, Despite All Its Adversity

Pena Blanca Lake, undoubtedly one of southern Arizona's most scenic destinations, has been through a lot. The story began when the Arizona Game and Fish Department constructed a dam on Pena Blanca Creek in 1954, and shortly thereafter, thanks to the monsoons, a lake was born just northwest of Nogales.

An aggressive stocking program took place shortly thereafter and within a year anglers could catch bluegills, channel catfish, crappie and small largemouth bass. The lake's first problems arose from siltation. Today it covers less than 45 surface acres, but in 1955 it covered 52. The water that inundated the impoundment carried along with it tons of sediment--and with each desert storm to this day it's slowly filling the lake. What you see in the surface reduction is only the tip of the iceberg though, sand washing into the waterway continues to reduce its overall depth in many areas, although officials are addressing the problem in a variety of methods.

Growing sand bars and long shallows aren't all the bad news they're cracked up to be, though. Crappie and largemouth bass need those areas to spawn and it wasn't long until they began to thrive in the lake. In a few more years it became a secret honey hole for fishermen, even while newspaper reports were sounding the lake's death knell.

During the 1970s at least four to six times a year my parents would drag me to Pena Blanca Lake, which is only 18 miles northwest of Nogales, Mexico. The Game and Fish Department had begun an aggressive rainbow trout stocking program at the time, and almost every cast with corn suspended off the bottom with a miniature marshmallow would result in a bite. Some 15 years later my kids would land their first trout at the lake, using Berkley Power Bait--again, a colorful tactic that floats the offering off the lake's bottom above that silt. Today you can expect catchable-sized rainbow trout to be stocked at the lake during the winter months, when the weather is most inviting for anglers and hospitable for the transplanted fish.

I'd all but forgotten this secret treasure until the 1990s. On a three-day excursion I watched in amazement as a veteran angler from the midwest took a row boat onto the lake. Obviously he was an accomplished crappie fisherman because he effortlessly boated 40 crappie, claiming to have brought ashore 60 the day before I arrived. There were some decent-sized fish in his creel, although the bulk were just right for the frying pan.

The lake was empty that day. How did he do it? Plastic mini-jigs were the best, according to him. He'd start with green and only change to yellow or gold if the fish weren't answering the dinner bell fast enough. He didn't bother with a depth finder or fish locator. He eyeballed his locations and honey holes while the schools of pre-spawn crappie moved.

At the same time largemouth bass fishing was really heating up along the shoreline's structure. In 1992 a 6-pound bucketmouth surrendered to a black Berkley Power worm. In September of that year an 11 1/2 pounder was caught. I boated one of the my biggest bass there while trying to dodge an unannounced visit from the former in laws, although it was far short of September's lunker. It too was caught in the fall and, ironically, on one of those growing sand bars shaded in watery finger of mesquite.

But, the news had leaked as early as 1990 when a survey conducted by the state determined the lake was already being seriously overfished. Virtually every trout stocked was caught and taken home and the numbers indicated nearly every largemouth bass that called the lake home was caught once each year.

The outdoor pages once again sounded the death knell of Pena Blanca Lake. On an average day, according to the state, 9 people could be seen fishing on the small lake and another 8.1 would be casting from shore. The average fisherman would stay there for four hours. That's a lot of pressure for such a small impoundment, especially when you consider most were only there on weekends.

Eighty one percent of the rainbow trout that were caught were taken home. Crappie left the lake at a 74-percent rate and for channel catfish the figure was 54 percent. Oddly, only 27 percent of the bass landed were not released even before catch and release became common practice nationwide.

At the time the least caught fish at the lake was yellow bullhead. Largemouth were a close second, followed by catfish, crappie, sunfish, bluegill and finally the easiest to land, rainbow trout.

Then came what most thought was the final nail in the lake's coffin. Mercury had contaminated the water, and the fish living in the lake exhibited levels high enough to be unsafe for human consumption. The source of the contamination has been subsequently determined as being caused by an abandoned 1800s mining operation upstream--yet another siltation byproduct. The heavy metal was commonly used in the amalgamation process at the time, and it was leaching into the water, ultimately into the fish that live there. Add the fact that in the late 1990s the Coronado National Forest failed to renew the concession's permit, so you could no longer rent boats, or enjoy the authentic German food offered by the restaurant at the site that attracted people for miles. Perhaps it was the end.

But not so. Officials have determined the stocked trout don't remain in the water long enough to absorb significant or dangerous amounts of mercury. So you can safely take them home for dinner.

The volume of anglers has significantly declined, reducing overall fishing pressure. And, even if a good bass fisherman comes to the lake and lands a real lunker, the odds have been greatly increased it will be released and waiting for your arrival.

Don't take my word for it. After the mercury problems became public the state still went forward with planned projects and installed new handicapped fishing docks and requisite paved trails. It was 13 years ago, but my wife and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary with wheelchair-bound vets at the lake during a fishing outing we planned in conjunction with Tucson's VA hospital hospice unit. It was probably the most wonderful celebration we ever had--with some guys who defended freedom years ago and never thought they'd get to wet a line again. My wife and I made some serious political enemies that day, but when 6 guys we thought were just rolling themselves back into their vans pulled up to a picnic bench and waited for a nurse to present a cake they'd ordered in honor of the occassion--we were both brought to tears. They had fished all day from those handicapped docks and loved every minute, but wanted to thank us for on that special occassion. This lake is full of surprises and I will never forget their faces or stories they shared.

As if to confirm the lake is still alive and well, the state also constructed a new boat launch (electric trolling motors are the most powerful allowed for use on the lake). Unlike most of the public, the biologists knew those catfish condos and bass bungolos they dropped into the water in the early 1990s were going to pay dividends, and they have.

At 4,000 feet above sea level, the lake is warm in the summer, late spring and early fall. Winter temperatures are ideal though.

Take I-19 south from Tucson toward Nogales and turn west on State Route 289. Follow the signs and you'll be at the lake in about 20 miles. Take your time though, it's one of southern Arizona's most scenic drives.