Old Guys

It was a scorcher (mid 90s+) but the water was in the mid 60's, so it should have been good for trout, but fish are funny that way and i guess either the light was too bright, or the water was too wet or something else was just off. In those days i would spend 12 - 16 + hours a stream, a day wading every foot of the river or stream, kicking rocks and blind fishing. On several prior occasions this particular 100 yard riffle had been very productive water, so based on the past I flailed away wiping the water and dragging my dehydrated, sweating self up and down the "75" going fishless.

After a while i noticed a blue pickup truck driving back and forth a 1/2 dozen times over about 3 or 4 hours. Inside was Old Guy, he seemed to be watching me fish. Given my catch rate I was really just wading with a fancy stick and string. Old Guy had been driving along the dirt road kicking up enough dust to remind me of those old B&W desert movies, he stopped at one point and yelled "What are you doing?" This was a troubling question, as it was clear I was standing in water up to my chest, waving what PJ had previously noted is a really expensive clothesline back and forth, so clearly i was either a fool or a really bad fisherman (or more likely both). Generally when i am in a remote place and a lone guy stalks me, the NY’er in me kicks in and i hear the “Deliverance” banjo play, thinking this is why Woody Allen stays in the city.  But i like to be polite and answered him that i was fishing. He just shook his head looked at me in a most pitiful way, like i was planting corn in dry cement.

It was about 6:15 pm before Old Guy stopped his truck and sat on the step bar. It would be another 1/2 hour before he took out his waders and an hour more before he dropped into the water. I feel I should point out he was not that old (late 60's) he was simply taking his time. Just before 8 he finished straitening his leader andtied on a fly. He looks over to the pitiful city boy and yelled to (at?) me for the second time this day “Adams #14”. Right then i knew he was clearly a master sharing a powerful secret. As fast as i could i clipped my 10th + fly of the day and tied on an Adams #14 (though i had never fished one before). Now for those of you not in the club this is one of the oldest dry flies out there and yeah i know this is the most popular fly sold in America, blah, blah, blah, but there is a reason for this. The thing just looks buggy and everyone really should have a few in various sizes.

It was a real joy to watch him fish, his line was balanced for the tippet and fly; it was sheer poetry as I watched him lay out 50' + balanced, graceful casts. This Old Guy however was not a caster or a poet or even showing off; he was the 1% who catches 90% of fish. In the time it took me to real in, clip off and tie the fly on, he had landed about 5 or 6 fish in the same water i had been fishing all day with out a hit (mostly with out even a bump). My first cast was about as bad a cast as you could hope for in the presence of such a master and as the line piled, bunched and sagged, i prepared to rip it off the water but it was stuck. In the high country there are fallen trees and rocks and other snags but in this gin clear water where I knew there were no hang ups within a 100 yards (i had just spent the day kicking and wading the entire riffle). So this was, it was, it was a fish!?!?. Good news, i reeled him in and just smiled, Old Guy smiled back.

I usually don't keep count or at least I stop counting fish after about 6 (it is not really about the fish) but in this case as he fished me 2 to 1 and as the body count rose i keep track. With a new fish at least every 2nd or 3rd cast the count rose quickly. Up to this point i had only read about “boiling rivers overflowing with fish” and assume they were fiction. I know the math guys will say it is just not possible, but we quickly passed 30 & 50 respectively. When i hit 30 I broke out laughing (i had never been north of 15 or even really close to it), and Old Guy looked at me and asked for the 2nd time that day "What are you doing?" Again, he was asking “Why?” But this time it was why are you wasting your time laughing, whennow is the time to be fishing. Shortly after dark we waded out (the fishing had not let up but we were tired and it was a tough wade back to the bank).

My goal in life up until then was to hit the trifecta (a brookie, a brown and a rainbow in a single day). Well this was a special river and although most of the fish were stockers I managed 3 brookies, 9 bows, 20 + browns and a landlocked salmon. This was a turning point for me, i had learned more in a few hours than in the last few years.

Back at the trucks we just kind of looked at each other and smiled. Old Guys are just other guys who got old along the way. They were once, are still and will be again our friends, our mentors, our brothers and even one day ourselves.

aoljpictureUpload, aoljpictureUpload_1

Rich Guys

I love rich guys who live upstream from public water. This particular rich guy bought both sides of the "55" a "known" Brooke trout stream up north. He built out the dam at a pond that showed up on the older USGS maps and stocked it with exotic fish (extra large Browns, Bows and Graylings). The dam was going to be used to power his house, which was more reminiscent of a great camp or the ol' Faithful Inn, than any cabin built to date in this area. Well either the dam was not powerful enough, or it got blown out for some other reason (he did not like the color?). In any case when a dam gets blow out the fish tend to wander and in this case they wandered to public water just down stream.

I found myself in a place where 10" natives are a joy to find and more likely you work your way up stream fishing 6-9" natives that are both colorful and eager but not enough to break even the lightest of tippets. I tied on a #12 simulator vs. the usual #16 humpy for this water and hit the pocket water. You can't imagine the fun hauling out 18-19"+ fish from 2' deep pockets. These were fish you would only occasionally see on the lower and much more famous river below.

After an almost comical series of hits including the trifecta (one of each - a Brookie, Bow and a Brown), I hit one pocket along a viscous micro chasm and knew that magic lay in there. The trick was to hit the top of the feed just below the cascade w/o falling in or getting knocked over by the force of the water. Well i did both and struck one of the best browns i will ever see. Unfortunately i do not plan ahead normally and in this case there was really no way to plan for this fish, so once hooked i figured to "just real him in". However life seldom works that way and i had not considered the difficulty of playing a fish like this in such small water (he was never meant to be in so small a brook). After some careful play the fish "launched" up and over me (btw - i am 6' tall) and down stream to the pool below. Well what ever solid footing i may have had was quickly lost, mostly from shock at the sight of this great brown rocketing over head (i know, i did not think browns jumped either). We both precipitated down a viscous stretch of rocks and landed in the great pool by the road. Once there I swear we just kind of looked at each other in disbelief but genuinely happy to be unhurt let alone alive. I taped him out to 22", slipped out the hook and slide him back into the water, knowing that i would never see a fish like this one in such small water again.             Good times, good times.

January Daze

I plan to follow the river to its source, despite it being one of the most polluted rivers in one of the most polluted states in the US. The further up river i traveled the nicer the water, until i came to the headwaters where it became a wild trout stream. I parked the car and crossed the near branch of the river (which gets pounded b/c it is the near branch), Crossing a large field I came to a wooded trail which lead to the waters edge where i rigged up. The headwaters were as most are, more a creek than a river it ran gin clear with what had to be truly wild (although not native) fish. This was the warmest January on record and i set up with a simulator and a hare's ear dropper. The stimulator was for me and the dropper for the fish. It has taken me more than 2 years to get this rig correct, including the rhythm and cast. Just keeping them from twisting and knotting is half the battle before you ever get to really fish it.

The first promising pool told me what to expect of the day - small rainbows (up to 7" most still showed their Parr marks). The fish were wild and bread naturally in the many reds that were clearly visible in the shallow water. Although the fish were small they were willing as most thin water fish would be. A warm January day is a good time to be a stream, it is long after the leaves have precipitated to the ground and the day was not windy enough to kick up the fallen ones back into the water. The float lines were barely visible due to the low water. Having spent over 300 days (total) a stream in the last few years I was able to pick the finest of lines and by the time i had reached the pocket water my casts were solid and i was having a fine day.

Typically in the winter you fish the pools slow & deep, but i always feel the need to try every likely place (including drains and ditches along the road). After about several hours and 2 miles in i hit a riffle that looked too shallow, but it was just below a bug factory that looked right and so i tested the tail, with positive results and another small bow. There was a good rock in mid riff and under the bank overhand which yielded the second best fish of the day, an 8" + which played and swam the length of the pool (this usually spoils the rest of the pool)  But as the day was running hot i figured to test the tongue and sure enough the best fish of the day was gathering up nymphs from the lip. He only ran about 9" but this was a mature fish w/ no Parr markings, a bright red stripe and a dark spotted tail, he belonged. I released him knowing this was the fish of the day and she would spawn in the spring.

I walked a few more miles but didn't really fish much, although i did put forth a half hearted effort at the falls. I never really learned how to fish falls water, but it gives me something to look forward to in my next 300 days astream. I sat down and lit a cigar to enjoy one of the best January day i have even seen. Despite what you read " These are the good ol' days".