Bamboozling The Bows

Thirty-seven bows came by way
Thirty-seven for a short day
Thirty-seven bows by Frenchie pink
Thirty-seven plucked from the drink

To bamboozle is to trick or deceive or to dupe by sometimes questionable manner.  The fishing on Saturday was off the charts - almost obscene at times.  The weather the creator gave the angler on Saturday was also off the charts - a little cool early, but once the sun topped the tree line a nice warm-up began. 

The tricking of the bows started with the very first cast around 7:30 yesterday morning.  The Frenchie would be sent to sea, the fly lands, a count of ten and then a twitch.  The strike takes place, quickly followed by a hook-set.  Sounds easy doesn't it?  Yesterday it was and the twitch seemed to be the bamboozling.

Shortly after wading into the river I hear a voice and when I turn I'm greeted by Dan Ham.  Dan was hoping to get the same sweet stretch I was fishing. Like me, Dan also knows that this run can be quite a rewarding place.  I almost felt guilty that I had the hole and Dan had crossed a branch of the river to get there.  But, Dan was all good with it as we chatted and I handed him a pink Frenchie pattern.  Later on, Dan would report he caught a few trout with the Frenchie before the fly was lost at sea. 

It was almost a fish on every cast and before the trout would grow pattern weary, twenty-one souls would come my way via the Frenchie.  The Frenchie was once again in competition with the Brown Bugger - the bugger leading, Frenchie following.  Brown Bugger was getting shut out at this point and before the day would be over the score would read Frenchie 37, Brown Bugger 0. 

 

 

Moving on upstream I came to one of the two trout hotels that are below the Cove.  Sometimes there is full occupancy at these boarding places, sometimes there is plenty of room for more.  Nine more souls would come to the hand and all courtesy of the Frenchie. The bugger was still at zilch.

 

Scott Dittner finally makes it to the river and starts fishing the flats above the falls at the Cove.  I had just made about three casts with no results except getting terribly tangled in a tree behind me.  I move across the river to the east side and when I come back over Scott is gone.  Upstream is Dan and he is precariously perched on a boulder in the middle of the river.  How he got out there without drowning I haven't a clue.  Dan has already lost his Frenchie, but still he is catching a lot of trout.  Once he lost the pink Frenchie, he looked in his box for something else pink.  He found it and that was the ticket.

 

Dan starts to walk out and I go downstream with him to look for Scott, but no Scott there.  Then it's back upstream and finally I see Scott.  He had just landed another bow also courtesy of the Frenchie.  It's probably 10 o'clock and a fellow I was suppose to meet today has yet to show.  Telling Scott I'm going downstream to look for Eugene I strike out.  No Eugene at the Cove, or hotel, or Coyote Pass, so it's down to Desperado Springs and still no Eugene.  Back to Coyote Pass I go and begin fishing again. 

 

 

 

 

When trout number 37 came in for the branding I knew I had stayed well past my time.  My aching back had been trying to tell me so for an hour or so already.  The Brown Bugger was crying "calf rope", and the Frenchie was worn out.  It was time to go.

 

Mauled

 

I walked out of the wilderness with two fly anglers from Norman, Oklahoma.  Although they had a great morning on the river, the fish didn't come to their flies much at all.  They had one fly between the two of them.  At the top of the hill I gave them both a Frenchie and invited them to try it on their next visit. 

 

I really didn't want to leave the river, but my body sometimes limits my duration on the water.  Blue was really pretty today.  The rain had little effect on the river and she is fishing great right now.