Another Reason to Protect the little Guys

In almost every corner of the fly fishing world you will find some form of protection for the little native brook trout.  Yes they are delicious, I will admit that in the past I have eaten them a time or 3.  Although at that time I considered it more a form of population control rather than a meal.  10 or more years have passed since my last taste of Native flesh and I have seen how fishing pressure alone can devastate a native brook trout population first hand.

Last Saturday I headed out for the first time in about a year to check on my little local friends. Almost immediately during my visit I got re-schooled on a few lessons that I had forgotten the Brook trout knew how to teach. So the next time you head over to your neighborhood Native Brook trout stream, not only protect it for it’s beauty and it’s rare inhabitants. Protect if for what and how the stream and it’s inhabitants can to each you to be a better fisherman.  Take and teach what we learn on our small native and wild trout streams  and apply them to other waters big and small.

A Few Lessons from the Teachers:

1.  Check your surroundings before you cast (look up and thank the fish god, then over each shoulder.)

2.  Don’t knock Small lines and small rods, they mimic big lines and big rods so bring your A game to the stream.

3.  Small flies + small lines + good knots = A happy fisherman and a happy fish.

4.  Stealth matters:  We don’t realize sometimes how much noise we project and how much backdrop distortion or shadow casting we do on a stream.

5.  Simplify what gear you take so it will be easier to find and manage.

Memory Vault: One Long Day

This might be my favorite warning sign of all-time.

The 2nd ridiculously rewarding thing we did on our trip out West took place on the night before our last day of fishing in Idaho.  Thank god (or your deity of choice) we all agreed to head back and hit up the hotel again for a good nights sleep, showers and a good meal.  I really just wanted to snuggle with Chris again.  This was probably one of the best decisions, unknowingly, since that next day turned into a LONG ONE!!  Up at dawn, no need to eat because of the massive portions from the meal we had the night before.  The HO was packed and ready to go so we headed for coffee, gas and then the quick hump down to the stream.  We fished pretty much all day, getting off the stream with little light left in the day.  Dropped off the boat at premier and took a quick tour of the Premier Oars and Blades shop with ? Guy who’s name I forget; he had a hat completely covered in used streamer flies and he let me pet him like a dog the whole time.  We headed for a quick bite to eat at a diner/gas station (Rockies) that had one of the best burgers that I have ever eaten in my life—bar NONE!

It was Ryan’s turn to drive in the daily rotation of things, Chris had backseat which would have been the place to be, and I had Co-Pilot.  Our destination was Cody which would take us in through the South gate and out the East gate of Yellowstone park at night………this should be fun.  The nice lady at the gate entrance who’s birthday had to end in B.C. told us to go the speed limit because the park police are always out (our white Tahoe looked just like-em) and the wildlife is always crossing the road.  She said, “Someone hit a bison a few weeks back and the bison won.”  About 3 minutes after leaving the gate a fox ran across the road.  Now I’ve seen plenty of fox’s in my life but come on this thing looked like at least 30 pounder.  It’s probably about 1030  to 11pm when we started into yellowstone and Cody was a solid 1.5-2 hrs away and we had to still hit up wally-world for a license and set-up camp.  Suddenly Ryan hollered out BISON BISON!!!  Chris and I both pooped in our pants a little and looked in Ryan’s POV and nothing.  He flipped a U-turn and headed back and the SOB was standing right in the middle of the road.  As black as NIGHT with a dull reflection off it’s eyes that really didn’t help reflect any light at all.  WOW those F-in things are BIG.  We could have hit that thing going the speed limit 35 or a little more and it would have done nothing but put the engine in our laps and just pissed off the bison.  He slowly walked across the 2-lane and disappeared into the darkness, like a big drunk dude staggering home from the  bar alone.  We made our way to wally-world, then backtracked about 30 minutes to camp.  Set-up shop and went to bed at about 3-330 am only to wake up when the sun hit out tents.  From this moment on in Wyoming it was a Trout Catching Marathon!!!!

This might be my favorite warning sign of all-time.

Continuing Down Memory Lane: Lets See U Try This!!!

Part 1:

One of the 2 ridiculously rewarding things we did this trip was after the 1st day float, when we hopped off the stream early to go find and set-up camp.  It was Labor Day weekend so we were pretty unsure whether or not there was a camp site anywhere in the state of Idaho.  After passing a couple camps that looked like party central Ryan made one of his many executive decisions (it’s always good to have a decision maker and he has done right in the past) to push on up the mountain and see what is available away from the river.  We ended up finding a great site as far as camping goes that was close enough to a stream that we could fish that evening before calling it a night.   Well, we were all jacked up about fishing, since this was a fishing trip, that we set up camp and immediately hit the stream.  Now by hit the stream I mean if you would have fallen you would have literally hit the stream.  Since this 1/2 mile distance from camp to stream was straight down hill and by hill I mean mountain and by straight I mean a wide path of loose rock straight down the hill to the river.  We debated for a few minutes if whether or not the walk back out was going to be worth it or not, but the only way we would ever know is to nut up and go for it.  The walk down wasn’t all that bad, I think we all lost our footing at least twice, nothing was broken except for a good sweat.  Where we ended up looked like one endless rapid, as far up as I could see and eventually as far up as I cared to walk, actually it got faster the farther up I walked.  Like we saw from above it was a beautiful section of water and awful fishy looking.  But it was way to fast to get out into any of the current breaks, but fishing the seams closer to the bank did turn out to be somewhat productive for all of us.  I would guess we landed 20-30 fish between us all in the 2-3 hrs we fished, I know Ryan got into a good pocket way down stream and Chris and I eventually found a couple good runs, but this was a stream that was primed for a good float.  Hence the wide path straight off the mountain I would assume.  I couldn’t imagine roping a raft or anything off that mountain.  The fishing must have been other-worldly at some point in time for that path to be there.

The only thing worse than the walk in was of course the walk out.  I bet it took me 45 min to an hour to walk out.  Chris having the build and stamina of a small mountain goat beat foot to the top rather quickly and I think he tried to start a rock slide down to Ryan and I who paced ourselves together just incase one of us decided to give up and let nature have its way with us back down at the bottom of the hill.  I don’t think either of us would have put out a helping hand if Chris would have rolled by us.  Regardless of it’s torturous walk we made it back to camp in one piece and we brought plenty of picture perfect trout to hand once again.  Would I do it again??  I would think not but who knows, you know how that fishing sickness can get you to do things you body or mind would not normally attempt.

Purification

How can something so dirty, smelly, foul, rancid, putrid, ripe, so downright awful make you feel so much better?  1 word TROUT….ok 2 words WILD TROUT…….maybe 3  BIG FEROCIOUS WILD TROUT!!!!! (ok that was 4 words).  Another successful fishing trip is in the books.  Wasn’t a huge numbered 2 days as compared to previous trips, although I won’t complain about a 50 + fish 2-day trip.  This was one of those trips where on occasion I found myself saying this is F-ing awesome. 

Day one found me on the stream around noon-ish looking at great flows, higher than the norm but a pleasant sight to see since this stream has epic nymphing/streaming potential.  After a closer inspection it did have a little greyish hue to it, which is not uncommon for this stream after a good rain.  The CFS had been on the downslope for 5 days now so why it was still cloudy is beyond me and it was not something I had planned on dealing with.  Usually that color means this stream is shut down.  Now one assumes the color is because the all of the ground in Wv feels like a saturated sponge causing a lot of runoff still coming into the stream.  The day started off a little slow, I think because of my desire to nymph.  Once I tossed aside the nymph rod hit my stride on slinging streamers it was GAME ON!!!!!  Every fish I caught day one had a big fat full belly.  I had one brown came out of the water after a fly that was so fat he just belly-flopped on the surface instead of that smooth swing and a miss roll back into the water (if I caught around 50 in 2 days I bet I had twice as many swings and misses).

As you can see from the rocks on the wall this isn't the first spewage to be dumped into the stream. Maybe it's their version of hatchery feedings.

I really have no idea what happened to this picture.

Another WMD victim.

The next stage of my trip I found myself contemplating where to sleep.  My choices were to either make the 40 minute hop over the mountain and stay in a nice hotel with breakfast.  Stay 10 minutes down the road in a shit hole that I have personally vomited in and know of at least one other that has done the same.  Or, since I brought my sleeping bag, camp out in the back of my car in the Wal-Mart parking lot.  I chose the latter.  Why?  Well….I’m cheap and it’s not that I’m strapped for cash it’s just the principle of the fact that I know I can sleep perfectly fine in the car.  It’s cool outside, I’m dog tired and probably could have slept under a bridge (which I don’t recommend).  My wife was in Canada and with her upcoming trip to Italy we had planned practicing how or if Skype would work so I needed to stay close to a WiFi source (thanks Wal-Mart for making your password so easy to figure out).  So despite my parents and wifes approval I spent the night sprawled out in the back of the Prius with my sleeping bag and blow-up pad in the Wal-Mart parking lot.  Slept like a baby after getting off the boob that had just been burped.     

Is that a Tarpon Fly in your mouth? I think so.

After getting micky-D’s breakfast I hit up a stretch of water that I have nicknamed Raul’s Miracle Mile (much more than a mile).  Last November Ryan managed something like 200 fish in 2 days of fishing this section with quite a few being over 16 inches and a few pushing the 22-24 inch limit.  So Ryan when that train full of bad karma finally smashes into you we will be sure to have this section of stream dedicated to your glory’s.  Thankfully the water had cleared about 50% and dropped about 6 inches so it was NYMPHING TIME!!!  After 3 days on the South Holston and Watauga rivers then my first day on this trip throwing streamers was getting old.  Plus my arm and wrist were starting to feel the effects.  Within 15 minutes I managed to pick up several fish.  When the bite cooled off I switched over to the meat rod and swung a WMD through a few zones .  I picked up a nice kyped up male that was sitting about 10 feet downstream directly to my left (rookie mistake not letting my flies completely swing out).  The next 7 hours basically played out like this.  Nymphing for a while until the bite stopped, switch rods and bounce a streamer, then move upstream and repeat.  The last hole of the day turned out to be the best.  After switching to the streamer rod, which I think at this point had a white/red muddy buddy on it, I had a massive rainbow come from the bottom and completely circle my fly.  One of those hold your beath mind blanking WFT misses.   He, which turned out to be a she, did this about 3 more times, each time a little less aggressive.  So I switched flys….olive muddy buddy….WMD….Black Muddy Buddy…..Orange/Yellow Tarpon fly, Yellow Muddy buddy, some angel hair pike fly.  Just before I decided to pack in up for the day I ended up tying on a 3-year-old fly that I got from where I have no idea.  I would describe it and show you all a picture but I think i’ll keep it to myself for a while.  Basically it was a black streamer with a REALLY heavy body.  1 cast and a slow strip is all it took and WHAM (an old school batman WHam SHazZam).  Great acrobatic fight with a short bulldog session and in the net she went.  Now I’m alone and it’s a bitch to photograph fish by yourself, especially a big fish.  The mark I made on the net later taped out at 24-26 inches but without a good picture I guess I have to go with a lower number like 22 since I have no evidence.  Regardless of its size a great fish.

Why would you walk down this road? A. To buy something illegal. B. To brush up on your arson skills. C. To get to the car quicker in order to fish longer. D. All the above.

 

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Somewhere…..over the Rainbow

Just another day in the Hills chasing rainbows.

Triple D’s and More on the Davidson

Raul and I (BayE) hooked up last Wednesday so I could get my Davidson River cherry popped.  We met up at Dave’s shop in order to perform an Intervention with Dave.  We begged and pleaded to him to attend a Fly Casting rehab center for guides.  Our efforts fell short to say the least as we were run off the property by Dave in a fit of rage holding a hula hoop in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, cigarette dangling out of his mouth and his pants starting to fall down.  He was spouting out vulgar profanities as we raced off the property in the Subaru.  Our belittling didn’t stop there as was made several attempts by phone to once again convince him of his need for rehab.  Remember Dave it’s only because we love you. 

During the entire drive to the Big-D I was reminded of the shit show I was about to witness.  Small stream fishing with fish just barely outnumbering the fishermen 10-1  (probably 1500-2000 fish in the section we fished i would assume?)  Nothing can be worse for a fly fisherman to have to endure as compared to a day of combat fishing, especially on a small stream with tight overhang.  Throw in a little low gin clear water full of some”naturalized” and wild trout, and you have a nearly impossible trout to fish to.

We arrived to a parking lot FULL of cars, school is out, the parking lot is at the hatchery, picnic are, playground, stream access, hiking trail, and bike trail access points….did I mention yet it’s 128.6 degrees outside?  Well it was.  We rigged up the rods with some good old PIA 7x and hit the stream.  To our surprise 90% of the cars we not fishermen, but campers/hikers/bikers.  We found a couple great holes and the fishing commenced.  My cherry popped quickly with 2 nice browns giving up after great fights to get their picture taken.  We fished around for a few hours catching some dinks here and there until the call of the wild pulled us up near the hatchery’s water outlet.  A place were the men are separated from the boys, were the vultures circled for an easy meal, were heros are made and legends are written into the history books.  WOW what a big giant hole, gin clear of course, full of monster trout with NO ONE around!!!  Except Roll-Cast Linda (another story another day.)

After casting to what seemed like mouthless trout, minus a couple of brook trout brought to hand, the skies turned grey and started to rumble.  The rumble turned into loud cracks from bolting lighting somewhere in the close distance, then it started to rain.  Then rain some more.  And more.  And More.  And more.  Then it rained a little harded.  Then a little harder.  Then the wind picked up and so did the lightning, still it rained even harded, but in a different direction.  Did we leave?  HELL NO. 

What happens to a stream after a torrential downpour of rain?  It gets muddy.  But what happens to the stream during the rain?  You get a window of slowly rising water along with a gradual change in water color.  All of this equating to hungry fish getting fed and we were going to be serving up some shit that would get them hooked!!!  Well at least that is what I thought.  I had my rig ready and so did Ryan and of course the Asshole that Ryan is would take on the first customer, which would leave me playing net man leaving my pole behind. 

I can go on and on at this point about the next 40 minutes of fishing but let me try to sum it up the best I can.  We are soaking wet, my double fly/indicator rig is so tangled it looks like something a cat coughed up. Ryan is fully rigged and rippin lips faster that I can net his fish, take his pictures, regroup myself and attempt to fix my rig.  He hooked at least 6-8 fish over 20 inches and a few reaching the 25 inch mark, that all fought like TANKS!!  I want to call him an asshole but I won’t, even though I would have given him my rod if I were on my 4th 20 inch fish while my “Friend” is struggling to restring his rod to participate in the fish frenzy.  With that said I was happy just to be the net man, glad to see those big fish brought to hand. 

*BayE*