Renegades

Haven't had much chance to get out on the water lately.  The weather here has been super weird, even by Colorado standards.  I'm hoping that no more snow comes our way, but in mid-May it's hard to tell around here.

I tied a bunch of renegades tonight.  Have you ever had one of those experiences where you work on perfecting the smallest details on something only to lose sight of the bigger, more important picture?  That happened on this "confused" renegade.  I think it looks pretty good - as nicely trimmed as I could make it with my dull scissors.  Sadly, I got my hackle colors mixed up.  The white should be on the front.  And just as I was about to be so proud of myself!

The second fly is a stimulator pattern.  Both the renegades and stimulators have been good to us in the past up at Hohnholz Lakes, and my grandfather is dying to go up there, so these should come in handy during the next month, with the Poudre running a bit too full for my tastes/skills (or lack thereof).

Uncivilized House Guests (or, the Flywriter gets hit by terrorists)

Some may have wondered if I was being a little paranoid in demanding background investigations for cairn terriers prior to allowing them anywhere near the vegetable garden. 

Tonight, I had a couple of them visit the house, causing me to fall victim to a low-level domestic terrorist attack.  They came to the house under the guise of needing "dog-sitting" while their owners (ahem) ventured out on a "getaway" to an unspecified mountain resort community.  I say unspecified to protect the innocent.

A mere two hours after infiltrating my quiet abode in an operation utilizing unprecedented espionage tradecraft, the terrorists struck.  Their intended victims?  Two large bunches of entirely innocent dry fly hackle; one white, one bi-racial.  The aftermath was sheer carnage:

 

I'm happy to report that with prompt medical attention, both bunches of hackle are expected to survive, although they have been permanently disfigured.

The Flywriter is offering a reward for the successful prosecution of the suspected saboteurs, identified only be the nommes-de-guerre of "Brooke" and "Kyra."

UPDATED SITREP, 5/8/10:

Additional investigation indicates that the suspects caused more carnage than originally thought, likely the result of a separate, coordinated attack on the garden. Exhibits A and B for the record document surreptitious entry into carrot and corn holdings.

Falling stock, taking stock, and stocking up...

I've had an excess of free time today - normally the perfect excuse to throw the waders on and do some trout stalking.  On days like this, however, I decided to take some time to simply breathe.  Samantha (the cat) has been acting up lately and doesn't seem to be feeling all that well, and with Arnie still somewhat on the mend from an unpleasant procedure on his backside, I decided to stay close.

I watched - using the term loosely - some news coverage earlier and saw something I'd never seen before - a complete Wall Street panic, with the Dow dropping so rapidly that commentators speculated about a potential temporary stop in trading.  It was dramatic - irrelevant to me, but I imagine pretty harrowing for the tycoons in the financial world.  At one point the index was down by over 1000 points, and finished at -347 or so.  It's mostly Greek to me, and as it turns out was mostly Greek to everyone.  The Greeks are rioting in the streets at the idea of having to tighten their spending belts a bit in order to qualify for a loan from the EU and avoid bankruptcy, and the working folks didn't like the government's legislative response.  It was fascinating to watch the ticker drop by the second.

Mostly though, I took stock of my rapidly declining fly boxes and decided to do some tying.  I've made a commitment this season to fish only what I tie myself.  That's almost as scary as watching the Dow drop 1000 points.

I'm not terribly worried about catching trout - at this point I can tie a few patterns that are prevalent on the Poudre and the Thompson with enough proficiency to catch fish.  I'm more worried about being able to tie bugs for the other waters that I plan to visit this summer.

I worked on a bunch today.  I re-stocked some BWOs and tied some more cream-colored pale duns.  That will take care of the local waters, but my hope is to branch out and fish some streams in North Park (South Platte, Illinois, Michigan rivers), and return to the White River near Meeker.  I'll have to get into tying Tricos and some different nymphs.  Fortunately, YouTube has some great tutorials.

I'm happier with today's results - I think I'm getting the hang of some basic patterns, but the proof will be on the water.

(Very) Pale Dun

Before the water level in the Poudre rose so drastically, I was having a lot of success with some cream-colored pale duns that I picked up at JAX Outdoor in north Ft. Collins.  My compliments to whomever tied the flies.  I can't make a perfect replica, but the attached photo gives you the basic idea.  I found that it drew strikes from trout nearly as often as the BWOs, being the same basic pattern, but was even easier to follow on the surface.  I tied a bunch tonight and look forward to floating them later on in the season. 

I don't know about anyone else, but I've been struggling on the Poudre lately.  Tuesday was particularly tough.  It seems that every time I go out, the wind decides to blow, and when the wind blows, I suck.  I managed to hook up a couple of times running some bigger nymphs along the bottom, but lost both.  I also had more than my fair share of snags on rocks and sticks, even in the faster water.  Guess my high-sticking needs a little work.  

Fishing Fun with Dogs

ome might call me sick and twisted.  They might be right.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the world's first (at least to my knowledge) Arnie Hair Caddis Fly.  Tied with olive thread, brown hackle, and genuine, bona-fide Cairn Terrier hair.

Poor Arnie had a rough day.  He's a little woozy after having an abscess lanced and drained of fluid and being placed on antibiotics that have left him less than his normal, chipper self.  Still, his coat is in great shape right now, every bit as coarse (and virtually the same color) as the batch of deer hair I normally tie with.


I'm still perfecting it, of course.  In my haste to get the prototype out, I wrapped some hackle around the hook.  But you get the general idea.

Fishing report to come...

Thanks for the donation, Arnster!

Rolling Toward a Forbidden River

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Not a season goes by that I don't get ahead of myself wading the Poudre.  Last year it just happened to occur while fishing with a friend of mine from high school who I hadn't seen in twenty years.  Enter water, glance at something, lose concentration...end up in the drink.

Today, it was a little scarier.  The Poudre has begun to rage, and it's not really very fishable anyway, what with the cloudy water and the sheer volume of fluid surging from the canyon melt-off.

I know it may not look like much, but believe me when I tell you that the picture above is a portrait of strong, heavy current, not to mention the slick rocks on the bottom.

Still, I accomplished everything I had to do by noon today, so I couldn't help myself.  Given the rapid rise in water levels, and with no noticeable rising fish, I tied on a pheasant tail nymph and commenced to wading.  As is my routine, I sent out a few casts and gradually began to make my way downstream. 

As the saying goes, a more skilled angler may be able to "walk and chew gum at the same time," but for some reason I can't seem to manage it.  While trying to place the nymph in what I envisioned to be the correct spot, I took one step into a large rock and promptly tripped over it.  Thus began my brief float down a pretty strong stretch of water.  When I finally managed to get my momentum stopped, I was soaked from chest to toe.  Thank God for the trusty waterproof camera bag, which also held my keys and wallet.

I got into some shallow water under the bridge and made a few more feeble casts before deciding that the cool breeze was becoming just a little too cool.  I glanced downstream into a nice stretch of calm water, knowing full well that fish were probably congregating there.  Conveniently, the calm water begins just where the river becomes private property.  I'm certain that many a trout were gathered, enjoying a good laugh at my expense.

 I gotta learn how to wade!

In the words of George Costanza....

"....THESE PRETZELS ARE MAKING ME THIRSTY!!!"  For you Seinfeld fans out there, you'll understand the reference.

It was 79 degrees yesterday.  Gardens were planted.  Lands were scaped.  Bass were safe from the simulated "bass crack" that I was "persuaded" to buy.  Arnie frolicked on a thick green lawn to his heart's content.

All just in time for an April 29 Colorado snow.

UN-BE-LIEVE-A-BLE.

Never a dull moment here.

I had at least a small measure of good sense, enough to cover the strawberries and tomato plants.  Hopefully the cold won't stifle the seeds in the other places.

Ugh.

Crack for bass? I think not.

I know, I know.  What is a Colorado trout fanatic doing talking about bass? 

Today, Doc and I tried our hand at it. 

The Poudre is raging and cloudy right now due to the recent rise in water, so we thought we'd try and see what this bass thing is all about.  We've done it a few times in the past, and the last time we went I did catch some fish - bluegill, crappie - that I hadn't caught since my childhood days at Watson Lake.

Now don't judge me.  After all, I'm confessing it on the Internet.  But I did something impure.  I fished with a fake worm.  A big, juicy simulated nightcrawler.  The gentleman that originally sold them to me described them as "crack for bass."

I'm thoroughly unconvinced, and walked away completely, utterly empty-handed, defeated by bass.  We know they're in the pond.  We saw them.  We casted to them (yes, with spinning rods).  Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Same result, by the way, when we tried tempting them with wooly bugger bubble-and-fly set ups.

 














I guess some days are meant to be fishless. 

I won't be spending too much more time in search of bass crack.  Trout crack, on the other hand...

A flywriting slumber and a gardening frenzy.

God famously provided fishes and loaves, one of his many miracles for a world he loves. As for me, I prefer to catch and release fish, and bread is something I take at communion and pack full of peanut butter and jam.

As much as I absolutely hate it, I can't simply fish from dawn to dusk. Believe me, if I were filthy rich or as enterprising and skilled as this gal, I'd do just that. At this point, however, I have neither the talent nor the money to travel around and find the right water at the right time.

The water level on the Poudre has risen substantially this past week. I still don't fully understand what constitutes a "runoff," but based on my experience yesterday, my favorite stretch of water has become less than fishable. What just one week ago was a calm pool with fish rising to the surface like Jiffy-Pop is now a fast-moving torrent, complete with tree branches jetting by on a surface too turbulent for my aging eyes to keep a dry fly in sight. I briefly - very briefly - ran a nymph through the stretch before promptly casting it into an overhanging tree branch. Frustrated by the change in conditions and stuck on the river with no additional leader material, I called it a day. I'll try and get motivated to explore some new water this weekend, but yesterday brought none of the familiar joys of "wetting a line."

I did spend a couple of hours on the bench to replenish some BWOs. Doggone it, they're still ugly, but they seem to catch fish.

With the fishing being slow, at least for me, I got "Garden 2010" operational. I won't bore you with the details of what was planted, other than to proudly state that I learned a few lessons from last year and avoided things like mini-canteloupe and rhubarb swiss chard this year. We also took a slightly different approach, planting fewer squash plants and putting a number of things in some elevated containers built with cheap lumber from Home Depot.

I also added some "conversation pieces" and a sign outlining the requirements for access to the garden.  The garden will generally be open for viewing, but a few unwanted guests will be barred from entry, and certain other guests will have to pass a rigorous background investigation prior to being admitted.  The foreman of the whole operation, Arnie, will of course have free reign, since he knows the rules and supervised the construction.

Sorry Chris and Heather, but Brooke, Kyra, Ezra, and Aspen will have to go through the clearance procedures.   

 We'll see what it produces this year.  With any luck, and absent a repeat of last June's ridiculous hailstorm, I'll have food growing by June and be largely done with it by the time the "runoff" ends, free to once again focus my free time on pulling fat rainbows out of fishable water.

Who knows?  Maybe I'll even be able to tie a decent BWO by then.

Wishing all you fishermen a bountiful harvest this summer!

Buck Fever, and a new convert

 I lost a huge rainbow today while trying to be "professorial" with my nephew.  I'd hooked what had to be a 20+ inch rainbow that put on an aerial show for us, and while I was in the process of handing the rod to my nephew Brenden to play the fish, I wrapped my finger around the fly line just as the fish began another run downstream.  Fish gone.  Fly gone.  Leader significantly shorter.  One of those moments you don't get back.  Just like the other THREE trout I managed to lose today after hooking up with them.  SHEESH!  

No matter.  Got to watch my brother-in-law nail a picky Poudre brown on a dry fly.  Very cool.  He played it perfectly, brought it to shore, and watched as I promptly lost it for him prior to the picture taking! Brenden remarked very dryly that I might have considered bringing a net. Not a bad idea.

At the very least, I got some photos of Matt playing the brown so his wife can't accuse us of fabricating anything. Yes, Heather, the rod tip is bending forward, indicating that said fish is indeed attached to Matt's BWO dry. The pictures are also evidence for my brother, who occasionally accuses me of using Photoshop to enhance my credentials as a fisherman, which might include some highly infrequent exaggeration. Matt's integrity, however, is beyond reproach!

Success comes in different ways on the river. I'll give up a catch or two to watch a new fly fisherman land a trout on a dry anytime. And Brenden, next time I'll just pass the rod and keep my mouth shut.

Respite

Life throws out funny moments every now and again that keep things in perspective. 

Normally, after putting in a hard week at work and finding a few moments of solace to fine tune my life's passion, my biggest concern is avoiding competition on the river.  That's been a tall order during the past few weeks, as the weather's been pretty nice and the fishing has been excellent, at least by my standards.

I was overjoyed today to find a river to myself.  I really have no explanation as to why.  My best guess is that the warmer temperatures have melted off enough of the mountain snow that many fishermen view the moderate increase in water flow as the beginning of the "runoff," that evil term among fly fisherman used to describe "unfishable" water.  With the increase in flow, I'm assuming the fish have more options for holding lies, and perhaps more options for grub as well.  In any event, my favorite stretch of water was uninhabited today.  The fish were a bit more particular, but still obviously in the area and still rising to the standard small BWOs.

Just as I was remarking to myself how nice it was to not encounter another angler...two more appeared.  The only difference?  These anglers were of the four-legged, feral, feline variety, and not the least bit concerned about making a splash and scaring off the fish.  Not your average house cats.  Big, rough around the edges, and extremely assertive.  I thought back to a helpful commentary I recently read on fishing etiquette, but thought its finer points might fall on deaf ears in this instance. 

Cats notwithstanding, the fishing was excellent once again, and the catching was reasonably good too for a hack like me, save for a week's worth of rust from too much time working and not enough casting.

Fish landed:  4
Hooksets missed:  Too many
Flies:  Size 20 BWO dries, Adams

Loving the Poudre, as always.

It's an ugly world. Go fishing.

Yesterday was an historic day in my little world.
It was the best day of trout fishing yet for 2010.

I know what you're thinking.  "Did John not follow the news yesterday?  A health care victory for all Americans!"  Yeah, right.  I think I may have seen something about that as I tied the laces on my waders and re-spooled the flyline on my reel.  For the record, I guess I'm benignly ambivalent about the fact that millions of Americans who always wanted decent insurance but couldn't afford it will now be forced to either afford it or face the tax man yet again.

I used to be a news junkie in a previous, long-past life.  I kicked that habit and pretty much quit watching it, reading it, or caring too much about it.  Just out of curiosity, I decided to see what might be happening in the real world.    

10% unemployment. Health care legislation to force that 10% to somehow afford insurance. Schoolyard name-calling in the hallowed halls of Congress. Baseball players signing contracts to "earn" $184 million over eight years (according to my math, that's a paltry $23 million per year, or just shy of $142,000 per game.  Not bad for a night's playtime). Lines at food banks.

It's all out of whack. I quickly became exhausted by it, so I've chosen to once again simply not participate in any of it.  The moratorium on news is back in effect.

 

Instead, I breathe, walk, cast, watch, catch, and memorialize in photos. Life's simpler that way.  No drama, no arguments, no nastiness.  Just me, Dad, and the trout yesterday.  It's as it should be.  Or at least the way it should be for me.   



.

Crazy surface action

The Poudre is treating me right this year!

I actually hadn't planned on fishing today. It was supposed to be cold, and I had dozens of other things I've been neglecting. By 1 p.m., it wasn't all that cold anymore and the sun was shining. I could hear the trout calling my name.

Did I mention that I never claimed to be sane? I thought so.

I got to the river just as a trio of fly fisherman were finishing up at my favorite spot. I asked if they had any success. "No - they're rising all over the place, but not hitting our flies." When I got to the water I saw a heavy hatch underway with trout coming to the surface in spades. If I hadn't known better I'd have thought it was raining. I promptly hooked up with a beauty of a trout - such a beauty that it snapped the tip of my rod (which had admittedly been snapped previously and was repaired by yours truly with super glue and fly tying material).

So my nine-foot rod is now more like eight-five.

Still, the hatch continued unabated. I made a quick call to Dad, who joined me a few minutes later, just in time to watch me pull in yet another outstanding Poudre rainbow:

The BWO on the line was pretty beaten up after this fish, so I tied on a fresh cream-colored pale dun, which is nice and easy to see on the surface. Turns out the fish like this one too, as I swiftly landed another nice rainbow:

Shortly thereafter, the rises ceased, save for an occasional flash. Made it home just in time to see the Jayhawks fall to Northern Iowa.

The unexpected all around today!

Old Faithful

Some things are pretty constant. 

It's March in Colorado, which pretty much guarantees that at some point you'll experience a 30 degree drop in temperature  from one day to the next.  I was singing a happy tune yesterday after catching my first really nice trout of 2010, being the beneficiary of a glorious 60+ day of sunshine. 

Something happened overnight as I was sleeping soundly, dreaming of rainbows rising to small dry flies.

Ouch! I was kind of hoping the days of freezing eyelets on my fly rod were over for the year. Still, trout fever has ahold of me. I never claimed to be sane.

Much like the predictable fluctuation in March weather here in Colorado, I'm finding that my flybox contains something equally consistent: The Adams dry fly. I will never, ever be without an Adams dry fly. When all other patterns fail, I can usually rely on an Adams to draw a rise, and today was no exception. The cold kept the fish from rising as frequently as yesterday, but after tying on the Adams I had four hits in a row, with the last one resulting in a hookup with a really nice fish that I subsequently lost.

The Adams is the "old faithful" of dry flies. Just to make certain my enthusiasm for the fly wasn't misplaced, I did a little research and found this great article, which is filled with information about the fly and gives an expert tutorial on how to tie one.

My only complaint with the fly today was that I had a hard time keeping track of it on the water due to the angle of the sun and its reflections off the riffle on the river. The high sitting wings, however, allowed me to sight it pretty regularly.

Stock your flybox with a few of these. They come through when the BWOs won't.

Prince Nymph

In honor of my Fantasy basketball bracket (The Prince Nymphs), and in an effort to save some dough, I'm trying to tie more of my own flies.  For some reason, the goose biots for the wings and tails give me fits, but it shouldn't be all that difficult a fly.

Bead head or no bead head?  Thoughts?

No laughing.

Rainbow Days...

Every now and then, things just click.  It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes, in the midst of darkness, God seems to heed your cries of "enough already."  One of the ministers at my church refers to these times as "rainbow days," days when we experience "God sightings."  I'm not certain, but I think today qualified. 

For awhile, I've been forcing the issue with God.  Personal challenges have taken their toll on me, and I finally came to grips with the notion of ceasing to try and will everything to happen on my own.  It's not a matter of giving up, per se, but definitely one of relinquishing control of outcomes.

When I get to the point where I don't know what else to do, I instinctively turn to fishing.  It throws me into at least a few hours of intense concentration, where I can focus on nothing other than the moment at hand.  Sometimes it results in fish, sometimes it just results in some fresh air and some mental rejuvination.  It's selfish, I suppose, but it works for me.

Today, the result was not only a change in perspective, but a couple of really gorgeous, wild rainbow trout.  I fished a stretch of water where I've frequently had some success, but normally catch very small fish.  Everything seemed to be aligned for me - mild temperatures, a nice mix of sun and cloud cover, and a dearth of other fisherman giving me the solitude I so often crave when I fish.

The fish weren't exactly jumping on everything I threw at them.  They were rising all over a calm stretch of water where the calm current allows them to be particular in their feeding - plenty of bugs on the surface give the fish in this area a target-rich environment.  During a trip to the same stretch a couple of days ago, another fisherman suggested I downsize on the flies I was using.  He thought the patterns were on target, but were too big.  So, I did my best to match the bugs on the surface with the smallest Adams pattern I could find.  Nothing.  I threw small BWOs at them.  Rises all around, just not to the bugs I was throwing.  Switching to a cream-colored pale dun pattern, I didn't fare any better.  Finally, convinced that my imitations were still simply too big, I ventured fifty yards upstream where fish were still rising to the surface, but doing so in much swifter current.

Suddenly, the "rainbow day" effect kicked in.  Literally and figuratively.  A small 'bow jumped at the fresh BWO I tied on, quickly easing my frustration and whetting my appetite for more.  A few short minutes later, the BWO was consumed  by a hit from an aggressive trout.  I set the hook and applied just enough pressure to firmly secure the trout to the fly.  A few minutes later, I landed the biggest trout I've ever pulled out of this particular section of the Poudre.  What a beauty!

I returned the beautiful trout to the current and watched him bolt away. Having destroyed the fly, the trout forced me to replace it with another fresh BWO of the same size. The trout continued to feed off the surface as the sun began its descent. I chuckled as one launched himself completely out of the water. I made note of the spot on the river and placed a cast just upstream. I drifted the BWO carefully over the remaining splash, and sure enough, a trout nailed it. Again, an aggressive hit that made the hookset fairly simple. Not quite as large, but quite possibly the prettiest fish I've ever caught. I love the coloring of rainbows at this time of year.

Just as quickly, the fish stopped coming to the surface, save for a random rise every two minutes or so. I smiled and marveled at how lucky I can be sometimes. Five minutes from home, yet light years away in my own mind.

It was just enough today. Enough to regain perspective, and enough to remind me to be grateful for what I have. And almost enough to make me forget how miserable my March Madness bracket looks after a mere day of action in the Big Dance. But that's just basketball.

A rainbow day indeed.

NOW it's ON!

After a slow start on Friday, the weekend fishing on the Poudre picked up a few notches.

Saturday was bright, sunny, and warm, seemingly ending a winter that has been far too gloomy for me in almost every respect, weather included. The day started early with a full family run/walk to benefit a local non-profit organization doing some great things for youth.  For the record, and in the interest of full disclosure, I'll admit to being one of the walkers, leaving the heavy lifting to my younger, more fitness-conscious family members.  Plus, I had fishing on my mind from the get go!  No point in wasting precious energy on a run when I was certain to log some hours wading the Poudre.

Upon arriving at the river, I got excited to see fishing coming to the surface.  While there appeared to be many small fish sucking an undetermined hatch off the water, I noticed a few very aggressive strikes, including a couple nice fish that actually launched into the the air.  I tried to see what might be on the surface, and did my best to match the small bugs I saw.  The best I could come up with was a small BWO, which proved to do the trick.  I spent the day on a relatively small stretch of water, rediscovering the fun of setting the hook to the quick flashes over the fly.   A small Renegade also drew the attention of one really nice trout, which I hooked briefly before losing the fly, thanks to a knot that was poorly and hastily tied in my excitement.

Today was more of the same, although the temperature was considerably lower and the fish were rising to the surface with less regularity.  After a couple of small trout landed on another BWO, the surface action stopped and I switched over to a cream-colored stonefly nymph with a small split shot.  Several fish hit on the nymph, and I ended the weekend hooking up with a chunky rainbow that finally managed to manuever its way off the hook.

Looks like a fun season ahead.  Gotta remember the camera, though!

2010 Season Opener...

...not exactly a roar.

For the first time in 2010, I put line to water today. Very, very little water.



H2O is in short supply on the Poudre right now. Frankly, I'm not sure what kind of difference it makes for the fishing. The stretch I hit today gets heavy pressure from junkies like me. Still, it's usually a little more productive. It's really dried up right now, but still pretty.



Buck fever may have had something to do with it as well. I lost two flies, one to a misplaced cast that landed in a tree on the opposite bank. For a brief second, I thought maybe I had hooked up with one fish, but it's entirely possible that it was simply a rock or a twig.

Not much of an opening day. Still better than life in the rat race, though.

New Look

In the off season, we tie flies and read about success stories from more accomplished anglers in more temperate locales.

When both have been exhausted, we change things up a bit. Hence, the new look for the website, which I decided upon out of sheer boredom. I hope my 2 - 3 regular readers like it!

To honor the occasion, I've posted this video of my nephew and good friend breaking some boards. I'll be forced to stop messing with him pretty soon.

Enough already!

I don't know about anyone else, but I'm stuck smack dab in the middle of a bitter winter rut.

I'm growing weary of this:



I'd much rather be doing this:



The deep freeze finally lifted today. I took a nice walk along the river, and it was actually comfortable outside. No snotcicles in my moustache, no frost on my toes, no eye-watering frigid breeze. I nearly threw better judgment to the wind and almost broke out the flyrod to drift a midge through the tiny opening the river cut through snow and ice. Neurotic at best. Moronic at worst.

I'm not the world's best, nor its most efficient, fly tier. I'm getting to the point where I can mass produce a dozen or so per hour, however. My problem is that there are going to be far too many "hours" between now and more favorable conditions on the Poudre. I may have to put the vise on ice for a little while and start searching for some good tailwaters.

Waiting for a favorable Groundhog Day.