Early at the mercantile store on Wednesday I opened a dispatch from Scott Dittner. After reading Scott's accounting of his recent voyages on Blue river I felt compelled to share his offering and therefore indulge me as I do. Scott wrote the following.
"I have had back to back excellent fishing days on the Blue. Last Friday I went to the CR and caught some of the huge trout that Matt & crew have stocked for us this year. They were large and a load to land. Today I went to the South Wilderness all the way to the end and the trip didn't start out too well. I started to unload and managed to leave wading boots and net at home. I could get by without the net but the wading boots were a bit of challenge. I had wore a pair of athletic shoes and after loosening the shoe strings and curling my toes I got them on. Then the first 3 strikes I had broke the line. Switched to some new tippet and that made the difference. Last week the trout were big offensive lineman, strong, and hard to move, today they were like wide receivers and backs. They were quick strike, swift, changing directions and all over the place. I caught fish solid from noon to 5. Of course I had to use my new Chris Adams, Bubba Bugger specials and they performed great. I was afraid to lose one so I switched to a copper john, hare's ear with some pink at the top, and bead head nymph with some purple. My toes thawed out after turning on the heater high but it was so worth it. Pack "all" of your gear and enjoy the Blue."
On the Blue,
Now I must ask what lad or lassie could not want to hit the Blue after reading such a report as Scotts? It wasn't long until I pulled anchor from the mercantile store.
I knew my time on the river today would be short. My grandson was en route from Tulsa town to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with me. I've always hoped grandson would be a sea-going man like me and when he was a wee lad, only six or seven years old, he did fling the fur and feather. However for a decade and half that more, the miles have separated us and this old sea dog doesn't travel like he once did. I still remain hopeful that grandson will come back and pick up the rod and chuck the fluff once again.
It was my plan once hitting the river to throw anchor at Desperado Springs. At the top of the hill I took the downhill short-cut to Desperado. I call it a short-cut even though it may not be at all. At the end of the day I would leave the river taking the same course and avoiding "Heart Attack Hill", something I like to do anytime I can.
Arriving at Desperado, I find eight anglers already there. Seven are on the near side with only one being on the far bank. I decided to go across the way and positioned myself well downstream from the one lone angler already there.
On the far side, an angler will find him or herself surrounded by the alders and it makes for tight casting situation with the roll cast being the only real option. Today, the wind would be a nemesis. It was a strong northerly beast blowing across my body from the right to the left. Being a right handed caster I was left to employ a low profile side arm roll cast. Certainly, there was a choppy sea to fish.
The Frenchies, along with red asses, thread midges, copper johns, and rs2's were left in the box today because the olive Bubba Bugger got the call for sea duty. The Bubba Buggers had arrived about a week ago and it was time to test the sea worthiness of these gems. Although, I've had the pleasure of fishing these patterns for years due to the generosity of Chris Adams, it has been sometime since I've had a full set.
Even though some of my favorite patterns had been relegated to the locker, I had to open the box and have a look at them. What I saw was a bunch of sad faces. They wanted to sail through the air and plunge into the drink, dive down into the deeper currents, have a look-see around for a trout to entice. But, the Bubba Bugger went on the line and those in the box had the Bubba Bugger Blues.
Before sending the Bubba to sea, I watched the other anglers for a good spell to see if the trout were on the bite. What I saw was not encouraging, for none were reeling in trout. As it would turn out these eight anglers were a collective fishing together. When I would end my day, so would these anglers and as a group they had a total of nine trout. So, the fishing would be somewhat slow this day.
Sending the Bubba out to sea, there was no response to the offering. Having to side arm roll cast was putting me a wit short of the channel I wanted the fly to explore. Finally on the third casting attempt I got the distance and the Bubba produced the first trout of the morning.
The bite was not hot and heavy on this morning, but still the Bubba would attract five trout from the same channel.
The trout seemed to grow pattern-weary of the olive Bubba and I thought about tying on the black. However I then thought about those poor chaps that had been relegated to the locker and it was more than I could bear.
The Bubba was retired and the pink Frenchie was called for duty. It didn't take long for the Frenchie to pick up where the Bubba left off.
My outing would end spending an hour and half that more on the river. Ten trout souls were met this day. The Bubba met five and the pink Frenchie met five. I wish there would have been more time and a trip to Coyote Pass could have been possible. However, that will have to wait until my next voyage.
Last week this area received a good two inches of rain, but the river is still as clear as a bell.