This Is What I'm Into

It was brutally windy on Saturday; ditto on Sunday. It made finding surface feeding trout challenging. Then overnight into Monday morning it snowed. When I woke up the picnic table at the campground I was staying at was fully covered. I used my car snow brush to clean it off, fired up a propane burner and made a giant cup of hot tea. I had a half day of fishing left and then the five hour drive home, hopefully arriving before dusk to avoid deer on pavement. It was finally calm and the day looked so promising. I wish I had more time. I always wish I had more time.

leopard looking trout

There were some big RV's in the campground. Some were occupied by anglers with drift boats, most however, were hunters. At the campground entrance was a tent. When its occupant got up he walked over in my direction and said something from a distance which I couldn't hear. As he got closer I heard him ask me if I had been finding any rising trout. He said the last couple of days had been slow for him and he had to resort to throwing streamers. He had caught a lot of fish this way but said it was not why he drove all the way from the West Coast.

I shared that I had caught trout on dries but I had to hunt for them, that the conditions had been tough the past two days (wind) and that I wasn't finding a lot of risers. I told him that on this river if you keep moving around and checking different spots, often you could find surface feeders even when it seemed unlikely. I soon realised he knew this. As he talked it became clear he knew the river quite well. I told him that when it is blowing hard I walk island areas and hunt for fish on the lee side. I explained where I had spent the previous day and started to describe the location. He finished my description in great detail and clarity. I said, "Oh, you know the spot".  I described another place I had picked up fish on Saturday and also got to watch several large spawning Brown trout on redds. He knew it too.

shallow side channel with spawning browns

We talked about the river which we are both big fans of. He had been on it for a couple of weeks and clearly had fished it a lot in past seasons. I told him that in spite of it being the first weekend of November and cold, I had picked up some of my best trout by spotting them slowly circulating in shallow areas, and then casting a beetle near them...some takes, more rejections...but some nice ones. I also had some success with olives when a weak afternoon hatch developed. He shared information on how the river had been fishing down near the town of Cascade and explained how to access the water from the east side, something I had never done.

I found out he was from the Spokane, Washington area. I said, "Shouldn't you be chasing steelhead at this time of year"? He said, "I'm not into that" then looked out behind him toward the Missouri river and said, " This is what I'm into." I understood.

Missouri river near cascade



Sight Fishing, Bent Bamboo and Bows

" I believe cats to be spirits come to earth. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through".
- Jules Verne

I was hiking downstream returning to where I parked. It had been a good day on the water. Two anglers were across the river. The younger one had a good bend in his rod. The older fellow wasn't packing. Maybe he was a guide or he put his rod down to help his friend land the fish. I watched him fight the sizable trout and commented from a distance that it looked like he was fishing with Bamboo. A big smile grew. The other fellow said proudly they had spotted the fish rising two feet from the bank and hooked it on a size 18 dry fly. Stuff like that happens on this river. I stood there and took it all in while he landed it. We talked and agreed it was an accomplishment: a big fish on a small dry...and on Bamboo!



As I continued my walk clouds rolled in. I had my success earlier in almost full sun when trout spotting was best. Now things were very challenging. I used the dark reflection of the high cliffs to my advantage to see through the grey surface. These were the same cliffs that blinded me earlier when the sun was out. Now they were my friend. I stopped at a section of the river that held a good fish as I had spooked one there several weeks earlier. My angling memory is good. I stood still for ten minutes watching the water. The trout's movement gave it away otherwise with the poor visibility, I would have never seen it. Movement always catches our eye. I casted. A large trout ate my dry fly.

I won't have a chance to get back to fish the Prairie rivers before the season ends. I'm going to miss the promise of the day on the drive from the mountains out onto the Plains in the early morning light. I'm going to miss hiking the undulating coulees and their late day shadows. I'm going to miss the big broad winged birds riding the afternoon thermals and their shadows on the river. I'm going to miss the Pyrenees sheep herder. I'm going to miss staring into the water for hours on end in search of trout as it is so mesmerising and crystal ball like. And of course I'll miss tricking the occasional big beautiful trout in shallow water. The Buffalo, the ancient High Plains Grizzlies, and the powerful Nomadic Hunters are out there somewhere roaming the Coulees. Next year while walking along a river, I'll find them.



mayfly: mahogany





The Mighty Mo

"All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was".
- Toni Morrison


Coffee in a take out cup simply tastes better on cold Autumn mornings. With the recent frost, leaves are dropping. Pumpkins are on porches as Halloween is just around the corner. My dog's outdoor water bowl has a layer of ice on it. My wading boots are semi frozen. After tugging them on I walk like Herman Munster. Hay bales are stacked high in the nearby fields. Waterfowl are passing overhead. The big Winter sleep is coming but not quite yet. Don't put away that fly rod. From all over people are converging on the Missouri river affectionately called the "Mighty Mo". It is Baetis time and they are throwing the small greenish-grey coloured flies at rising trout, or slinging streamers in search of big browns. As it is cooling down, things are really just heating up.

-Craig, Montana   October 11, 2013



the rise



morning frost on fly covered boat cooler



I just spent a week on the Missouri river....and it was heating up. I can't think of a better place for a dry fly angler to plant himself in mid Autumn, whether it be for a day, a week or a month. The larger Baetis (Olives) didn't really pop when I was there, so I fished Pseudos (tiny olives), size 22 and 24's. I've been back home for a couple of days now and my eyes are still aching. There were plenty of the small guys hatching from 2 to 4 pm. And the fish were up. Most were subsurface feeding but some poked their heads through the meniscus and munched on top. I sight fished and focused on the slow flat water sections of the river. It was challenging angling...picky trout in knee deep water. I did best with cripple and emerger patterns: flies lying flush or dangling through the surface. The impressions you tie and choose can make or break your day. Many fish (probably most) let my offerings pass overhead untouched...but I did connect. Trout in a quick feeding rhythm (gorging) meant a much better chance. A couple of afternoons I fished on my knees to feeding trout only a rod length or two away. Here I was on the broad "Mighty Mo" fishing it like I was casting to trout in a bathtub. Micro-flies in a microcosm. I grew up fishing small streams. Maybe, like water, I'm simply trying to get back to where I once was.

 

walk to river

 



clear water and weeds



flat water side channel

weed mats: fish often prowl the edges

the occasional brown trout, nice surprise

In the Canyon

"We have to stop and be humble enough to understand that there is something called mystery."
- Paulo Coelho

thick rainbow

canyon bend

exiting the canyon



I knew there had to be rainbows down in the canyon. Probably some rattlesnakes too. The reptiles are rare but they're there. And I thought that if I looked real hard I might see a dinosaur head sticking out from a canyon wall, staring right at me. I felt that if I was scared down there, the trout would sense it and I'd never catch a big rainbow. I packed some water, some apples and granola bars along with some extra courage and hiked the 400 to 500 feet down into the canyon, and went downstream into the heart of it. I never saw a soul all day; just my own reflection. The high thin cirrus clouds and pale vertical cliffs created blinding glare. Spotting trout was difficult. I kept hunting for them while keeping an eye out for falling rocks, a T-Rex face and listened for rattlers and even canyon spirits. I only spotted three trout in the five hours I was there. One saw me before I saw it...gone in an instant. The second fish ignored my fly. Then it ignored my second fly...then third...then feeling harassed disappeared into deeper canyon water. I started to think the rainbows smelled my fear and that the spirits were talking and conspiring, and that it wasn't my day. The third sighted trout ate my offering but no hook up. The fly slipped out when I lifted the rod. Then I saw no fish for a very long time. It seemed the canyon was getting the better of me so I decided to hike upstream out of it. Once out, the high wispy clouds disappeared and in the broad valley looking into the river for fins became much easier. My canine sheep herder friend from the Pyrenees appeared from out of no where. Then some friendly Alberta cattle. Then a timid six foot South American Llama. Then like the flip of a switch, I started tricking big rainbows.



sheep herder after belly rub

locals

Fish it to the End

" A trout is a moment of beauty know only to those who seek it."
- Arnold Gingrich

There are not many weekends left in the angling season and therefore I always try to get out as often as I can. A rooster fishing friend in Baja is usually Steelheading on the Deschutes at this time of year. I always contact him in the Fall to see how he is doing on that Oregon river and he reciprocates with a question on how the trout fishing has been. His final note is always, "Fish it to the end!"

I returned to a Plains river this weekend and spent the afternoon on it. When I arrived it was tough going due to the clouds. Sight fishing is so, so weather dependent. By late afternoon the sun poked through and there was opportunity.

The first fish I caught died. I honestly can't remember when that last happened to me. Maybe 25 years ago. I guess there have been fish that I caught and released that could have died after they swam away but I never witnessed it. I did witness the death of this fish. I was fishing a dry fly and missed the take as I was distracted by a noise upstream. When my eyes returned to the slack water I had casted to, where my fly had been floating, it was gone. I knew something was up so I raised the rod tip, felt tension and the rainbow took off across the river. It fought harder than most but I was able to land it fairly quickly. The fly was lodged deeper than usual probably because I missed the take and reacted late. I debated whether I should simply clip my line and leave the fly. Instead I managed to extract it with relative ease with forceps. The fish, however, seemed spent. I held it in a flow for about 20 minutes waiting for it to revive but it never did. Rigor Mortis occurred and the pulse of its gills became faint. There was no kick of the tail or body wiggle as usually happens. With this fish, nothing.

I guess it is a reminder that fly fishing does occasionally kill fish and certainly damages some even when good angling practises and precautions are taken. One of the best parts of fly fishing is getting to admire a trout up close, its beauty, and then the release, and watching it return to the wild below. Unfortunately, this was not the case today with this particular fish.

I left the fish upright lodged between two mid-sized river stones with a gentle flow running over it, dorsal fin protruding skyward. As I walked downstream I kept looking back to see if it was still there; to see if by some miracle life might have surged back into it, and it would swim off.

Everything has a spiritual essence; a soul. I'll try and be even more careful in the future.

Sight Fishing, Hula Hoops and Sheep Herding

"You don't leave fish to find fish."
 -Joe F.

"The Lord can give, and the Lord can take away. I might be sheep herding next year."
 -Elvis Presley


The mantra that you "don't leave fish to find fish" keeps me going back to two rivers out on the Plains. Some big fins are out there and they have been cruising and feeding, and so I keep showing up to try and trick them. A blue sky above on a day off means get the car keys and go.

Once stream side I forget about most of the river and search the first five to ten yards out for any sign of life: a dark back creeping up a run, a shallow water bank feeder, a cycling feeder. The sight fishing all takes place in a foot or two of water, or less. My ankles get wet and that's about it.

It was blue above on Saturday morning and so I made the drive. I hiked downstream and spotted some trout. I also spotted a large family or group of friends camping in the Coulees. They were dreadlocked and playing with hula hoops. It was kind of carnival like with the trailer, tent and outstretched tarps. I kept looking for a juggler, or a stilt walker. They looked like they had been there all summer. I thought, "not a bad place to hang out".

It was sunny on Sunday and so I went again. Surprisingly I had the place to myself. I never saw another angler. This time I went upstream; way upstream. I was on my knees moving in on a bank fish when I heard a loud panting behind me. It was a big white Pyrenees like pooch with a dangling pink tongue. She was a sheep dog. She nudged me and flipped over waiting for a belly rub. How could I resist. After that she had a brief swim and then slipped back under a barbed wire fence to watch over a sizable herd up on a hill. A dutiful employee.

 

On both days the sight fishing was mesmerising. I had to cover a lot of territory but with the high sun and blue sky I got to watch a dozen fish react to my offerings. I was watching them think. One fish came up to my fly which landed between it and the bank...it looked at it and then lazily turned away, only to circle and return a couple of seconds later for another look, suspending itself right in front of the fly for a few more seconds, and then it gently broke the surface with its nose and ate it.

On the drive home on late Sunday afternoon a pack of reservation dogs stood on the highway and stared down my approaching car which was going 120km. When I slowed down and swerved they went for my tires.

It was a good weekend. Some of the best visual angling I have ever experienced. I saw my reel backing two times, got lucky and landed several great trout. I also got to see hula hooping Bedouins, a friendly sheep herder, and some reservation dogs with attitude... just about anything can happen, and often does, out on the Plains!

Post Script-
When I got home I rummaged through the garage to see if I could find and old hula hoop...

Spotting Rainbows in the Sun

thick rainbow

 

"You can observe a lot just by watching."

    -Yogi Berra

 

I went back to a river on the prairies to sight fish again. It is always easy to get up early and make the long drive there...it's a special river. In the morning I had two large fish on and lost both on their initial run. Then in a ten minute time span three fish ate my fly but no hook up. I checked my fly. It looked alright. Before I knew it the sun was high, it was noon and no fish landed. It was kind of a repeat of the bad luck I had last weekend on this river when I missed two biggies. Then I got a refusal on a fish that was cycling in a pool. I thought I was going to get skunked. But I hung in there. Sometimes enthusiasm and persistence can "turn the tide"...in fishing and elsewhere.

wide open terrain

I started heading downstream. I eventually walked along a eight foot elevated bank on the outside turn of the river. The sun was at my back and I could see through the water's surface for quite a distance. In short time, I spotted a fish just downstream in inches of water. I had to make a direct downstream presentation and feed line. You only get one shot at a fish this way. He ate it, no hesitation. I paused before striking so as not to pull the fly out of his mouth. Hook-up! The rainbow stayed on. My luck had changed.

I continued walking and in about thirty yards or so I spotted another rainbow in very shallow water...same scenario...same presentation...the fish committed...hook-up! Once again it stayed on.



A little further downstream the river broadened into a flat. A rainbow was creeping upstream thirty feet out in the skinny water. Like the others it was blind (sun) to my presence. I casted from the shore almost perpendicular to the fish. It tipped up and ate...hook-up!

Where I was fishing is wide open territory with little cover like bushes or trees. With the sun out you are fully exposed. The place receives a lot of angling pressure so the fish are skittish. They are always on the look-out for anglers, Osprey and Pelicans. If they see movement above, they are gone, gone, gone. Sometimes the early or late day shadow of a cliff can hide you but otherwise you have to use positioning and the location of the sun to full advantage to see fish before they see you. Then you have a shot at them. That's if you are sight fishing. You also got to go slow, stay low and you don't want anything shiny on you. If they see a flash...game over!

The place demands the best of me. That's why I keep going back.



burnt reservation church