Chapter 58 Day 22 - Trout Season

And Oh... How The Rain Came

You see that weather map above... the one on my boob tube last night.  That was the prairie ocean at 6 p.m. last night.  All that green, yellow, and red was different rain systems plowing across the prairie. 

Here on the southern sea of the greater ocean it begin raining mid-afternoon and rained steady for six or seven hours. 

The Blue River area received even more rain and a report from Blue River Area Manager Matt Gamble reveals the river has gone murky and might be on it's way to turning into a beefy colored stew. 

The good news is that we received much needed rain after such a miserable spring and summer, record heat, and terrible drought.  The rain is good for this river since much of the river is spring fed. 

Although many people stay on the river through the Thanksgiving holiday and following weekend, the fishing may prove to be tough.  If you are a fly fisher, and you must go fly-fishing or go insane, then pack the darker color patterns.  My favorite is a rust brown - fish brown in brown water. 

Even though it is trout season I'm constantly thinking about carp.  Today, after work, I decided to check Rock Creek to see how the rain changed this prairie ocean current.  Much to my surprise the rain did little to disturb the color or flow of the creek.  While standing on a high bluff looking down at the creek, riffles caught my eye.  Directly below was some really nice carp feeding against the bank.  I say really nice - they were like sows. 

Figuring they needed their picture taken, I rushed back to the schooner and grabbed the memory maker. 

Oh grand and golden ones, sweet beasts - I will visit you this spring.  You should expect a visit from Charlie also.  

Chapter 58 Day 7 - Trout Season

WEATHER

Last night, here near my prairie home and the whole of Murray County in Oklahoma, we received nine inches of rain. 

Rock Creek come over the banks at the place Charlie and I call Honey Hole - a favored place for us to pursue the carp.  The golf course lake filled quickly and violently ran down the drainage way that leads to Rock Creek destroying the baseball field fence. 

The weather forecasters said the band of rain ran all the way to the south of Ada and that tells me that is part of the Blue River watershed. 

Although, I haven't been to the river today there may be a change on the way as far as her complexion and flow. 

Summer 2011 - The Summer Of Discontent

In talking, Charlie and I both decided to quit fly-fishing the carp a couple of weeks ago. With the local creek being in the dismal state it is, and deteriorating each passing day, we fear if we battle these creatures now it will result in their death.

Although we are not fishing the carp we still go to the creek to have a look-see - it's a punishing thing to do.  This past Sunday as I checked on the creek I noticed a catfish that seem to have decided he wanted to be a carp.  Everywhere the carp went... the catfish followed.  I don't know if it was a case of competing for a grazing pasture or a female carp had caught the eye of the whiskered one and he decided to cross classification. 

Another sight that came to my eyes were two beaver that were foraging in shallow water.  Once they got sight or sense of me they exploded though the film heading further upstream.  Never in all my years on this creek have I seen beaver this far upstream. 

Everything this year seems messed up somehow.  I very well know it's simply nature being nature... but it's a part of nature that I care not for.

Right now, there is virtually no flow to the creek and large beds of algae bloom have formed.  Once that algae bloom begins to breakdown it will absorb the remaining oxygen left in the creek.  I'm quite certain we are headed for a major fish loss here on Rock Creek. 

All Charlie and I can do is look daily to heaven above hoping the clouds will gather thick, where they will bump one another dislodging the rain hidden in their lining.

The lack of fishing opportunity has caused me to develop a terrible laziness.  A laziness that has become habitual where I am content with taking afternoon naps with a terribly over-weight Chiweenie. 

Content with napping with a fat dog, but discontent rests with the whole of this summer.  

Catching Up - Some Short Casts

Sidetracked In More Ways Than One

When pony feed hit $3.42 for a gallon bucket, my inclination to hitch the ponies to the prairie schooner and head for the river Blue, at anytime I desired, pretty much came to a quietus. But, the price of petro isn't the only thing that has me, somewhat, sidetracked.

As of this past Monday, I took zero... that's like zilch, none, nada, medicines.  But... now I have my first one to take in what may very well be more and more to come.  It seems, upon feeling a little under the weather and out of my skin, a trip to the good doctor was in order and it was there while sitting on the examination table the good doctor expressed his concern for my ol' ticker. 

Now... somehow I've convinced myself that my ticker is just fine.  Sure... it's been fractured, cracked... even broken a couple of times.  However, in spite of these minor affairs of the heart, I think I good to go fly-fishing.  Although I keep telling myself everything is fine, I do plan on being a good patient and take to heart the good and thoughtful advice of some of my fly fishing friends that just happen to work in the medical field.  So... several tests are scheduled and they will be seen through in order to rule out the possibilities.

Besides, in a fly fishing sense, I would like to stick around a few more years to do what I love... because I love what I do.  And... I damn sure can't let Charlie down in our quest to learn more about the magnificent creatures, our friends, the carp.

Carpendous

It still seems a tad bit early for the carp in becoming active. There have been a few moving around, but for the most part the herds are staying close to the deep far banks.

Water conditions are making fly fishing for carp most difficult also. Lack of rain has caused most of the pastures Charlie and I fished last year unfish-able. The absence of stream flow has caused a build-up and blend of algae, moss, and fallen spring blossoms. This cocktail of nature makes sight fishing almost impossible at most of our pasture areas.


The only two pastures that are currently fish-able are Dry Gulch and Charlie's Pasture.  Speaking of Charlie... he saddles up from time to time and rides to the creek and captures a carp like the one below.  This time of year, Charlie calls his efforts the true March Madness.  That's crazy good stuff. 

Carp taken by Charlie.  His classy signature cap adds a nice touch.

                                 
Friday, after work, I stopped at one of the compromised pastures to discover the wind had changed and blown the stew somewhat upstream.  Seeing a few carp was actually a possibility, so a humble offering was sent into the mix in hopes of enticing the beasts.  The first two opportunities were blown.  Both carp went to the San Juan Worm, but, with the water being a bland green color, the relationship of the fly to the mouth of the carp was unattainable and both carp were missed on the hook-set.

The third carp was a different story because I could clearly see the carp suck the worm.  This particular carp went straight downstream and through a rather significant brush-pile.  How the tippet held out I'll never know.

Spring carp on San Juan Worm



The San Juan Worm didn't fare as well though.  The brush-pile acted as a barbwire fence and shredded the worm into retirement. Fortunately, there was another worm wishing for employment and said employment was granted.



It seems that young bass favor the San Juan also, as one intercepted the offering to the carp on the very next cast.  Although bass may very well like worms, I still believe their favorite menu choice is the crawdad like the one pictured below captured by a young explorer discovering the wonders of the creek nearby where I was fishing. 

The young explorer didn't call this a crawdad, but rather a blood pincher.  He must have had prior experience.

A Much Cleaner River

If you've followed these posts for anytime at all, you may have noticed one topic that has been absent from the posts of this trout season.

In years past, the subject of trash on Blue River has been addressed a good number of times.  However, if you look back to November, and the beginning of this trout season, you will not find one single mention of trash on Blue.  The reason is because the river is remarkably void of trash this season.

Granted I spent ninety-five percent of my time this season in the south wilderness area and it can be argued the south wilderness is not as heavily foot-printed by humankind.  But, even though I would agree to this argument in years gone by, this season there has been every bit as much traffic in the south wilderness as the main campground area.  The south wilderness has become quite the popular place to fish.  However, like noted, this area is well void of trash.

As to why the river Blue is a cleaner river is not quite clear to me.  I would love to think that the anglers and outdoor citizens that frequent the south wilderness simply have a keener awareness of the foot prints they can leave, along with a higher sense of stewardship.  Perhaps, it was a concerted effort by the wildlife department in doing a pre-season clean-up and then maintaining that effort during season.  Or perhaps, people just simply got tired of all my belly-aching.

I never enjoyed complaining, bitching, or bemoaning.  The tirades I posted about trash on the river are not indicative of what I like to share with others.  However, if all the groaning I can do at times truly makes a difference in ridding the river Blue of trash... I can serve up a couple more five course meals.

Truly, I believe the outdoor community has grown a greater stewardship, and in this case... a cowboy hat goes off to them.

 

But Then There's Rock Creek

A trash can creek.

Rock Creek, however, is a totally different story.  It's difficult for a man who basically cut his teeth on a waterway to accept the fact the stream has become little more than a trash can.  Three times last year, I cleaned Rock Creek and each time I did I very well knew that cleaning the creek wasn't the solution to the problem.  

The answer to the problem of trash on this creek rests in prevention.  With the exception of one other fine fly fisher, I just happen to know, it seems no one else gives a rat's behind about this little creek. 

The area that seems most affected is still the length of creek that runs along Sulphur Public School property.  I think the Sulphur Public School is missing out on a wonderful opportunity.  The school could adopt this part of the creek and take stewardship of it, making sure it is clean at all times.  In addition, they could then turn this section of creek into an outdoor classroom where students could explore the life of the creek and learn more about the relationship of humankind and creatures.

Perhaps a letter suggesting such is in order.
 

Easy to pick up, hard to prevent.

Too much trash on the creek.

A Brighter Picture For Future Water

Vendome Well at full flow.

Vendome Well at reduced flow.

It appears the National Park Service has placed their management plan for the Vendome Well into action.  The plan calls for reducing the well flow from midnight until four in the morning daily. This action is expected to save 108 million gallons of water annually.

Recently I was able to capture the reduced flow, evidently in a test run during daylight hours.  As you can see from the pictures above there is a significant difference.

The effort is a step in trying to reach a point of sustainability of the Arbuckle-Simpson aquifer.

A cowboy hat off to the National Park Service people.



And More Good Eco News

The folks at Pepsico have been innovators in eco friendly products they produce.  They introduced the first compostable potato chip bag, and offer the Dream Machine which encourages local recycling efforts.

Now, Pepsico announces the world's first 100% plant based renewable plastic bottle. You can learn more by visiting their news release.

A cowboy hat off to Pepsico.

In The Last Week Or So...

THE SATURDAY WASH

There's a big golden trout down in Area 1.  Well... at least he was as of yesterday, and as far as I know he still was as of eleven o'clock this morning. 

I had reservations about even going to the river yesterday.  It seems that since last Thursday I've come to own some kind of palpitations in the chest area.  At times they can be quite unsettling.  Guess my reasoning on Saturday was I could either deal with the thumps in my chest at the bunkhouse or on the river... provided they didn't get any worse. 

Walked into Scotty's around 9 o'clock and his store was quite busy.  Made chat with several fly anglers that I'd never met before and suggested to a couple of them they explore the south wilderness.  Of course my intentions were good, but today I find out the south wilderness had quite the crowd yesterday and there wasn't any parking spaces available in the parking lot.  So... if you are the two guys I told to go there and it didn't work out for you, let me say how sorry I am for giving you some ill advice. 

I knew very well I wouldn't be taking the hike into the south wilderness yesterday because of the thumps in my chest, and therefore elected to go downstream in Area 1. 

At the river I crossed a branch and climbed onto an island going toward a point.  At the point I slide into the river and wade out about fifteen feet.  While rigging up, a rather large golden idol submerged in about four foot of water catches my eye.  No doubt, this big boy is one of the leftover derby trout.

I make about four casts at him, and with each one he simply moves to one side or the other.  After the fourth cast, this golden icon of wall hanging excellence disappears like a fart in the wind.  It isn't long after his departure that I also disappear in the same fashion.  It seems the short wade and climb on the island had compounded the palpitations.  Not being one who cares to share a near-death experience on one of those satellite stations, I packed ass and headed for the prairie home.

At the prairie home I quickly took to the bunk.  After a couple of hours I rise to find myself still uneasy and bored out of my mind.  So... I decide to go to the creek and see what the carp are up to. 

We received rain late in the week and it was enough to have most of the creek blurred.  I did see carp at Charlie's Pasture, but they were all sticking to the far side near the undercut bank.  Now... Charlie ran down there the other day and was able to coax one to take his offering, but on Saturday I would have no such luck. 

Saturday was mostly a wash.

THERE'S ALWAYS SUNDAY

Sunday morning begin pretty much the same with the dominating thumps riding me like fly paper.  Again, I had reservations about even going to the river and it was only when I reminded myself of how many times I've said I wanted to be standing in the river when my good lord and master calls me yonder.  Besides... I figure I've already written a epitaph and it pretty much says to the letter and word, "I've enjoyed all the women I've known, the fish I've caught, and the beer I've drank.  Adios."  With this Sunday morning revelation in hand... I head to the river.

There were two goals on Sunday.  One was to try and locate ol' golden boy again and after giving that effort about a half hour I turned attention to the second goal, which was fishing small flies to rising trout.

Seven or eight years ago, I received the most delightful book from fellow fly-fisher Graham Jones.  This book written by Darrel Martin is not one that can be digested in one setting, or even in a number of successive settings.  It is acutely detailed and technical and gives a lot of attention to the virtues of CDC as a tying material.  I've often wondered which is the buggier material - CDC or peacock herl.  Over time I've digested this book in servings, and it has been a wonderful eye-opener to the beauty of microsized flies.

Seventeen hasn't fished well most of the season.  However, with the way Seventeen is we can usually always count on her to provide a little rising action.  Today was no different. 

I'm not a real good dry fly fisherman... wish I was better.  On Blue... dry fly fishing can be really tough unless we find exactly what the trout are keying on.  On the water today were the same small black flies that Chris, Donny, and myself saw last weekend, but today they seemed much smaller.  I was convinced that the trout were keying on midges today and therefore I fished four or five different variations of the midge.  The midge did seem to be what held interesting to the trout with a number of trout missing my offering or my offering missing them.  I did bring one trout to hand on a black midge pattern.  The only other dry pattern I offered was Ralph's Ol' Gray and sure enough this pattern took a trout.  I think the poor trout came up on the fly so fast he didn't realize what he had until it was too late.

I stay at the river for only an hour and then the driving winds send me packing.  Sunday was much better than Saturday... from a fishing standpoint.

A PASSING CHANCE CARP

Back at the prairie home, I do some chores around the bunkhouse until it comes time to go to the mercantile store for some staples.  On the way to the general store I decide to stop by Rock Creek for a look-see.  Standing high on a bluff looking down I see two carp feeding in the shallows.  The problem is I'm on the wrong side of the creek with no waders or wading boots.  To get to the carp requires me to drive around to the other side of the creek, which I promptly do.  I have no waders, boots, camera, but... but, I do have a makeshift carp rod with a fly attached.

I say makeshift carp rod because the rod I broke during the trout derby was my fly rod for carp.  Instead of sacrificing another "good" rod, I decide to place into employemnt an old Shakespeare rod that has been sitting idle for a dozen or better years.  The Shakespeare is a stick... and, of course there are concerns if it will permit an accurate enough cast to place a fly in front of a carp, exactly where the fly needs to be.  Either I got extremely lucky today, or the question was answered with the first cast.  On the end of the tippet was a well worn and used Carp Carrot.  The Carrot landed about six inches in front of a carp and quickly disappeared from my sight in the off colored water.  Although I couldn't see the fly, I could see the carp and once his gills flared I went for the hook-set.  Indeed, the fly was in his mouth. 

Since the camera was left at the bunkhouse, I must tell you that this was a young carp... only about sixteen inches.  However, he owned the most beautifully red-orange colored tail.  Simply a beautiful creature.

BASS ACTION

If you are looking to get into some Blue River bass action, then your best chances of doing so are from now to the end of March.  With the warming temperatures and with the water warming up significantly, I suggest we are already seeing the pre-spawn at Blue.  It's during this time the bass feed in frenzy as they get ready to make love.  In April they will go into the spawn and late May or June they go post-spawn.

Now is a good time to carry slightly larger buggers in all colors.  White colored buggers or streamers seem to work quite well as does Clouser Minnows, and don't forget the crawdad patterns.  Crawdads have to be on top of the bass menu selection.

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.

Trash Day

Last Saturday the waders went on... but a fly rod was not in hand.  Instead, two commercial sized 60 gallon trash bags were in tow. 

Working on an upstream area of Rock Creek, an area that has been previously mentioned in Trashless Wild posts, it took about fifteen minutes to fill the first bag.  Most of the trash that is found on Rock Creek still seems to be coming from the same area. 

Although it is disheartening to continually find mounting piles of trash after previous trash recovering efforts, I remain determined to make Rock Creek one of the cleanest little creeks in Oklahoma. 


The pile of trash pictured above was recovered in an area that measured maybe 10' by 10'.  Unfortunately, not all the trash could be recovered because it was strewn down a steep hill and I had old shoes on without any grips attached.


After the first bag was filled, another stretch of water was explored.  The second area was within the boundaries of the National Park System, and I'll have to say it was pleasantly void of trash.  There were only a few plastic bottles and Styrofoam cups recovered.  A lot of plastic bags hung in the tree limbs and all of those were removed.  The people at Chickasaw National Recreation Area do a good job in policing the area. 

One more trip will be made to reclaim the trash from the troubled area that has already been cleaned several times.  After that, it's time for a letter of diplomacy asking for help in remedying the problem. 

Guess I better brush up on diplomatic discourse. 

Harvest

Before leaving my prairie home this morning, Miss Carol asked me for two things.  She requested a Creme Danish from Scotty's, and trout from the river Blue. 

I brought her both.

Carol takes great delight in the taste of trout, so I don't mind bringing her a limit every great once in a while.  I harvest trout only a couple of times during the season - usually at the beginning and then as the season ends.  Of course, we have to keep the fish if we participate in a trout derby. 

Friday morning brought a bite with it.  For most of the morning the sun hid behind a thick haze and the wind was up and steady.  The cold breath of the northern Gods were more than enough to send a shiver down my neck and bring numbness to my hands.

Fishing only one pool of water, Coyote Pass, time was fairly short on the river Blue today.  While at Coyote Pass, completely new pools of water were found and they seemed fairly rich with bows.  The new-size bows are nice - averaging twelve or thirteen inches.  I think everyone will really enjoy these fish.

The fly of the day was a beadhead Hare's Ear soft hackle.

After catching Miss Carol's limit, I give thanks and leave the river.

On the way out, I stop and visit with Matt for a spell.  We talked about pheasant hunting, fly-tying, trout fishing, and the catch and release area.  Matt shared with me what a popular destination the catch and release has become and it's favor is ever-growing.

I make a quick trip to Tishomingo to take care of some business and then it's back to my prairie home.

TROUT BY MORNING, CARP BY AFTERNOON.

Upon arriving at the bunkhouse, I first take care of the trout.  Then it's time to head to the Rock Creek current in search of the prairie ocean bonefish... the wonderful carp. 

Charlie caught two carp yesterday and promises pictures soon.  Both of his carp were taken on an yellow and brown Carpola Charlie.  His two prizes brought us to needing just 46 more to make our goal of 250 by the end of the year. 

Using the Carpola Charlie in olive and yellow, I quickly capture two carp and that brings us to only needing 44 more carp with 41 calendar days left.  Getting the 44 we need may sound like an easy task, but next week looks to slow our effort down.

Charlie is going to be gone for a week - he flies out this Sunday.  Next week is Thanksgiving week at the store, which means I'm going to be extra busy, spending extra time at the store.  Plus, our little brown pony isn't running well and has to go in the shop, which means Miss Carol and I will be sharing the Prairie Schooner. 

I may find myself hiking to the creek. 
 

The sun is hidden somewhere in this thick haze.

The Harvest

Rock Creek carp taken with Carpola Charlie

Valiant fighters - Prairie Ocean Bonefish

Which One Wins

On the Rock Creek current

of the Prairie Ocean wide -
a place of inner peace,
ceasing of questions and doubt.
I come for a carp by fly.

The sun is unkind today,
ever-telling of my presence.
The wind is unkind today,
driven riffles blinding my view.
But, I come for a carp by fly.

Autmun's beauty is unkind today,
weaving a blanket of leaves.
A barrier from which I seek,
cover for that which alludes me.
But, I come for a carp by fly.

Squinting eyes, shaded, labored eyes,
intently looking for a hint.
The beasts are there I know,
oh, they see me... I sense it!
I come for you my friends.

The rains promised did come,
is Mother on my side?
For the creek still fades,
becoming shallow as gin.
But, still hope for a carp by fly.

Hunting, stalking,
looking for a chance.
Hunting, stalking,
hoping for a glimpse.
A glimpse of hope today.

Under a blanket, carp are there,
gently feeding, taking feast.
The stealth is good,
unknown to beasts.
My friends we have met.

Through a blanket tear,
the fly splits the carp.
Both come quickly,
for a prize to win.
Only one can come to me.

One carp wins the offering,
as he becomes mine.
One carp looses the offering,
as he is not mine.
Which one wins?