Will Work For Fish

Saturday morning I decided to go to the workshop for the soul on the river Blue.  The prairie schooner sailed under a grey billowy sky, a sky undulating with pewter colored pillows accented with soft white edges.  It was a completely overcast sky and usually I associate this with a good fly fishing day - at least that was my hope.

However, after an hour of arriving at the river, the overcast sky had give way to the sun, and a near bluebird day.  I think the sun breaking through was somehow symbolic since it shed light on the fact that I'd been in the river for an hour and hadn't even felt so much as a bump on the fly. 

Though I come to the workshop, that place of relaxation and reflection, it looked like the workshop was going to turn into a place of work.  Indeed it would, and at the end of the outing I knew I had worked for each trout that I battled. 

Probably most of us don't mind having to work in catching fish.  I sometimes expect it and think it's a good thing.  Having to work for trout reminds us of how quickly these pretty little fish can serve up a healthy slice of humble pie topped with a little extra humility.  Eating humble pie is sometimes a good thing. 

When we get into a situation where the fish are hard to come by we must be true believers.  In keeping the faith, the trout will likely, more than not, come to us eventually.  Saturday is a perfect illustration of this.  Six of the nine trout I captured came in the last thirty minutes of fishing as I was working my way back downstream having made the decision to pack it up. 

Yes, the fishing was slow and it seems there are few trout compared to weeks past.  I fished with three other anglers I didn't know.  We fished the same stretches of water the entire time.  Two of the anglers were fly fishermen and the third was armed with a spinning rod.  At the end of their outing they had only managed three trout amongst them.  That's pretty slow.

Fishing wasn't the only thing slow.  Interest in being on the river was really off also.  Very few people on the river Saturday morning and I estimate the crowd was maybe thirty percent of what it usually is.  That surprised me because the talk on the river has been the expected arrival of the Missouri trout and that usually means larger trout.  But, I don't think that happened this week and I'm not for sure it's going to happen at all since the wildlife department is mixing the sizes this season.  Time will tell us for sure, but all nine of the trout I battled were eight inch fish. 



I took a new pattern with me Saturday in hopes it would be a producing fly.  I did fish it for about twenty minutes, but it drew no interest from the trout.  I don't think this initial try was indicative of what the fly can possibly do, so another shot will be made.  The fly has a very sparse marabou tail with a couple strands of peacock colored flash.  The body is what is different.  I took gray bug fur and blended it with silver flash dubbing making a sparkle dub.  The fly was finished with a partridge soft hackle.  Haven't given it a name yet and if it fails on the next outing I'll name it Back To The Drawing Board, and if it works like I hope it will, then it will be named Second To None.  Wishful thinking, huh?

All nine trout battled on Saturday were called out by the olive Woolly Bugger.  What was interesting though, is the trout didn't want it on a strip and they didn't really want it on a drift.  And speaking of drift... the flow is so slow it gives a brand new meaning to the phrase "dead drift".  I finally tied the bugger under an indicator and cast it upstream.  After letting it sit and drift for twenty or so seconds, I would give it a twitch.  Usually on the third of fourth twitch, the strike would come.  

Giving thanks, I left the river a half hour before noon with the after-taste of humble pie in my mouth.

Oh, speaking of Humble Pie, here's a little of their music from 1971.

Catching Up

Although I got to fish more than normal last week, I couldn't share any fishing or river reports because of the death of my laptop. However, now back on line it's time to do a little catching up.

FISHING WITH DAUGHTER MISSY

On a Thursday I had the pleasure of taking my daughter Missy to the river Blue. It would be Missy's first time to ever see Blue River, first time to ever hold a fly-rod, and first time to try and capture a bow.

She did all three.



Missy was a quick learner when she was a kid, very articulate and simply sharp and these days she still carries those attributes. We started out the hard way just upstream of the crossing. On Missy's right were over-hanging tree branches and on her left was the same. In front of her was the task which was to make a twenty foot roll cast upstream with a nine foot leader attached. Now... for many of us that may not sound like much of a chore but to a newcomer it can almost insurmountable. Also, Missy was fishing a tandem rig which would also cause some problems but instead of sighs there was laughter with both of us laughing at ourselves.

The fish simply weren't on the bite at our first spot so I told Missy to spool up and we headed for the flats below the Island. Here, Missy would start casting down and across and taking the swing.

I think one of the hardest things for a newcomer to recognize is the strike itself and this would prove to be the case for Missy. There would be a number of opportunities lost but never did she waver and then she brought her first ever trout to hand.



For me the pleasure of the day was simply getting to spend time with Missy doing what I love to do and hopefully something she will come to love.

It was a good, good day.

Thank you Missy.

SATURDAY - AN ILL FATED ADVENTURE

It's rare when Miss Carol and I get the same day off but Saturday would be such the case even though I had to hit work early but only stay for a while.

Both of us had been suffering from the stuff that winter time brings - chest colds, bronchitis, aches and pains, and generally we felt quite ill. However our rationale was that we'd feel just as bad sitting at the bunkhouse as we would standing in the river so to the river Blue we go.

Evidently we misunderstood the weather forecaster the night before because Saturday was suppose to be clear and dry. There was a steady rain when we left the bunkhouse but somehow we convinced ourselves it'd be gone by the time we hit the river. It wasn't!

Walking through the steady rain into the south wilderness we stopped to fish Coyote Pass and Miss Carol took the upstream side where she'd capture three bows. I fished the downstream side and struggled to capture just a couple. After thirty minutes or so the rain became too much and Carol took to the bank. Since the fishing was so slow here I asked her to walk just upstream a bit to the Cove.

At the Cove, Miss Carol took the upstream side as did I but there was nothing going on with the exception of the feisty smallmouth I battled from the shallows. Again the rain sent Carol to the bank and I went downstream thirty feet and started casting upstream into a falls. It was here the bows waited and it was dynamite action for a good twenty minutes. These bows have backs and tenacity. They fight like there is no tomorrow and in the current they can simply make your arm begin to ache. The rain continued, Carol looked miserable, so we started to head back.

Back at Coyote Pass the rain had briefly stopped and I asked Carol if she wanted to fish some more. Even though she didn't care to fish she wanted me to, so I asked her to watch me fish pocket water because it's something she'll someday enjoy once learned. In a hundred yard stretch of water I fished a bugger like a nymph but free-lining the bugger - no indicator. It was cast, drift, lift mend, drift, flip mend, strike and then hook-set. It was magical almost. Bow after bow came from pocket after pocket.

After a run of fifteen bows battled I found myself drunk from the joy of the pocket battles. Inebriated by the infinite possibilities this thing called fly-fishing offers, I swaggered... swooning like a young lass would upon her first deep kiss.

The day was complete.

THE NEXT DAY

Sunday was totally different from Saturday. The morning announced clear, bright sunlit skies so I headed to Blue once again. Again, the weather forecaster seem to have it wrong. On Saturday the forecast called for strong winds but there wasn't a whisper. On Sunday, the forecast was for rain but the sun was shining. However on Sunday... Saturday's winds come to bear.

Starting at the flats below the island casting down and across a bow came to hand right out of the box. Three or four more gladiators would be battled but the engagements were not hot and heavy. The wind wasn't hot either but quite heavy and agonizing.

Thinking there would be a wind break at the crossing because the river forks upstream I head for the rock on the upstream side of the crossing. Here, a strike indicator goes on about four foot deep. Casting upstream and mending, mending, mending - this is the type of fishing that young Kody says can put you to sleep. I agree... it can... unless the fish are biting. And they were. The fishing wasn't hot and heavy - just steady. Again though, the wind was simply too much and I lost interest in crossing swords with the wind Gods. I wanted to strike steel with bows but the blowhards drove me away.

AN HOUR ON TUESDAY



A work related task sent me the way of Tishomingo on Tuesday and I just knew I could squeeze an hour's worth of fishing in at Blue.

Today I would fish Ted's Pool for the first time this season. Last year there was a particular spot at Ted's Pool that was rewarding to me each and every time. At this spot the idea is to cast upstream thirty-five or forty feet and let the bugger sink and drift while keeping in contact with the fly. This water is, I believe, some of the deepest water on the river Blue. It has to be twenty or more feet deep. My problem on Tuesday in fishing here was I couldn't add split shot because my pliers were lost on the previous outing. Ten or twelve casts were made without even a bump -the fly simply wasn't getting deep enough in the column.

I spooled up and waded through the brew of this coffee cup to the rim where the shallow water waited and here I found bows in the pockets. Not a lot of bows but enough to make my hour worthwhile.

Before leaving I noticed a few risers but the rises weren't predominant even though the rays of the sun revealed a huge community of mayflies floating in the air. I just happened to look down into the river and noticed a steady stream of nymphal shucks. They looked like tiny white or clear crosses and they just kept coming, one after another after another. It was a really neat thing to see.

The Nastier The Weather - The Better The Fishing

Although the weather at Blue right now is rather cool and close to being bitter at times, it's still not in the category of being nasty which for me brings really good catching opportunities in the pursuit of the bows.

My description of nasty weather at Blue can best be illustrated by the picture below.



This picture comes courtesy of Donny Carter whom I consider the king of dry fly fishers at Blue and the subject fly fisher is Mark Webster. Mark and his dad Jamie are familiar faces on and long time friends of Blue River.

To me, this picture of Mark personifies the lengths some of us in the fly fishing community will go to to capture a trout and reminds me of days I've personally experienced on Blue.

For me there is something just absolutely refreshing and unique about standing in the river Blue as the snowflakes fall, surrounding all involved with a blanket of nature's cleansing.

PROBLEMS IN COLD WEATHER

There can be some problems when fishing in extreme cold weather and all of us should use our noggin's to make sure a good outing doesn't turn bad.

One rule is to never fish alone during extreme cold weather. One simple mis-step or catching the toe of your wading boots on a rock can land you in the frigid river and it is amazing how fast hypothermia can set in. So...buddy fish especially if you go into the remote areas such as the south or north wilderness areas and especially the Catch & Release area.

Dadgum guides freezing up again? Yeah, this is an age old problem with fly-fishing in cold, cold weather. There's been days on Blue when not only did my guides freeze up but my reel would freeze also. So...what to do? One answer is to stay in the cabin or campsite with a roaring campfire but if fish we must there are a couple of products that will help. One is called Ice Off and although I've never used it I've had friends tell me that it works fairly well. There is also a product called Reel Magic, and some of the ole salts recommend silicone sprays or Vaseline. Vaseline seems logical but kinda messy I would think and certainly will leave a film in the river as the silicone sprays. I tend just to tough it out continuously dipping my guides in the river and swishing. This practice temporarily gets rid of the ice long enough to capture a bow and if the fishing is hot enough then you don't have anything to worry about in the first place.

The cold and your body. Body parts...yeah that's the issue during extreme cold weather. Extremities such as your hands, ears, feet, face, and neck can take a real beating during nasty weather.

A good investment in good cold weather gear can make all the difference. Personally I have a problem with my hands being terribly cold or the wind blowing down my neck. Those two issues can send me packing faster than anything. To remedy my neck issue I started wearing a thick scarf years ago and that has made all the difference in the world. Unfortunately for my hands I've yet to find anything that works practically. I do have a good set of gloves but gloves are going to get wet sooner or later and they are cumbersome at best.

Indeed fly fishing in extreme cold weather brings a series of uncomfortable possibilities. However fishing the nasty weather is something that most of us will do sooner or later just so we can say we did. Just do yourself a favor and be as well prepared as you can for that nasty and frigid outing that you are destined to take.

Weekend Fishing

Trout Fishing 2009/2010 Day 9

Saturday

It seemed like Saturday was a near repeat of Friday and I was greeted with the same grey soupy sky while riding down the prairie ocean trail.

Actually I got a little earlier start Saturday leaving the bunkhouse about ten o'clock. John Mellencamp rode down with me and I always enjoy what he has to say. About half way to Blue, on the side of the road was a dead doe that had given her life not for the thrill of the hunt but rather at the grill of a damn vehicle. Eyes wide open, glaring like black mirrors...what a terrible waste on the prairie ocean and a sad sight to see.

Today, I decided to fish the island even though it was heavy with anglers. Unlike yesterday I decided not to use the soft hackle but stick with the olive/yellow split-tail bugger and with the very first cast I met the first bow of the day.

Again, the bows were frolicking but I paid them no attention and kept presenting the bugger. The action wasn't fast and furious but rather steady. The frolickers were certainly a distraction but for the life of me I could not see what was causing their explosions on the surface. It had to be small...very small.

Fishing for an hour and a half I would leave the river coming to know nine more of the bow community.


Trout Fishing 2009/2010 Day Ten Fishing

Sunday

Today I got an even earlier start leaving the bunkhouse at nine-thirty but having to ride into Tishomingo to make a delivery would end up putting me at the river about the same time as Saturday.

This morning there is no soupy sky and the sun is trying to burn off the wide spread haze. The fog is heavy-breathed on the trail down which causes me to pull up on the reins a couple of times along the trail.

I decide to stay around the crossing both above and below. Lots of fishers on the river today but the fishing is slow to say the least. After an hour I have only three bows to my credit - one taken below the crossing, the other two above on the bugger.

I keep wanting to go to the island but it is covered with people. Continuing to wait, a chance to fish the island finally comes open... and to these sweet waters I go. The fishing is even slower at the island and the risers are going nuts. I try Ole Grey and get two takers but no hook-sets. Then I dress Ole Grey and start getting lots of refusals. Evidently my dressing screwed Ole Grey up. There are thousands of grey colored mayflies up above in the wide water so I'm convinced this is what the bows want but it's just not working. I have another look and see some black bugs mixed in so I go to a Griffiths Gnat (way too large) and it produces absolutely nothing.

Starting to think emergers I try a hare's ear and get one take but that's it. Then comes the red midge larvae and I catch two.

It's about this time the big bows show up and they are a threesome. They travel together and even have a tag-along in the form of a small trout. These poor creatures have been tossed and flung at since derby weekend and they are as nervous and guarded as a community of Meerkats.

Kids are having a great time splashing in the middle of the Island pool which doesn't help the fishing any. I give up...and decide to go downstream.

Downstream with the bugger back on I quickly catch four more bows which brings me to nine just like the day before. I am done...it's time to go.

The river is as clear as I've ever seen her and the level is still good but diminishing every so slightly.