fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)

Category Archives: Fly Fishing


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gotta get me a gig like that

It’s clear that someone missed the boat when it came to choosing a career path.

While the ASVAB would point me towards logistics in the U.S. Army and local community college’s career assessment would suggest fish and game warden or interior designer carpenter, not once was it revealed that scratching out a living in a rock and roll or funk or reggae band might nicely dovetail with fly fishing.

A story in The Destin Log tells of how Justin Powell’s four-piece Fly Brothers Band arose from “…this silly idea of forming a band so we could go around and fish all these hotspots.”

There’s an elegant simplicity to it — get paid to play all night then wake up and play on the water during the day. Sure, a few morning hatches might be missed thanks to the occasional and probable hangovers that come with the job.

It seems, however, that the monkey’s thrown the wrench into Mr. Powell’s plans…success may poison his plans. With real work comes dusty fly rods.


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Eastern Sierra here we come

Cool nights, fog in the morning and a flip of the calendar hint that’s it time to pack up and climb over Sonora Pass.

This time next week it’ll be prime time in the Eastern Sierra. A bunch of us fly club members will attempt to float flies between the weeds at Hot Creek, chase big-shouldered rainbows and browns in Crowley Lake and otherwise whip various waters trying to entice that one or two or seven fish that will grant us memories and a story that’ll keep us warm all winter long. Tying flies will be the mandate for the coming week. (Figure to mitigate the wife’s comment that last time she looked my fly box was full very simply with the purchase of another.)

The only worry is exposing my lack of casting skill to the eyes of others who actually know me and will have opportunity to later comment on the hilarity of it all. Hopefully catching fish will distract them long enough for me to somehow wet a line and maybe, and by the grace of God, fool a fish.


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trout and a/c

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There truly is no place like a cold tailwater for hiding from the heat.

A little trout fishery near the cabin offered a (literally) cool escape from the scorcher that hit the Saturday of Labor Day weekend ’08. Willing rainbows and brookies provided the entertainment. They even taught my fly-fishing-student-for-the-day a thing or two ‘bout fly fishing.

Credit for the teaching goes to the trout ‘cause though certainly cheaper that any guide around, limited knowledge and an inclination to flog the water with my own line severely handicapped any willingness to offer long or detailed instruction.

Our arrival streamside fell towards the later part of the early morning, limiting our initial wade-in an oft-ignored but fun and fish-filled run. Narrow and fast, it’s a great classroom for learning the drift-and-lob nymphing technique. Being deeper there’s no sight fishing here and it offers a lesson in keeping they eye on the indicator. Plenty of bank, a few boulders and a nice tailout make for unpredictable takes.

Take those trout did. No more than a dozen drifts and the first lesson of the day was on. We both were students that day. Happy to report, Richard received an almost nonstop tutorial in hooking and landing trout and a nearly unhealthy amount of schooling in LDR1. My lesson plan for the day seemed to center around the ease with which trout can throw a size 22 hook.

Had hoped to offer a lecture and example of fishing dry flies but insect hatches apparently get a pass for the last long weekend of summer.

But the day went well. We had the creek to ourselves from mid-morn on, the heat was kept at bay and the fish came out to play.

Don’t know if Richard found that “Fly-fishing is the sweetest of addictions.”2 or perhaps that “The truth is fly fishing is folly; useless, unreasonable, irrational and without purpose.”3 Mabye a little bit of both.

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As for me, I’ll follow the trout in the dog days of summer.

Trout live where you don’t need A/C.

1long-distance release, not the preferred method of catch-and-release fly fishing.
2Nick Lyons, Confessions of a Fly Fishing Addict (Atlantic Monthly Press, April 1999).
3Ailm Travler, “Fly Fishing Folly,” Uncommon Waters: Women Write About Fishing, (Seal Press; 2nd ed., February 18, 1998), 208.

 


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interesting surprise

Amazing what open eyes can see. Assuming the brain can connect the dots.

Planning for trout chasing next weekend gets all eight cylinders firing when in comes to research. Water levels are low. Temps may be high. And little good can come of catching and releasing already stressed out wild fish.

So the interweb gets tickled for any insight into Sierra West Slope possibilities. A search gives up an old Mapquest query left behind by an unknown soul. Tantalized by the possibility it might pinpoint good trout water near my Sierra foothills permanent base of operation, a click is made.

I recognize the location. Not near any stream that I know of. But I’ve driven past this place four or five or six dozen times over the last few years, not knowing that Galvan Fly Reels quietly cranked out1 a modest line of respected fly reels.

Here’s to hoping they offer a factory tour that ends with free samples…

1Pun not intended but left in anyhow.


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nothing beats a “free” weekend

In the words of my father, I “made out like a bandit” this weekend. And had a spot of luck too.

It began Friday when the new hard drive for our Series 3 Tivo arrived. The old hard drive decided to take a permanent vacation, presenting the dilemma of either purchasing a new Tivo, meaning we’d loose the lifetime subscription that has paid for itself a few times over, or trying to drop in a new hard drive. Either way, it would cost about the same. The hard drive install was quick and easy, and after running through the guided set up our resurrected Tivo was running smoothly with our lifetime subscription still intact.

Saturday afternoon the wife and I visited a fellow fly fisherman and his wife with the express purpose of combing though some fly tying materials. Comb through we did. About an hour and a half later I was putting a grocery bag in my car full of materials, including seven dozen spools of thread of all sorts of colors and hues. All that and a dinner date with my wife.

Sunday’s event was courtesy Honda. As a participant of an online Honda Owners Panel (which conducts surveys about once a month) I was awarded two pass to the IndyCar race at Infineon Raceway. Christopher and I arrived about ten that morning to enjoy a continental breakfast in the Honda tent, which was set up at turn two. (An uphill right-hand sweeper.) After walking around the various exhibits and watching the Historic Gran Prix cars head out to the track for warm up, we headed back to the tent for a great rib lunch. Lunch gave way to a visit by the Ryan Hunter-Reay (driving the ethanol-sponsored Rahal/Letterman Racing #17), then a tour of the garage area. Though I wouldn’t pay for the privilege, it was fun seeing the race in person. Helio Castroneves (Team Penske #3) won, with Ryan Hunter-Reay finishing 18th. Gotta love free stuff.

I’ll be the guy looking for more freebies…


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big guy, pink fishing rod, one big catfish

Sometimes it’s a good thing to take break for fishing to hit the “potty;” had three-year-old Alyssa not handed her pink Barbie fishing rod to grandpa, she might be swimmin’ wit da fishes. Catfishes that is.

That’s 32 inches of whiskered fish — almost as long as his granddaughter is tall and two inches longer than the pole. Look at the picture here and read the full story here.

This that a grimace of embarrassment that a $13.95 Barbie rod enabled the landing of a certified state record, rather than his six-foot rod with a more robust open-faced spinning reel?

I’ll be in Wal-Mart’s sporting goods department…


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one fly for the trees, one for the fish, one to remember how to tie the blasted thing

Scooped up my fully equipped fly tying desk — which eerily looks much like a little folding wooden TV tray — and plopped it between myself and the TV last weekend. Armed with a rack of threads, small and even-smaller hooks, a few tungsten beads and a diet soda, I set to tying a few simple flies. Despite no definitive proof that tying one’s flies saves money, it’s nice to think that idle time spent watching fly fishing shows on the boob-tube doesn’t always or entirely have to go to waste.

Not being a fly fishing crazy purist and intent on catching trout, I find no difficulty in lining my fly box with plenty of nymphs instead of dry flies. Before the fist show was over there were enough Zebra and Blood Midges to share with a family friend who’s expressed an interest in spending tons of money on joining the world of fly fishing. While simple enough to tie, they seem to work best on size 20 or smaller hooks. A size so small that a sharp inhalation could spell danger if one is bent over a pile of loose hooks.

Later that same weekend I upped the ante to tie some glass bead head emerger midge nymphs in both black and red. A made-up name to be sure, but a sometimes very productive pattern that’s also relatively easy to tie. Dropped one or two into the friend’s makeshift fly container as well.

Even learned something new, all on my own. Last Christmas Santa delivered via my stocking a small kit for tying a single fly. While this kit contained a less-than-impressive clip that was intended to act as a vise, the simplistic instructions offered just enough insight to prompt the tying of my first soft hackle wet fly1. No doubt one of the more artistic flies I’ve so far tied. Maybe I’ll soon post a report on whether or not it catches fish.

I’ll be “sacrificing” a few flies on a nearby stream…

1While nymphs and wet flies can be lumped together as “wet flies,” i.e. fished subsurface, wet flies generally refer to soft hackle flies meant to be fished as a drowned mature insect, baitfish or any other desirable food morsel. Nymphs are designed to imitate, well, insects in the nymphal stage. (And the pupa stage in some cases.)


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the rod that gives and gives…

I was happy to hear the Sean got out on the Truckee River last week during his visit to a cabin on Tahoe’s north shore.

I had set him up last Wednesday with my three-year-old $125 Cabela’s 5 wt. fly rod, the one I learned with. Set him up with leader, tippet and five different types of flies. I did take Sean fly fishing, for the first time, about two months ago, but gave him a quick refresher course. Too bad Sean can’t take the fly fishing course in September…

I’ll be the one (hopefully) teaching Sean more about fly fishing…


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insane fishing

A quick trip to the cabin last weekend, cloaked in the smoke of the myriad fires, yielded a day of insane fishing catching.

The weekend didn’t turn out as long or relaxing as I had hoped. I had to wait at work for the phone guy to switch some lines, postponing my departure Friday afternoon until five-thirty. While traffic was relatively light, my arrival in Twain Harte was later than I would have liked. And five o’clock the next morning came awfully quick.

I was on Moccasin Creek by six-thirty but spinners were being flung and bait drowned in many of the prime locations. But having spent more hours that I’d care to count on this rivulet, I knew a few productive spots were blatantly ignored by the meat fishermen.

My first target was a relatively fast-flowing run — maybe about 20-feet long — where an indicator with a couple of beadhead nymphs can lure a few fish out of hiding. Sure enough, after no more than four casts it was “Fish on!” A nice brook trout to start the day. I proceeded to pull another five fish out — rainbows and brookies — before moving upstream to nice pool that is divided midway by a fallen tree. Fish stack up below the tree at the tail of this pool and above the tree in the cascades pouring into its head. After a bit of catching here, I continued moving up river.

As it neared eleven o’clock, when I was left alone after the fishermen with their limits had headed home or those without headed to lunch, I stopped counting the fish I brought to hand. No real reason to keep counting past forty, I figured.

After a lunch break I switched things up, challenging myself, by rigging up a dry fly with a dropper. (A floating fly with a sinking fly tied onto the hook.) I don’t usually use dry flies, but the trout seemed to be both slashing and slurping, indicating that they were both chasing insect nymphs rising to the surface and sucking in insects already floating on the surface.

I’ve yet to master the technique of setting a hook with a dry fly — one needs to pause just a bit to let the fish turn away, otherwise a set simply pulls the hook out of the fish’s mouth — but it was amazing to see a fish rise to my dry fly and take it. The ones I did manage to hook went wild!

I spent much of the afternoon using the dry/dropper combination. Sometimes targeting specific fish I could see. Such as a fish that would hug an undercut bank and zip out for an occasional snack, leaving me to plan my cast to place the flies in the fish’s feeding lane at the right time. Other times I’d target likely areas though I couldn’t see fish. And more than a couple of fisherman commented, as they waded past me, that I seemed to be hooked up every time they looked.

I ended the day, after more than ten hours on the water, going after a fish sticking close to underwater weeds in an area that would be called a “prime lie”: a place where a fish can get shelter as well as easy access to food floating by. It took good drifts to get this guy to even glance at my flies. Finally an excellent drift and the fight was one. And true to expectations, he was a big one, maybe fourteen inches of brook trout.

The best part of the day? Driving the other fishermen crazy with my constant catch and releasing numerous fish. Ha!


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almost famous!

We’re almost famous! Okay, not in “fifteen minutes of fame” kind of way, but we got our mugs, along with some fish, posted somewhere on the Internet other than my corner here at “fishing for words.”

Sure, I sent an e-mail to Melanie at Tower Rock Lodge bestowing praise on TRL’s facilities and food as well as hosts Mark and Mike, guides Rich and Greg, chef Tom, halibut boat Captain Daniel and First Mate Dylan, and TRL staffers Dave, Etta and Austin. And yes, I sent pictures. So yeah, I facilitated the process and tilted the table in our favor. At least we’re not almost famous in a Post Office wanted poster kind of way.