Fly Tying the Emotion Detector

Delusions and Salvation Desert Trout Part 3

Leaving Pyramid Lake after fruitless hours of casting and retrieving purple crystal buggers on the South Nets Beach I headed for town to check into my hotel and prepare for work. The overnight reservation had been made by my employer for the next two weeks. Tired and wind beaten I had made no attempt to recover from the two day drive out of Fort Worth. The two weeks ahead would serve as an on the job interview at what was and still is by some considered to be the premier taxidermy studio in the country. I needed rest, food and to be out of the elements.

After all these years I don't remember which hotel/casino it was I walked into still a bit dazed and confused from the drive out and my unproductive day on the water. Growing up as southern Protestant doesn't prepare a young man for the atmosphere of a downtown Reno casino/hotel. It's not that I hadn't seen my share of sin and debauchery it's just that as a southern Protestant we're taught to do it in private so we've got something to be ashamed of come Sunday morning.

I hadn't seen that much smoke in one room since my post high school, rock & roll pot and keg party days. Though we had our share of mind altering drink and substances we never had hookers hovering around the bar or those clanging slot machines. We knew the wandering ladies of our parties and confined our gambling to poker the best we knew it then. My wanton days of high immorality were long gone by 1994. I had spent years trying to remove myself from such scenes of open immorality. I thought I had seen it all; my delusions of worldliness were shattered. It was all I could do not to turn around and walk out. The only reason I pressed through to the lobby and the check-in counter was pride and fishing. If I turned and ran now it would be in defeat and there would never be another chance to fish Pyramid Lake, the real reason the journey had been made in the first place.

After checking into what still remains the most dismal room I've ever slept in I called Sharon to let her know all was well. There was no mention of the scene downstairs. Why would any sane man mention that scene to his wife? I had no intention of partaking in any of it but there's never an occasion when mentioning such things is a good idea.  Luckily exhaustion had caught up so sleeping was not a problem.

Work was a rude awakening. Working alone in my little garage shop didn’t prepare me for the magnitude of what I walked into on Monday morning. It was all overwhelming and completely different from what I had experienced working in other small shops around D/FW. These guys were world class and the learning curve was extremely steep. By the end of the first week I had been openly insulted by the boss, laughed at by a couple other taxidermists and taken as an apprentice by another. I learned later it was all a part of the process to weed out those with a weak constitution and test egos. I was really ready to hit the lake come Saturday morning but I was also way behind that learning curve, trying to get the grasp of everything that was being thrown at me and wanting to finish the Mule Deer mount I was working on.

By lunch time the Mule Deer mount was pinned and drying.

During the week I had secured better housing arrangements. No more hotel/casino nights. Two nights there were more than enough. I stopped by for a change of clothes and my daily call home before heading back out to the lake to try again. I had also acquired the proper fast-sinking shooting head, running line, backing and a new reel spool along with an expanded set of flies.

All week I had been making inquiries about where to fish for the best chance of encountering trout without the crowds that gathered on the North and South Nets Beaches. The word was the area near the pyramid would be my best bet. The drive took me a different route than that of the week before. Once you leave I-80 at Wadsworth the landscape takes on a surreal, foreboding character. Once again I found the thrill of the unknown creeping up my spine like the fear before jumping off a high cliff into a lake. The one little voice in my head was telling me one thing while the other pushed me forward.

The town of Nixon on the south end of the lake offered no comfort just more unfamiliarity and an uncaring mood. On subsequent trips up to this side of the lake my view of Nixon changed drastically. The small reservation town fits the landscape perfectly. What started out as foreboding and unfamiliar became comforting and eventually moving as time spent on and around the lake mounted. It was to become my solace, the only thing that could sooth me in the absence of Sharon. Whether it was just the landscape, the fishing or both I still can’t say even today 24 years later.

Driving north of Nixon the NV-447 winds up onto a natural promontory over the lake. For just a moment I could see almost the entire length of it. It had not occurred to me the week before how large the lake is. What I thought from that vantage point was the pyramid turned out to be Anaho Island, a much larger rock formation just south of the pyramid. It finally dawned on me as I made the turn off of NV-447 toward the pyramid and trout island. Bouncing along the dirt road an almost overwhelming feeling of solitary insignificance took over. I had never been confronted with such a landscape. After making the arduous drive across the southwest on I-40, down to Las Vegas then up along US-95 it seemed the further this journey took me the smaller I felt. Driving along what was once the bottom of an ancient sea can do that if you let it and I let. There was no way to fight it so rather than struggle I decided to roll with it.

I stopped adjacent to Anaho Island in sight of what I knew now to be the namesake pyramid shaped rock formation to take it all in. Pelicans and sea gulls circled Anaho, both on the ground and in the air. The stark landscape in shades of white, grey and rust contrasted against the azure blue of the lake’s surface was moving and frankly a bit frightening all at the same time. The lack of human presence was palpable in a way that a storm cloud in the distance makes its presence known whether it’s coming your way or not. I thought about how work was going and what an awakening it had been to how little I actually knew about the work I was doing.

Off in the distance I saw a vehicle parked by the lake. It looked to be a pickup and I could just make out a fisherman standing in the water casting. Despite the fact I had made the trek to this side of the lake to escape the crowds I was suddenly drawn to be near a human. I restarted the truck and went off to find the road that led to where my immediate salvation lied.

Dazed and Confused- Desert Trout Part 2

When the alarm went off I couldn't find it. The nightstand had been moved and the sound of the alarm wasn't right. Nothing was right not the bed, the walls, the curtains.......nothing! I started to panic just as it all came back to me.

I was in a small mobile home at the Crosby Lodge on Pyramid Lake. My first coherent thought was "How did they come up with lodge?"

Okay it wasn't much but the group of mobile homes they call a lodge saved my ass from sleeping in my truck in freezing February weather somewhere around Reno after the long drive out. To top it all off I had been able to get the last available one for the night "and only for one night because a party is coming in there tomorrow." is what I was told when I checked in and paid at the bar.

My next thought was how could my stomach make that much noise? I had pulled in after the grill closed and had a pair of beers for nourishment before turning in. Maybe that on a completely empty stomach had contributed to my confused state. It was early enough that the sun was still well behind the hills on the east side of the lake but the sky had started to glow.

By the time I showered and packed back into the truck the grill had opened up. Finally solid food. I found a pay phone at the general store and called Sharon collect to let her know I had made it safely. It was a really crappy connection which made for an unsatisfying conversation. Conversations under these circumstances are okay at best but this one left me feeling empty. The closing thought was I would give her a call when I went to town later and checked into my hotel. A hotel that had been arranged by the man I would be working for the next two weeks.

With the better part of a day to kill it was time to fish. That was my ulterior motive for making this trip after all. There was a possibility that it could turn into a full-time job but the voice in my head told me the only reason I would take it is if the fishing panned out.

The lake and surrounding area is part of the Pyramid Lake Paiute Indian Reservation. Like most reservations at first glance it doesn't look like much but when you take the time to get a deep look it's quite beautiful in a unique way. The hills around the lake are all but barren with minimal scrub brush. In full daylight the colors and nuance are a complete wash with little interest. What I came to find later is that sunrise and sunset hours are the best time to visually take in the reservation. The bright green lichen on the exposed rock faces glow in the morning sunlight. If you catch it just right the hills facing east just south of Sutcliffe turn a brilliant aquamarine just for a moment as the sun peaks over the eastern hills at first light.

I got a permit, a few flies and some direction on where to go at the general store. "North Nets Beach" the lady behind the counter told me, "that's where they been getting them lately". Following here directions I made my way out onto the hard sand beach along with several other vehicles. There were fishermen standing a ways out from the water's edge on ladders. What the hell? I pulled up and just watched for a while. They all used the same method. They would cast out as far as possible then wait a long time, counting down then start stripping the line in slowly on short strips. Presently one of them hooked up. He backed down off the ladder and fought the fish into his net standing in waist deep water next to his ladder. I couldn't see how big it was from my vantage point but I could see he released it, got back on his ladder and went to casting. Man was I confused about the ladder.

I rigged up the only decent fly rod I owned at the time with a floating line and a 3 foot sink-tip. From what I had been able to gather on the fishing here fly anglers would cast out sinking lines with a pair of wooly bugger style flies and strip, cast and strip, cast and strip. It didn't take too long to get the use of the ladder. Trying to make booming distance casts and keeping 60 feet of line in the air to wind up for the final shoot was tiring. The backcast tends to tail off and smack the water behind the caster drastically slowing the line speed. Stepping up two or three rungs on an aluminum ladder gives the caster the added height to keep the backcast out of the water and achieve a little more distance by getting more line in the air on the false casts.

I fished hard for around four hours with not a single strike. Others around me had landed multiple trout. While I was loading up to head into town a local stopped by to ask how I did. With no good news to report he asked to see my rig. After examining it he explained the rig that everyone else was using. What I really needed was a fast sinking shooting head and running line to go with the brilliant purple flies I had purchased that morning. he said he wasn't sure what the setup would cost. He had purchased his several years prior and the cost would surely have gone up. He directed me to the Reno Fly Shop where they would have everything I need including a spare spool for my Orvis Battenkill reel.

This came as disheartening news given that I had driven all the way from Texas to fish.....ahem.....work........and didn't even have the right fishing equipment. This was not turning out like it did in my head weeks before when I had cooked up this little plan. The best I could hope for is that things would get better once I got to town.

Pyramid Prep

For several weeks I've been talking about fishing Pyramid Lake; one of the most popular trout angling destinations in the country right now. For years Sharon has been telling me she wanted to come out this way and try her hand at catching one of the famed Lahontan cutthroat trout she has heard so much about from me. Well we finally made it to the area and are setup in Sparks, NV just east of Reno and things are ramping up.

When we landed here our intention was to get right at it. But once we pulled into town we realized it was coming up on Memorial Day weekend. That happens when you're traveling full-time with no set time frame. Things like holidays slip up on you because let's face it everyday is akin to a holiday when you're traveling the country with no set itinerary. After doing a little research and checking fishing reports I found that the crowds aren't quite as thin as hoped. Some of the beaches are still getting crowded so we opted not to try and fight the holiday weekend crowds. Instead we're staying longer than originally planned so we can fish next week. I will keep watching the weather and solunar tables and pick a day to go out and fish. hopefully it will all work out in the end. This has given me plenty of time to prep and research.

There was a time when I wouldn't have thought of passing on a single fishing day due to almost anything let alone something as minor as crowds. But as time goes by and I get, not older, let's say "more age mature" the number of days on the water seems to take a back seat to the quality of those days. As a young man I heard or read stories by "mature" anglers when they would say things like this and I just didn't get it. When I first came here in 1994 I couldn't wait to get on the water. I was young, eager and didn't mind abusing my body by fishing every hour I could and working all the rest sleeping just enough to keep me alive. I used to tell Sharon "I'll sleep when I'm dead" much to her chagrin. It doesn't work that way anymore. I sometimes wish it did but am glad for the way things are now on the other 98 days out of 100. Besides it gives me time to tie flies.

One thing I had forgotten about was the need for a stripping basket at Pyramid. Maybe I should quantify that more specifically. It's not so much a NEED as it is a tool to make things much more enjoyable. Plus we are headed to Morro Bay, CA after we leave here and the stripping basket will come in really handy in the surf as I learned last year in Panama City, FL. The preferred method here is to fish a pair of flies on a fast-sinking shooting head with a very slow stripped retrieve. The stripping basket is a life saver at keeping the running line under control during those long retrieves. On a calm day it's no big deal to strip the running line directly into the water if it's a floating running line. But when is it calm at Pyramid Lake? Not very often.

With a little online research I was able to find a relatively new and inexpensive design from William Joseph at the local Cabelas. I've had solid, molded stripping baskets before and haven't really cared for having the big, rigid bucket strapped to my waist. I'm also really, really clumsy sometimes and have ended up cutting myself on the plastic edges of both of them. This one is soft all the way round.

One of the clever aspects of the William Joseph design is that it can be collapsed when not in use and opened up by simply pulling the tab on the front to form the opening. It also has an integrated rod holder which amounts to a flap that is secured by a Velcro strip across the front. It seemed to work pretty good lawn casting but that rarely means certain success in the real world. There's nothing like a running line screaming out of a stripping basket or apron to really test it out. Fingers crossed that I get a chance to see how that works out real soon.

As a fanatical fly tyer one thing that rubs me the wrong way on an unguided trip is using store bought flies.Sure they usually work just fine and more often than not hold up pretty well too but all things equal I would much rather catch the same fish on a fly I tied and preferably with my own little tweaks. In tournament bass fishing, tournament anglers all have what they call a go to confidence bait. It's the one style of lure they just feel most confident with on any given day on any given body of water. I have a go to confidence material. Give me a chance to put marabou in or on a fly and by golly it will end up with marabou on it somewhere. Second to marabou my go to confidence material is a bunny, mink or other like strip of fur. Why is that? Simply put , these two materials move like no others in the water where it counts.

With a little online searching I located the flies that have been working for other anglers as of late, mixed that with the patterns that worked for me so many moons ago then put some confidence on them. I don't know that they will work any better than the flies I could buy in the local shops but I do know I will fish them harder because they look right to me. And when I land a fish on them they will have come from my vise.

My favorite fly in 1994 was a kind of crystal wooly bugger in purple. I didn't do much tying at the time and got all my flies from a couple of locals I fished with or at the Reno Fly Shop. Today I whipped up a version of that purple thing using what I have on hand. It's an ugly thing and should either skunk them or skunk me, there's very little room for anything in between with this thing. Heavy brass eyes, marabou and polar chenille. My favorite kind of fly quick and easy to tie with very few materials.

The locals have also taken to using something called a Popcorn Beetle. I put a little confidence on it too but I'm not the first so here's hoping it pays off as part of the two fly rig.

I haven't even been to a fly shop since we hit town. It's not that I don't want to it's more that I'm kind of afraid of spending more money than is healthy at the moment. I need to save the budget for Morro Bay later in the month. Thank goodness I can tie my own flies. With all this fishing prep going on I would be broke otherwise. Tomorrow I'll be whipping up some leaders. It's like fish porn all this preparation.

Desert Trout- Part 1

Back in 1992 I found a book titled The World’s Greatest Fly Fishing Locations by Erwin A Bauer. It's one of those big coffee table style books loaded with large glossy photos and detailed stories about, as the title implies, some of the greatest fly fishing locations in the world. One of the locations covered in the book is Pyramid Lake outside of Reno, Nevada. At the time I was still a relative newbie to trout fishing. I had taken my share of bass, carp, sandbass and the like on a fly rod from around Texa. But trout were a rarity, taken on annual vacations to Colorado or from TPWD put and take locations near home.

One of the photos in the book showed a huge, pink hued cutthroat held by an angler standing in the lake with barren hills in the background. Of all the fish and landscape photos in that book from around the world that one grabbed my attention in a way that none of the others did. Looking back now I can only imagine it was the contrast between my concept of where trout should live and what I was seeing. The bright blue water, the huge Lahontan cutthroat trout and the completely barren hills didn’t seem to be suited to one another. To say that I was intrigued is a huge understatement. I wanted one and I wanted it bad.

Late in 1993 I found myself laid-off from an aerospace job in Fort Worth and in need of work. I found an advertisement for a job that I had perfect qualifications for as a taxidermist in Reno. Yes how one becomes perfectly qualified to be a taxidermist is a story within itself that I may or may not ever tell. I can’t remember how I felt about the job, or Reno or anything else for that matter but I did see an opportunity to fish in Pyramid Lake. In February of 1994, at the peril of soon being divorced I left for Reno, not to work but to fish. Well I did go to work but only as a means to pay for my fishing.

Instead of stopping Friday and Saturday nights along the way I only made the Friday stop and made the remainder of the drive on Saturday. By the time I got to Reno it was 9:30 local time and I was beat. I tried a few hotels in town but they were either booked or too expensive for my budget. I had pushed on through Saturday in order to be able to fish on Sunday so I headed north in search of the Crosby Lodge at Sutcliffe. It was mentioned in the book but I didn’t have that with me for reference. This was in a time before smartphones and roaming internet via 4G networks, hell we didn’t even have those big clunky cell phones yet. I was flying by the seat of my pants with a very worn out paper atlas and a flashlight with weak batteries.

Unlike today the Pyramid Highway was completely deserted once got to Sun Valley a mile or so north of I-80. It was totally dark with no moon, there were no other vehicles on the road and not a single flicker of light in sight. I had been driving for about 20 hours, I was hungry, dehydrated, completely out of my element, to be honest a little unnerved and I needed to pee before my bladder burst all over the seat of my truck. Driving north on NV-445 I had forgotten to check the odometer. It seemed like I had gone far enough to reach my turn at NV-446 but there was no intersection in sight. Unable to take it any longer I pulled over to void my bladder beside the highway.

Opening the door I didn’t even turn off the ignition or move away from the truck. Standing there feeling the celestial relief that came from releasing 300+ miles worth of coffee a movement caught my eye from across the road. Still in full relief, squinting I could barely make out the shape of a fox’s head standing at the edge of the glow from the truck’s interior light. The tall ears trained in my direction like miniature radar dishes had to be picking up sounds that confused their wearer. For a long moment we stared at one another not moving. I didn’t even realize I had finished my business until the fox darted back into the darkness unseen.

I don’t know if it was the relief of not having that pressure on my bladder or finally being able to stand up after 5 straight hours driving but all my anxiety had drained away. Or maybe it was seeing that fox looking at me in the dark examining something it didn’t understand from a distance. It was the first sign of any life I had seen on that pitch black, dark road. Whatever happened at that moment I had finally arrived and in one piece. In my head the worst case scenario went from total unknown doom to "I’ll find the lake and sleep on the beach".

I did find my turn and Crosby Lodge. They even had accommodations available for the night. Now all I needed was some sleep.