The Curse is Lifted 3/15/12

I decided that I wanted a break from losing my flies in overgrown, brushy streams, so I thought it might be time to head up to The Logan.  I realized I hadn't been there in about a year and a half because of all the high water last year.

It really felt like a Moon and Antarctica kind of a day.  I figured if I was going to a place I hadn't fished in a long time, I might as well listen to an album I hadn't enjoyed for a while.  As I drove through the marshes and river bottoms on my way to Logan, I spotted pheasant, Canada geese, and the first pair of sandhill cranes of the season.  I thought those were some pretty good omens.  Logan tried to take the positive feelings away by placing an endless barrage of large, lumbering vehicles in front of me, but I finally left them behind just before entering the canyon.

As I drove up the winding path of my old friend, Logan Canyon, I was thinking about sasquatch as I had just watched the season finale of "Finding Bigfoot" which took place in our very own valley.  I was suspiciously eyeing a dark shape in the bushes, only to find it was one of those brown, wooden signs that are so common in the canyon.  Luckily I looked back to my left just in time to spy a cow moose standing in the middle of the river.  I contemplated stopping to snap a few pics, but it was a curvy section of road with few pull offs, so i carried on.  Besides, I got up close and personal with a moose on The Blacksmith last year.

A short while later, I arrived at my destination, a stretch of pocket that is usually swarming with stocky cutthroat.  I rigged up and then hiked a few hundred yards downstream until I found a path through the willows.  As I entered the river, I noticed a really nice looking pool behind a large boulder just downstream that was just too inviting to pass up.  I normally don't work my way downstream, but I figured I would give it a try.  First I checked under some rocks and saw hordes of small, dark mayfly nymphs.  I tied on a dark, flashback Hare's Ear Prince with red ribbing, then crept into position and made my move.  My fly drifted through the run, but just as I was starting to life my fly up for another cast, I saw a nice fish flash at it.  I lowered the rod tip, allowing the flies to drift back down when a feisty brown absolutely clobbered my dropper.  I set the hook, and after a nice battle, I was able to net the speckled beauty.

I was really impressed with the colors on this fish.  I moved up to a really nice stretch of runs, and was able to nab another brown from the tail of the first run on the dropper.

So far so good.  Two strikes, and two fish in hand.  This area really opened up, so I felt it would be a good idea to ditch the shorter leader that I had been using on the little creeks, and go with a nine footer.  I worked my way upstream, high sticking like a champ with my new leader, but I got no takers.  I worked up through another beautiful run, but nothing.  I was beginning to feel discouraged, when I made a drift down a tiny seam on the far bank, sticking my first cutt of the day.

I worked up through some lesser looking water and caught some average ten inch browns here and there, but nothing spectacular.  Still, it was nice to have landed every fish that struck.  I even got one to come up and suck in my dry.  Eventually I arrived at some amazing looking water.  I had just switched to a size 14 rubber legged orange Copper John to see if that what entice more fish.  The first drift a nice cutthroat flashed on it, but I missed him.  I worked the run a little longer with nothing.  I went back to my little dark pattern, and quickly caught a brown up against a boulder.

A couple of casts later, I pulled out a cutthroat.

I worked my way a little further into the pool so that I could high stick an especially nice bit of water along the bank.  I missed a brown at the front of the rock where I caught the other one.  Just up from there, I finally hooked what I came for.

I worked the run some more and got the same results.

After I exhausted the hole, I spotted a small pocket of calm water between the swift water just upstream.  I spotted a large whitefish working this spot, and thought, "Why not?"  I have no pride.  First drift he snarfed down my nymph.  The ensuing battle was a grueling scramble over rocks as the fish bulldogged downstream.  I finally got him into the slack water where I had been landing my cutthroat, and scooped him up.

He stretched from the tip of my finger to the crook of my elbow, a full 20".  Sure it would have been cool if that had been a trout, but it was still a fun time.  For me anyway.  I placed a couple more casts into the pocket, and soon hooked into the wildest, most insane whitefish I have ever met.  Whoever said these things don't fight has never met this nasty customer.  Immediately after the hook set, he leaped out of the water and then peeled off across the run faster than most trout I have caught.  He zipped back and forth across the run at breakneck speeds.  Finally I got him right in front of me and scooped him up, but he sprang forward right out of the net and cleared it by a good foot.  Back across the pool in a flash, I pulled him back, only to have him make another mad dash for freedom, which he obtained.  My hook popped out, and that was the last I ever saw of Senor Spazz.  However, I met his wily brother about a minute later.  This one didn't jump, but still achieved some insane levels of speed.  He didn't fly out of my net either.

I always thought that whitefish looked a little like little river bonefish, and these ones had the attitude to go with their looks.  Just to the right of this pocket, up against the bank, was some quiet water with some overhanging brush.  The second drift through another nice cutthroat came up and sucked in my dry fly.  He knew the routine and took me downstream to the landing site.

I worked my way upstream, but didn't find any really spectacular runs for a while.  A couple of promising looking spots didn't really yield much for me.  I tried switching nymphs to a #16 rubber legged ice dub pheasant tail Prince, and was rewarded with a 10" brown on the first cast.  I didn't realize that I was being watched until a moment later when I missed a nice cutt and cursed him as my fly launched into some branches.  That's when the mink that had been observing me took off up the bank.  My fly came out of the tree easily and I moved one.  I saw a really nice cutthroat in a little slack pocket, but he just glanced at my fly with little interest.  I realized I was nearly out of time, so I hurried upstream to a run that always seems to have some good cutthroat feeding in it.  Just below the run was some riffles where I missed a fish and caught a small one.  I moved up to my honey hole, and just as expected, the fish were right where I left them, slurping BWO nymphs.  On my first cast, a really nice sized cutt made a b-line for my nymph and slurped it up.  I set the hook, my rod bent in half, and he was off.  I was a bit fearful that my curse was returning.  I made a few more drifts, and got some lookers, but no takers.  One solid fish suspended under my fly for a good ten seconds before wigging out and bolting away in a splashy froth.  I switched back to the dark Hare's Ear.  I made a few more drifts with nothing.  At the tail of the run, I lifted up for another cast, only to find another good fish on the end of my line.  I followed downstream and quickly scooped him up.

I had about five minutes left to fish, and looking at my clicker, I realized that I was at 99 fish for the year.  I saw a promising slot of slow water just upstream, so I hit it.  I soon had number 100 on the end of my line, and it was back to brownville.

There was a really nice run just upstream, but I had to force myself to hurry back to the car so I could get to work on time.

Overall it was a really great few hours, and it reminded me of why I like The Logan so much.  I will definitely be back sooner than a year and a half this time.  I think it's funny that people told me that the fish wouldn't survive last year's runoff and that it would need to be restocked.  Fish are resourceful.  They managed and are looking healthier than ever.

That trip was a little bittersweet as it was the last my old Redington Red.Start will ever take with me.  That rod has been all over Utah, Idaho and Wyoming with me.  I used it to catch four kinds of cutthroat, browns, brookies, tiger trout, rainbows, cuttbows, lakers, whitefish, largemouth, smallmouth, carp, chubs, shiners, bluegill, green sunfish, crappie, perch, and probably some other species I'm forgetting.  We had a really great 13 years together, but I shipped my friend back to Redington today as the time had come.  The split in the blank had become two splits, and was growing longer each day I used it.  Farewell my favorite creek rod.  Lets hope your replacement treats me as well.

Total for trip:  20 cutthroat, browns and whitefish

Total for year:  100 fish

The Curse 3/12/12

I had planned on getting up at a reasonable hour so I could get on the water before everyone else started showing up.  Well, I woke up sick and didn't feel like it would be in my best interest to go traipsing around in the brush until I got things under control.  Eventually my body settled down and I made it down to the trail head a bit after noon.  I was relieved to see the parking area empty and much drier than on Friday.  I went over to the creek to have a look and was surprised at how low and clear it was with the warmer temps.  I also noticed some sizable scat on top of a rock.  I turned around and saw this:

I was both a little concerned and excited at my prospects of running into what left it, but on closer inspection I realized it was just two prints from a large dog overlapping.

In the short time it took to get geared up, two different vehicles came into the parking area, but I was relieved to see them both turn around and leave.  I decided to give a neglected 6' 3wt some attention today.  I was planning on hiking in a ways before fishing, but I noticed a really nice deep run full of feeding trout right by the parking area.  I eased into some riffles below the run and caught this pretty little brown on my first cast.  While I was in the riffles, I turned over some rocks to see what sort of forage was available.  I was quite impressed by the hordes of small mayfly larva, great big free living caddis and drake nymphs clambering about the rock.

I worked up to the run I had been admiring earlier.  I knee walked into position and promptly scored this lovely cutthroat on a dark hare's ear nymph.

I have to say I'm really pleased with how well this little rod handles and how light it is.  I had another fish flash on my nymph but it didn't hook up.  I scooched a  bit further up, placing a cast against some tree roots.  I saw a nice sized cutt flash and felt a solid throb as I set the hook.  I bent the whippy little rod for a bit until I was able to land him.

I was feeling pretty good about the day, and then it happened.  The curse returned.  I set the hook on the next fish, felt his weight, saw him flash, and then my flies launched into the tree behind me.  The same thing happened on the next fish, and the next.  I was going through flies rather quickly and was feeling frustrated.  I  wondered if the shorter rod didn't have enough leverage to hook the fish well, and I was having a hard time high sticking with it.  I decided to switch out my rods and try the 8' 3/4wt.  When I was putting it together, I noticed the blank was splitting.  I guess I'll be sending it back to Redington to be replaced.  I can't complain though, I've had it for 13 years and caught thousands of fish on it.

I eased back into position and was amazed at how much heavier this rod felt in my hand.  Well, I guess it wasn't the short rod as I launched a couple more flies into the tree before finally landing a nice little brown.  I wasn't able to coax any more fish into biting, so I felt it was time to hike in.

Since the longer rod hadn't helped me on the hook sets, I switched back to my 3wt and hiked up about a quarter mile or so.  I wasn't especially thrilled by all the shotgun shells, dead song birds and beer cans littering the area.  Why is it that these kinds of people always drink such crap beer?  I guess it's because they're tasteless waste too?  I entered the stream below a shallow run and spotted a trout feeding at the tail end. I threw him a drake nymph and he slurped it up.  After a brief tussle I netted about a 10"  cutthroat.  I worked my way up to a deep run where I had seen a large fish last year, but unfortunately the hole gave me nothing.  I was feeling frustrated by my inability to high stick as I couldn't get a good drift.  I hit a small riffle above the pool and caught a fingerling brown.  I decided to hike all the way back and switch rods again so that I could high stick.

15 minutes later I was back where I left off.  I arrived at a very deep run with a log jam about midway up.  There were 15-18" trout feeding wildly.  The first cast brought a strike, but one again I missed him.  I quickly had another flash on the nymph, and then hooked into a really nice brown.  He went nuts and started peeling off line towards the head of the run, when of course, the hook pulled loose.

Things went on like this the rest of the afternoon.  I caught some fish, mostly browns,

but the better fish, especially the cutthroat, would come off almost immediately.  They browns weren't huge, but their coloring was gorgeous.  This little guy had some very odd markings, I'm not quite sure what his deal was.

Well, things had gotten slightly better, but overall I had lost a ton of fish.  It was getting dark now, so I decided to end the day at 21 fish.  It should have been something like 60 or 70 fish with a lot of nice ones, and I probably lost close to two dozen flies.  I wonder if the crack in the rod is affecting my hook sets?  It doesn't seem to be handling as well either.  I guess I'll find out when I get the replacement.  Kind of a frustrating afternoon, but I guess I can't complain about catching over 20 fish on a sunny 60 degree day in mid March in Cache Valley.

I climbed out of the deep gorge I was in and walked back to the car.  I hadn't realized just how far I'd hiked.  When I came around the bend to where I could see my car, I noticed a nice deep run.  I stood and looked at it, debating whether I should donate another fly or two to the trees, and decided to go for it.  On my first cast, the indicator fly went down and I did launch the flies into the tree.  Luckily I was able to shake them loose.  A couple of casts later, it went down again, only this time I hooked something solid.  I battled the brown for a short time before netting him, my size 12 hydropsyche larva perched perfectly in the corner of his mouth.

Ending on that nice brown when I had already given up on the day really made things seem a little better.  I did noticed that my hooking percentage was a little better when using larger drake nymphs and caddis larva, so I think I may tie more of these larger flies.  Hopefully when I get my new rod, it won't be so noodly and I will have a higher hook up rate.  As I'm sitting here typing this, my legs are stiff and sore, and my knees bruised from all the squatting and knee walking.  Though it's uncomfortable, it's kind of a nice feeling knowing that spring is here and it's just the start of a year of adventures.

Total for the day:  22 browns and cutthroat

Total for year:  80 fish

The Walking Dead 3/9/12

I had originally planned on spending the day fishing a stream in Idaho with a new friend, but a severe case of insomnia put the kabosh on that.  Eventually, after a meager two hours of mediocre slumber over a ten hour period, I drug my weary carcass out of bed.

After I got my aching head and knotted bowels under control I decided I couldn't waste a beautiful day off from work.  I headed for a small stream with hike in access, thinking nobody would bother with it this time of year.  When I arrived I thought I had made a wrong turn and ended up at Cutler Marsh.  The parking area was under several inches of muddy snow melt, and littered with cars.  I guess I wasn't the only one with that idea.  I didn't feel like playing leap frog or hiking a long distance under the circumstances, so I left.

I ended up settling on The Blacksmith for my angling venue.  I drove further up the canyon than I normally do and finally found a good pull off.  The day was warm and I only needed a light hoodie.  I sidled into the stream and began to fish a nice riffle.  An average cutthroat refused my dry right off, so I switched to a smaller fly.  I couldn't get the fish to rise again or take the dropper, but I eventually caught a small brown from an undercut at the head of the run.

I worked my way upstream and found a nice long run full of rising trout.  I wish this was the part of the story where I launched into a photo laden account of my amazing day on The Blacksmith, but it's not.  For some reason I kept losing the fish.  The better ones anyway.  They would take the caddis larva dropper, I would set the hook, feel their weight, and then they would roll and be off.  I switched to a dark mayfly nymph, and finally I hooked a decent fish.  He darted back and forth across the run before digging into the current next to me, and then he was gone. With my fly no less.  I'm not sure what happened.  I had checked my knot several times like I always do, perhaps his teeth nicked the line.  Anyway, I scored a few more out of the run, but sadly this was the best fish.

I moved up to some really fast pocket water where I found a pod of large whitefish, but was unable to coerce them into biting.  Things didn't get much better.  In one pool I had a decent cutthroat inhale my fly and pull it down, but when I set the hook the fly pulled out of it's mouth.  I worked up to the next run and caught a couple more small fish, but that was it.  I had only 8 small browns and a fingerling cutthroat to show for my two hours of effort, so I decided to move downstream to another stretch.

Unfortunately, every pull off was full by now.  I reached the mouth of the canyon with a little bit of daylight left. I was still geared up to fish, so I hightailed it to the new spot I've been fishing lately.  I didn't waste anytime dillydallying around the access and went straight for the run where I had hooked 20 fish two weeks ago.  The water was murky again, so I tied on a golden hare's ear with a hot orange beadhead.  I managed two small browns of maybe 8 inches and then nothing.  I worked the run a while longer before switching to a rubber legged black stonefly nymph.  After a few casts I hooked a scrawny but spirited little brown that jumped at least a half a dozen times.

It was nearly dark now and I could see my breath.  I took the scenic route home and was happy to see Cutler completely ice free, complete with frolicking carp.

Not the most exciting day, and definitely not what I had planned on, but spending time outside in the spring weather was certainly an improvement over driving home from work in a frozen hell just a few days prior.  I'll take it.

Total fish for the day:  12

Total fish for the year:  58

The Sophomore Slump 3/5/12

You often hear of the "Sophomore Slump" when people are talking about a band.  There is a new band that explodes on the scene, their debut album has critics and fans ecstatic and craving a followup that will knock their socks off equally well.  The band has a great deal of pressure to top their beloved first album, and they crack under the pressure, rush things to get it out to rabid fans, etc., and it's a let down.  And there you have the "Sophomore Slump".  I've kind of found the same phenomena when I discover a new stream or stretch of stream that I get really excited about.  The first trip is magical, I look forward to my next opportunity to return with great anticipation, and then, eh.  It ends up being average to mediocre.  Such was my adventure yesterday.

I got a really late start, as is often the case.  I returned to my new favorite little stream of browns and bows around 1:00 pm.  It was an amazing spring like day.  I could hardly believe I was fishing in a t-shirt when it was snowing most of last week.  I arrived at the access point and noted that the water was a little cleaner than last time.  I decided to fish a large set of runs downstream from where I started last time.  Well, half and hour later I had nothing to show for my efforts. I spooked one fish, and that was all the activity I had.  I worked my way upstream and finally arrived at my treasured run from last time.  First cast on the left side got me a strike, but it quickly pulled off before I had a chance to even see it.  Soon after I launched a fingerling brown downstream where he popped off the hook.  That was it for the left side, so I sidled up to fish the right side.  I quickly missed another fish, followed by a second.  Finally I pinned this little bow and was able to net him.

I hooked an average brown next, he dug down into the current and then pulled free, flinging my fly into the trees behind me.  I was using a smaller fly than last time, perhaps that's why I was having a tough time landing the fish.  I switched over to a golden brown nymph tied with orange thread and a copper bead.  I have done really well in the spring on The Blacksmith with this fly, so I gave it a whirl.  I had not strikes for a quite some time, but just as I was going to give up on the run I hooked a little better brown.  He powered around the run, never going airborne like his buddies last were so prone to doing last time.  He darted downstream and I followed, eventually netting my quarry.

Not a monster, but a good solid fish for this little stream.  I hiked my way upstream and didn't even see any fish for the next quarter mile.  The set of riffles where the fish had stacked up last time was devoid of piscatorial life.  I saw some little winter stones hatching off in the faster water, but nobody was interested.  Finally I caught an average brown from a log jam.  He fought well for his size and as I held him I admired the way he glimmered gold in the sun.

I released him and moved on.  I worked maybe 100 yards or so upstream, but didn't see any more fish.  I was nearly out of time, so I decided to try that honey hole one more time.  I had a couple of possible strikes, but they were likely the bottom.  I needed to head to work, so I packed up and went.

Kind of a disappointment.  I'm not sure what the deal was.  The water was much cleaner, which definitely could have made the fish spookier.  That one run is nearly impossible to fish unless you get up close where the fish can see you in clear water.  Still, I didn't see fish in other areas.  I think I lucked out and hit the rainbow spawn the first time, and it has likely ended.  I also hit it later in the day last time.  I saw a lot of footprints in the snow at the access point, so maybe a pack of rabid meat hunters cleaned it out.  I don't really know what the deal was, but I do know I'm going somewhere else the next time I get out.  Oh well, at least I got a good dose of vitamin D.  It sure beat sitting inside.

Total for trip:  2 browns and 1 rainbow

Total for year:  46 fish

Keeping My Sanity When Winter Blows In

I know I live in the land of "The Greatest Snow on Earth", but that really doesn't excite me the way it does so many others.  Give me a sunny May afternoon floating around one of my favorite bass ponds over hurtling down the side of a frozen, crusty, mountain any day. 

Ice fishing doesn't really do it for me either, so I've pretty well resigned myself to tying flies and shooting/pouring baits during the frigid months.

Bass were on my mind for much of the winter, so I tended to focus on creations to appease them.

Recently, after I had my little adventure on the new trout stream, I was bitten by the trout fly bug.  The sickness came on slowly,

but with a cold and gloomy Saturday, and an out of town wife, I was soon overwhelmed and couldn't stop myself from tying.

I tried a lot of new ideas I had kicking around.

I guess the trout will tell me if they were good ideas or not.  I've also decided I want to try catching some larger trout this year, so I whipped up this sassy bugger.

If nothing else, I would imagine the smallmouth will thunk him.

I'm really pleased that the forecast is largely a good one so that I can go fling some of these bugs around soon.