Character

If you read Thursday's post you may be wondering what it has to do with fly fishing, the answer is everything. If you haven't read it, please do, this post will make a lot more sense if you do.

May 24, 2020

This is a post that was supposed to go live 2 days ago. It's been an intense struggle to make it happen and it's taken a bit of a turn. The struggle between trying to get people to open their minds and not pull any punches is real, it's difficult, especially with where we are as a country, in this speck of time within eternity.

Years ago I sat with Don Davis, the preacher at Western Hills Church of Christ at the time, discussing leadership and the feeling of community, love and support within that congregation. Though we talked for hours the thought I remember most is, "no matter the organization, when a group of people come together, that organization always reflects the character of the leader." Don was an excellent leader, with boundless love and understanding in his heart, smart, organized, intelligent and an excellent speaker who could convey a message like few people can.

In contrast, in America greed and deception have become the order of the day from the top down. The person, the office we have historically looked to for guidance is now occupied by the most disrespectful, dishonest, self-absorbed individual to ever sit as president of this great country. We have reached the sad point in our history when it's "us against them", when even a new and deadly virus is used as a political weapon, in misguided efforts to save the all-mighty economy, weak and old Americans be damned. We have reached a deplorable time in our history when the Lieutenant Governor of Texas, Dan Patrick suggested that seniors would sacrifice themselves for the economy. Sorry Mr Patrick, there is no heroism in that statement, just self-serving political posturing.

I hope you can see how complicated this is, maybe you can, maybe you can't, Here it is.

As the country "reopens" people are wanting to travel, to get away and break the cabin fever. Legally that's okay, remember it's legally okay to ask older Americans to die for the economy, to fall on the golden sword so commerce can keep barreling down the highway. But is is right, is it in the spirit of American patriotism? Hell NO!! Not even in the abstract. How many Americans are willing to sacrifice their grandmother, grandfather, mother, father, brother, sister, son, daughter, aunt, uncle, cousin or best friend to save the economy? Apparently more than you would think because that's exactly what is happening, right here, today, in the Good Old USA.

A war that we should be fighting together with a single plan of attack, has instead been used as a political tool to divide Americans into factions to be used as political tools while trying to secure reelections. We as Americans, have truly, in every sense, become pawns in the chess game that is American politics. And it is glaringly apparent that our lives are little more than bargaining chips to keep a system of commerce afloat, a system of commerce that is not built around average citizens, it's built to support the wealthy and in their eyes we as the worker bees of society are expendable.

The latest, and quite successful political ploy is to divide us on the subject of our own protection and the protection of our friends and families through the wearing or not wearing of face masks in public. An act that according to the CDC is one of the most important and effective ways of stopping the spread of Covid-19. Our President has chosen this, as another in a long line of defiant acts against advisors, to divide Americans against ourselves. And once again, despite his so-called "stable genius", he has  chosen discord over common sense. He has done so in the name of the economy, but as usual bass-ackwards.

The simple truth is that if every American would simply put the health of the country above political faction the entire country could go back to work today, with some changes that will, in the long term have little affect on how we live, and here it is, once we get used to the changes. This is not the end of the world it's just a new normal, not necessarily bad, just new.

If we are going to put the all-mighty economy back in full swing then it should be done as cautiously as possible rather than amidst the chaos we're experiencing now.

My plea is this, As you start traveling around the country this summer do it as safely as possible. Travel and mingle safely for the family and friends of all those you come in contact with. Follow the CDC guidelines. Be especially careful when traveling. Above all stop whining and wear the cloth face covering, which should be our first line of defense against this invisible threat. Just keep in mind that the covering isn't just for your own protection it is for those around you, it's for the protection of their families, their friends, their co-workers, it's for the protection of their granny.

I'll keep working on the post this one was supposed to be, but in the meantime here's the message. Be careful as you start to travel around the country. Covid-19 spreads so easily and invisibly that you or the people you encounter along the way could be carriers and not even know it.

Please for the safety of our country and all its citizens be as cautious as humanly possible. No one is going to think ill of you for it, in fact we will all be very grateful to see that Americans are thinking about the health and well-being of Americans.

Looking Out

Well it's day, who knows how many days since the Corona virus took over our collective attention. Things have moved pretty fast, the world is in a most unusual state, fret and concern are likely for all of us today, no matter how hard we try to stay focused on positive thoughts, there will be at least a moment where reality says hello, and some type of worry will cross our minds. The trick is to not let worries set in.

This morning I woke up with it, angst. Things are changing, how will we keep up? Who knows? But we will, we always do, there's no other real choice but to press on and adapt as a society, as families, as individuals.

As I look out the window it occurs to me that the snow which has fallen overnight isn't any different than it was last week, or last month. It drifts into the same places I've seen it drift since we arrived here in Montana last summer. The crocus and lilies, responding to the warm spells we've experienced are peeking through the morning's snow. Neither the snow nor the spring plants are aware of what's going on in the human world. The birds, squirrels and rabbits are oblivious too, they care nothing for economies, possessions nor do they fret about death, they're just alive.

Gary, a friend who worked nearby, used to visit me every morning for a few years when I had a taxidermy business in Fort Worth. We would sit and drink coffee before the rest of the crew showed up and he would head to his job. He was a pleasant, older man, ready and about to retire at the time. Most mornings were filled with laughter and story telling. One morning Gary showed up uncharacteristically grumpy, unexcited about the project he was faced with for the day. The finches I kept in my office were being exceptionally chatty that morning, they got that way as soon as the light came on and the cage cover was lifted.

Gary kept staring at the finches, his facial expression alternating between joy and anger. Finally after only about 10 minutes, a third of our normal morning time he stood up, look at me, looked back at the cage full of excited little birds and said "those damn things sure are happy this morning" gave a long pause fighting back what I imagine were a few choice words.

As he headed for the exit he turned and said "It's because they don't have to go to damn work."

The next day Gary showed up and apologized for letting, what he called work worry, get the best of him. "No problem" was my reply. I was thinking I wish I possessed his self-control.

He went on to explain his philosophy of getting through tough days. It involved looking beyond immediate worries to focus on the long-term, big picture, and that in the end we all meet the same final fate on earth. The jest of his philosophy is that as long you're still alive, you haven't met your end. Then he paraphrased, or more correctly butchered this quote.

"Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end." a quote often attributed to John Lennon. Not sure if he did say that, it sounds like him, but we can't ask because he's no longer with us. It's a good quote that sprung up a few years ago in a movie, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.

I lost touch with Gary about 20 years ago. I was busy going to damn work everyday, just trying to survive in a world moving too fast. I didn't think much of it at the time though that morning is firmly etched in my mind.

Now, looking out the window at the morning snow, I wonder if Gary is still going to damn work everyday.

Cut Out the Guesswork

As a seasoned fly angler, writer and angling journalist I find social media to provide a plethora of material, the latest being the question of matching a hatch. Social media can also be an endless source of misinformation and as a result irritation! The specific question that brought this particular subject to mind I’ve seen several times over the last few weeks and goes something like this; “I saw fish rising on my local stream but they wouldn’t hit fly X, Y or Z, what should I use?”. Now remember we’re talking about trout actively feeding on the surface of a river. It’s great that budding anglers are asking questions but I feel as a seasoned (maybe a bit too seasoned) fly angler I should be helping to steer those eager to learn toward the correct questions.

Justin Fleming shows off one of many fine trout taken on the South Platte during
our September outing. This one fell to a #24 BWO quill body parachute.

The conundrum that such posts present is “how the heck can I, or any other random angler possibly know what was/is hatching on a river at any given time without being there?”. I’m not sure what it is beyond the desire to help but the “what fly to use?” posts always elicit specific responses that are nothing short of conjecture when flay patterns start being listed one after another. I’m not trying to step on toes but I sure hope these anglers don’t fish like that!!

There is a basic question that any angler of any ilk should ask when they step out to pursue any species of fish in any water type, fresh or salt, moving or still; what does my target species feed on? From that basic question, in most cases, myriad other questions arise. The only way to answer those questions is through study, preparation and observation. In the case of surface feeding trout the observation is far easier than most emerging anglers might suspect. In fact, of all the situations presented to the fly angler this is arguably the simplest to decipher.

When trout are feeding on top simply drop downstream, preferably within the same current seam they are feeding and skim the river surface with an insect seine. Look at what comes up in the net and match it as closely as possible from your fly boxes. That’s the observation part of the equation and at any particular moment the most important aspect of successful angling to surface feeding trout during an active hatch.

Any seasoned and successful trout angler can tell you that what worked yesterday may not work today and what the trout are focused on at any given moment during an active hatch IS going to change in a matter of minutes or at most hours. What is happening now may or may not cycle back around tomorrow. That is not conjecture that is a fact. Hatches cycle daily, with multiple hatches occurring throughout the day and at times multiple hatches will occur simultaneously. The ONLY way for you to know what is happening at a given moment is through observation. The use of a seine is the quickest and easiest way to hone your observation. The one caveat I will ad here is that there are a small number of anglers on a given river that can somehow mysteriously pick the bug and stage by what seems like osmosis. But if you spend a little time around them you realize they just know the water and can decipher what is happening through extensive experience on the water.

It doesn't get much better than a payoff like this one for James Dionizio as Nick Haxhijaj looks on. Together they unlocked the hatch and alternated landing nice trout on the South Platte in Central Colorado. These are hard won trout that require a cerebral approach in addition to surgeon like presentation skills. 

Now if this is a discussion in a bar with a crowd of fly anglers this is the point where someone speaks up and says the fly doesn’t matter and it’s all about presentation or tippet size. This is an argument as old as fly fishing to which I say hogwash….kind of. There are times when there are few active hatches throughout the day and the best approach if you want to fish dry is to throw on an attractor and get to it. A good angler with a good sense of the river can catch quite a few fish. Where I cry “HOGWASH!!” is when there is an active hatch and the trout are focused on a particular stage of a particular insect. True there are usually a few trout in a pod of active, focused feeders that will take a well-presented attractor. But my question to the attractor guy is “Why would I settle for one or a few fish when I can take multiple fish by matching the hatch.

Then there are also times when ONLY the correct fly will do. This past June my friend Nick and I spent 4 days fishing the South Platte River in Colorado. We arrived early one morning to fish a favorite stretch of mine that always provides good dry fly action. Upon arrival there were clouds of tricos in the air and a good number on the water. Trout were feeding steadily on the female duns as they drifted on the surface. I had left my trico dun box back in the room where we were staying. Throughout the hatch I presented BWO patterns of the correct size and stage to them with only minimal takers. Later as the spinner fall started I began to focus on a reliable current seam that always holds the biggest trout in this section of the river.

I knew from experience that the three fish I really wanted were gorging on the spinners. Unable to get into the seam and seine because of the location I started presenting fly after fly opening with size 18 and working my way downward. With each fly change I stepped away from the feeding lane, retied, returned to my casting position and made multiple drifts over the feeding trout without a single look. I even watched in frustration as the size 22 spinner pattern slipped over the downstream trout so perfectly that it pushed the fly upward while taking a natural, not just once but three times!

My last fly change was down to a size 24, the smallest I had on me. I got back into casting position and on the very first drift into the trailing trout’s feeding lane it tipped up a took my fly!! It was a cutthroat of approximately 24”, full of fight that immediately dropped into the heavy current downstream. I followed, and in an attempt to get the trout to move out of the current applied increasing pressure until the hook pulled lose. Slightly downtrodden but exhilarated I stepped back into casting position. It only took two drifts to get the fly over the next trout in line. When it raised its head and took I knew the fly was right. Just a few minutes later I slid a cutthroat identical to first one hooked into my net.

 

Trout like this over-size cutthroat can be extremely selective feeders.
After many fly changes this one finally took a #24 Trico spinner.

After a few quick photos and an enthusiastic high-five I gave Nick a duplicate of the fly I was using. He made his way back upstream to a large cutthroat that he had made acceptable presentations to with multiple flies. On the first drift into the trout’s feeding lane or rose and took. Unfortunately we did not land that fish but the take proved that the right fly was the only fly that morning while fishing to those particular trout.

A similar experience happened to us the last week in September. Back on the South Platte, Nick and I, as part of a party of four spent hours of both frustration and exhilaration while matching hatches on some of the most technical water in the state. Time and again the correct fly proved to be the difference between cooperative and non-cooperative trout. The key to success and multiple trout landed was three-fold. We had prepared by knowing what insects to expect and tied, purchased the correct patterns. We knew the patterns to have on-hand through previous study. But the most important thing of all was that we observed what was happening by seining the water column and selected the flies that the trout were focused on.

Ever since I was a youngster wanting to be a top-notch fly angler I’ve heard and read about how complicated it is to be successful. In a way, being a successful fly angler is difficult but only if you make it so. Stop guessing what the trout are feeding on. Do yourself a favor and get some type of net to seine the water with and learn the basic bugs you need to have in your fly boxes. And don’t forget the most important aspect to becoming a successful, seasoned angler. There is NO substitute for time on the water.

Wind, Rain and Cedar Key Yakkin'

Looking out the window this morning I can only imagine what it was like on Thursday afternoon when Nick Althauser and I went out to chase redfish around the oyster flats near Cedar Key, FL. It rained all night overnight as a front blew in a took the warm temperatures with it, where ever that is. It's still raining on and off, cold, with gusts of wind that shudder the awning on Prime Mover (our travel trailer) every few minutes. So all there is to do this morning is sit inside, write, simmer a pot of chili on the stove and dream of warmer, calmer days.

Nick Rigging his Rod at the Launch

As surprising as it may seem, to me especially, Thursday was the first time I ever sat in a kayak on the water. I really liked the experience, that is after the perfunctory dunk I took trying to sit in it the first time. It wasn't a full dunk but I did have a wet left arm up to the pit and a damp ass before I got the knack of staying upright. Then there was that initial wobbly feeling as I started out across the flat where Daniel from Cedar Key Paddling had steered us. The wobbles didn't last too long. Once I stopped thinking about wobbling and started thinking about fishing it was all too easy.

With the incoming tide and a short 3 hour window before pick-up time Daniel launched us on a beach near an expanse of oyster beds. His advice was to fish the edges of the oyster beds where the reds come in and feed on the tide. The conditions couldn't have been better with low winds, incoming tide and sunny skies.

Nick Landing The Fish of the Day

I would like to report that Nick and I caught a boat load of fish that kept us busy the entire time. But........ what really happened was us trying to figure out how this redfishing works. We're trout guys with minimal saltwater experience, although I wouldn't mind changing the latter. Damn that was FUN!

The water here isn't as clear as it is in most other locations across Florida. Probably due to the extremely shallow conditions. The night before as Nick, I and our wives sat in Steamers Restaurant waiting on our waitress Nick pointed out a power plant on the horizon where he had done an engineering study many moons ago. The study was for a cooling water intake location. The intake required a depth of 30 feet. Using charts and sounding equipment it was determined that the nearest 30 foot depth was over 7 miles offshore. Like I said, shallow.

Given the slightly off-colored water and our low positions in the kayaks sight-fishing was out. The best we could hope for was blind casting to likely spots or looking for active fish in shallow water. Finding active fish wasn't that hard but the population of mullet in the flats is off the charts. It took some time to determine the difference between the mullet and the redfish. Then all we had to do was get the kayaks into position without running over an oyster bed, guess which direction the redfish was moving and place the fly in a position close enough to get their attention without spooking them. Piece of cake right? Not always.

We both had several follows, I had one touch by a fish that didn't hook up but mostly I skidded over lots of oysters, blew lots of casts and generally just flailed around and had a good time. Near the end of our allotted time I had what was most certainly a redfish in my sights working the back of a small cut. Cruising in at a good speed with line stripped and stored in the floor of the kayak I pulled into position and stopped with what felt like deft yak handling skills. Insert image of me patting my own back here...........

As I lifted the rod out of the holder I heard the faint cry of my name........and again. I turned to see Nick's rod bent as the redfish on the end of his line slowly turned his kayak. Have you ever had one of those moments when you're right there, the efforts of the day feel like they're about to pay off and suddenly you're faced with a choice. Mine was to try for this fish and ignore Nick who most certainly was destined to land a redfish presenting a photo opportunity and our chance to record the event.

With a heavy sigh, not too heavy, I spooled the line, turned and made it to Nick's kayak just as the redfish was spent enough to be landed.  We took advantage of the photo op with huge grins and congratulatory expressions. It's no surprise that Nick scored while I didn't. He's far more patient and methodical in his approach to practically everything than I am. He's a confident angler, smooth and accurate caster, experienced paddler and jut generally a pleasure to be around in any situation.

With little time left I headed back to the back of the cut I had been in to find the redfish I was after had vacated the area, most likely having something to do with my noisy exit. Just a few minutes later I saw Daniel's truck and trailer pulling onto the parking area. It was time to go.

It seems that I will have to add redfish to the list of fish tried for and not captured. It's not quite as high on the nemesis fish list as a large striper but it's moving up fast along with a good-size walleye. I may be able to break the redfish jinx this March however when I spend a few days in Rockport, TX with Jeff at Fly Fish Rockport.

Until then I'll just sit and listen to the rain outside our little house on wheels, rock with the wind and think about the one that got away...........for now.

Feeling Lucky- Hello Again

Wow! It has been a long time since I posted anything here but not for a lack of adventure or happenings. It has been more a lack of time and probably just as much, if not more a lack of motivation.

A Fine Ending to a Week on the South Platte

September was a stellar month for fishing. Sharon and I pulled into Woodland Park, CO on September 15. A few days later Besnik “Nick” Haxhijaj (hi-gee-eye) flew into Denver and met me on the Dream Stream. The next day we hiked into Cheesman Canyon with Jon Easdon and Justin Brenner from Angler's Covey in Colorado Springs. Cheesman is one of the places I've had on my radar for a couple decades but for one reason or another never made it in there. It was well worth the wait and I'm thrilled that I got to share it with a great friend and two new friends that I hope to spend much more time on the water with in the future. I can't really give a play by play at the moment. Look for that to happen next spring in Southwest Fly Fishing magazine.

The next couple days Nick and I hit the Deckers section of the South Platte just downstream of Cheesman. Wednesday evening Nick was able to land his first Colorado dry fly trout. Appropriately enough it was a cutthroat! The next day we got an early start and hit it hard but the fishing was tough due to the brutal winds. It was still a great day shared by great friends.

We finished out the week back at the Dream Stream with a really rough start to the day but a stellar end to the week......another story that you can read about in Southwest Fly Fishing this spring.

Since Colorado things have been hit and miss as far as fishing. Sharon and I met my brother Mark at Lake Texoma for one of the warmest Octobers in decades. The plan was to try for stripers on the fly but a long hot spell just prior to our arrival had the stripers clinging to the deep water edges out of reasonable reach for fly fishing. Instead Mark worked me like a minimum wage laborer running noodle lines for catfish. It wasn't what I had in mind for fun but we did catch a few brutes and hauled in a few dozen in 5 hard days of running lines. On the last day we hauled in one we estimated at easily 40+ pounds and another around 20. Not a bad day especially considering between runs we got into some schooling sandbass -whitebass- and I was able to take a few on the fly. They weren't exactly the 20+ pound striper I was hoping for but it was a great way to end the week.

From there we went through D/FW on our way to meet friends from the Austin area at Lake Catherine State Park in Arkansas. There was no fishing but there may have been a few beers consumed among the group. ALWAYS a great time with these folks!!

The next week we found ourselves in a campground outside of Mountain Home Arkansas.........way outside of Mountain Home Arkansas. We were there to meet new friends that we met at our favorite campground in southwest Colorado. Between the looooooong drive back into town, recuperating from Colorado and Texoma, trying to work and the relentless midge hatches I didn't get much fishing time in there. We were camped next to the White River and believe or not except for the day I went out with Nick (Arkansas Nick not Houston Nick) I found I had little motivation to fish.

From Arkansas we headed east through Tennessee to North Carolina where I had set up some days on the water to research articles for Eastern Fly Fishing magazine. It's a tough job but someone has to do it for your reading pleasure. I got to see a lot of new water, catch some smallmouth and trout including a couple of native Southern Appalachian brook tout and meet some great new friends. Thanks a million to Ken Hardwick of Headwaters Outfitters who guided me on the French Broad Rive and Matt Canter of Brookings Cashiers Anglers who introduced me to the tailwater on the Tuckasegee River.

We showed up in Panama City Beach, FL a little over 2 weeks ago. Though I have been chomping at the bit I still don't even have a fishing license yet but I did get to help 3 of the grandkids catch some bluegills. Between kids, grandkids, trying to catch up on writing and sifting through a few thousand photos it's no surprise. It's been what seems like forever since kids rushed over and called me grandpa. That's almost enough to make an old guy forget all about fishing..........almost. It's also a great reminder that there are far more important things in life than fishing.

Good For the Soul

“Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after"          - Henry David Thoreau

All my adult life people have frequently asked why I fish so much. The short answer is it’s good for my soul but the complete answer goes much deeper. Over the years fishing has occupied different places in my life and has taken on many incarnations. As a boy fishing simply got my brothers and me outside and in touch with nature through the summer months. During the winter months carrying a fishing rod from farm ponds, to creeks to lakes was replaced by carrying a shotgun or.22 rifle about the countryside of North Texas. Our big outings in those days were out to the east side of Lake Lewisville with our dad after work and on the weekends. During those years I never envisioned that fishing would become such a part of my life nor did I think of it that way or as anything other than just fishing. I felt much the same way about hunting though that feeling has changed drastically over the years. These days I just find it hard to take the life of a wild mammal, bird or fish given their world is shrinking so fast.

Up until the time when our family moved into the city I wasn’t even aware that people lived so disconnected from nature as those who dwell in big cities. Everything we caught or killed during those years living out in the rural countryside went onto the table. After our move into the city we stopped harvesting from the land. Our fishing excursions became rare and I can only recall a handful of hunting excursions. I lost my connection to the land but never lost the yearning for it. For lack of a better description I became somewhat of a hoodlum without that connection. During that time I wasn’t even aware of the chasm that existed between me and the natural world. I just knew I wasn’t happy with the world.

After several years I went back to the countryside that shaped my original view of the world to find it transformed into another city. The tiny community was well on its way to becoming just another example of urban sprawl. The farm ponds and cattle pastures were covered with houses, shops and restaurants. The few gravel roads had been widened to four lane paved streets dissected by a typical pattern of cross streets and cul-de-sacs. Where we used to gather sustenance from the land people now gathered there food in pre-packaged form. There is little description for the kind of loss that comes from the destruction of nature in the name of progress. To lose something as precious as the very thing that shaped a boy’s soul is tantamount to taking his life. Though I didn’t fully know it at the time the loss was incalculable on a personal level. That was the day I found myself encircled by a concrete jungle. Only now do I realize that it was the first great loss I ever suffered.

When I went back to our home in the city and reported what I had seen to my dad he simply acknowledged that he already knew. His words were calm but I know now on the inside he was as unhappy about it as I was. It didn’t dawn on me until many years later that it was only a short time after that day we started fishing more frequently again. We still lived in the midst of the concrete jungle but got out of it or at least onto the fringes more and more often. Many of those outings were spent drifting across Lake Worth snacking on Vienna sausages and cheese on crackers while catfishing. During one of those outings he confided in me his deepest desire to return to a life far away from the city. It was only the need to make enough money to support a family of six that had driven him away from Wyoming where his early view of the world had come with a rod or gun in his hands. His long term plan was to retire early and return to Wyoming and live out his later years. When we were younger he tried to keep us as close as he could to the countryside but the needs of the family had to outweigh his personal desires. He had hoped that by keeping us in or near the countryside as long as possible my brothers and I would bond with the land as he had. I am happy to report his plan worked but at the same time saddened he didn’t get to see how deeply the impression took.

On December 26, 1980 I spent the day with my dad as we shopped like champions at an after Christmas/going-out-of-business sale at Olsen’s Sporting Goods in Hurst, TX. I had married a few months earlier and had not spent much time with him during those months. We had not fish together at all during that time. The one time he came to my house during those months he invited me to join him and my uncle to drift for catfish on Lake Proctor. I declined the offer and took a raincheck. During our shopping we loaded up three full shopping carts with fishing gear of every manner for every member of the family making sure we had what we needed for the raincheck day of catfishing. We went back to my parents’ house and divided up all that tackle into big piles for him, myself and my brothers. When we were done we noted that his pile seemed to be the smallest of the bunch. We laughed and decided to rearrange the piles when he and Mom returned from a visit to Grandma’s a few days later because they were already late getting away. I stood in the driveway and waved as they pulled away. A few hours later I received a phone call telling me of the accident that had ended their lives.

It has taken a few decades to understand completely what fishing means to me or maybe it has just taken this long for me to be able to admit it. I like to think for the moment that fishing has come full circle in my life. The days of having something to prove have passed at least for the time being but I hope forever. These days I just want to fish because it is in my blood, it is in my heart, it soothes my soul. It’s where I find my dad.

The Creek With No Name

For days I’ve been patiently sitting around our campsite at times when I would normally be on the Upper Dolores River fishing. Since we got to Dolores, CO last week it has been raining on and off putting a serious damper on my river time. Today I couldn’t be patient any longer. I may have reached a point in life where I feel good about foregoing fishing now and then just to sit but sitting makes an old guy fat…..well that and all the snacking that goes on while being patient.

We woke up this morning to cloudy skies and a light drizzle but there was that feeling in the air. It was that feeling anglers know as a good day to fish, we feel it in our bones. It got stronger as the morning wore on and the skies cleared. During our morning walk along the river through the campground it was obvious that there wouldn’t be any fishing the Dolores today. It has been raining upstream for days in the headwater canyon which turns the 50 miles of river upstream of McPhee Reservoir to a chocolatey-milky mess. In fishing you should always have a plan-B. Fortunately there is no shortage of plan-B options around here. Today’s plan-B is a creek with no name.

This creek is the perfect spot to air out a Winston Retro 3 weight I’ve had stuck in its tube for over a year. It is 6 ½ feet of pure fiberglass perfection with an action so slow you can almost take a nap between the backcast and presentation. A 14” trout can put a bend in it all the way to the cork but I can still lay out 40 feet of line if the situation calls for it but not today. I scarcely had more than 15 feet of line out of the guides. I strung it up with the smallest reel I have along the other day hoping I could get on some small water. When I first put the Lamson Liquid 1.5 on the reel seat it felt out of balance but when I put the rod together today it felt near perfect with the weight of the line in the guides. The other day I contemplated acquiring a smaller reel but after fishing it that idea has been put to rest. It turns out to be a near perfect combination. If Lamson would just make the Liquid in a size 1 it would make a perfect match.

Although I love fishing this creek and other creeks like it I haven’t hit it in several years even though we’ve made many stops here since I discovered it. For me creeks like this are best experienced on special occasions like fine gourmet dining because something like this can spoil you and eventually nothing seems to satisfy. It’s one of the first creeks I fished in this drainage back in 2003 which is still one of the highlights of my fishing life, today was another. I think the penchant for this type of fishing came from fishing a small creek in New Mexico just like this one. I hope to visit the nameless creek in New Mexico again next year. Until then I’ll just savor today.

I won't go into a blow by blow it's best to just let the pictures do the talking.

Patience

Sitting near the campfire near one of America’s 100 top trout streams I can hear the river bubbling in the quiet of dusk, at least when the fire isn’t crackling. It’s been days since I have been able to hit the water and oddly enough I’m quite content with that. There was a time when it would have driven me nuts to be so close to a wonderful trout stream day after day and not be standing in it fishing.

Admittedly the weather has been an issue with torrential rains a couple of days that turned the river to something resembling chocolate milk. But there have been more days when it’s been just enough to sit and watch and listen. Bird watching has never been much of an amusement for me but the Mountain Jays, Common Sparrows, Northern Flickers, occasional hawks and other assorted unnamed birds have kept me quite occupied lately.

Until this morning we were setup in a campsite not 20 feet from the river but had to relocate due to booking our stay too late. From there I was able to sit at any time and watch the tiny brown trout parr feeding constantly. It makes me wonder how they ever collect enough calories to grow with the energy they expend jumping clear of the water to feed on the minute insects that inhabit this section of the river. However they do it seeing the number of parr in the river gives me hope for the future of the fishery here.

A couple of evenings I have donned my Vedavoo slingpack and walked a short section of the bank just downstream from the bridge that divides the campground. The rocks stacked along the banks to prevent erosion are pretty easy to walk even for a gimp like me. When the water is clear I can cast small dry flies along the current seams or around the larger rocks on the river bed and watch the trout rise to my fly. The trout here get fished over constantly and even the tiniest of them become very discerning- if you can say that about a trout –about what they take for food. Just as often as not they rise, follow and refuse my offerings. Other campers watch from the bridge or the walking path behind me and always politely inquire as to “how I’m doing”.

“Delightful” is my standard reply. How else could I be standing on the banks of a beautiful Rocky Mountain stream less than 100 yards from where our rolling house is parked? Some of the more serious inquirers, invariably men, request fish counts, and want to know what fly I’m using. I never give too many details and try to keep my answers simple, not because I enjoy being coy it’s just that at times like these it just really doesn’t matter. There are plenty of times when the size, fish count and size of the catch matters this however is not one of those times. In all the years we have been coming here I’ve never hooked anything over 10” in this little stretch of river. The times for specific flies, intense concentration and fish counts I save for the stretches of river that have been discovered over the years.

I did get out to one of those places last Friday. I won’t say where it is because some things are far better left unknown to the masses even on well-known rivers. I few years back I made the mistake of posting a photo that showed a location on a certain “Gold Medal” water. Along with the photo I told of the trout I had landed, the flies used and of a very large rainbow that took me for all I had. When I returned a few days later I couldn’t even find a place to park near that section of the river. My lesson has been learned. I did write an article on this river for SW Fly Fishing magazine but as anyone who does that sort of thing knows you tell the readers how to get here. What flies to bring and let them sniff out the secrets for themselves. It has to be that way or every good hole on every river ever featured would be over-fished. But I digress…..

The point is that in over a week of being next to this beautiful river I’ve been out for one afternoon in serious fishing mode, something that has seldom come natural in the past. That state does seem to come more often these days though. Sharon has even mentioned how calm I have been without having to be on the water every minute the weather is cooperating. I would like to think that it’s a state that comes with age, countless hours on the water and who knows how many fish landed or lost. I count the fish that have openly refused my offerings in that number also. They “refusers” used to be the one that haunted me the most. Now I think of them as the ones that have taught me the most. I have to admit that not being quite as steady on the rocks as I used to be may have something to do with it to some extent.

I guess the progress of my fishing life is no different than so many others, not surprisingly all of a certain age I have met or read about. Those first few times out with a fly rod we’re just happy to be outside with a rod in hand experiencing nature in a manner where just catching a fish is a bonus. Later on, once a few fish have been landed we just want to catch more than the time before. Then the search for big fish, then many big fish consumes our attention until eventually the urge to catch every big fish in a lake or river is something akin to insatiable. Somewhere in there we forget to look up at the Osprey soaring overhead or the deer walking the bank. The colors of the trees don’t even register and the bankside flowers go completely unnoticed. Damn the weather, damn the chores and at some point work be damned I’m going fishing. Jobs and families have been forfeited by some just to catch more fish. I once quit one and took another job 2,500+ miles away just so I could fish a famous lake. It’s not something I’m proud of now although I was at the time.

Eventually most of us fanatical anglers learn that it’s okay just to be an angler. I like to think that with age and experience I have acquired a sense of patience, something like coming full circle. An afternoon watching the parr feed with total abandon is satisfying in a different way but still completely satisfying. I don’t think there will ever come a time when I won’t long to be near the water yet for today it is more than enough.

I almost forgot to mention that last Friday went pretty well. I landed quite a few trout on a fly I’ve been tinkering with for a few years now just for this river. There was even a pair of fairly good sized cutthroats. Satisfaction!

Deschutes Part 1- Preparations

All good things, as the saying goes must come to an end. As sad as that may be it is something that can’t be avoided.

This morning we pulled into Bend Oregon. Like most of the rest of this year has been my timing is slightly off. When I stopped into one of the many fly shops here in town to pick their brains the first response I got was “You’re a couple weeks too early”. It seems like I’ve been a couple weeks too early or too late to catch anything exactly as it appears in the magazines and story books all year. Such is the life of a traveling angler that you rarely read about in the glossy pages found on newsstand shelves. But somehow I do seem to snoop out something suitable to keep my interests up and my boots wet. What I snooped out here at Fly & Field Outfitters is a 3 hour drive first thing in the morning to get to a spot that may or may not be loaded up with other anglers. What it will have for sure is a catchable amount of early season steelhead.

The best part about this scenario is that the locals have been catching quite a few fish on small flies and floating lines. This excites me because the time I recently spent on the Rogue had me throwing a 30 foot high-density shooting head. Although I really enjoy fishing that way it is quite a bit of work that can wear a casting arm out in short order. The other exciting aspect is that, albeit with a one-hand rod I will be able to try out some spey casting techniques. Then maybe I can get Michael to build me that spey rod we talked about last winter.

As soon as I found out that I am in range of a good number of catchable fish I headed back to our camp to get set up. I use the word camp loosely in this sense because this place, Crown Villa RV Resort is more like a resort than any other we have stayed at in 15 months of traveling. It’s more like “glamping”.  Most places we pull into that are called resorts end up to be something completely different. Sharon and I have found ourselves wondering if maybe the word “resort” has a secret meaning we are unaware of.

During preparations I decided it was time to finally retire the Orvis WF8F line I have been using since 1996. I just hope that the new line lasts half as long but on that front only time will tell. From what I hear new flylines are like too many other things; they just don’t make them like they used to. Then again I do take care of my flylines like they are made of gold for all I know they may be for what they cost. I’ve been asked many times how I get that much time out of a flyline. The answer is not exactly a secret it’s regular cleaning and maintenance. Keep it simple. Mild soap like Dawn in lukewarm water, rinse, wipe it down, rinse again and apply a light coat of fly line dressing.

I stripped all the old line off and went to attach the new one to the backing on my reel. I carefully wound the nail knot into place and snugged it up. Just as I do as part of every cleaning I gave a solid pull and it snapped. Yikes! The 20 pound Dacron is not supposed to do that with 10 pounds of pressure!!! It seems the time I have spent in the saltwater over the last year has not been kind to the backing. I’m pretty sure I may have to start going all the way to the spool with the cleaning.

Knowing it wouldn’t do any good I retied the backing onto the new flyline anyway and gave it a pull. The same thing happened. That’s when the sinking feeling set in. It was a sinking feeling of knowing we are only going to be here for a few short days and I was not going to go out in the morning well before the crack of dawn and the operating hours of any of the local fly shops. With only 3 days on the ground here I have allotted 2 days of fishing leaving our last day here, as always devoted to battening down the hatches so to speak.

I had already learned on the Rogue that having one’s equipment in tiptop shape is of the utmost importance when going after these big boys. I briefly contemplated going out with the inferior backing and letting luck take its course but the thought of having a good size steelhead run downriver with an expensive new flyline just doesn’t appeal to me these days. I suppose if all I wanted was a hookup that might be as good a way as any to all but guarantee an encounter with a trophy fish but I’m just not as stupid as I used to be when it comes to these things. Murphy’s Law has reared its ugly head too many times to tempt fate once more.

So here I sit typing out this post instead of lying in bed sleeping before heading out in the middle of the night to fish at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow I’ll go back to one of the other local fly shops and maybe pick their brains a little, buy a couple more flies and ask “Can you guys put some backing on this old reel?” Hopefully in the process I can acquire a bit more useful information. I’m going to need it since I just lost half my time on the water.