This fast paced life we lead has its price. It exacts its toll. It grinds on you. Wears away on you the way the rivers carve massive rocks and even wear on mother earth as she meets to kiss the shore of those rivers. But God’s creation rejuvenates each spring, the landscape adapts and makes peace with the river. If only for a season or two. So it is with most trout fisherman, Civilized life wears at us, grinds us to orneriness and spite. sleeplessness and strife. We bare the weekdays, kinda like carrying a sack full of rocks around, totein’ ‘em here and there until the weekend comes and we can shed ‘em, if even for a fleeting 48 hours. Those 2 sacred days we call weekends are reserved for our short forays into those rivers, a baptism of sorts, the hope that somehow immersing ourselves in rivers with a fly rod in hand will replenish and lighten our troubled souls. Stress and worry have a way of leaching out our very souls, sucking our hopes and dreams. Its the River that gives it back to us, God is there, In all His mystery, granting us slivers or reprieve filling us back up, one cast at a time. Somehow the smell of pine and forest fill our noses with memories of trails once tread.The sound of rock and water fill our ears with recollections of battles won and lost. The cast and drift, rise and set, are the cadence of our meditation. It is here in the small gurgle of the river that God speaks to us. His timeless wisdom creeping slowly in to mingle like the currents we fish. They nestle in amongst the fond memories of what we cherish most; family friends and home. Somehow it cleanses us, strengthens our resolve and provides us with the energy we need to go back to carrying that sack of rocks, Somehow that burden is lighter, less burdensome. Its His gift of water, the coursing of currents ebb and flow of tides that grant us this strength and resolve and in gratitude we dwell on this gift. It is here that we sense the love. His deep infinite caress laps at our legs as we stand in the river, the current like his wisdom pulling us deeper into life’s mystery…
The Geared Chronicles day 2
I think a lot of Marc Crapo. Besides the kick ass beard he sports, and the righteous ’tude the man vibes wherever he is, the guy leads one heckuva fly fishing life. It not glamorous in the sense of glitz and creature comforts, nah, Its more of a utilitarian pared back foray into a lifestyle that is dictated by his passion for fly fishing, and being in the outdoors. then there’s fact that he uses terms like “dude”, “tasty”, and “scandalous”. I concur! In fact, so much so that this post is a play on the title of Marc’s killer video series “The Beard Chronicles”. Tasty, scandalous, and totally killer in its own right, check ‘em out if you get an itch for some great footage and a look into what most of us only dream of, a life based on passion and love.
So with that in mind and with some prodding from a friend of mind, I’ll devote this post to gear, stuff I have and why, and gear I want and dream of. I love fly fishing. Nah, that ain’t right, Obsessed? in truth, not even close! It is who I am! Sure I’m a Christian man, a grateful friend of Bill W’s as well as a loving husband and adoring dog owner, but DUDE! I just dig the heck out of fly fishing and even more so the tying of those flies. Its dang near just about all I think about. It could be the obsessive compulsive in me that manifested its ugliness by excessive drink many years ago, or maybe its just that I was blessed with finding a hobby that is equal parts passion, art, beauty, and craft, with a spice of ingenuity, utilitarian practicality, and thrift thrown in to make it interesting. Fly fishing it self is an art held in awe and mystery by the general public. A hobby taken up by bored old farts and vagabond biology majors. Ne’er do wells one and all! Well I’m neither, I just love catchin’ trout, so much so that I aim to do it on a level as close ot the fishes as possible. Not quite on their level but pretty close to it. I’m no Halfordian dry fly purist like my friend Mike, nor am a streamer chuckin’ madman like “the Beard” . I fall somewhere in between. I’m utilitarian in my approach. In other words I fish with the technique and flies that work at the moment. I’m as comfortable throwing streamers as I am chuckin’ a nymph rig, swinging soft hackles , or delicately casting a dry fly on the Ranch in mid summer. That’s why I carry what I carry. The gear I use is there because it works for me. In the week ahead I’ll be discussing what I use and why. From clothing and accessories to the very fly on the tip of my line. My passion and obsessed mind demand that it all serve one purpose, let me enjoy my surroundings and help me catch fish. Lets make something clear this isn’t going to be some patronizing gear review based on a donation, I’m not getting paid or given swag to check out and write about. If I like it and wear it, it’s due to me buying it or having someone give it to me as a gift.
DAY 2:
Lets start with a base layer and we’ll work our way up and out, fair enough? In summer this just doesn’t matter. I ain’t in the mood to debate tighty whiteys versus boxers or silk vs cotton, and stop undressing me with your eyes it ain’t a purdy sight! Fall, Winter, early Spring in Eastern Idaho is a completely different matter, It can literally mean life and death. Lets face it, East Idaho is one cold place come winter. I start with a good solid pair of breathable long johns. I love my Under armour lvl. 2 bottoms. and a nice tight fitting short sleeved silk or synthetic top. Short sleeved you ask? OH YAH! When I go fishing I tend to get everything from the elbow down wet even if I don’t want it, so I go with a base layer that at best only rides down to my elbows, yah, I’ve cut the sleeves of a couple of shirts to just below the elbow. Over my bottoms I wear a pair of fleece bottoms as they form the perfect insulation barrier in concert with my long johns. I tried in the past to go with thermals and jeans and I was miserable. Without the insulation properties of the fleece between my thermals and pantd my legs just plain froze! Thats why I like to wear a pair of khaki pants of thinner fabric like Dickies. they form the perfect balance of insulation and flexibility without compromising my range of motion. A decent web belt finishes off the bottom level and holds the upper layers in place. For my upper torso levels I like to go with 4 or 5 layers at the most. and that includes the jacket. First is the half sleeve thermal. Over that I use a heavyweight cotton long sleeve with cuffs T-shirt, together they give me breath-ability yet the cotton t-shirt still holds in my body heat. Next comes a pull over or zip up fleece top with a high snug fluffy collar or thin hood. From there I could go straight to a wading/rain jacket unless its really really cold then its a good old hoody, Why? They just work and work well. I cannot stress enough a good quality wading/ rain jacket. They are worth their weight in gold! OK, lets top it off with a good solid beanie and some gloves.I personally wear a pair of Kast fishing gloves and one of their knit beanies. You know why? I’d like to say that the owner of the company gave them to me and leave it at that but the truth is the gloves are amazing, and the hat looks good and works great too. The gloves are just awesome, there’s grip in the fingers and palm, a sturdy, thick wrist strap and a soft fleece liner that keep you hands dry and warm! Yes dry, the gloves are waterproof and with the cuff velcro-ed tight they don’t let water in at all. The hat? Its got fleece lined strip about 3 inches from the lip and the thick knotted grey yarn holds the heat in perfectly. Well that’s all for clothing in the winter, tomorrow I’ll talk waders boots and rain jackets in depth. come on back now ya’hear?
The geared chronicles
I think a lot of Marc Crapo. Besides the kick ass beard he sports, and the righteous ’tude the man vibes wherever he is, the guy leads one heckuva fly fishing life. It not glamorous in the sense of glitz and creature comforts, nah, Its more of a utilitarian pared back foray into a lifestyle that is dictated by his passion for fly fishing, and being in the outdoors. then there’s fact that he uses terms like “dude”, “tasty”, and “scandalous”. I concur! In fact, so much so that this post is a play on the title of Marc’s killer video series “The Beard Chronicles”. Tasty, scandalous, and totally killer in its own right, check ‘em out if you get an itch for some great footage and a look into what most of us only dream of, a life based on passion and love.
So with that in mind and with some prodding from a friend of mind, I’ll devote this post to gear, stuff I have and why, and gear I want and dream of. I love fly fishing. Nah, that ain’t right, Obsessed? in truth, not even close! It is who I am! Sure I’m a Christian man, a grateful friend of Bill W’s as well as a loving husband and adoring dog owner, but DUDE! I just dig the heck out of fly fishing and even more so the tying of those flies. Its dang near just about all I think about. It could be the obsessive compulsive in me that manifested its ugliness by excessive drink many years ago, or maybe its just that I was blessed with finding a hobby that is equal parts passion, art, beauty, and craft, with a spice of ingenuity, utilitarian practicality, and thrift thrown in to make it interesting. Fly fishing it self is an art held in awe and mystery by the general public. A hobby taken up by bored old farts and vagabond biology majors. Ne’er do wells one and all! Well I’m neither, I just love catchin’ trout, so much so that I aim to do it on a level as close ot the fishes as possible. Not quite on their level but pretty close to it. I’m no Halfordian dry fly purist like my friend Mike, nor am a streamer chuckin’ madman like “the Beard” . I fall somewhere in between. I’m utilitarian in my approach. In other words I fish with the technique and flies that work at the moment. I’m as comfortable throwing streamers as I am chuckin’ a nymph rig, swinging soft hackles , or delicately casting a dry fly on the Ranch in mid summer. That’s why I carry what I carry. The gear I use is there because it works for me. In the week ahead I’ll be discussing what I use and why. From clothing and accessories to the very fly on the tip of my line. My passion and obsessed mind demand that it all serve one purpose, let me enjoy my surroundings and help me catch fish. Lets make something clear this isn’t going to be some patronizing gear review based on a donation, I’m not getting paid or given swag to check out and write about. If I like it and wear it, it’s due to me buying it or having someone give it to me as a gift.
That quiet little voice
You know what I’m talking about. The inner fisherman. You hear at various times. Mostly going to or on the river, but as often as not it pops up during the day attempting the mundane or efficiently conquering the plausible. It is an accumulation of things read, seen, heard and experienced. Its tidbits shared, nuggets gleaned from conversations. These are the things that make up the difference between and angler and a mere fisherman. Today, for me, its running a checklist. Tomorrow I go fishing. It’ll be one of the last nice days of fall before jack frost comes to crash the party. storms whip tailing about like drunken sailors on shore leave. In Eastern Idaho fall storms can be as severe as any, well let me take that back! What happened on the east coast last week was nothing to trifle with and I’m darn glad I was far far away, but I digress. Yellowstone closed Sunday so hunting for big post sexed brown trout on the Madison system is out. Im thinking about the lower Henry’s Fork, maybe the South Fork Snake, I haven’t decided. I’m really blessed with more water and rivers than I have time to fish. Its really crazy, I mean there are rivers, streams and creeks near me that would be considered top notch water in other areas of this country but because they wind their ways through the shadows of Yellowstone they are not even glanced at when surveying a map. Well thats going to change! I think this next year I am going to concentrate on hitting the less fished spots as much as I do on the henry’s fork.
Hmmm?
Brain blocked! Trying to figure out what I want to say, er write about and yet I’m dumbfounded, I am working on a post about fish size and the catch and release ethic and also still reworking my steelhead story, yet I don’t have anything to put out there at this exact moment. I will tell you that I am contemplating two epic fishing trips this weekend. On one hand the call of the Salmon River in Central Idaho for steelhead is STRONG! I love swinging flies for chrome! LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it! But then again chuckin streamers for lake run browns in Yellowstone on the Gibbon river can be epic! Big hungry post spawn fish trying to get their eat on, before winter swoops down and puts the clamp on their feeding habits, is a can’t miss situation. So that’s the conundrum, a chance at touching the king of game fish or preying on the instincts of a blood thirsty post spawn behemoth,,, HMMMM?
The Chrome Demons
Flies for the Chrome Demons
I’m going to be resurrecting a piece I wrote and had published a few years ago about swinging flies for steelhead, the most noble of fish in my eyes. First though I feel the need to fill you in on some distinct facts about these lovely creatures.
If you’re a chrome fanatic please feel free to pass over the introduction and read the meat, but for the uninitiated here’s some background on Pacific Northwest Steelhead.
First off, they’re trout, simple enough; a rainbow trout is a steelhead and a steelhead is a rainbow trout. They are genetically identical! Wierd huh? Steelhead are basically trout that either think they are salmon or, like one of your weirder buddies or cousin when you’re about to head out on a road trip, want to just tag along. and tag along they do!
They travel from the natal rivers they inhabit and head down river around or over dams and falls. They have to pass through the gauntlet of predators ranging from birds and furry mammals to us fisherman, some of who are more akin to furry mammals but I won’t disclose their true identities. Once out “in the salt” they live for anywhere from 1 to 3 years eating, living and growing, growing strong and building their determination.
They will need it. The steelhead that call the Salmon River here in Central Idaho home have an immense and amazing journey ahead of themselves and many of them will never complete that journey. OK get this: They have 900 river miles to go to get home! That’s right, that trip they tagged along with the salmon has taken them a 1000 miles from home and the only way they are going o get any nookie is to return from where they came! “CRAP! What was I thinking?” at least that’s what I think the fish are saying. Soooo up they come, yes up, upriver. Against the current. bit by bit, over rapid, cascade and falls. Up fish ladders that accompany huge dams, past seals, birds and fishermen, they swim, AGAIN, to get back home. WHEW! Home at last! Find your redds, the gravelly sections of the river that steelhead need to lay their precious eggs, Cue the Barry White. Where’s that fat sexy hen? ahhhhh sookie sookie! We makin whoopee!
With that accomplished you would think they are like salmon, have sex, mope around for a bit, keel over and die. With that death the salmon are completing the cycle of life and returning the nutrients gathered at sea to the headwaters of that watershed. It is this ending of life that promotes a healthy and vibrant fishery. The bugs small fish and plants that live in thee waters thrive off of those dead carcasses, its how God made it. Why can’t man figure that out? That’s fodder for another post. Lets get back to the post sex antics of the steelhead Cousin salmon has given up the ghost and is fertilizing the river , maybe the steelhead will join them….. NOT! Steelhead don’t die after spawning. That’s right you read it correctly. Salmon wuss out and give up the ghost while steelhead on the other hand get a bit more stubborn.
They may stay in the river to live a life as a rainbow again or as often as not, turn and swim back out to the ocean to do it all over again,. Isn’t that crazy? I mean 2000+ miles till they procreate again? If you ask me that is crazy! To Salmon river steelhead that’s just business as usual. They may do that 2 more times! A 3 “salt” fish is a true beast and can get to be over 25-30 pounds. Now you know why I have such admiration for these fish. Think about it, when you hook into one of these fish you are pitting your skills as an angler against an adversary that has hundreds and hundreds of miles of experience under its belt, and is a highly conditioned athlete. We’re not talkin’ ’bout some fat lazy lake trout, we’re talking about a truly accomplished opponent, a highly skilled swimmer who has become rock hard, all muscle and determination for one goal, SEX!. On the end of your line these creatures are more like chrome demons than a mere rainbow trout. It’s here that I’ll stop with the information and background. Next post: The Chrome Demons
The Great Pumpkin, colored bug that is, or the musty crunch of a hike to the river
My favorite time of year has a smell to it, and to some its not that pleasant. Its the musty decay ridden smell of fall. It sure ain’t the perfume counter baby, but to me its sweeter than any flowery spritz of perfume from the cosmetic counter wafting through the air. Its a stank that gets me all hot and bothered because the fishing is getting to be about as good as it gets for the year. Besides the smell its the leaves changing color and slowly falling to the ground where they make a multicolored carpet.
That textured carpet also makes a pretty cool sound under felted boots, semi crunch, semi whoosh as you kick up the detritus of those earlier seasons. Sometimes there’s a faint to stiff breeze, clouds blowing through maybe leaving some rain maybe not. Its a quieter season and more often than not I find that I have huge expanses of the river all to myself. It can be spooky in the dead silent stillness. I find it exhilarating!
The fall really gets me going. It’s the expectation of Steelhead and sex crazed brown trout. Its fish going crazy over the last cheeseburger, the October caddis, Limnephilidae Dicosmoecus, for you latin freaks . A huge bug by trout standards. A size 6 or 8 2x hook just about does this big orange bug justice. It is literally the last big bug of the year before its all midges and BWO’s. The Octo-cad is a lively bug swimming around the bottom in its pale orange pupa stage for up to 2 weeks before it hatches into an immense caddis fly, pushing an inch and a quarter these bugs are hard to miss on a fall days fishing.
They are not a discriminate hatch, meaning they trickle off for a good 2 months, mainly in the afternoon and evening but seen early in the morning just as often. If you do happen to observe them tye on a big orange stimulator, and dropper of a big orange pupa pattern. I have 2 of my own patterns and when I get things rolling I will post some good pics and step by steps. One of the great traits of this bug is that it is almost always active on the waters surface so a perfect cast and a dead drift are not only not needed but actually discouraged! No offense but you hacks and part timers out there should rejoice, it’s the perfect time of year for you people to get out and catch some truly big hungry fish.
Swing that fly and let it skitter and skate, holding on tight as that dropper does its rise at the end. I can tell you that more often than not when fishing a caddis pattern I catch most of my fish on the dangle and just letting the fly skate and move at the end of my line. TRUST ME! The more drag and skate the better! You’ll experience vicious takes and strikes from hungry hungry trout. Streams and rivers get skinnier and fish tend to congregate in the deeper runs, pools, and hideouts. This means they aint got as many hiding spots as usual and you can therefore focus on hitting the choice spots. STOP!
This doesn’t mean you should pass over “unfishy” looking water. On the contrary fish it and fish it hard! Hit those spots like a sailor hits a bar on shore leave. Like I said earlier this isn’t your average cookie cutter hatch and these bugs don’t behave like a normal bug hatch, after all people,,,,, WE SHOULD BE FISHIN! All this talk of my favorite bug and favorite season has my brain poppin and stewin like hot gravy on the stove, patterns and techniques whirling around my addled brain like Mickey and Donald on the tea cups. Peace, we out!
What it be
There is so much that needs to be written, at least from my perspective. Observations from the stream and vice, inspiration from mundane events that enhance and benefit my angling skill and pleasure. There are things inside me that yearn to be free, to flow out and fly, like a beautifully tyed dry-fly. NOT!
Don’t visualize what your reading in the days and weeks ahead as a scene where there’s beautiful birds deftly flitting and cavorting among the trees of some mystical orchard, trees laden with ripe luscious fruit, while buxom maidens frolic in the lush grass, giggling and hiding from swarthy farm boys bare-chested and lean. Wait that’s a bit much isn’t it? Anyways,,,,,,, that which I do isn’t dainty at all and it ain’t done so peacefully.
Not like a that graceful bird or a flower petal flitting and waltzing in the breeze. No, no, no. More like a drunken bar fly, sloppy and disgusting, often unruly, with little to no regard for all that might be affected. Sometimes erupting from my head like that drunk being ejected from a bar, head first, sailing out and onto the page with a dull thud,rolling and scuffed to rest in the gutter. filthy and bloody. The trophies may be a broken nose, a missing tooth, a torn shirt , or a soiled pair of pants. My musings are seldom intact, mostly disjointed and wobbly.
That’s just how it is, I guess I could try to remedy that but I have an aversion to sterile things. I prefer stuff dirty and used, usually stained and a bit torn. I like my print like I like my meat, raw and bloody, a hint of what was once alive, swirling around in the gravy. Mixed with the blood and fat are the ancient stories, ones of love and loss, fight and survival, jammed next to those of loss and sorrow, lack and need. There’s the triumph of victory and conquest, the satisfaction gained from plunder and pillage right along side the unobtainable or the grief caused by having something so cherished and desired ripped swiftly and ruthlessly from your grip.
I am seldom satisfied with what I write. Usually if I like it, the writing is fragmented and wordy, written for my satisfaction. it’s witty and self depreciating, inside jokes abound and are usually carefree and without pretense. I am not one to “gussy up” what needs to be said, notice I said need. What I write isn’t going to save your life or make wads of happy sunshine shoot up into your keaster, so don’t take what I write as life saving pearls of wisdom from some sage old fart. While we’re on the subject of need, I do not struggle to find the need to speak. I can be urged by others or as often as not I revel in the desire to hear myself . Yah I’m full of myself, always have been and always will be. It’s my nature. Don’t really care.
Please don’t mistake it for disrespect or as meant to be offensive, I’m not that deep. I’m Like Popeye “I yam what i yam and that’s all that I yam!” If you are still with me here, Welcome! there’s more to come. I don’t know if it will be anything at all like what was written above. In fact I can guarantee it. Most of what is ahead of us here is general observations I make on the river, or at the vice. I’ll be sharing my techniques, the rivers I fish, and the flies I tye, especially the flies I tye. out there in the webisphere I am known as the “fly tyin freak”, it’s an apt name. I do get a bit wild with my patterns and the fact that I have ADD and at 48 am still a bit hyperactive makes it really hard for me to stick to a strict pattern. Most of my flies are done with what I call the “freakstyle” approach. I use whatever material I have at hand or think might make a better substitute………………….
