Fly Fishing Blue River - Leisurely Outings

A Nice Afternoon Outing

For me, there always seems the need to make decisions when fly fishing the Blue River.  Should I go upstream or maybe down?  Do I want to stay in the camping area or explore a wilderness and the braided water therein?  What kind of water do I wish to fish - slack water, riffles, a run,  or maybe a stretch of water that is a treasure chest of pockets?  Decisions, decisions, decisions.

On a recent outing I decided to go downstream for a change, to a pool that bears a man's name.  Now, I never got to meet the namesake of this place, but I will say he favored a mighty fine stretch of river.

The weather was amazingly mild for this time of year and the fall season was in full color.  The river was also in good shape and as clear as gin in some places.

As I always do I started fishing with a searching pattern.  Normally my first choice is the bugger brown, but for some reason on this outing I decided to give old olive a go.  The bugger olive took trout on the first three drifts, but then was lost at sea due to a poor tie that I made, which speaks of my continuing battle with my vision... a story that gets worse if you continue with this read.

With the bugger olive at the bottom of the sea, the bugger brown was called to action.  The bows liked the bugger brown equally as well and more bows would come to hand.  The fishing wasn't all that hot and heavy... about a dozen bows in an hour of fishing. 

I took the glass rod on this outing and I do love fishing it.  However, with the 9 ft. leader, an indicator to boot, and the bugger on the end I did have difficulty roll casting the rig against the strong southerly winds of the afternoon. 

This is the time of year that shadows grow long and the winds are prevalent.  The longer I stayed the stronger the winds became and after a good hour and maybe half that more, it was time to head to the bunkhouse.

On the way out of the river area, I stopped to chat with Scotty as I commonly do.  The subject of trout fishing this season came up and Scotty reports this has been his slowest November in many years.  As to why... he has his own speculation.  I have my own theory and it's much different from Scotty's.

I too have noticed how there are fewer people in the river, on the banks, and in the campsites and remote parking areas.  Is trout fishing on the skids?

For sometime now, the studies and the data have shown that fishing overall is on the decline.  As to exactly why, I haven't a clue, but each year fewer people renew their fishing licenses and fewer apply for new licenses. How will this trend bode for the future of trout fishing?  Not well I would dare argue.

Trout fishing in Oklahoma is partially dependent on revenues through the sales of fishing licenses.  If that revenue continues to slide, then budgets begin to grow tighter and there is more competition from different programs for those budget dollars.

Hopefully, things will improve and the anglers will come back to this lovely little river.  I suspect there are a lot of things on people's minds right now - Christmas is coming up, and then there is all the confusion about health care, and to tell you the truth the economy is not all that strong after all this time.

As for me, I will continue to come to the river at any chance I get.  I have to, I want to. 

Rivers, Cell Phones, Cameras, Glasses, And Me.  

Although the afternoon outing was fine, it just wasn't enough so another one was planned for the following morning. 

Van was going to meet me on the river so we could fish together, but first he had an appointment with a tree up in the north wilderness area.  It's deer season you know.

I went back to the same stretch of water I fished the prior day and started with the brown bugger.  On the first cast a bow came to hand, but after that I seemed to develop a huge problem getting a hook set.

Meanwhile, Van showed up and with his bugger brown he started plucking bows from a nice little pocket of water. 

My failure to hook fish continued as Van kept finding bows.  The bows would be on awhile and then cycle off.  Besides the bugger brown, I think Van trailed a WD40, and Copper John also. 

It was getting time for me to go and if I had left then, things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.  Standing near Van I noticed a bevel shaped boulder across the way and it was by water I had caught a good number of trout on prior outings.  So to the boulder I go.

Standing on the boulder I decided to tie a different dropper pattern on.  These days, to tie on I have to take my regular glasses off and slip on a pair of strong reading glasses.  With the reading glasses on, I placed my regular eye wear at the top of the pouch of my waist pack.  No more than thirty seconds later, I lost my balance and as I corrected myself, the glasses fell out of the pack and hit the boulder.  No big deal really, except for the glass lens somersaulting through the air into the drink.  I dredged the bottom for awhile, but it was a hopeless cause. 

It was now past time to go.  The drive back to the bunkhouse wasn't all that bad as long as the sun hid behind the clouds.  But, when the sun would break through the brightness caused problems and I found myself constantly squinting. 

The drive home gave me time to think about all the things I have drowned in this river and other places.  Over the last six or seven years, I've drowned five cell phones, three cameras, and now a pair of glasses. 

As I tried to watch a football game, without my glasses, I begin wondering what else I could possibly drown in Blue River and the only possible answer I could come up with was... my silly arse.

Such is fishing.  Things happen from time to time.  They'll take place here, there, somewhere, somehow.  It just goes with the territory.  And, on the bright side there is always good ice cold beer afterwards.

 

  







Two Hours To Spare

Actually there were four hours to spare, but counting driving time and the time I needed to visit with Scotty there would be only two hours of actual fishing time.

When I got to the south wilderness I was surprised at the crowd that had already arrived.  Counting the vehicles, I counted nine other anglers, or party of anglers.

I was behind when I got there!

 

Getting to fish during the week is a rarity for me - usually I am resigned to a part of the day on Saturday or Sunday.  So, I didn't waste anytime getting to the water.  Oh my gosh.... how pleasantly surprised I was at the level of the river.  With the Tuesday evening rain, she is up to about what many of us call normal.  Furthermore, you could see the change in the flow and that was even more exciting.  At least now, a fly fisher can get a decent drift.  I'm still convinced that the flow does make a difference in fly-fishing for trout. 

Sent sailing was the duo of a bugger and emerald greenback brown hackle Crackleback.  The Crackleback would take the first five fish leaving the bugger feeling somewhat jaded.  Finally the bugger would take a bow of his on, but then the Crackleback would take two more.  The Crackleback was taken out of action and the bugger would find one more bow.


The Crackleback - junk fly or just buggy looking?

 

After the second bow taken by the bugger, a fly that would prove to be the "fly of the day", (or two hours), was tied on.  A size 12 soft hackle brown was employed and from there on it was nothing but non-stop action.  The soft hackle would either capture or loose the battle with every cast.  At first I thought a remarkable pocket of water had been found, so I move to another spot I had watched an angler fish for the better part of an hour without catching a fish.  The soft hackle took bows there also.

  

The bugger struggled, but caught a couple.

 

A third spot was chosen to test the soft hackle and he also took bows there.  The two hours seem to pass quickly and some of the bows caught today were pleasantly nice.  Fat with vibrant colors.


The soft hackle ruled today.

 

If the river would stay at the level she was today, I think the fishing would be fair to good most of the time.  The weather was great as far as temperature, but the wind was brutal today and I'm thankful I took a big stick today in order to cut through the wind.


Nicest bow of the day at a pound and half.

 

With my two hours expended, I leave the river having met twenty-five bows.  Today, I left a river that looks somewhat normal and healthy.  I give thanks. 

Workshop For The Soul

It was the most gorgeous afternoon on the river Blue today.  The weather was brisk, to say the least, and rather cold at times, but just enough to be both outer and inner refreshing.

As time passes, I believe I am coming closer to what fly fishing is for me.  Quite simply... fly fishing is a workshop for the soul.  It is the place that is sought for peace and inner reflection.  While in the workshop, there is a oneness or singularity.  What happened yesterday or what might happen tomorrow does not matter.  What matters is the current, the moment.  I guess some would call it "living in the moment", but perhaps it's a little more than that.  Ralph Waldo Emerson described it and wrote, "What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."  Yeah... that's it.

Here on the river Blue, something dynamic happened million of years ago.  It could have been some great upheaval; the shifting of a fault line, or perhaps the work of the snowball earth theory - I don't know, but whatever took place was grand.  It had to me grand in order to carve such a wonderful sculpture of time.

I think Thoreau got it right... it's not the fish we are after.
 

The rain of this past Friday was unfortunately not enough to change the complexion or life-flow of the river.  Blue is still quite low - as low as I've seen in recent memory, and the flow is affecting presentations.  She's clear as a bell, and in many places the bottom of the river can be seen. 

A light, short stick was employed today.  The TFO three hasn't seen action in quite sometime.  This little rod can cast with deadly accuracy, but being on the bench for so long, line curl was a big problem today.  In the first thirty minutes one leader was completely dismantled thanks to a high tree limb,  The second leader chosen to go into action had it's own problems.  Evidently something went awry in the building process of this particular leader and it was not worthy.  Finally a place was taken on the bank and a leader was constructed by hand. 

The fishing was fantastic, but the catching was slow.  Being convinced midges would be the ticket, one existed  as a trailer at all times.  A good mile of river was explored and along this mile not a single rising fish was witnessed.  Such made me wonder if somewhere there is a Chinese proverb that says, "Do not fish rising fish, when no fish are rising." 

An hour and half later no fish had come to hand.  However, there was no desperation or panic apparent, for I am in the workshop and that in itself is enough.

With the midges failing, the trailer is stripped off and the bugger goes by himself.  A dark emerald pocket of water is chosen.  This pocket was no more than three feet wide and six feet in length, but it is here the bows wait in formation.  The bugger captures bows almost methodically and saves the day... as far as fishing.  The overall day was made as soon as the first footprint was planted in the south wilderness today. 
 

Two hours had been spent on the river Blue and it was time to go.  I picked up the pace on the way back to the prairie schooner, searching for that labored breath.  As the gear was stowed in the schooner and I took my place at the helm, the sought-for deep breath came... and it was exhilarating. 

It seems that these days the only time I can catch my breath is when I'm with the river. 

Poor Poor Pitiful Me

The older fishermen always said, "Fish ahead of the front", and today looked like a perfect opportunity to do just that.  A curtain of cold Canadian air had tracked south across the plains.  At six this morning, this Juggernaut, fueled by the icy breath of the northern gods, was at the threshold of the Oklahoma panhandle.  Projections showed this bitter beast wouldn't make the river Blue until mid-afternoon... so there was ample time to fish ahead of this front.

Things had been pre-planned; the prairie schooner was already loaded.  With the first cup of coffee at the bunkhouse I visualized just how the day would go.  It would happen at the south wilderness of Blue, along a stretch of water that offered pocket after pocket.  Today, the bugger and hare's ear would marry; being united with a foot-and-a-half long piece of string; then launched on their honeymoon voyage into the savory recipe of the stew of Blue.

With the last sip of coffee, I realized that time was of the essence. Knowing that hard leather across the backside of the schooner ponies would be required, it was time to hit the trail.  However, there was a requirement to first stop at the mercantile I work just to make sure everything would be running smoothly today.  And... it didn't take long to realize, that, this would not be the case today.

It's cold and flu season and people take ill.  As it is with my position in the mercantile, I am expected to run coverage... so today I worked.  This would be a no fishing today for me.

I get somewhat depressed when a fly fishing day doesn't come my way.  I shrink into a sullen, down-in-the-mouth, kick the crap out of the cat, generally crabby person.  When these episodes occur... I don't even like myself.

The workday drug on, but I was able to knock off a couple of hours early.  However, there still wasn't enough time to make it to the river Blue before the Canadian express, clipping at forty nauts, would arrive.  There was no desire to face the wind-driven bitterness, or the bone chilling numbness that would result from such an interlude. Besides... light would have been lost in just a couple of hours.

There existed a choice.  I could either take my sullen carcass to the prairie home, planting my tail in the pouting chair while humming the melody of Poor Poor Pitiful Me, or... I could go to the water.  Waders went on; leaf rake quickly grabbed; prairie ponies turned toward Rock Creek.

Of course, whenever I'm on the water the preference is to fly fish, but there would be no fishing today.  This would be a good time to do the final clean-up on Rock Creek.

Today's task called for a pair of wading boots, with some bite in the souls, in order to negotiate a steep incline.  The leaf rake would make all the difference, allowing me to reach a good distance in retrieving the remaining trash.  The task was completed around the time the first tinge of bitter air was noticeable.

With the job completed, the ponies were turned toward the prairie home - a warm safe harbor.  Perhaps tomorrow will be a fishing day.

Rock Creek before.

Much better now.

Into The Kingdom

Trout Season 2009/2010 Fishing Day Fifteen

Charlie's accounts of recent explorations into the south wilderness became simply too much for me to bear. Like Charlie, I too have a particular fondness for this special area. For me, it's a fondness that had led me to look at the south wilderness as a kingdom. For Charlie and I both it's probably safe to say that our fondness for the south wilderness comes from the knowledge that we know an angler, if so chooses, can fish alone...without experiencing a single second of loneliness.



In the south wilderness we each can find ourselves surrounded by the mystique of the natural world. It's time worn and sculpted by nature herself.

Today, I arrived in the south wilderness shortly before noon and walked directly to Coyote Pass - a pool that usually rewards me. I stood on the bank awhile studying the water to see if anything remarkable was happening...however it wasn't so I stepped into the drink to quench my thirst. The catching was tough at first fishing downstream, so I turn and fish upstream and find a pocket with bows awaiting.

Using an olive yellow split-tail bugger with a Crackleback trailer I started battling bows. On my last outing the Crackleback performed as well as the bugger but today the bugger was putting on a show out-performing his rival for attention by at least five to one.



Although the bows were standard stocker size they were full of spunk and all gave good fights. These bows today were also brightly colored and healthy. The Crackleback would take two bows on it's own before I lost it on a rock.

I replaced the Crackleback with a scud pattern that I tied for a fly swap with Michael Mercurio. On it's maiden voyage the scud would prove itself by capturing a bow. The scud would end up capturing three more bows before one of their tribe decided he liked it so well he'd keep it.



The fishing at Coyote Pass wasn't hot and heavy...just steady and expected. I would pick up a bow or two...sometimes three in each pocket I would fish. There was a bait fisher fishing near me and he wasn't having any luck so I left the pool to let him have a chance at it. I went to the far side of Coyote Pass to see if any bows await there... but found none.



On the far side however I did find a rather gregarious turtle that seemed to just want to hang out with me and turtle-around my wading boots. He seemed like a rather nice chap so I took a picture of him.



I left Coyote Pass and walked up to the Cove and started fishing below the falls. Casting upstream toward the falls and letting the bugger drift I took a fair number of bows. I then decided to strip the bugger which is something I haven't done in quite sometime. This seem to pick up the action quite a bit.



From the downstream side of the Cove I proceeded upstream to the flat pool above the falls of the Cove and it was here my day would be made. It was a bow with every single cast. Seriously...every single cast. I still had that bugger on when the risers started but why in the world would I change I asked myself. Sticking with the bugger I kept on catching fish after fish.

I didn't get an exact count of the bows battled today...but it had to be forty or better. And this was in a two hour time-frame. It was most awesome.

I tired out rather quickly today. I wore a brand new pair of wading boots and that would prove to be a big mistake. Recently I found a brand new (never out of the box) pair of Simm's wading boots that were exactly my size at a garage sale. The folks wanted ten bucks so naturally I swooped them up. The folks at Simm's deserve to be complimented because they certainly put the material in their boots. However for me they were extremely heavy and since they'd never been worn they were stiff as boards. I had a terrible time trying to wade today.



There exists tremendous numbers of bows in this river currently and the river is indeed as clear as I've ever seen her. Each pool will give you something different however. At Coyote Pass the bows weren't stacked up but spread out. At the Cove however, the bows were in packs.

The weather today was absolutely outstanding and the lone bait-fisher I met was the only other angler I saw in the kingdom today.

Back To The Fly Rod

2009/2010 Trout Season - Day Seven Fishing

It was a good twenty minutes before day break on derby Saturday and I found myself standing on the bank at Seventeen trying to reserve a spot for Miss Carol.

You see, Miss Carol picked up the fly rod early last season and actually done quite well with it. However her concerns being in the water and wading unfortunately sent her back to the bank and the jars of Power Bait and salmon eggs. She had decided to bait fish for this year's derby.

At the first sign of light she came to the river and took her position that I had been squatting on and I went about my way entering Seventeen and drifting flies through the pockets and runs.

Within thirty minutes I had my derby fish in the basket and was pretty well through with that part of this derby thing. Two hours later I looked at Carol standing on the bank...fish-less, looking rather sad so I gave her a holler asking her "Why don't you get your waders on and try the fly rod?"

Almost eagerly she replied "Okay!"



Coming back to the river at Seventeen dressed like any self respecting fly angler Miss Carol entered in the middle and we crossed over to Sam's Rock. It was here she started to drift...yes drift...an olive/yellow split-tail bugger through the run directly in front of her.

Although she missed a number of takes and most likely got sick of hearing me say "Mend, mend, mend!", she took two bows in fairly short fashion. The action then slowed and it was time to try something else.

Out came the Partridge and Orange and I tied it on as a trailer to the bugger. Three more bows came to Carol's hand and now she needed only one more trout.

After a break Miss Carol struggled to find bow number six so we headed for the Island below the crossing. Here in this sweetest of sweet spots she had number six on four different times but never brought any to hand. Carol would end her day with five bows under the belt.



For me personally this derby Saturday was the best derby experience I've yet to have. There was no hurry or rush to capture fish, the weather was absolutely perfect, and I got to spend some wonderful time with Miss Carol...time that reminded both of us that we truly are each others best friend.