Catching Fish on Our Terms

I was casually checking the Headhunter Fly Shop blog the other day a few months back, mulling through one of Scumliner's recent articles "News Flash.  Not All Anglers Want to be Dry Fly Anglers." that got me thinking about this topic in earnest.  Clicking the link will take you to the article.  After that you can come back here, or not.  It's up to you.  You just might get swallowed by the Headhunters website after all.

Do You Like Sneaky Stuff?

Back?  What does catching fish on our terms mean?  Simply, catching fish how and when we want to.  In my humble opinion there's a prevailing sense in our sport that dry fishing is the ultimate, high art way to catch trout.  Many folks would agree with that statement but it's when you start dissing on the other disciplines I think there's a problem there.  True, personally I would rather catch fish on dries or streamers than on nymphs but that's just me.  There's nothing wrong with indicator nymphing or anything else for that matter.  It's my opinion that fly fishing is fly fishing, plain and simple, and as long as you're not San Juan shuffling, chumming, or snagging fish I could care less which method you prefer to use.    

Throwing the Big Bugs?

This brings up an interview I recently heard on an Ask About Fly Fishing Internet Radio podcast with steelhead guru Dec Hogan.  He was discussing why in the heck we choose to swing for steelhead when we could nymph them up a lot better.  Or for that matter, why not just chuck bait and catch every fish in the river?  I guess the answer lies in the fact that many anglers reach a point where it's not important how many or how many big fish we catch.  It's that we want to catch those fish the way we want to, on OUR TERMS.  We just want to do what makes up happiest.

The Big Nasty Stuff?

Thinking back to steelhead again.  Why swing?  There's a lot of reasons out there to justify it.  Purists might argue that a floating line and wet fly combination is the only method fitting of such an amazing creature.  Plain and simply though, it comes from a mindset that you're going to catch that fish the way you want to catch it.  Most hardcore steelheaders that only swing, I believe, would agree with the notion that when you catch a fish it's because you deserved it, you worked hard for it, you earned it.  For some, that one fish and the consequential feeling of achievement and satisfaction it brings, means more than anything, more than twenty gear or nymph caught fish.  I get it.

The Junk?

After many years involved in this sport, I've come to the conclusion that there's almost no wrong way to fly fish.  This craft of ours accommodates every style, every method, every age, and (almost) every personality type.  The fact of the matter is that you should do whatever brings you joy.  If fishing a double nymph rig under an indicator brings you joy, then do that.  If ripping six inch long streamers on a sink tip brings you joy, then do that.  If throwing a size 24 trico spinner on a 3 weight with a 20ft. leader brings you joy, then do that too.  Fly fishing should bring you joy, whatever that may look like.  There's no better way, no worse way.  There may be the more technical and challenging way (think dry or die and/or streamer junkie guy) but it's not better.  Hey, but if it makes (dry or die and/or streamer junkie guy) happy then that's what he should do, plain and simple.

Do What Makes You Happy.  Get out and Fish.

There's a hatch, a run, a technique, a fish, a spot in the world for everyone and everything.  So go do what makes you happy.  Catch those fish on your terms, how you want to.

And if you really just like to catch a lot of fish, use bait learn every discipline, technique, method, fly, and rigging combination you can, and figure out when and where to use it.  Oh, and swing soft hackles occasionally, you just might catch every fish in the river.

Feel free to leave comments and tell me how I'm totally wrong about all this. 

Small Fish Are Cool Too.

I think a large part of many an angler's life is spent in search of the next "big" thing.  The next "big" hatch, secret Shangri-La stretch of water, or next big fish.  It's true, fly fishing folk are the kind of people with their heads always in the clouds, daydreaming about that next big steelhead, tarpon, salmon, or kyped out slob of a brown trout. 

We regale to each other, stories of that time on River X where we "slayed them," all on dries, and they were all big fish.  We are always in search of that next adventure or new piece of water.  We make big proclamations every year such as; "I'm definitely going to go to Silver Creek this summer" or "I'm not missing the Salmonfly hatch on the Big Hole this June."  Sometimes these prophecies come true, sometimes they don't, but at any rate, we never stop dreaming.

I digress.  The point I was out to make when I started writing this was that small fish in small water are cool too.  I mean, what if that next "big" thing happens to be that beautiful meadow on a tiny mountain stream a few miles up that bumpy dirt road?  

 

Often I find myself plotting on how, when, and where I'm going to catch more and bigger fish.  I spend money I don't have on food, gas, licenses, flies, and fixing flat tires in order to get to big famous rivers with their (if you read all those fly fishing magazine articles) supposedly never ending supply of big fish.  Don't get me wrong, I love a good adventure, and I REALLY love to catch large trout. Who doesn't after all? 

However no matter how many big fish I catch, and all the big rivers I fish, my first love will always be for throwing dry flies on small streams for beautiful, clean, and (mostly) small fish.  I can't really even explain why I love this kind of fishing so much.  All I know is that by the middle of July, all I want to do on my days off is grab my Tenkara rod, and run up the nearest trail into the mountains.  Small mountain stream fishing for me is like coming home, I feel like a kid again, it washes the dust of life away.  Plainly and simply,  I can never get enough of it. 

The small fish that are found in these mountain streams never cease to amaze me.  From the fiery red of a pure blooded cutthroat's slash, to the shocking Technicolor shades of a wild brookie, to the leopard spots of a wild rainbow, these fish are simply gorgeous.  Pure and wild.  Missing are the shredded fins, washed out colors, and beaten down bodies of a hatchery trout, or the ripped lipped, missing mandible, hooked-scarred-been-caught-100-times tailwater fish.  These small stream trout are fresh, bright, clean and 100 percent wild.  I'd rather catch one of these six inch fish than a 20 inch trout that looks like it's been through World War II any day.   

Folks that claim to be above catching small trout are okay with me.  Less competition for me, less pressure on the fish I love, I'm cool with that.  You can have your drift boats and big rivers when it's one hundred degrees outside at 2pm during those dog days of summer.  I'd rather be standing in an icy mountain stream catching six inch cutthroats, alone, unbothered and unencumbered. 

If your goal is to have your face up on the Slab of the Month page on Moldy Chum this may not be your kind of fishing.  If however you want to be alone and feel like a nine year old all day, this may be your thing.  Small fish are cool, and as I would argue, the most amazing of all.         

  

Annual Post - Cape Solstice

The winter solstice.

 A day to reflect on your place in the world and the magic of the seasons.  Living in Montana we are fortunate to get to experience all four at their best.  Spring is full of life, rebirth, rain, hunting morels, and chasing the big hatches.  Summer days are, as Norman Maclean would say, are "arctic" in length.  Endless, beautiful, full of long hikes, beautiful fish and dry flies.  Fall is about golden leaves, hunting season, throwing streamers for big browns, and those fantastically crisp mornings.  Winter is snow, skiing, and catching up on everything you should have done when you were fishing the rest of the year! 

The winter solstice is always a much anticipated event, the start of the long journey towards spring.  In My Story as Told by Water, fly fisherman and author David James Duncan points out how sedentary things, mountains, forests, people, are truly the ones who migrate, travelling along with the equinoctial tilt of our planet.  It is in fact the creatures we consider migratory, that actually don't move at all.  The following is taken from Duncan's book.  

In the fly-fishing classic The Habit of Rivers, Ted Leeson glimpses this journey when he looks up from his home river at departing Canada geese.  He writes,

As the recognition of autumn comes suddenly, in a moment, so one day you first hear the geese....Bound for the south, these birds seem to me a strange point of fixity...for in a sense they don't move at all.  They take to altitudes to stay in one place, not migrating, but hovering, while the equinoctial tilting of the earth rocks the poles back and forth beneath them.  The geese remain, an index of what used to be where, and of what will return again.  Their seasonal appearance denotes your passing, not their own.

Duncan writes the next passage after noting the sudden change after the first cold snap of the year.  If you live in the Rockies you know the one I'm talking about.  The day when fall suddenly gives way to winter, when that stream you were fishing days or weeks before suddenly has the appearance of an immovable solid.  It is on these kinds of days that you realize that you are indeed the one migrating.

Returning home from these surroundings, I found that our house, too sat differently upon the land.  The log walls were no longer anchored to solid ground: they cut through the axial stream like a ship's prow. I'd step indoors with a sense of climbing aboard, make tea, sit at the window, watch the mountain world plunge, shiplike, through the slow equinoctial flow.  Winter solstice became not a date on the calendar but a destination: something to sail toward, then around, the way schooners used to round Capes Horn and Good Hope.  When my daughters climbed in my lap, I couldn't contain my wonder.

"We're moving!" I told them. "The house, the mountains, the whole world is sailing. Can you feel it?"

 They gazed gravely at the mountains, then nodded with such serenity is seemed they'd always known.  And on we glided, deep into winter, out around Cape Solstice, then straight on back toward spring.

Sailing Onwards, Towards Spring.

Duncan, David James (2001). Tilt. My Story As Told By Water: Confessions, Druidic Rants, Reflections,    Bird-Watchings, Fish-Stalkings, Visions, Songs and Prayers Reflecting Light, From Living Rivers, In the Age of the Industrial Dark. (pp. 57-60).  New York, NY. Sierra Club Books.       

 

Lackluster Fishing Advice - Things I've Learned About Streamers

Streamer fishing. 

It's all the rage these days.  Walk into any reputable fly shop and you are likely to find dozens of crazy concoctions of fur, feathers, eyeballs, rubberlegs, and god knows what else.  There are no shortage of patterns out there to try and attempt to tie.  Unfortunately tying more than a few of these patterns require nothing less than the entire Feathercraft material catalog and a P.Hd in rocket science.

Fishing streamers is an awesome way to chase trout and if you've never done it it's sure worth a try.  There's nothing quite like it when a big brown slams your fly.  It's true, (most days at least) if you want to catch bigger trout you should be fishing streamers.     

I've in no way shape or form a master streamer fisherman, however in the many years I've been working at this technique here are some of the few things I've learned:

1.  Switch up Your Retrive:  I've found more often than not, it's not the fly you are using but how you are fishing it that matters.  A lot of guys are content to as I call it "grip it and rip it," for hours and hours.  By grip it and rip it, I'm talking about slamming that fly into the bank and stripping it back to you roughly perpendicular to the current.  The timing of the strips is steady like a metronome, strip, strip, strip, etc...  While this may be the most effective approach at certain times, often there are more effective ways to fish your fly.  The following are a few retrieve methods that I like to use.

              - The Jig:  What's the most effective lure ever created?  That answer is easy - the jig.  The bouncing, jumping, diving action of a jig is hard to beat.  Jigs imitate all sorts of wounded and/or dying creatures, easy targets for predators.  Most of the streamers I like have heavy conehead or dumbbell eyes so I can jig the fly.  To accomplish this retrieve channel your inner bass fisherman.  Twitch the rod upward and then drop it, take up the slack each time with a strip or two.  Jigging, at times, can be deadly.

              - The Strip Pause:  This is somewhat similar to the jig but imparts a little more swimming action to the fly.  This may be my go to retrieve.  I love a strip, strip, pause cadence, keeping my strips short and fast.  This gives the fly a darting action similar to how sculpins swim.  With this retrieve a lot of fish will chase the fly on the strips and then on the pause, pounce on the fly when it is dropping in the water column.   

              - The Swing, Dangle and Drop:  Not often my first choice but at certain times, particularly in colder water temps, this technique can be very effective.  Also a good choice for fishing the fast/slow current seams that you find in freestone streams.  This is basically the traditional down and across wet fly swing approach.  When your fly gets to the end of the swing let it hang downstream for a few seconds often a fish will slam it when it is "dangling" downstream.  I also like to lift the fly and then drop it when it is dangling.  Sometimes that extra little bit of action does the trick.    
 
              - The Fluff:  An especially effective technique for fishing from a boat and can be deadly during high water conditions.  For this technique I use a floating line and a 9ft. leader.  This setup allows me to mend my line  and impart a lot of action on the fly without stripping.  The reason for this lies in the fact that in high water most fish are pushed tight to the bank to escape the fast water in the main river channel.  By casting your fly tight to the bank and then initiating a series of downstream mends you can impart a great jigging action and keep the fly on the bank where the fish are.  When you are doing this right when you mend you should be able to see the fly for a second and then it will drop out of view.  This technique is also extremely effective for fishing streamers under and around structure such as trees, logs, and rocks.   

              - The High Stick Lead;  a great technique for fishing pocket water, small streams, or in places with lots of structure (logs, rocks, etc.).  Think of this almost as Czech nymphing with streamers.  By keeping a high rod tip you can "lead" your flies throw tight boulder filled slots or thrgouh channels between the weeds in spring creeks.  You can jig and twitch the fly as you lead it through a run.  One warning about tight line streamer fishing.  Since you have a tight line to your fly you may miss a few fish, try to resist the urge to yank up when a fish eats.  Often the fish will hook itself if you can keep your cool and give him a second to eat it.   

              
2.  What Flies Work Best? aka Does your fly swim?:  No silver bullets here.  There are thousands of patterns out there and I'm sure they all work.  I will give you a few of my favorites in a bit but first.  What makes a good streamer?  I believe every effective streamer pattern ever tied has these important elements.  
             - Materials and construction that let your flies move and breath in the water:  A fly may look great dry but what does it look like when wet?
             - A realistic profile:  Again, what does it look like when wet, does it look like a sculpin, a baitfish, an old sock?
             - Flash:  I'm a believer in flash and most flies that I ever have had success with contain at least a few strands of krystal flash.
             - Weight:  I believe streamers should be weighted enough to allow the fly to jig and dive.  Medium sized lead dumbbell eyes usually do the trick.  A modest amount of weight allows me to fish a fly with a floating line, a sink tip, or full sinking line as conditions dictate. 

Okay so here are some of my go to streamers. 
Karnopp's Space Invader - size 6. 
McKnight's Home Invader - size 6. 
Urchin Buggers - sizes 8-4. 
The Kreelex - size 6. 
Double Bunnies - sizes 4-6. 
Skiddish Smolt - size 4.  
Sheila Sculpin - size 6. 
Garrett's Bellydancer - size 4-6. 
Sculpzilla - size 4. 
Kelly Galloup articulated stuff. 
Cheech's leech - articulated.       

3. Color matters more than pattern:  A lot of folks are always searching for the killer fly.  While some patterns certainly are more effective than others (see above) I think it's most important to have a few patterns that you have confidence in and have them in multiple colors rather than say having twenty different sculpin patterns that are all olive.  On any given day or for that matter hour, color can make or break you.  If I had a dollar for every time I switched colors and immediately hooked up I would be a man of modest income. 

 

3.  The big fly doesn't always catch the big fish:  This has to do a lot with the water you fish.  Knowing what kinds of forage fish live in your water goes along way to helping catch fish.  It is my experience that many times a size 6 streamer will outperform a six inch long articulated pattern.  Why?  The benefit of the smaller fly is that fish will almost always tend to eat it, not just swipe at it or smack it broadside but eat it.  If you are only fowl hooking fish with larger flies and/or getting grabs but no hook ups, try switching to a smaller fly.  On a piece of water I like to occasionally fish that holds many browns over 20 inches, I rarely fish a fly bigger than a size 6 and I am rarely disappointed by the results. 

4.  It's good to be Impatient:  Experience will teach you more than anything as long as you take the time to learn from the past.  If I know where a fish lives and I don't catch him on my first or second cast I do one of several things. 
                1. Change my retrieve. 
                2. Change colors. 
                3. Change the size of the fly.  I rarely will go more than 15 minutes without changing if I'm not getting good responses to my fly.  

5. To Sink or Not to Sink?:  Sink tips, full sinking lines, weighted vs. unweighted flies, there's too many options to choose from.  What works best and when can be the subject of much debate.  What setup I choose to use is largely determined by the conditions and whether I am wade fishing or in a boat.  The majority of my streamer fishing is done with a floating line.  My second most used setup is a 5ft. fast sinking or extra fast sinking polyleader.  I prefer the Airflo Polyleaders (see A Bum Gear Review - Airflo Polyleaders) but companies like Rio are making very similar products.  I tie on the end of the polyleader an 18inch section of 1 or 2x tippet and have at it.  I have a 300 grain sinking line but honestly I find very few reasons to use it.         

6.  How the fish see the fly is important:  Have you ever seen a bait-fish flee upstream?  Me neither.  Given the choice spooked and scared fish will almost always run downstream.  The reason for this is simple, current.  A fish can swim faster downstream than up due to it using the current to aid in it's escape.  For this reason I like to fish my streamers running downstream or parallel to the current.  Fish your flies directly downstream back to you can be very effective at times.

7.  Think like a hunter:  Many times you are not looking for a "bunch of fish."  Instead you are looking for one or two big ones.  I've had days where I've gotten that "bunch of fish" fishing streamers and I've had a handful where those "bunch of fish" are big ones.  When you have a day like that simply enjoy it.  If you want to be a successful streamer fisherman however, it pays to think like a big game hunter.  Where is that trophy going to be holding?  How do we get into position without spooking it?  How do we make that one shot count?  More often than not your first cast through a run is the one that produces so it pays to make it count.  Plan your shots, take a few moments to analyze the situation, (structure, current, casting technique) and you will catch more and bigger fish.  That I can guarantee.        

8.  Final thoughts:  If there's a way to summarize what I've learned it would be this.  Avoid becoming a creature of habit.  What color, size, and retrieve that worked last year, yesterday, or even an hour ago may not get you into fish.  Don't get locked into only fishing one fly one way, be willing to experiment, take risks, and do different things.  Don't make streamers your back up plan, make it "the" plan once in a while.  Instead of nymphing all day try throwing streamers.  That first two foot long brown you land will make it all worth it. 

If you are just getting into fishing streamers or are interested.  Remember you don't need a hundred different patterns.  Pick 5 or 6 and have them in multiple colors.  Double bunnies and wooly buggers are always a good start and are simple and cheap enough to tie in various sizes and colors. 

My First Steelhead

On a fly rod that is.

 

Growing up in Oregon I had caught steelhead on several occasions with plugs and spinners.  As an adolescent with a short attention span, I lacked the desire to seriously want to fly fish for them.  Like most kids I simply wanted to catch as many fish as quickly as possible and fishing with gear was, and frankly still is the most effective way to catch steelhead.

 

Fast forward a decade later and I suppose I have a little more patience the closer to thirty I get.  Friends had told me how incredible it was to catch a steelhead on a fly rod and particularly by swinging flies.  For my hardcore steelheader contacts, the apparently endless hours of casting didn't seem to bother them much.  From all accounts, hooking a steelhead on the swing was one of the more difficult things to do but also one of the most incredibly rewarding accomplishments in fly fishing. 

 

I had to try it.  So last week I decided to get myself a Spey rod, make the drive to Idaho, and see for myself if I couldn't just swing up one of these amazing fish.       

 



I decided to make the Clearwater River my destination as I would be meeting friends and family a few days later on the Snake River in Hells Canyon (I'll save this for another post).  The chance of hooking a big B-run fish over 30 inches didn't seem like such a bad thing either.  Since I was starting from scratch and really had no idea what I was doing I made my first stop, the Red Shed Fly Shop in the thriving metropolis of Peck, Idaho.  This has to be one of the best shops I have ever been in and reminds me that you can't judge a book by it's cover.  Behind the battered wood door and the peeling paint stands what is nothing short of amazing.  I almost fell over when I walked in and found the best selection of steelhead rods, lines, flies, and materials I have ever seen in one place.  The best part of course has to be the owner "Poppy," and his no nonsense, tell it like it is approach.  I appreciate a fly shop owner who tells me point blank, "I'm not going to sell you a bunch of stuff you don't need."   

After stocking up, it was time to hit the river.

Okay, here goes nothing.  Time to start casting, stepping down, and casting, casting,  and casting some more.  I've heard that steelhead are the fish of a thousand casts.  I was hoping that this would not be the case for me.  If it was the fish of 127 casts I might be okay with that.  1,000 casts?  Are you kidding me!?

At the start of the day my spey casting left a lot to be desired.  At the end of the day it still did, however I could at least manage to throw a manageable double spey at around seventy feet.  There was nothing in my castsing that remotely resembled the ease, grace and beauty of all of those awesome spey casting videos I have been watching on Vimeo as of late.  It also lacked the sweet hip-hop beats soundtrack.  I must just be missing the soundtrack.  

Many steelheaders talk of the Zen like trance that swinging for steel produces.  A person supposedly obtains some sort of higher state of being while fishing.  On closer examination I can see some similarities between the Buddha's stint under the Bodhi tree and standing in an icy river for hours on end casting, watching, and waiting for that one moment of transcendence.  Perhaps I need to fish some more because on each cast I just kept thinking, "this time, this time," "eat it, eat it, eat it!" or, "I sure could use a doughnut and a cup of coffee..."  I definitely didn't obtain that state of oneness with the universe that my steelhead buddies talk about.  Maybe I need to take up winter steelheading?   

As the sun began to set I started to lose hope that I would get a fish on this day.  I stepped into what I thought looked like good water below a riffle corner and began casting and stepping down once again, my purple fly swinging easily across the current downstream of me.  A fellow spey rodder joined me a few minutes later working the water at the head of the run.  I was starting to get hungry (stupidly I hadn't stopped fishing to eat more than a granola bar all day) and cold (again: I stupidly left my coat in the car) so I told myself "one more cast."  As I was making my way to the bank across the Clearwater's greasy bowling ball sized rocks I felt what I thought was a fish take my fly.  No way I thought, could it have been a fish?  Probably just a rock.  Heck, I'll make a few more casts.  I worked out the Skagit head, made the only cast I could reasonably throw with any sort of grace, the double spey, mended and waited.  A few seconds into the swing I felt a hard jolt, weight, the line went tight.  I set the hook and a large fish went airborne fifty feet in front of me.  Game on.  

Ten minutes latter, but for what felt like an eternity, I found myself holding my first fly rod, swung up steelhead.  A female B-run chromer, over 30 inches and beautiful.  There are a few moments in your fishing life that you remember forever.  I'm sure this will be one of them.   

Technical

Wake up.  Slam the coffee.  On the water at first light.  You arrive at the river hoping a few things pan out.  If it's calm, the sun is shining, and the water has something to it resembling clarity, you know you have a chance.  In this game, to be successful, everything has to work out just right.  Once the rod is strung, the real task begins, find a feeding fish, stalk it, get in position, make a pinpoint cast, perfect presentation, and hope that the fish eats the fly.

The fish are big.  You are sight fishing.  This is likely as technical as freshwater fly fishing gets.  No, this ain't trout fishing.  You probably guessed it, we're talking about carp here. 

These fish are technical

Dawn Patrol

Carp seem to be all the rage these days among a certain group of anglers.  There's a good reason for it as I have discovered.  They are big, strong, spooky as all get out, and are usually extremely picky about what they put in their mouths.  Not easy, but definitely rewarding fishing.  As I've read, carp have the some of the best abilities to detect sound and vibration of any freshwater fish.  They are also equipped with a formidable sense of smell.  Try throwing a freshly tied and cemented fly at them and see what happens!  You probably won't like the results.  Since these formative experiences, I've stopped cementing all my carp flies.  Sunscreen on your hands?  Bugspray?  Better not touch that fly.  If you do, all you may see for the next few hours is the quick snap of a spooked carp blasting away from your fly acompanied by a sudden startling SPLOOSH!  All you will be left with is a cloud of silt and more than a few yards of empty water.

Yes.  These fish are technical.  

There's no sure thing with carp fishing.  Best laid plans can be torn asunder by an unexpected windstorm, rain, hail, or host of other meteorological disasters  inevitably bound to hit the wide open prairie at any moment.  After all, there's nothing between you and the arctic circle save for a few wheat fields and a few Canadians.  This year, incessant surprise thunderstorms muddied the waters for what seemed to be weeks at a time making fishing tough.  

When I went out, I would spot a fish or two gently tailing in several inches of water, and take great care getting into position as to not spook it. By the time I did get into range, often the fish would be nowhere to be seen.  Likely he slid off into slightly deeper water but you would have no idea as to where or in what direction.  Blind casting for carp in muddy water you soon learn, is pretty much a waste of time.   

When you tell folks that you came all the way out to the middle of the prairie in eastern Montana to fly fish for carp you get a whole bevy of interesting responses.  All the way from the mild interest to annoyance, to just plain disgust.  Folks give you quizzical looks, stare in disbelief, or ask "What are ya fishin' for?"  Sometimes all you get is a laugh and a headshake.  

As one gentleman put it when I told him what I was doing, "Fly fishin' for carp!? well ain't that somethin'."     

I think it is. 

Sometimes Even a Blind Squirrel Finds a few Acorns

Did I mention carp can be tough quarry?  Just as you feel like you got a handle on them, these fish quickly humble you.  One day I had double digit hookups in the 2 hours I fished.  All right I thought, I got this figured out.  That success was followed by three straight skunk-fests.  Nice.

To get these fish to eat requires a pinpoint cast at 30 plus feet.  Landing the fly close enough to the fish to get his interest but as to not spook him.  Then you have to detect the take, and this is not often an easy thing.  Sometimes a tailing fish will turn on the fly, sometimes if you are lucky, you will see the fish suck it in.  Often however, all you notice is a brief quiver, flick of the tail, sudden pause, repositioning, or other oddity that alerts you that the fish has eaten something.  Many times it's not your fly but when it is...  

Hold on.  

The Hybrid (courtesy of John at Carp on the Fly) Strikes Back

Trout fishing has got nothin' on this.  Well, at least not very often.  My hardest day of dry fly fishing for trout would equate to about an average day of carping.  Though this perception can, in large part, I suppose be contributed to how lousy a carp fishermen I am.  I tell you what though, carping sure makes you a better, more patient, stealthy trout fishermen.

I'm no expert, but the one thing I've learned is...  These fish are technical

Go get yourself some.  Go ahead.  Do it. 

Perfection

What's your definition of perfection?  Mine is...

Standing in a mountain stream.

Tenkara rod in hand.

My favorite dry fly

Best friend alongside 

Catching some of the most beautiful trout in the world. 

Perfection

Beaver Believer - Part 2

The long awaited sequel to Beaver Believer Part 1, and the epic mediocre final chapter to my first Beaverhead River trip.

 

Gettin' Down in Brown Town.

Day 2.5 started right where day 1.5 left off.  Early.  Melo-Shelo, the early riser he is, got us (well me) up early for some pre-breakfast nymphing by the dam.  A size 20 flashback PT was the winner of the morning.  Hooking a fish on that size of bug is one thing, landing it is a whole different proposition.  We hooked, fought, and mostly lost a slew of good fish.  I tell ya, when your whole world is a big, big fish, and then that fish is gone, it's one heck of a surreal feeling.  It seems like you go through all the stages of grief in about 15 seconds.  And you know what?  Norman Maclean was right, you do remember that fish forever.  When I think about it I can still vividly remember the incredible fish from my childhood.  My first steelhead, my first bull trout over 24 inches, my first Deschutes Redside Rainbow on a Salmonfly.  It's like it just happened.  I can recall these moments better than I can what I ate yesterday, or what shirt I was wearing.  Fishing for me is an elevated state of being, your whole consciousness is trained on one single goal, one single task.  Convincing a fish to eat.  I haven't found any other activity yet in life that demands as much singular attention, focus and dedication.        

 

I'm Seeing Stars........ And Some Random People.

Wow, I really went off on a tangent on that last paragraph.  Okay, back to the recap.  You know It's really hard to take a picture when you are alone!  Does anyone else have this problem?     

The Awkward Solo Picture Attempt

Adam, feeling the love.

Okay, back to the recap, really.  After a solid breakfast of bacon, bacon, eggs, and more bacon, the crew began to part ways.  I took to venturing off on a solo mission to find one last good fish.  The day went pretty much like this.  Landing a bunch of average trout and getting rocked by a bunch of above average fish.

Miracles happen though.  Once in a while.  A few of my friends had decided to float that day and had passed me about a half hour earlier in their raft while I was wade fishing.  I continued fishing downstream and happened to bump into them as they were anchored up working a great looking run.  I had my flies dragging in the current, in a 6 inch riffle, as I walked towards them and as I went to cast to avoid hanging on the bottom, I hooked something solid.  The solid object quickly turned and started smoking downstream, I played it off like I had planned the whole thing.  Not really...  We landed the fish directly in front of their raft, my best fish of the day.  Total dumb luck.  Glad they had a net.   

My Fish of the Trip.  No Skill Included.

At that point, I figured I had burned up any and all fish Karma I had up until that point built up.  I reeled in, packed it up, and hit the road for home.  No use trying to top that series of events.

Beaverhead River, I'll be back.  You can bet on that. 


Rollin' Home.

Cape Solstice

Looks like we all made it through the end of the world once again, and have lived to experience one more winter solstice (I know this is coming a day late!).  The solstice is a great day to reflect on your place in the world, and the magic of the seasons.  Living in Montana we are fortunate to get to experience all four seasons at their best.  Sping is full of life, rebirth, rain, hunting morels, and chasing the big hatches.  Summer days are long, beautiful, full of long hikes, beautiful fish and dry flies.  Fall is all about golden leaves, hunting, throwing streamers, and those fantastically crisp mornings.  Winter is snow, skiing, and catching up on everything you should have done when you were fishing the rest of the year! 

The winter solstice is always a much anticipated event, the start of the long journey towards spring.  In My Story as Told by Water, fly fisherman and author David James Duncan points out how sedentary things, mountains, forests, people, are truly the ones who migrate, travelling along with the equinoctial tilt of our planet.  It is in fact the creatures we consider migratory, that actually don't move at all.  The following is taken from Duncan's book.  

In the fly-fishing classic The Habit of Rivers, Ted Leeson glimpses this journey when he looks up from his home river at departing Canada geese.  He writes,

As the recognition of autumn comes suddenly, in a moment, so one day you first hear the geese....Bound for the south, these birds seem to me a strange point of fixity...for in a sense they don't move at all.  They take to altitudes to stay in one place, not migrating, but hovering, while the equinoctial tilting of the earth rocks the poles back and forth beneath them.  The geese remain, an index of what used to be where, and of what will return again.  Their seasonal appearance denotes your passing, not their own.

Duncan writes the next passage after noting the sudden change after the first cold snap of the year.  If you live in the Rockies you know the one I'm talking about.  The days when fall gives way to winter, when that stream you were fishing days or weeks before suddenly now has the appearance of an immovable solid.  It is on these kinds of days that you realize that you are indeed the one migrating.

Returning home from these surroundings, I found that our house, too sat differently upon the land.  The log walls were no longer anchored to solid ground: they cut through the axial stream like a ship's prow. I'd step indoors with a sense of climbing aboard, make tea, sit at the window, watch the mountain world plunge, shiplike, through the slow equinoctial flow.  Winter solstice became not a date on the calendar but a destination: something to sail toward, then around, the way schooners used to round Capes Horn and Good Hope.  When my daughters climbed in my lap, I couldn't contain my wonder.

"We're moving!" I told them. "The house, the mountains, the whole world is sailing. Can you feel it?"

 They gazed gravely at the mountains, then nodded with such serenity is seemed they'd always known.  And on we glided, deep into winter, out around Cape Solstice, then straight on back toward spring.

Sailing Onwards, Towards Spring.

Duncan, David James (2001). Tilt. My Story As Told By Water: Confessions, Druidic Rants, Reflections,    Bird-Watchings, Fish-Stalkings, Visions, Songs and Prayers Reflacting Light, From Living Rivers, In the Age of the Industrial Dark. (pp. 57-60).  New York, NY. Sierra Club Books.         

Sometimes You Just Have To Go Fishing

It's been a long week.  A lot of chores that need to be done.  Homework.  Family stuff.  Job.  Lack of sleep.  Stress.  Car broke down.  Do you know the feeling?  We all do.  Best solution? 

Go fishing of course.


Nice Cheeks

Now I'm not implying that the problems will be better when you get home, in fact, going fishing usually makes things worse.  You end up with less time to get your work done, the house is still a mess when you get home, the laundry is in a pile on the floor, the dishes are stacked up on the counter, and you are still broke or even more so.  

But when I find myself out of synch, Lord give me my fly rod and a river.  When I'm on the water all the less important stuff falls away and only what really matters remains.  At the end of a few hours on the water I feel like I can focus, come back to reality, think straight.     

Evening on the 'Root, aka Therapy Session

The best therapists that I know happen to be my 4 weight and a trout stream.  What I get while fly fishing is something that I rarely get doing anything else, clarity.  The river can be a great teacher, if you take the time to listen.  One thing that I get reminded of every time I'm knee deep in the water is that life is better lived at the speed of a trout stream.

Particularly that of a river like my home water, the Bitterroot.  This stream for the most part is easy going, meandering through the valley, in no hurry to leave, to get somewhere else.  It seems to be happy where it is, takes it's time getting to the next bend, hole, or riffle, and never takes the straight and easy route.  Sure, it has it's share of log-jams , a few blemishes (rip-rap banks), and some dead water.  But what person doesn't have a few of those things?

Like life, a river just keeps rolling along.  It's been flowing long before I was here, and it will keep on flowing long after I am gone.        

Big Spots

 So whenever the junk in life piles up, my fly rod will be at the ready.  Sometimes you can't always solve the problems in life right away.

Sometimes you just have to go fishing.

No Day Like Today