Chapter 58 Day 29 - Trout Season

Tuesday Afternoon With The Trout

It was a pretty afternoon today on the river, even though it was a little airy again.  It was airy enough to create a complete riffle on the long, wide, and deep stretch of water I fished.  This was a familiar water, however, I decided to approach it from the opposite side.  Looking back now, I'm glad I did because it placed me on the inside lane of the wind; hidden behind a tall island that served as a perfect wind-break. 

The side I chose is a more wooded area that overlooks the river and two different runs of water. Here there are a number of trails that will take you to both runs and it's nice to walk through those woods.

I took one of those trails down to the long, wide, and deep water and found a small sandy shoal that would allow a fly fisher to wade out about five feet.  It was all roll casting today - no room at all for a backcast, but, that didn't seem to bother the trout.

Even though I was attempting a thirty to thirty-five foot roll, I would soon discover the trout were only eighteen to twenty feet in front of me.  And... they would slam the fly - it seemed like they were hooking themselves.  Fish after fish, fun... oh, so much fun.  It wasn't a fish every cast, but, the cast-to-catch ratio was pretty darn high. 

Never changed patterns this afternoon, just kept tossing the streamer.  The trout were finicky in how the fly was moving.  They wanted it deep in the column with little movement at all.  Although I was slow-crawl-stripping all afternoon, I do believe if a fly fisher had fished under an indicator they would have actually done better. 

Looking upstream, two good size submerged boulders catches the eye so an investigation is launched.  The boulders are large enough for a fly fisher to stand on, but, the water between me and boulder was hard to judge.  It looked to be chest deep, but, could have been deeper so I deemed it too dicey to try today since I was fishing alone.  Maybe when someone is fishing alongside I'll try it.

What is amazing to me is that all these wonderful years I've had on this river, new pools and pockets are coming this way.  The structure of this river is absolutely amazing with countless places for the trout to hide and make their lies.  Exploring this river more is part of the goal of my Chapter 58. 

The weather is predicted to change for the worse in the coming days.  Today was a good day to be on the river Blue.

Carpin' Can Wait - Praying For Rain

There are two new Elk Hair Caddis patterns patiently resting in the fly box dedicated to the pursuit of carp by fly.  I say patiently resting, but, I could very well be wrong. 

Several times this past weekend I opened that fly box to have just one more look at the flies and it almost seemed like, each time, the Elk Hair's were screaming, "Put me in coach... just put me in!" 

Alas, they will have to wait.  An early springtime cold front pushed across the prairie ocean last Friday sending temperatures plummeting thirty to forty degrees lower than the days of the week prior. 

Springtime promises.

Spring on a carp creek.

The sudden change in weather comes at a time when there was warming signs of spring and a time that the carpin' seem to be really picking up steam. 

For sure, the cooler weather is most unpleasant to this carp by fly angler,  after being so delightfully teased by warming rays and fresh scents of new life.  Today, the temperature struggled to reach fifty degrees; the sky was a thick, heavy, dull pewter color.  Perfect trout weather... but, for carp... it's not so good. 

However, there could very well be a wonderful blessing with this cold snap.  Cold fronts in spring usually mean rain - oh, how we need the rain.

Currently the prairie ocean is running about three inches below normal in rainfall.   The streams, creeks, and rivers that act as the seafaring currents are in great need of some fresh inflow. 

The local creek that Charlie and I fly fish for carp is currently running at ten cubic feet per second compared to a normal stream flow of thirty cubic feet per second for this time of year.  Nearby, the river Blue is running at forty cubic feet per second compared to the normal seventy. 

Yes, we need the rain and hopefully it will come soon.  As much as I love carpin' by fly... I much rather have the rain right now.

There are a lot of good things we offer prayer for - rain, oftentimes, is a good thing.

If only Burt Lancaster could come back for an encore performance of The Rainmaker, on this drought prone prairie ocean.

Image via Wikipedia

The Good And Not So Good

Image via Wikipedia

Today was a good day of fishing for sure.  The catching wasn't too bad also, but there won't be any pictures posted and that's the not-so-good part of the day's adventure. 

The camera took the plunge just like it did this past spring in Rock Creek.  Somehow, this little camera survived that incident, but I have my doubts whether this latest act of carelessness is survivable.  Ehhh... I sucked at taking pictures anyhow.

Main reason for fishing on the river Blue today was to launch the Bubble Boy soft hackle on his maiden voyage.  He did okay!   Bubble Boy caught the first four trout... but that would be all he would catch, losing his life at sea.

After the departure of the young lad, the brown body soft hackle that did so well last week was employed solo.  And, this soft hackle pattern did well until giving his life to a tree limb.

The bugger was put into action, but would only find two trout.  Shortly thereafter a partridge and orange was enlisted to help the bugger and once again the soft hackles attracted fish. 

It was a pretty day even though it was a little cold this morning.  To me, the river looked a little off-color, kind of blurred, or fuzzy looking, but that could very well just be me.  The fishing wasn't hot and heavy at all.  Actually it seemed slow and the whole river seems to be off as far as fishing.  The river's level is lower than last week and good flows are hard to find in some areas.

I guess dropping the camera in the river deflated things a bit... you know kind of dampened the whole outing.  Didn't catch a fish after that incident.  Decided to just call it a day and head for my prairie home.

On the way out I met Scott Spradling and that indeed was a pleasure.  It seems Scott has quite the fishing story to tell... so let's let him tell it.  I know one fly-fisher who will really like this story.

I left the river having met twelve rainbow trout.  Ten shook hands with one form of soft hackle or the other, and the other two met the bugger.

Stopped by Ralph Fullenwinder's Ruff Diamond to visit and get a cup of coffee.  I still don't know what Ralph's secret is to making coffee, but without a doubt it's the best coffee I've ever had.

When I left my prairie home this morning, pony feed was $3.01 for a gallon bucket which makes pushing the ponies rather expensive these days.  My goodness, the price of petro could very well put the screws to fly fishing, with any regularity, on the river Blue. 

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.

Another Big Hole - Fewer Drops Of Water

There are enough big holes being currently dug in the southern part of the prairie ocean wide... and now, it looks like there may be another. 

This past week, Arbuckle Aggregates LLC along with representatives from the Oklahoma Department of Mines held an informal meeting in Tishomingo, Oklahoma.  Arbuckle Aggregates has applied for a permit to mine 575 acres near Mill Creek, Oklahoma. 

At the meeting, and according to local news sources, one lady that opposed the permit stood up and spoke up.  In regards to the mining permit being approved she declared that the establishment of another rock mining facility in the Mill Creek area would be "a premeditated crime against the environment." 

I have to agree.

Last weekend, on the trail to the river Blue, I couldn't help but notice the activity that was going on at the present mining operations atop the Arbuckle-Simpson aquifer.  The sand, gravel, rock and boulders are piled so high they have formed mesas.  Unnatural mesas because they don't belong along this landscape - unnatural mesas because they are desecrating the natural landscape.

Their giant claws dig deeper and deeper, scalping the top of the well springs, flooding their own pits, then those pits have to be de-watered. De-watered is synonymous with waste.

Of course at this meeting that was held, the mining company was well represented with their legal staff, ducks in a row, i's dotted, t's crossed. And, the Department of Mines was represented, metaphorically holding up a sign that read "Don't shoot the messenger."  Of course the Department of Mines live by a mandated existence full of proper procedures.

Let's just shoot the messenger... and the mining company too, but not with bullets, but rather a good dose of a passage of a new law that says enough drilling has been done, and there will be no more near this sole source aquifer.

If we fail, then this lush south sea of the prairie ocean great... may very well become a desert.   At high risk are Mill Creek, Pennington Creek, and the river Blue. 

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

The Bugger Bombed

Image via Wikipedia

Today on the river Blue, the venerable Woolly Bugger bombed.  At least for me.  I was fishing those tandem rigs I use with the bugger being the lead or deeper column fly.  The first trailer I used was a hot bodied soft hackle and this puppy took several bows.  The bugger took none.

Then came the Partridge and Orange and this pattern also took a couple of bows, but the bugger bombed.  Then the Crackleback came and same results - trout on the Crackleback... bugger feeling like an outcast.  The Hare's Ear steps up to the plate and the bows liked it... poor bugger. 

I sent the bugger to the dug-out and told him to get his crap together.  Put the beadhead Hare's Ear on the mound and this pattern was fairly popular.  Next, a size 18 Flashback Pheasant Tail and this proved to be the hottest pattern of the morning fishing a fairly slow hole. 

Not to be outdone by the trout however, I call the bugger back and send him downstream from the crossing and finally he finds a couple of bows.  But... for the most part the bugger bombed today.

These fish are really stacked up.  If you can get a pool where they are you'll have a banner day.  I watched a couple of fly-fishers fish the same pool that Donny Carter did on Wednesday and Larry Horton fished yesterday.  I bet they caught 50 trout in a row.  It was ridiculous... but fun I bet.

It Will Do For Now

Gracefulness has never been a semblance of just being me. I stagger, swagger, stumble, and wade around the river Blue these days with almost clown-like antics. As the years have added up and the joints grown stiffer I find myself even more clumsy as ever before.

It's difficult for a man who at one time boasted he had cat-like reflexes to admit that he is indeed in need of a wading staff...but I am.

Since it doesn't look like I'm going to get said wading staff for Christmas I decided to make my own.

A couple of weeks ago I was piddling around in the garage and I noticed how Miss Carol and I had accumulated a collection of mop handles. They're the kind that has the interchangeable feature you know - simply unscrew the ole mop head and put a new one on. I found seven of these mop handles tucked in a corner of the garage which seemed rather bizarre to me. But of course Miss Carol may very well know something the rest of us do not... such as there's going to a nationwide shortage on mop handles in the coming year. Anyhow...

Being the kind of guy that always tries to take something worthless and turn it into something worthwhile I brainstormed on what I could do with these mop handles. I don't believe in throwing anything away without giving it a chance and I also believe the two greatest inventions of the twentieth century are duct tape and J B Weld.

Picking up one of the mop handles in my right hand I automatically realized I had myself a wading staff. It was lightweight, water proof, and almost nature friendly. I say almost nature friendly because it was the color blue. However I also spotted a half full can of forest green spray paint (that was sure to go to waste) so a marriage was made between useless paint and mop handle and I now had me a nature friendly wading staff.



I gave my new wading staff a test run recently and it works amazingly well. A staff acts like a third leg when navigating the river and also can serve as a gauge for your next steps. My mop handle wading staff is extremely light-weight and the only down sides I have found is that it's not collapsible and secondly it has to be tied on the body.

My make-shift staff is not perfect, but it will do for now.

Two Bows To Go

Trout Season 2009/2010 Day Eleven Fishing

My Tuesday fishing thing is going south really quick. Today it looked like there was no chance of me getting to the river Blue to fish at all even though I had to go to Tishomingo.

But...nothing chanced, nothing gained so I gave it a go anyhow. I knew full well that at the most I would have fifteen minutes to fish and no more even if I got that much in.

Now some would question the sanity of a man who would gear up to fish for fifteen minutes. To that I would simply say desperation does strange things to a man. Also, I was that badly in need of a trout fix.

So, I scream into campsite 17 and put all the gear on and trot to the river. Fishing the lower end of 17 I capture two bows and then it's time to go. The workplace is ever demanding these days and I'm sure my absence was noticed.

Not so long ago there was a sweet older gentleman that accommodated Scotty's quite a bit. His name was J.D., and one day when J.D. noticed by hurried rush to the river on a Tuesday afternoon he said, "Barry...you're going to loose the farm for fishing."

From what I'm hearing lately at work...J.D. may very well be right.

Was today worth it? Wouldn't trade today's minutes for gold.

Would I do it again. Absolutely...may do it tomorrow.