Fishin with Guy

Another round on the Snake on monday coupled with a day on the ice today produced a few happy campers. Mark and I were joined by a friend's dad who's visiting from Nebraska and showed him how to catch trout in January. He also learned how to catch whitefish. Mark gave up his whitey king title for the day and landed the only few trout of the day, a nice cutty early on and a skinny mac just before we called it for the day. We hooked a bunch of cuts but it seems they figured out how to take themselves off, much to our disappointment. I really don't know how but we lost a good number of them. Quote of the day went to Guy, who proclaimed "this is funner 'n shit!" He's never been fly fishing in January before.
Today Guy and I headed out to Willow Lake having no idea what we were doing. With a bunch of borrowed ice gear including a rather finicky auger we made our way a few hundred yards offshore and set up shop. Somehow I landed a decent mack within a few minutes and Guy followed shortly thereafter. We didn't do half bad for a couple of clueless guys arbitrarily drilling holes and dropping lines down. Guy was just tickled pink fighing macks through the ice and I hate to admit it, but I'm already thinking of another outing...

Flaming Disaster

So after freezing all night camped near Flaming Gorge, Mark and I hit the river and proceeded to produce one small rainbow all day. It seems A section didn't want to be kind to us last thursday. Despite seeing a ton of fish we couldn't manage to even get their attention. The weather was slightly cloudy and there was a pretty decent midge hatch going off but the fish didn't care. I went so far as to drop a striptease right onto the nose of a decent brown and he didn't so much as flinch. Bummer for us. The dogs had a blast despite being cold all night and didn' seem to mind the lack of fish. We're gearing up for another day on the Snake tomorrow and so the midge restocking continues...

Good old Snake River Canyon

After a long night of whipping up bugs, Mark K. and I headed down to the canyon for some cutty action. With temps in the low to mid 20's and a pretty steady snow falling it was chilly but not altogether unpleasant. Mark's never fished the Snake or seen a cutthroat of any kind in person, so after about 20 whities, he let out a whoop that scared the crap out of me and brought in a nice 16 inch cut with some really nice colors. I thought for a split second that he'd fallen off the rock he was standing on and was about to have a really bad day. I guess he was just amped on landing a trout for a change. We popped a few more cuts among the numerous whities and I even managed to bring in a laker. I'm guessing it was on its way upstream from Palisades, but who knows. Seems like weirdness has a tendency to follow me to the snake. Congrats to Mark on a nice fish, way to earn it.

Dirty Rotten Lying Fish Bums

Anyone who tells you fly fishing is easy is a liar. I know this because it's in my blood. It's sort of a family tradition. I do it all the time and I say it knowing that the person I'm saying it to believes me and may consequently hate me at some later time.
I vividly remember the first trout I ever caught. I remember the gleaming scales, the wondrous array of spots, the sharp little teeth. I remember it because it was enormous, much larger than anything I ever expected to catch. I remember it because I worked so hard for so long. Years, literally.
My grandfather introduced me to the world of fly fishing at a young age. He said it would be fun and easy and at age six gave me a rod, reel, and fly tying kit he had built up. He would take me with him to Pennsylvania's famous Yellow Breeches in pursuit of these mysterious and beautiful fish that I knew very little about. What I learned from him can be summed up in three words. God, damn, and it. Besides permanently searing this phrase into my vocabulary he instilled a belief in me that A. He was not very good at fly fishing, B. Fly fishing was obviously impossibly hard since he was not very good at it, and C. I would most likely never catch anything. However, it was fun eating junk food and hearing him swear (a lot) so I enjoyed it.
The day I finally caught my first trout I was alone on a tiny creek near my house, mostly screwing around. I remember it so well because of how horribly ironic it turned out to be. I also remember thinking I was a genius for a while. Keep in mind, I was still pretty young. I dropped my net in the creek and before I could grab it the current swept it through a culvert. To my surprise and delight it emerged on the other side holding a giant rainbow! God Damn! I'd done it! I ran all the way home with the fish in the net to show whoever was there and get the glorious victory photos.
Years later, after more or less having given up on the fly game, I heard my grandfather's last "GOD DAMN IT!" Not long thereafter, I picked up the dusty old rig he'd built for me so long ago, brushed it off, and tied on a fly. It was about this time I realized a few things. A. My grandfather was an awful teacher. He had the heart but certainly not the technique. B. Normal people like me could catch trout this way, and C. My monstrous gleaming rainbow, which had at this point grown in memory to biblical proportions was not, in fact, any more than eight inches or so. Apparently I had forgotten about a certain glorious victory photo which happened to resurface.
Of course fly fishing isn't easy. But if I'd have been asked if I wanted to go do something incredibly hard and boring for hours on end with grandpa, would I have gone? Of course not. Looking back though, I'm glad he was so full of malarkey and I'd give just about anything to have him tell me that whopper of a lie again.

It's Freakin Cold, Put on a Coat

It's the end of December, another year gone and a new one on the way. It's about time. As I sit here in front of the fire with a glass of red and think back to all that's happened in '09 it makes my head spin. Between economic turmoil, major political upheaval (well, depending on who you ask), explosive job, relationship, and housing issues, global conflicts, and crazy antics and escapades of all sorts it's a wonder some of us are still sane. I suppose that's pretty subjective as well since there are plenty of folks out there that might think I'm nuts. Maybe I am. Or maybe you are. Because the way I see it, among the toughest decisions I really have to make on any given day are which little buggy looking things to tie on to the end of my line and how I'm going to present them. When it comes down to it, everything really is that simple. If my choices are how they like it that day, I'm rewarded with some sort of success. If not, I learn something new and file that knowledge away for the future.

A very good friend of mine and long time fishing companion sometimes lets a slow day get to him. I've seen rods flying through the air, smashed reels, and miles of broken off tippet stuffed into vest pockets when it gets to "that point." It's honestly a bit entertaining to watch and I think we can all admit that we've been, if not right there, at least somewhere close when times have gotten tough. No, this isn't the mortgage market, but a busted reel is a busted reel and you're going to pay for a new one. Your rod might be reparable but it's going to cost a few bucks. Eventually you figure it out. My buddy did for the most part. What was once a tough day is now a study in the inner workings of water and bugs and fish. I'd say it's better that way.

It's winter now in Wyoming and its damn cold out there. Almost all the water is frozen over. Times are tough for us bug-slinging kind but not completely hopeless. It's going to be slow and hard most days but if you can draw up what you know and really put it to the test, you'll find the reward. Sure, you might have to work harder than before and put up with frozen guides, numb fingers, and a serious lack of companionship. But every day gets a little longer. Your skin gets a little tougher. Every gleaming fish gets prettier under the storm clouds. And before you know it the first little skwalas are showing up among the midges. So go get your coat and get ready to take a beating. And remember, if you freak out, some of us just might be chuckling behind that snow bank.

Cast and Blast

It's a good thing I brought a rod along today as there was absolutely nothing to shoot. It's probably a good thing the game warden didn't swing by either because he would probably have been a bit confused. It's definitely a great thing I had the world's best photographer along with me for the great shots and company. It's not a good thing that I'm running out of the unstoppable bug because I'm going to have to figure out how to tie more and what exactly they're tied out of, and that's not going to be easy. It's tough to argue with using the exact same bug all the time and always having it work. Always. Also, some bug porn from a recent October Caddis hatch (in November) that the fish seemed completely indifferent to. They were more into the midges. Go figure.

Transcendentalism and such

I ran across an email a minute ago that I sent a while back to a friend when she commented on fishing being "sexy." At the time, for whatever reason, I didn't post it but apparently had the foresight to save it for future use, and now, since I don't have any recent pics to put up (still sans camera) I'll post it instead. The fishing of late has been pretty good although somewhat limited to midday with a lot of the fish being very sluggish. When it does turn on, however, it's on. I've been out with Tina and Mark a few times recently and we've done very well with a bunch of large browns and bows. Also, apparently whitefish can grow to an astounding size as I recently discovered. Anyhow, here's my rant on fly fishing being "sexy."

I don't believe that anyone can look at fishing in and of itself as sexy in any way unless they get off on people tormenting small creatures for fun. If so, I would worry about this person. I do believe, however, that there is a beauty that comes with the transition from hobby to art form. When this happens, there is a total connection of mind, body, and soul and the activity itself becomes secondary
to the true nature of the thing. (Mikhail Czeksimihyli or however he spells it would have a field day with this, for all you rec theory people). It is no longer simply an activity for the sake of fun but a deeply meaningful transcendence of state of mind. The true artist creates a thing of beauty that stems from his or her soul. There is no longer a person, a rod, a fly, some water, a fish, and whatever other untold fortune worth of gear is involved. They are all connected as a whole where each piece is at the same time deeply meaningful in itself and meaningless without the others. When this happens, it is as though the universe itself is made up wholly of the moment and there is nothing else. The whole purpose of being at this point is fulfilled. There is no meaning of life except for this moment of complete connection of mind, body, and soul. Wise men, philosophers, and holy men have spent untold lifetimes searching for "enlightenment" in terms of being at one with the universe, God, or whatever you want to call it. It is simply a state of mind achieved through the complete dedication of one's self to that moment, regardless of the activity itself. Most people never experience such a thing because their lives are perhaps too complicated and their minds are too busy to bring the pieces together. So how the hell is this sexy? People witnessing such a thing will sometimes be able to see the deeper meaning behind the act and if so have a natural sense of awe and attraction to the person, perhaps out of some desire to experience such a thing, perhaps out of respect or appreciation of what is occurring. Perhaps an experience such as this allows a person's true nature to show forth in its most unclouded, undistracted form. And if that form is something pleasing to the witnessing person, I guess they might look at it as "sexy." Of course if you're a guy and there's a hottie in a bikini just slayin' it, you won't get any argument from me and this may all be completely irrelevant.

Till next time, get out there and get after it.