The Chase Continues

Old hunting dogs still want to hunt.  Things don't come quite so easy as they once did for old hunting dogs.  Leaping into the back of the truck now requires assistance.  Even getting out of the truck, once the field is reached, requires a loving and helpful hand.  Eyesight is not what it use to be.  Senses are beginning to falter.  Legs once agile, now somewhat stiff.  Legs that tire quicker than they use to. 

However, inside the old hunting dog is that heart... that harbor of the hunter's soul and within this safe place is the desire.  From desire comes hope.  Old hunting dogs have hope.  Hope, that the point will come.  Hope, that a bird will take flight.  Hope, for the retrieve.  None of these things may come for the old hunting dog, but still there is that hope.

I think fly anglers that are slowly growing old are like old hunting dogs.  No matter how old we get there is always going to be a desire to chase fish. 

Much like the old hunting dog, things don't come as easy as they once did.  Hikes are more tiring than they once was.  Weariness sets in sooner rather than later.  It takes longer to tie a fly on.  Trips, slips, and falls hurt more these days.  But, the older angler carries the same hope as the old hunting dog.

Hope, that the fly we choose will cause a fish to rise.  Hope, that the water we choose will be kind and favorable.  Hope, that the fish we battle, capture, and release, will live to fight another day.

Hope, is a primary color of fly fishing.

In a matter of days, trout season will begin at Blue River.  Sticks of graphite, glass, and bamboo will be waved in the air.  Flies... fashioned of fur, feather, tinsel, and synthetics, will fly through the air then gently hit the surface of the water. 

The trout will be waiting for the fly angler's offerings.  Some offerings will be taken below the surface, others will be taken on the surface.  The rising trout will be showing a number of forms.  Sipping trout will only reveal themselves by a subtle dimple in the water - evidence of midge sipping.  Slurping trout will show their beak through the surface, which reveals the fish are on a hatch.  Splashing trout will show us a sudden explosive pop with a splash - the fish are targeting skittering caddis flies. The boiling trout will reveal a dorsal fin and tail and cause disturbed patterns in the water - tell tale of emergers being picked.

Trout season at Blue River is always welcomed with great enthusiasm among the fly fishing community, and the expectation of capturing trout is already building. 

For me, this will be my 32nd year at Blue River.  I have been blessed with living in close proximity to the river for all these years.  Outings come easier for me than for most, and I am thankful for my good fortune. 

On Blue River, there are personal trails that I follow.  These trails are certainly not exclusive to me - many other anglers use the same trails.  But, somehow, I've found a way to personalize these trails.

I think the personal trails we take in life, lead to the personal tales we can tell in life. 

Therefore, during the upcoming season of the rainbow trout at Blue River, I will dedicate this journal to the experiences I find on my personal trails. 

The chase continues. 

A Sunny October Morning Carp

Saturday, I waded the creek on a cloudy day with wind that chopped the water.  This morning I waded a muddy creek on a bright sunlit day with wind that was blew only high up - only rustling the trees and not disturbing the creek. 

The sudden hard and driving rain we were promised showed up in the late afternoon, shortly before evening fell.  It was a blowing rain; the kind that somehow manages to get up under shingles on a house.  It was a significant enough rain to blur Rock Creek rather badly.

The thinking this morning was to concentrate on the creek edges, the fringes of the creek, in hopes of finding a foraging beeve to lasso with a fly. 

The first hour was a total bust.  Movement in the creek could be seen, but it was a "can't make heads or tails" situation.  The first pasture visited was the Upper Shallows, and I thought this would be my best opportunity, but again, it was mainly a crap shoot. 

Leaving the Upper Shallows, I set sail for the pasture known as Lower Well Springs.  Here, at the fringe of the near bank were two carp gently grazing.  Since the color of the creek was well off normal, I chose the Prizefighter Carpolo Charlie.  The Prizefighter is black, blue, and purple and it seemed to make sense these colors would work well in the off water. 

 

The Prizefighter was offered to the lead carp and he seemed to like what he was seeing.  With a simple lift of the rod tip, we began a quite pleasant conversation... at least for me. 

 

 

 

This one carp being branded seem to be enough to fix me - pull me out of the disrepair of everyday life. 

 

From the Lower Well Springs Pasture I set course back to the Upper Shallows to retrieve a school chair from the creek.  Sadly, the school system is still the prime trashing entity of this creek along the quarter-of-a-mile boundary the school shares with Rock Creek.

 

 

 

I took a picture of the chair in the creek and then one of the chair out of the creek.  I added today's pictures to the album of trash in Rock Creek and this afternoon I'll be at the local Radio Shack having them printed. 

 

Back at the bunkhouse, I will draft a letter to the president of the board of education and then mail the letter along with the pictures to him and the rest of the school board.

 

I will ask for just a little help in keeping Rock Creek clean.  It's with high hope the board will find my letter receptive. 





October Carp

There seems to be something special about the October carp here on the prairie ocean.  It's almost like they take on their own fall colors along with a new energy that tells the onlooker that they know lean times are up ahead. 

Fly fishing for carp was rather doubtful today with the weather situation.  The pretty blond lady that gives the morning weather forecast told of severe spring-like storms today that would pound the whole of Oklahoma. 

I somehow knew Charlie would go out today, so I fulfilled a request from him for some smaller Carpolo Charlie patterns in orange and olive, and orange and brown.  Shortly, after that pretty blond weather forecaster had give her prediction, I delivered the flies to Charlie.

He took them to the creek today.  He caught carp today.  As Charlie was working one pasture, I worked another. 

October carp... how wonderful they are.

 

 

 

 

A Short Afternoon Of Sailing The Prairie Ocean

I took the carp leader off my favorite rod yesterday and replaced it with a lighter leader more suited for the Rainbow trout that will be in season soon. 

A little over three weeks ago the high temperature here was 100 degrees.  Less than ten days ago the high temperature was in the mid-forties.  Today, the temperature was 77 degrees.  Confusing to the angler, confusing to the fish. 

This afternoon in a span of three hours I fished two different currents on this prairie ocean, sailing forty miles to fish both,  and had a multi-species day.  Fish caught today included the spotted bass, small mouth bass, bream, drum, and then... just one more carp.  Somehow, I just couldn't stay away from the carp even though that season is best over. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The baby bream and baby smallmouth came from Pennington Creek - a pristine creek that is the little sister of Blue River in south central Oklahoma.  Pennington is quite low right now and clear as gin.  Hopefully, the October rain will soon arrive.

 

The drum and carp came from Rock Creek and this creek is also, once again, lowering. 

 

My afternoon was a flurry of sailing and fly fishing.  Quite enjoyable I must say.     

 

 

 

 

 

A Great Little Glass Rod

Before Charlie departed for Denver on Saturday, he met me at the mercantile store to deliver a most delightful present. 

It seems that the people at Cabela's made the decision to discontinue their Custom Glass Rods and upon learning this, Charlie decided to grab him one while the grabbing was good.  He graciously grabbed me one too. 

These sweet little rods could be picked up for a lark and they come complete with a hard case.  Not a bad deal at all for less than $60.00.  Charlie ordered two 7' 6" 5/6 weight rods.

In the parking lot, I put mine together just to have a feel.  When I get a glass rod in my hand I often wonder why I jumped to graphite.  Glass rods are sweet and that's just the simple truth of the matter.

I haven't decided yet whether to dedicate this rod to the pursuit of carp or to use it for a number of species.  Chances are it won't really matter - it will be a sweet rod regardless.

Charlie On The South Platte And Big Morning Carp

Charlie is probably landing in Denver about now.  He'll be there a few days visiting family and this time he took his fly rod.  Early this morning he told me he plans on exploring the South Platte in search of the carp we hear so much about.  I imagine the South Platte will be big water compared to our little carp creek, so I hope Charlie has fun and does well.

This morning, conditions were as poor as I've ever seen on the carp creek.  There wasn't an ounce of sunshine getting through the completely overcast sky.  Of course there was daylight, but there is something about the glare of daylight on water that will drive a man insane.  It's tough seeing anything.

At the edge of the creek a brown body, yellow wing with olive and black barred legs Creek Critter went on the tippet.  The dark outline of a carp was about twenty feet out and the Critter went his way.  Maybe five seconds passed before the tell-tale twitch in the leader came.  With a side-sweep hook set the beginning of a fifteen minute battle commenced.  About ten minutes into it I was wishing I had brought a net.

 

I pretty much had to gas this carp to get a hand on him.  Gently lifting him out of the creek, I laid him at the edge of the bank to hopefully get a decent picture.  However, the bank here is quite steep and I had to use my knees to keep the fish from sliding back into the water.  The carp simply folded around my knees and finally I said the heck with it and snapped the picture so I could get the fish back into the water. 

 

 

 

This was one of the prettier carp I've landed this season.  Beautiful colors and markings along with being a brawny fish.  Next to the carp taken at Veterans Lake, this is one of the larger carp taken this season also. 

 

Leaving the creek fairly early, another outing was planned this afternoon with my daughter's husband Van.  Van is a life long angler, but new to fly fishing.  He's been at fly fishing for about three weeks now and is dying to capture a carp by fur and feather.  He'll have to wait for another day however, because it's been raining for about five hours now. 

 

The rain has been substantial at times and looks to continue for a good bit.  Maybe this rain event is that burn-ban lifting and drought busting rain we've been praying for.  Hopefully it is. 



Another After Rain Shower Carp

I guess Charlie couldn't keep from going out after this afternoon's rain showers.  He went out much later than I did today not getting to the creek until day's end. 

It didn't take long for Charlie and a black body yellow leg Creek Critter to find and land a dandy carp.

An Afternoon After Rain Shower Carp Named Fat Ass

I knew if I went to pursue the carp by fly this afternoon it would be a brief outing.  In the refrigerator a pork roast was marinating and scheduled for a stop at the dinner table this evening.  With the two hour cooking time required, this would certainly make a fishing trip short. 

But, I just couldn't resist rushing to the creek because it had come the most wonderful rain shower a couple of hours earlier.  Normally after a rain shower, Charlie or me can almost always count on the carp being in the shallows foraging. 

Today that wasn't the case.  At the upper shallows of the pasture Honey Hole there wasn't a single carp.  The water here was remarkably clear, which I don't know if that's such a good thing or not.  Sure, it's perfect for sight fishing, but not so perfect from trying to stay undetected from the carp. 

Downstream there was another set of shallows that were totally different.  In this small section of the larger pasture, a canopy of trees shades the water all day long.  Hardly any direct sunlight gets to the water.  The water here today was dingy... quite dingy.  I knew I was left to blind casting and hope. 

At this place I tie on one of Charlie's worm patterns.  This would be the first time to use this pattern after Charlie give it to me almost two months ago.  The worm went out into the dingy deep and the hope begin.

Employing a excruciatingly slow strip there was a tug followed by that now natural instinct of rod tip up and stripping hand down and back.  The hook set felt solid and the battle begin. 

This carp peeled line off with ease.  Twice I brought him back downstream only to have the fish fight off my effort and peel more line going back upstream.  With the ease this fish was peeling line and the hard time I was having in managing the fish, I honestly thought I'd foul hooked this fish, which is always a crappy feeling.

Finally I was able to work the fish into water that was about eight inches deep and I could see that the hook was undoubtedly in his mouth.  As a matter of fact it was deeper in his mouth than I like.

 

For a carp this length, I was surprised at how hard this guy fought.  At best this carp measured maybe 22 inches.  But, was he ever a chunk!  I mean this fish was thick, with broad shoulders.  I decided to name this carp Fat Ass.  He just seemed to fit.

 

 

 

At my workplace I lift poundage all day and have been doing so for twenty-five years now.  I have a pretty good sense for how much something weighs.  As I carried the carp back upstream to deeper water to let him return to his deeper dominion, the fish felt remarkably like a 10 pound bag of potatoes.  He wasn't a big or heavy fish by carp means, but he was a heavy fish for no longer than he was. 

 

I knelt and let Fat Ass gently sway back and forth from my grip and then he slowly returned home.

 

The pork roast at home was requiring my attention, so I left the banks of the creek.