Wayward
fly fishing 
Wayward
fly fishing I tried normal once. I got bored. So I stopped doing it.
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Fly fishing has become much too normal. On this wayward site, you'll find exciting (and mostly true) articles, stories, book reviews, and video reviews on many aspects of fly fishing. Here I'll explode fly fishing myths (and create a few of my own). Roam around or catch up on the latest news and my current attitudes in the flog (fly blog). Or go gift shopping. Welcome to the Flog . . .April 23, 2008 I love fly fishing from a kayak. I love the distance I can travel, and the fact then when all hell breaks lose from the heavens, I can get home. I've been terribly frightened in a float tube in such weather, but still love my float tube for its precise positional control. Now apparently, you can have both. Just ask John Zimmerlee and his electric kayaking creation called a Stream Dancer. For you techno-fishers out there, the Stream Dancer is, according to John, propelled by "electric motors with pulse width modulation speed controllers to vary the speed and rotation direction of the augers." I'm not sure what that means, but I like the sound of it.
What it might mean for the rest of us who must suffer with paddle and flippers is that you can get anywhere quick in this boat, up to 5 knots, according to the developer. For us landlubbers, that is like, well, a good clip in a parking garage. And once you get there, you'll be able to turn circles and go back and forth using only two foot paddle controls, for that precise control while keeping both hands on your fly rod and line. You can even stand in it (don't stand in it). And with all the storage, you can pack a lunch that would put a float tuber's energy bar to shame. Any boy does it catch fish. OK, it doesn't catch fish. Hooks with fur, feathers, and other things real and artificial catch fish. Good presentations catch fish. A high barometric pressure catches fish (or is it a low pressure?). A full moon catches fish (or is it no moon?). Patience catches fish. But when you need to get there quickly in order to practice all of the above, and maneuver like a heron once you get there, you can't beat a Stream Dancer. April 13, 2008 In the Times, while drinking my coffee (sorry, bad grammar, must work on my grammar), I came across an article about a couple bloggers dying from . . . blogging. As the story goes, they overworked themselves by the 24/7/365 act of staying current with events and the advertising dollars that chase them. I suspect that the blogging wasn't the issue, though. People have been overworking themselves into a grave ever since early man began chasing down his dinner by running through the woods for days on end, only to find nothing and come home to a lonely cave with his young naked family staring at him pitifully with a "What, no Mastodon?" How does this relate to fly fishing? One thing about fly fishing is that it is fairly difficult to blog too much and still get enough fishing in to have something to blog about. Though many are trying. Fly fishers are getting rich by fly-blogging. I, for one, am about One million dollars short of my million dollar goal to make a million dollars, though I've started puting adds on my site (tasteful relevant ones on one side of the window, and not plastered all over the place until you can't tell add copy from content). Am I getting stressed out? Not yet, though my lack of really big fish has been a concern of mine lately. But this is nothing worth blogging about. March 26, 2008 March Madness on VERSUS Country Not getting too exciting about Spring Break this year (after all, high school is a distant memory), I might look into the next interesting thing, the Big Fish March Madness tournament on VERSUS, In this case, viewers, not experts, get to logon and vote for the best of the bad fish by March 27. Then the winners are announced after that on the Versus channel. How am I planning to win? Easy, I'll enter the biggest baddest fish. For me, that's going to be a sperm whale. They got big mouths, and eat giant squids. Imagine the lure I'll need to catch one, let alone a good fly. Oh, wait, they're a mammal. Hey, wait, Mahi Mahi is on the list of species you can vote for, and they're a dolphin, which is a mammal. (Ha, I fooled you. "Dolphin," as applied to Mahi Mahi, is different than true dolphins, which Are mammals. It's confusing, sort of like calling a rainbow trout a salmon, or a Pterodactyl a bird, or a donkey a horse, or my cousin, Bib, a decent human being.) OK, then, how about that creature from the Black Lagoon. He has big fish-like scales. Oh, sorry, that's fictional, I think. How about an alligator. Now, THAT's a bad fish. Shoot, it's a lizard. Snapping turtle? Jelly fish? Hmm. This game is more difficult than I thought. Check out the action on the VERSUS site. Log in, vote away, and fish on. Somehow, I don't think viewers are going to vote for the brook trout I caught last September. It was huge because it was 8 inches long, and 4 inches longer than the little cutts it was devouring. Huge, because it was caught in a creek two feet across. Almost big enough in my mind for a Tiger Woods body pump. The point is, a "big" fish is sometimes relative. Sometimes it depends on your situation, sort of like voting for my uncle Bernard, who has a face like a fish (just don't tell him that or he'll chase you with a fence post). Anyway, I'll be tuning in to VERSUS to see what's up. After all, its still too cold to catch my own big fish. March 07, 2008 On the one hand, I don't want to be one of those flyfishers who has to wax on about the virtues of this and that insect. Me? I know enough about insects to get me by. I'll learn the common insects from various web sites, look at some pictures (Troutnut.com is fantastic for this), and grab some muskrat, rabbit or Antron to cook up my impression of the bug. But sitting on a rock in a suburban stream during a cold march day, I paused my boredom when a dinky baetis rose up in the way only a mayfly can--like it wasn't in an particular hurry to rise up for anything or anybody. For a short while, I thought it might be another lousy midge. But looking at its unique flight pattern, I recognized its single spiraling nature, that delicate struggle it displays as it yoyos around the cold air currents. All other insects seem to buzz around, or flit around, or flop around, or skittle around--all motions that aren't particularly interesting or suggestive. Maybe the difference is that all these insects have mouths, and thus have a need to eat and buzz around. But the mayfly has no mouth, and therefore doesn't' eat, and therefore has no particular reason to fly anywhere. Therefore, it flies aimless up and down in graceful circles, as if it were about to forget how to fly. As if they wanted to say hello to me, except for the fact that they don't have mouths. Well, I guess they need to breed, too. But I'm not a scientist, nor am I one of those flyfishers. And obviously, I suddenly have lots of time on my hands--until Spring. February 29, 2008 Tomorrow, this river closes. They all do, until late Spring. As I reel in the final cast, a single mayfly rises. Baetis. A better fisher than I would have promptly slipped on a sliver of a tippet, an appropriate fly, and may have found some success. Myself, I just enjoy the mayfly as a consolation for my lack of success this winter, and as a harbinger of Spring bugging fever. Walking back to my car, I notice the single bud on a tree. Each year I try to see if I catch a tree bud just before it buds, just before it decides to split a cell into the new year. Actually, by the time you tell yourself that a tree bud is budding, a thousand cells, hell, a million, a billion, have probably already split. I'm not sure if this particular bud is budding, or if it is, like me, near frozen. Note to self; I'm not sure why, but I should pay attention more to such things. Now, despite the temperature, the mayfly's cells are raging. The kind of nuclear fire that can push a little insect into metamorphosis during this three-month chill is enough in its import to drive oceans and worlds apart. That's right. The Big Bang, a little mayfly--it's all the same. What this says about the cold weather's effect on the cells in my brain, I'm not certain. The point is, well, I'm not sure what the point is, but I do know that budding trees and cold little insects insite me enough to look forward to warm fingers in Spring. February 06, 2008 Four hours north of me guided eagle floats are being offered. $700, and all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you can throw down. To see bald eagles? A half hour north of me, they are as plentiful as crows, sailing along the anadromous avenues of the Northwest. In fact, I had to look more closely to see if some of the juveniles weren't just gigantic crows that decided that rotting salmon and all those Omega-3 fatty acids were just the ticket to growing as big as a Buick. But their sound gives them away, that wailing fingernails-on-blackboard sound, like that creature from Predator. Well . . . nothing like that. But it is the kind of squeal you don't want around your head if you get too near a nest. My river this day was a thin one as steelhead rivers go, and I was in my usual zone--an existential Nothing. That's a pretentious way of saying, No Fish, No How, No Way. Damnit. Note to self: until I start catching fish, stop using big words I don't understand. The saving moment was a river beautifully thin, with weedy cobblestones a perfect softball size. Actually, they remind me more of curling rocks, to pick a more appropriate metaphor for a cold river. As I peered through the cold fog at the shore with a half dozen eagles picking at their delicious meal, I couldn't help but think more about the eagle floats up north. One thing I'll have to admit--I know little about eagles. The eagle guide up north could talk my ear off about nesting habitat and other bird matters, and I might have walked away from such a trip a wiser man. Then again, I tend to venture alone on most nature adventures, and as a result often arrive at fairly naive observations about animals. Like, Bald eagles like to eat a lot. Bald eagles are big. They are very black and very white. When they fly close overhead, I can hear the whoosh of wind under their wings. They build large nests in tall trees. And why do they have a white head? Does it blend in with the sky to better make them appear smaller? Also, they are a little frightening. And they don't frighten easily. At least not over me. I may not know a lot about them, but I've seen hundreds of them up very close and personal--and for very little gas and money. As one flew toward me, I raised my hands to see if I could steer it one way or the other. This works with some large birds. (It also works, don't ask how, with most other things, like cars, cows, and people.) But the eagle, as proud as a silver dollar, just glided over, no doubt sizing me up as unimportant--maybe saying to itself "Go ahead--old man with stick--trip on a rock, and I'll eat your eyes out." January 25, 2008 Some time ago I ran across a gear fisherman who was watching my fly casting. "Fly casting--now that's a real art," he exclaimed. I get a lot of this. I thanked him, somewhat reluctantly, not knowing what else to say. But later on I had to gather my muse and think about art. Now, anyone who casts a fly realizes that there is about as much similarity between art and fly casting as there is between opera and singing in the shower. (Ok, that was a weird analogy, but I think I made my point.) Real art is more like what Rod Crossman does. You may have seen his art illuminating numerous flyfishing and other magazines through the years. Here is one of his latest, which he was kind enough to send to me:
This particular piece is titled "Crystal Creek," and like a lot art that should do something for you, does this for me: It tells me that I need to work less and fish more often. Well, to be fair, not fish more often. But fish less and sit back more. Sit back and enjoy the moment. It also reminds me that I don't need to work as hard at my fishing to be fishing well. I just need to show up at about the hour of the evening that captured this artist's imagination, and wait for the fish to tell me when to start getting busy. Or, maybe the point of the picture is that I don't need to get busy. Or, maybe the point of art is that there are as many points to art as there are viewers, and a real artists doesn't need insists on a particular notion that must be understood. I suppose. But what the hell, I don't know much about art. I fish. So that's my theory of art. Now, thirty years ago, I would have had a lot more to say about art (and a lot of other things as well). I could have used works like "Expressionism," "Representationalism," "Functionalism," "Formalism," "Institutionalism." Don't be impressed. I just googled "theory of art," and came up with the list. My point is, that in none of these theories is there any mention of whether the art makes me want to go out and do something, or approach something that I wouldn't have otherwise done. I call this the So What theory. Or SoWhatalism. There, I invented a theory, and if it doesn't help me catch more fish, maybe it'll help me enjoy the process more. Visit Rod Crossman's site and to see what else you can learn. January 19, 2008 What do Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie, Hannah Montana and flyfishing have in common? Absolutely nothing. I just mentioned them to increase the Google hits. Now, strategizing meagerly like this would make even more sense if I had some advertising on this web site. But I have a very good reason why I don't advertise: I don't know how. Note to self: Investigate ways to make millions of dollars advertising about flyfishing. But while I have your attention, let's see what connections I can draw. Two of the above women were married to a guy who starred in a famous movie about flyfishing, who incidentally likes women with A's and J's in their names (am I the only one who discovered this connection?). Another one of these women has a name that recalls a state famous for flyfishing. There. It's all about the connections. And one of these women knows someone who saw someone who read about someone who knows Kevin Bacon. Amazing. In addition, all of these celebrities are people I would like to meet while flyfishing. All would look great casting a fly rod. All would look fantastic wearing fishing waders, to say nothing about how they'd look with flippers and float tubes hugging them. And don't get me started about how'd they look sporting a designer fishing vest. Now, let me make one thing clear: I'm happily married to a woman who lets me fish all the time and doesn't even turn an eye toward me when I say I want to go fishing next weekend, the same woman who occasionally fishes with me, and catches fish. She even tied a fly once. Never mind that it looked suspiciously like an earring. it still caught a big fish. Note to self: Check all of her jewelry for other ideas I could use fishing. So, what is the point of this blog entry? I have no idea. But if I had some ads at this point, maybe I could buy a few more energy bars for my next steelhead trip. I promise something useful for my next blog: art and flyfishing. January 01, 2008 Flyfishing resolutions for the new year I've decided to change it up this year. No more mister average flyfisher for me. All new casts, all new flies, all new attitudes--that's my plan. Here are my resolutions for the new year: One: Tie smaller flies. I'm going start with size 20 baetis, followed by size 32 midges. Then I'm going to get a new eyeglass prescription, followed by a microscope (probably followed by Woolly Buggers). Two: Get better at presentation. I'm thinking of performing an interpretive dance while casting. Lord knows, nothing else has been working. Three: Stop lying to fishermen about the fishing--unless they start lying first. Four: Tie larger flies, just in case resolution one isn't working out. Maybe I'll come up with a Lefty's Deceiver for small streams, size 4/0, that's "four ought". Five: Be nicer to bait fishermen. Naaaaaa. Well, OK. Maybe a little. I once hurt a fish by being too harsh when I tried to release the hook. I also ate a fish once that I caught on a fly. There, you have it. Karma had better not be anything other than an Eastern myth, or I'm screwed. Six: Try to find activities that are more important than fishing--or save this resolution for the following year. Seven: Read old books. Like the bible. (It could help. Saint Peter was a fisher, after all). Or maybe re-read Dame Juliana Berners (again the biblical connection). Lord knows, I'm not learning any more from the plethora of magazine gibberish I read these days about the act of flyfishing. Besides, I sometimes wonder if the great Dame said it best the first time, anyway. Eight: Fish more often. "Nuff said. December 25, 2007 December is the cruelest month. Sorry again, for the Eliot stuff. I caught hundreds of salmon last weekend. Hundreds. These fish are so near to dying that they don't realize I am the Great Hunter. Someone walking tall and waving a big stick to be feared--with a license to fish. Well . . . I didn't actually catch anything, but I bumped into hundreds. You know how older people sometimes walk into things? OK, that wasn't fair. After all, I bump into things all the time. Just ask my wife: whenever I walk down the halls of a shopping mall, my feet trip all over themselves, and I nearly kill myself navigating something as simple as an escalator. I once tripped on an escalator, and it took me half hour to fall down (sorry, a Demetri Martin joke). My point is that spawned out salmon have lost most of their marbles and then go around bumping into things, including my legs while fishing. I'll be on my usual steelhead adventure and doing what I do best when I fish for steelies (that is, catch nothing, and getting colder), when a chum the size of a Buick swims between my legs. Then I look around and see thousands of dead salmon in various states of decay, and a hundred more milling about. I walk toward one and touch its back with the tip of my rod. It moseys on for about ten feet than stops. So I walk up to it and poke it again, and it moseys another ten feet. Then I step forward again and felt one of the more disgusting feelings you can have in this sport--the feeling of my felt soles digging into a dead salmon. It's all fun and games, until you step on a dead fish. December 05, 2007 December is the cruelest month. Breeding steely fish out of the dead water. Sorry. My butchering of T. S. Eliot couldn't be helped. I'm not really looking forward to next weeks start of my steelhead season. I rarely catch anything, accept a peek at the snowy mountains. This year, I think I'm going to try something different. I'm not sure what. Actually, I say this every year about this time--xomething different. Here's my new strategy . . . Strategy one: Tie simpler flies. Put lots of red on the fly, and some florescent green. And pink. Maybe a few pieces of shoe laces, and hair from my dog. Cause it really doesn't matter a whit. And in general, don't worry about the fly. instead, worry about the . . . well, I'm not sure what I should worry about, or if I should worry at all. Strategy Two: Get the fly deeper. Or maybe get it a little higher. Fish the head of the run more. Maybe the middle. Maybe the tail. Fish the seams. Maybe wade deeper. Or stay closer to shore. Not sure. Strategy Three: Read a good book on steelheading. Or maybe improve my google search skills, like "How to catch steelhead, right now." "How to catch steelhead if you're a complete idiot." "Catch steelhead if you never plan on catching steelhead, or never will." Thank God Google doesn't judge the queries. I mean, I can accept Google pointing out my spelling errors in my queries. But I'll be using another search engine if it returns something like "You get no search hits because you're an idiot." Not that I'd dispute this. I just don't want to be reminded. Strategy Four: Forget about steelhead and catch whitefish instead. They are in the same water, are kinda big, and can definitely save a steelhead-less day. Maybe catch some Dollies, too. They hang around salmon and steelhead. And you can boast about them, unlike whitefish. Strategy Five: Wear warmer clothing. I froze last year. It could help catch fish. Lord knows, I've tried everything else. Maybe get some of those hand warmers. Bring something better to eat, while I'm at it. I'm tired of energy bars. Energy bars taste like Snicker bars that have never gone on a date. Strategy Six: Watch the Ouzels. They are curious little folks, dipping ever so daintily to dry themselves off after chasing insects under the water. They also dive down to retrieve salmon eggs. I bet you didn't know that. I saw one do this repeatedly. What does this say about steelhead fishing--not a damn thing, except that when nothing else is happening, I can still find amusement. I hope this helps. Oh, and put a few back. October 26, 2007 Some things about this sport irritates me so. I tie up a hundred flies for an upcoming trip, and then the very last fly I tie is always the one I'm going to put on the tippet for the trip in. I didn't mention that my fly rod travels in my car fully loaded. And by implication, I don't always follow the rule that the ideal flyfisher waits until he is on the stream before putting on the appropriate fly for the conditions that day. Oh well . . . . So, what is it about this final fly? The first one hundred flies were fairly well tied, with lots of clever turns of thread and materials and tails cocked just so. But the final fly has those final intuitive touches, such as only a few hackle fibers, not the twelve you get from a full turn of hackle. And only three or so strands of Antron in the tail, not a dozen or so as on the other flies I tied. (And, Yes, the fish I chase can count, which explains my frequent lack of success.) Maybe the body is dubbed a little thinner or with a bit more rust in the mix, or whatever. Or maybe I dubbed it with longer strands of Antron so that, when picked out, it looks more like a caddis energer/nymph/stuck bug. Sort of like baking four apple pies for a big dinner, but baking the final one for yourself with those extra special touches that only you will appreciate: extra cinnamon, extra butter, thicker crust, chilled next to an open window and not in the fridge. That sort of thing. Does it make a difference? Hard to say. This particular fly, a sparse caddis orange/rust nymph pattern of primarily Antron and rabbit, stayed on the tippet for three days. OK, I did swap out a few experimental baetis patterns at some point, but my final fly caught fish during the entire trip, and I like to think it was because of the special final touches (probably not, but you like to think . . . ). I didn't even lose the fly. It stayed on all trip long (with the occasional baetis) inspiring me, taunting me, like a siren call, validating myself as a great flyfisher (again, probably not, but you like to think so sometimes). Such a respite from the usual scenario: a wonderfully new fly that fails miserably, but shouldn't. Sometimes, the fish are just smarter, I suspect. I don't what kind of fish you are catching, but the ones I often launch a fly toward apparently are on the internet, sending messages back and forth like IOW ("idiot on the water") and DENN ("Don't Eat Nymphs Now"). So what is it about the final fly that makes if different? Why can't I tie all my flies like the final fly? For that matter, why can't I swing a golf club like I do the final one on the driving range? Why can't I putt my golf disc on the course like I can in my back yard? Life is full of triteful mysteries like these. But that's what we live for--little mysteries the feed our little theories and fantasies. September 1, 2007 You know it's bound to happen. Let's see. How about a group of flyfishers driving trucks over the ice in Northern Canada. Hmmm. How about two teams of flyfishers left on a deserted island surviving from one challenge to another, voting the jerks off as readily as they vote off the nice people (those, in other words, who might win the popularity vote at the end). Another Hmmm. Or teams of two flyfishers racing across the planet fishing and accumulating points toward a final million dollar prize. Hmmm, hmmmm, hmmm. Or maybe just a couple of yahoo flyfishers with cams, lost in the Amazon. Naah. Actually, we have already started seeing this sort of thing--Flyfishing contests that stress human drama, attitudes, asides where we learn that the only person who is bigger than the jerk talked about, is the the jerk actually talking. When you think about it, it's the jerks that make all reality shows work. The hell with the nice guy. There's no money in them. I imagine the producer/director/camera guy (are these all the same people?) saying. So, how much do you hate him/her/the fish/your fly/his fly? Now, I exaggerate a little here. After all, we flyfishers generally speaking are a good crowd of people, with the usual exceptions. And any competition felt, is generally well accepted and good-natured, with the occasional exception. And anyone out-of-line, usually isn't around for the next trip. I guess in a sense, they get voted off. Nevertheless, if the person in front of the lens isn't cooperating (because he or she is normal) then there are always the dirty tricks the producer/director/camera man has. "Bob says you couldn't catch a fish in aquarium. He also says you couldn't catch an alligator with a chicken tied to a rope. So what do you think of that?" I think the producer's strategy is to try to bring out the jerk within. In some religions, this is called original jerkness. After all, when you think about it, we all harbor ill fillings about lots of people at one time or another. (Don't we, or is it just me?) And these producers are being paid to tap into this. And we're all too willing to oblige. That's not to say we are all bad. Actually, I suspect, most of us are quite good. We're just vulnerable. So the next time someone sticks a camera in your face and tries to ferret out a negative comment toward your fishing buddy who is throwing woolly buggers in a spring creek that is giving birth to a lovely trico hatch, just say, "Actually, I admire his imagination and perseverance. Lord knows I'm not catching anything in this hatch." And if someone's casting is hitting the water too hard, just say you admire his or hers grasshopper presentation. And if the producer/director/camera guy doesn't like that, remind them that there is also a jerk behind the lens. August 15, 2007 After an entire life of reading fortune cookies saying the same thing time after time, and after realizing after reading them that, no, I didn't get rich, I didn't experience a great change in my life, I didn't meet a famous person, I didn't meet a person who would change my life forever, I didn't overcome hardships that easily, I didn't meet a new love (and I didn't actually need one, thank you), and I'm not an especially outgoing and fun-loving person--I decided new fortune cookies were in order, namely: You are on outgoing and fun-loving person, while fishing. You are about to catch a fish bigger than your leg. The fish you catch that is bigger than your leg will eat your leg. You will encounter a mayfly hatch as big as a snow storm. You are about to meet a beautiful woman, while fishing. You are about to meet a most rugged man, while fishing. You are about to come across a large sum of money, while fishing. You will get rich while doing anything else but fish. You will be able to cast a fly across the mississippi. You will win the lottery with the numbers 23 14 7 34 21 12. Only idiots fish with flies smaller than 16. Fish with woolly buggers. You will get eaten by a big fish. You find beauty in ordinary things. Do not lose this ability. If you do, go fishing. You will win the lottery tomorrow; then you'll catch no more fish. June 29, 2007 Recently, I decided I needed to take a closer look into imitating ants. Why? I'm not sure. I've always had a few in my fly box, but I haven't fished an ant pattern in years. I read somewhere that there is 10 times the amount of protein in an ant than in a mayfly or caddis nymph. I'm not sure I believe this, however. I've also heard that ants outnumber stream insects by a factor of a million. I do believe this, so I figureed it was time to look into ants some more. I'm also not sure I believe other theories of trout and ant behavior. For example, toward the end of summer, trout get a little desperate for food. Because there are fewer and smaller mayflies around, because stoneflies are over, and for other reasons known apparently only to a fish, trout get a little more opportunistic and start considering grasshoppers and ants. It's sort of like saying that if there isn't any steak around, then the only thing left to eat is a hamburger. I think flyfishers are way too willing to apply human logic to a bug's brain. Besides, the more I turn over rocks, the more I realize that fish have plenty to eat all year long. But my point is . . . well, I'm not too sure what my point is. But what I'm wondering is, are there more ants crawling around during one time of the year than another? Now, when ants take to the wing, that's one thing. But other than this, I don't see more ants hanging or crawling around at different times of the year. But I strongly suspect that I'm simply not observant enough. Putting this issue aside for the moment, I started contriving an ant pattern. Naturally, I started worrying about the proportions of body parts. One authority said that the abdomen is 40 percent of the body length, and the head is 25 percent. So I did what any flyfisher would do, I started looking for a sample. I roamed around the backyard looking for an ant, and wouldn't you know, I couldn't find a single one. Not even around the house. Apparently, you only find ants when you don't want to see them, like in your house. So I tied an ant anyway, mainly because I was a little late getting to the stream to meet a fishing buddy. I started with black bunny fur (with Antron, because I put Antron into everything, include my pancakes), with CDC legs (because I put CDC into everything as well, accept my pancakes), and just a few strands of white CDC for visibility. An awesome looking pattern, which I invented (along with about a hundred flyfishers before me). Then on stream I started looking around for an ant to compare. Of course, after 5 hours of fishing I saw not one ant. I thought these insects were ubiquitous. Along with cockroaches, aren't they supposed to inherit the earth? Then back at work, I finally found an ant. It was crawling across my computer monitor. I said, a little too loudly, because just then my boss walked in, "So where in the hell have you been?" "Huun," said my boss. "Not you, the ant." "What?" "I'm talking to the ant." I showed him the ant I picked up. He just rolled his eyes. He learned long ago not to ask questions about the things I do. He muttered some important work-related matter that I completely ignored and walked out. When the boss left, I watched the ant navigate all over my hand. It looked just like the size 16 one I tied. The proportions looked about right. The legs extended out about a one-and-a-half times the body length, which also checked out. And the color was dead on--black. Then I just let the ant go lose in the office. Over the next few days, he'd show up periodically across my monitor or chair, as if to say "You're strange." He'd be right. I'd pick him up and observe him for a while, then let him go again, like my cat. That's what separates the ants from the rest of the insect world, they'll hang around and play. Well, to be honest, I played with a little inch worm once, but they aren't much fun. So my question remains, What's up with the ants that ain't'? Wherefore art they, when, and why? June 20, 2007 Some people you just don't want to teach how to fish. Take this biologist person I know. I made the mistake of teaching him how to fish a fly. He had been telling me stories of his snorkeling to make fish counts in local streams as part of his county biology work. He had been watching insect life, watching fish swim and hide, gathering the kind of snorkel vision any die-hard flyfisher would pay good money to acquire. This kind of knowledge you can't just pick up reading books and watching videos. Not even YouTube has this information, at least last time I looked (probably does by now). Actually, I had a difficult time searching in YouTube for "nymph," as you might imagine. Well, OK, nymph did come up, but not the kind we're talking about here. Anyway, he decided it was time to do something rather than work while working, to think about bugs and fish instead of thinking about bugs and fish all the time with a dry suit on. One conversation led to another with his wife saying she knows someone who fly fishes, and so on. It's an old old story, told for centuries, minus the dry suit. So we fished, and very quickly he showed promise. Within a month he started tying his own flies, to "match his work," he proclaimed. Then the inconceivable happened. He caught a 20 inch cutthroat a half mile from a large shopping mall. Now, under normal circumstances, I would suspect a lie. But he's a biologists, and biologist have no need to lie. You and I might lie, but scientists are a little truer to the code. (I have no idea what that means.) Given time, these people will start catching brook trout out of your bathtub. We still go fishing together, but it gets more and more challenging. Now, I have to reach deeper and deeper into my bag of advice gleaned from books and grocery-store rags in order to impress, staving off the inevitable check on my precious sense of fishing reality-- "snorkel vision." April 1, 2007 A "fly fishing film tour"? I didn't know exactly what that meant. I mean, I see all manner of flyfishing videos on OLN and other cable stations. But what Fly Road & Reel and the Angling Exploration Group have put together is something quite a bit different, not just a film, but a state of mind. OK, "state of mind" might have been touch corny. After all, New York is supposed to be a state of mind, and I don't want to go fishing there. But this isn't a movie review. This is a blog. blogs are for hanging out and yakking and making people believe I actually know what I'm talking about. Go back to your search engine to find a real review. Nevertheless, the film tour is the next fun thing to catching big fish in bizarre locations. The experience starts where all great movies start--in the ticket-holder's line, on the rainy sidewalk as you wait for the doors to open. Accept in this case not everyone is a random stranger. These are fellow flyfishers who populate your own streams. You can tell by their hats with flyfishing themes. You recognize others from your monthly fishing club. Some are wearing their flyfishing vests. I'm not sure why some people do this. Do they wear their vest to all social events, their flies dropping from their vest's drying patches into the guacamole? Finally the doors open,and we all rush by the fresh popcorn with real butter (well, at least in this theatre). The producers, and stars, and writers, and editors line up along tables selling shirts and hats and bumper stickers--and they talk to you. That's nice. Try getting close to actors and such at a blockbuster movie, and you'll end up in jail, or at least with someone's camera lens in your ear. "Hey, Britney. I like your hair cut!" Just won't happen. Once inside the theatre, a feeling of camaraderie fills the popcorn air. Before the show starts, everyone is looking around or standing in the isles, looking for fishing friends, club members, the next door neighbor, the person who jumped into their drift like a jerk. Cards get exchanged (those networking guides just won't stop), whoooaaas get yelled, names are screamed from the balcony ("Jimmmmmyyyyyyy, dude. Next week, my boat, OK?"). You don't get this kind of electricity during your usual movie. Then one of the producers (or maybe it was one of the film's cameramen or fisherman/actor, or other fishing film figure) makes an announcement down on the stage, welcoming everyone, reminding everyone of the raffle, working the crowd. Imagine Brad Pitt addressing filmgoers during the premier of his latest blockbuster? I don't think so. Then the flicks start. Hilarious, well presented stuff. Down-home humor is sometimes exceptionally fun. I'm not sure exactly what I mean by "down home". Films done for the sheer fun of it, maybe, for less than a million dollars. Maybe less than $100,000. Hell, some of these were probably done for the price of handheld high-end video camera and plane tickets. I obviously don't have a clue about howvideos, let alone movies, are made. These video's have what high budget movies so often lack--focus on intelligent and entertaining scripting. The audience impact is obvious. I almost expected a few viewers to jump up and dance with the fish on stage a-la The Rocky Horror Picture show. Then there's the intermission. What is this--an Opera? An intermission? What are you supposed to do during an intermission? Well, I did what comes natural: stretched, pissed, bought a shirt at one of the tables the producers set up to sell movie items, even chatted with one of the fisher/actors, listened to the raffle, and watched everyone talk to each other as if I were in a live Breugel painting. All-in-all, an interesting and amusing way to see fishing. What else do I like about these flicks? No ads, not even those that sneak up on by showing a man fishing as he lifts a can of Diet Coke to his mouth, as if the Real Thing is not a fish. And no one tells you to silence your cell phone. I wasn't sure at all what to expect walking in, but walking out, I knew I would be waiting impatiently in the ticket holders line next year for the next tour. March 9, 2007 Ouzels again--this time on a hook No, I didn't accidentally snag an ouzel while steelheading. I've been reading John Schewey's latest book, Steelhead flies. Read my review. And I got to thinking about tying flies, fancy flies, fancy steelhead flies. Normally, I'm a marabou and chinelle type of steelhead fly tyer. But I thought I would kick it up a notch and learn how the big boys tie artful flies--and here's what I came up with--the Ouzel.
This fly isn't meant to look like an ouzel. Though I've seen steelhead patterns that are the size of one. Its tail reminds me of what one particular ouzel was fishing for during my last outing. It kept diving into the currents and coming up with salmon eggs. I'd never seen an ouzel do this. During this inspiration moment, I thought of a new fly. Hook: A big one Here are two views of the skirted tail. Notice how the tail circles half the diameter of the shaft, like a . . . skirt.
What makes an ouzel an ouzel, and not some other fly that looks similar? (And let's not fool ourselves: most steelhead flies are more similar than different.) First, The tail is skirted, which creates an luminous effect when drawn through the water. The tag (or butt) of flat tinsel under silk wraps with an oval rib shining through the hackle fiber tail enhances this effect. When I started skirting the tail, the fly began to take on a slight orange glow. This is a unique tying strategy of mine, which no doubt a hundred other tyers discovered before me. The skirted tail also makes the fly swim more vertically in the water column. (Ok, I made that up. I have no idea if this happens, and besides, the fly is tied symmetrically, which means that it more tumbles that swims in a nymph-like way.) Now keep in mind that this shirted tying technique is my my own design and is registered in the US patent office. You can only use this method if you pay for the license. Kidding. Second, the thick Estaz chinelle holds back the pheasant feather from completely collapsing on itself in stronger currents, and holds the hackle vertical and alive in weaker currents. Third, the peacock herl is tied in a loop. Read Shewey's book about this. No more trout scraping my herl to pieces on the first bite. Some tying notes
I thought about putting a winging material on top, but after I put on the pheasant body feather, I stopped there and decided it had the right body and hackle to sink the fly quickly and to let it swim or twist in the currents depending upon whether I wanted a dead-drift presentation or a swimming presentation. As for the jungle cock eyes--well . . . do you know how expensive those are? I was looking at a package of 12 feathers for 12 dollars in my local fly shop, and then made a snap decision about jungle cock eyes. January 29, 2007 Winter images--ouzels on a fly Who has not been amused by the lowly water ouzel, scurrying over winter rocks, occasionally causing a roaming and freezing steelheader to give pause. I've been looking at these birds (well, everybody has been looking at these birds) during many winter trips. They are a welcome respite to the action I've been having during my usual flyfishing adventure, whereby I actually catch fewer fish than zero each time out. You see, we aren't really hunters any more, because during the past 10,000 . . . . Oh, never mind. That'll have to wait for another blog when I've had more time to figure out what the hell I'm talking about. Soooooooo, my point is that I was watching this ouzel, and marveling (yes, I do marvel, when I'm not amazed, or dumbfounded) at how it dips under the water surface, chasing, I assume, bugs. After all, birds eat insects, right? And . . . bird seeds out of my back yard feeder. But this ouzel was bring up orange-colored red things--salmon eggs. I thought at first that this was just a fluke, but in the space of a minute, this ouzel snatched a half dozen salmon eggs. Initially, I thought it just got lucky, or was being opportunistic like a . . . well, like a bird, fish or any animal that doesn't chew on hay. Training my binoculars on him and studying the water, pretty soon I was seeing more and more salmon eggs floating by in fairly fast water. I've only seen salmon eggs around redds (or in bait bottles). This gave me more faith in my salmon egg patterns, not to catch ouzels, but to catch . . . well, you know. One other thing I figured out while peering at my ouzel--why they dip. We all know they love to dip up and down, which explains their moniker "The American Dipper". They are simply drying themselves off after dipping in the water chasing insects . . . and salmon eggs. I could clearly see the water being shed from their feathers while they did this. Dogs shake and ouzels dip Now, maybe this is common knowledge, but I figured it all by lonely self. Stay tuned for my next blog: Fly fishing from an outhouse, followed by What the weasel knows. January something, 2007 Again, I have absolutely nothing to write about. But this has never stopped me in the past (and for once my enemies agree with me on this point). There is too much ice on the roads to travel, and even if I could travel, I wouldn't catch anything. Actually, I could if I did what all the experts said to do during winter. Be patient. As patient as a heron. Cast that nymph along that seam 30 to 50 times--better, 500 times--because the fish isn't going to move far for anything. Well, I have a couple problems with that approach. First, I don't want to stand in ice water until my legs freeze like stalagmites (that's a weird metaphor, I know, but even my metaphors suffer in winter). Second . . . ,well, you catch nothing in winter, especially with the tiny flies that I'm told to use. Baetis, you know, and chironomids. Tying on these flies is always a challenge. I like to avoid 7x tippets like the plague. More often than not, I'm using 5x on a size 20 fly, which is sort of like putting a hammer head onto an axe handle (again, another sorry image. My poetry also suffers in the winter). Plus, third, it is hard to dress in winter. There are days when if you have to work hard to fish and it is freezing, you really don't want to sweat, because then you become uncomfortably chilled. Or it might be too warm, and now you're overdressed, and the welcomed warmth makes you sweat, and then the rivers rise too quickly, and you're screwed. And the cougars in the woods are hungry. Wheh. I've got some issues, I see. Now, occasionally I'll catch a fish, and I have to admit it is a special feeling to have pulled it off--even though dumb luck played a huge role, because, like I said above, I'm very unlikely to hang in ice water for too long. Sometimes, though, I'll get into a nice rhythm with my casting, with a small indicator, small fly, small weight, slow water, when, bam, I surprise a fish. Or a fish surprises me. Or both. Then I might stay in the water until I freeze. Usually, the fish happens when I'm casting very close in the slow water, casting like I were a metronome. Did I spell that right? I mean that think on top of the piano. One more thing, and then I'll shut up. Sometimes these winter fish fight light hell. Not sure why. Then again, I've caught 24 inch residents in spring who fought like they are half dead. I wouldn't even need to reel in line. Life is weird. Fish are more weird. So what does that make me? Less than normal, I'm afraid It's winter. I'll crawl back in my hole now. I'll have something useful to write about next time, Like:
January 1, 2007 River and Reef dot com recently reports its 600 pound shark on a fly feat. Now, this is much bigger than than anything I've caught recently. (Well, I once caught a branch that was attached to a fairly large tree, but there was no one else around to witness, so I guess this doesn't count.) The odd thing is that the man who caught the shark is a little pissed that the no record is set because the wire tippet was too long by about a foot. I understand his point. Big shark have mouths that are much deeper than the puny one foot wire leader that is allowed by the IGFA rules. Picky. The fly was a Red/White tandem streamer cast after heavy chumming. Everyone knows you can't catch a shark without some serious chumming, preferably a dead pig, cow, bear or other source of large amounts of meat so that the shark stays in one place rolling around with a meal in its mouth like you and I would salivate over a pizza, beer, cake, chicken, football, all at once. At least I think that is how a shark is caught. Perhaps the streamer was the right choice. I, for one, would have tied a more exact pattern, like a broom mopped duck taped to half a chicken with some old beer cans and a power cord as a ribbing. But that's just me. Now lest it sound like I'm simply jealous because I've never caught anything bigger than a big trout (it was a really big trout), I don't need to catch a . . . I mean, I don't need to prove that . . . that is, I don't need to seek validation by. . . . Oh, hell, I wish I had a shark on. A tarpon. Tuna Anything bigger than two feet. OK, 20 inches. Hell, anything that shows some backing. --What this does show is that flyfishing is confusing. What does it mean
to cast a fly.
Now, this has been debated for at least a half century January 1, 2007 There is more in the film than just emergers, apparently. Just ask all those
film producers doing interesting things for the the
Fly Fishing Film Tour being
sponsored this year by Fly Rod and Reel magazine. The tour will probably pass by
a town (maybe even a creek) near you, from California to Alaska. Fly fishing films have come a long way since the first serious one,
A River Runs Through It (see my last blog entry).
Well, there might have been serious fly fishing flicks before this, I just can't
think of some right now that didn't involve brief cameo shots of flyfishers. Now, making angling entertaining isn't new. Just watch any bass masters
tournament. Or the latest video fad, celebrity angling for, typically, large
ocean species with distorted image takes (I obviously don't know video jargon).
The trick to many of these productions is to sell them with sex or hostile family
antics or just about any attitude that is punctuated with a Woo Hoo. Thankfully, fly fishing films don't go to relationship extremes to depict the
fish and the fly. They pretty much stick to the land, the culture, the fishers,
their adventure and their prey--and less about the fishers themselves. There is
less chance of alienating the audience this way, plus in the end, the films
become more interesting and useful. When the film tour comes rolling through my town, I'll be hanging around. It
will be a welcome addition to the yearly sportsman shows. December 23, 2006 I see that this is one TV again. So I'm watching it again. Probably my fifth
viewing. I know Brad Pitt doesn't flyfish.
You can tell in his casting. But that's OK. It is a pleasure to see the Borger
kid cast, though. I've tried his shadow cast, at least I think that is the name
of the cast, but I'm not sure I do it right. Usually, it all collapses around me
when I get too much line out, sort of like how I casted 35 years ago after
picking up a fly rod for my first time. Flailing line around is easy. Making it go out
straight and purposeful afterwards is something entirely different. So, Jason Borger doing the casting is not the point of the movie. But I am
amused by TV advertisements that extols the virtues of the outdoor by depicting
a flyfisher who couldn't cast his shadow, let alone a fly. Soooooo, back to my original point . . . OK, I don't have an original
point. But one message I get out of the movie is the sacrifice of genius. To be
great at something, I mean to be really great like you're in touch with a higher
force, you have to give up things. Sometimes these things are
social, parental, familial, or whatever. But they are probably important things.
Maybe that is why the smart people, the really smart people, are sometimes jerks.
Occasionally, though, they can be very kind, almost too kind, like they always
feel guilty about something. I learned all this after college, by the way.
College teaches you just the opposite. Ok . . . I'm beginning not to understand
what I'm talking about. Or maybe there isn't a relationship between genius and social challenges.
Anyone can grow up socially challenged, garbage men, scholars, geniuses. so what
the hell do I know. But the history of story telling is all about the fatal
flaws of rising too high. Damn, this IS beginning to sound good. Now, back in college, we needed to think in terms of themes. Novels have
themes. Poems have themes. Short stories have themes. After college, it took me years
to get this theme thing out of my system. Now I just look for
something that is interesting to me in the story or novel or movie. Something I
can cling to. And this is
the interesting thing I find in A River Runs Through It, the price of genius.
I'm not saying this is the point of the movie, or that this is the most
important thing in the movie. The most important thing, no doubt, escaped me, as
most important things do. I'm just saying what the movie said to me. November 25, 2006 Irritating fishing moment #32: Brown trout on my indicator I suppose we have all seen this at one point or another if you fish with
indicators. Just as the sun falls, I put on a
lovely little chocolate small mayfly nymph with a little bit of weight and a
small indicator (because a small indicator is a communication device, whereas a
bigger one is a float). I know there are small baetis around, but I don't know
whether they are coming or going, drifting or emerging or spinnering, because of the pending gloom. At least I can see the indicator, so I stick with it. Then large browns
start poking their huge noses out of the water in a harvesting manner, like I imagine
a whales do with their baleen sheaths. And then one attacks the indicator. Now
I know that people will attach a hook onto the indicator for just such times. But
that would turn indicator fishing from an experience that is not terrible
validating to begin with into one that approaches farcical. These are times that try me the most. It always seems like I've arrived late
to the party when it comes to significant fishing. What I should have done is
recognized that browns swim upstream because they are breeding and will therefore
attack anything big and threatening. Therefore, something resembling a purple,
red and chartreuse
grasshopper (call this a whore hopper) would be more appropriate. But who starts late
season fishing with a grasshopper pattern. This is the season of BWO's (with a
few salmon egg patterns). Then again, I could put on a large
caddis pattern for the late season caddis and feel better about the large fly
strategy. Then again, the
browns were also sucking up baetis right before they attacked the indicator.
Then again, a big streamer might also irritate a spawning brown into striking.
Then again (as always), it is too late in the day to switch my mind set. Or maybe I should gang my flies: a BWO under a woolly bugger, which is under
a floating muddler, which is next to a . . . what, I'm not sure. I think I
have to stop at the muddler (unless I wanted an indicator, too). The point is, fish striking at indicators mess with everything planned,
special, contrived, intelligent, written, spoken, or taught, The fish should
know better. November 19, 2006 I have fished streams that had as many beer cans as fish. Not that this is
always a bad thing. I once stumbled onto a six pack of beer, for instance, that was either placed
in the water to keep the beer cool, or lodged there after a float party gone
bad (or good, depending). And everyone who claims to fish have comes across old
boats, old canoes, old shoes, funny hats, odd pieces of plastic, metal and wood left over
from floods or intentional dumped. Sometimes the fish suffer. Now a fish won't suffer from a discarded beer
can (unless they drink it, I suppose, and even then to excess). To be honest, a fish might have more to worry about with the little bits of tippet
that we all leave in the current. I'm not exactly sure why they should worry, but there are those who would argue that a fish can gag on nylon, to say
nothing of lead-based weights, Styrofoam floats, and, for that matter, a fly. What? A fly is garbage? I don't know what else it is if it leaves the
confines of its tippet. Now, I'm not talking about flies that are worthless or
poorly tied. When all is said and done, garbage is just an attitude.
By any other name, it would smell as bad. It's discarded stuff. So if a diamond ring falls in the stream, is it garbage?
Uh . . . well, I guess you'll have to ask the person who threw it there. So does this mean I should pick up all my leader and tippet pieces? Discarded
leaders longer than 4 feet, certainly. I hate looking at leader tangles on the
shore. Too often, these are attached to hooks and lures and sometimes dead fish.
How about pieces of tippet a quarter inch long, the tag end a fly's clinch knot?
Probably not. I mean, how would you retrieve it? if you actually managed to hold
on to such a small piece, I would lose it transferring it to my pocket. Would I keep old Beer bottle caps? Broken indicators? old weights? Yes. Yes.
And Yes. Would I throw away an unopened six pack of beer. Hell no, not only
because it is bad to litter; it is a downright crime to waste it. November 10, 2006 Fly Fishing Mystery #22: Larva on the hook At least twice a year my fly catches a cased caddis larva on the hook point. It is
always the same species, Brachycentridae. These are the small larva that
build that clever little chimney-like case. Not those messy caddis builders who
only know how to put together a house with little bits of rock and mud. And not
those other caddis larva that say the hell with building
hard shells, and simply spin a little net and let food come to them. These are
also known the "free wheeling" (or is it "free swimming") larva. They think they
are special because they are not beholden to no house, no way. Yes, caddis have
attitudes. It really irritates me too that I can't figure out whether the adults are
coming or going, whether they are emerging or returning from egg laying or just
fooling around with a game of dodge ball with the trout. Read any book on
caddis, and you'll get an eye-full of the dozens of vastly unique types and
methods of living their lives in dozens of types of currents. But I digress. Now I expect everyone has snagged these little chimney-cased larva during their
fishing. But I've always wondered how my fly managed to get its hook into the
small end of one of these guys. Since this only happens once or twice a year, I
suspect the odds (or fate) are at work here. In other words, it just happens if
you get your hook down deep often enough. But I've never snagged the other
caddis shells at all, not even the big October caddis cases (and that's a lot of
meat to hook into). So therein lies the mystery. I haven't even snagged that
many branches or other odd bits of flotsam down the, except for the rocks (and
the occasional fish), but that goes without saying. Now, I suppose I could just keep the caddis larva on the hook and fish the fly with a little bait
attached,
but we flyfishers have rules about these things (to say nothing of what the law says, I
suspect). So I guess I'll just keep pondering the Brachycentridae as they
appear on my hook. November 5, 2006 Battle in Peoria at the Big Fly
Small Fly tourney The 25th annual Big Fly/Small Fly tournament got underway last weekend in Peoria and I
was fortunate to be invited, and this year was no different than the others. The BF (Big Fly) team showed up with a few coolers, which the SF team quickly
questioned to the referees. The SF suspected beer, or worse, bait, and demanded
the coolers be opened. After 10 minutes of arguing, the BF team opened the
coolers, which contained only hamburgers, beer, a couple cans of caffeinated super drinks, and
some bananas. After the initial fracas, the tournament got underway, but not after the BF made
some grumbling comments to may camera about small men with small flies. The SF immediately
started catching fish, using size 22 chocolate chironomids and flavonoid
patterns. They followed this
up with two 14 inch beauties using size 16 adams and a size 18 CDC quill
pattern, fishing a cross current seam above a pool. Since the tournament is won
by total inches, it looked like the Small Fly men were going to take it all. The BF were catching nothing, but didn't look too worried. In fact, two of
the team (there are three per team), were seen taking naps on the edge of the
river. Pretty soon, the third one took a nap with the other two. I took a
peek in the cooler and saw that it was empty. The SF team
picked up two more rainbows, one 12 inches, the other 14 on yellow caddis
emergers. An hour before the tournament ended, the BF team woke up, looked at their
watches, and started casting into a pool. One had a size 6 woolly bugger, the other a muddler minnow. It was hard to see the third man's fly, but it look to be the
size of a small bird. Within a few minutes, each two the BF team members had on rainbows over 24 inches.
The third soon joined them with a 30-incher, then another 24-incher, and the tournament was won. I interviewed both teams afterwards. I asked the BF team how come they always
seem to come out ahead? Billy Holland, the team lead, said "beer." And we don't fish wuss flies. The SF team refused to be interviewed. They stalked
away muttering something about big flies, big butts. October 25, 2006 Wayward advise #12: Kick the water Stealthy is out. Instead, jump in the water and kick all of the water out of
the stream. Well, not quite. But here is a situation where scaring the fish is a good thing: You're done fishing a particular run with perhaps a cut bank on the far
shore, and you don't catch a think.
If the water level permits, march right into the edge of a cut bank and kick
around in there. Use a stick if you have to. As you do this, watch for scurrying
fish. Next time you fish the area, you'll know where the fish take refuge, and
you'll know how close and at what depth to send your nymph. Fish have short
memories. Fifteen minutes later, they'll return. Don't pay attention to the idiot on shore who thinks you're an idiot just
because you're kicking the water like . . . well, an idiot. If you
aspire to be even stranger to the person on shore, you can start yelling at the
fish: "Damn you, fish. Come back here. I'm not done with you." Or "Hey, give me back my fly. I know where you live now." Or "Don't go away mad. Was it the fly? I'll tie on a better one." Or scream maniacally while doing the above. But watch where the fish go.
They'll come back, even if you stay put and don't move--sort of like a house cat
that's been chased around too much by the kids. Well, maybe not exactly like
that. What you are doing is training your sense of sight. After fifteen minutes,
get ready with your dries, nymphs, indicators, weight or whatever the water and
fish are telling you to do. However, if you're standing close to a fish refuge,
use a silent technique. This is no time to do something stupid. I mean, don't
start kicking the water again. This is when you need your best stealth--side-arm
casts, off-shoulder casts, underhanded casts, dabbling casts, flip casts. Now, the next time someone presents his or her fishing report during the
local club meeting and mentions a maniacal nymph fisher, you may have to drop
your hat a bit and sink into your chair. Either that, or stand up and proclaim,
"What an idiot. There ought to be a law against that." October 15, 2006 Fly businesses I'm think of starting I'm not ready to quit my day job, but if I did, if would have to be because of one of the following startups I'm think of: The Fly Bar Imagine sitting down to a tall one next to a fly
tying vice. You can order up any material from the most exotic materials
for full-dress salmon flies to all color of marabou for Woolly Buggers. "I'll have a Bud. And you got any of that guinea, maybe some
bronze mallard, and a little yellow parrot? Oh, and I almost forgot, how about
some of that peahen neck feather? Is that cockatoo on the wall? Are those
peanuts fresh?" "Dude !" Dry fly cleaners This business would cater to those who want
their dry flies cleaned and fluffed. We all know how grimy and filthy those
flies can get after a few fish. Note to self: will need to get some very tiny
cellophane bags so that customers have a handy way to pick up their flies. Fly prognosticator This is actually a 900 number whereby
you can learn your fly horoscope. "Am I going to catch a fish over 24 inches this weekend?" "No." "Am I going to catch a bunch of small fish?" "Probably." "Should I use a Woolly Bugger on my trip in August?" "Yes." "How can I improve my fishing?" "Buy more Woolly Buggers." "Will I be able to buy Woolly Buggers near the river?" "No.
But can I sell you
some?" Fly Muffins These are muffins sold with a large fly on top, like
an October Caddis pattern or Stonefly pattern. Remove the fly before eating.
Bring a dozen on a trip, and amaze your friends. For fully-dressed salmon fly
muffins, add $2. October 9, 2006
Recent news reports from National Geographic have it that no less than 16
new planets have been discovered near the center of our galaxy. This is good news. How
many years has it been since people have thought about life on other planets?
Actually, the number is close to 150 years. (OK, I made that number up. I have
no clue.) My point is that it isn't necessarily stupid to start thinking 3,000 years in
advance about how to approach fly fishing on the first planet we step onto that
has a breathable atmosphere. (It has to have a breathable atmosphere because,
think about it, we flyfishers have enough to carry on our back besides oxygen
packs.) We can't live on Earth for ever; so it goes without saying we're going
to figure a way off. And, let's face it, worm holes are just not a realistic
solution. Plus, they are kinda silly. And probably a little nauseating to travel
through. Now, we should keep in mind to walk carefully along rivers on
other planets. I've seen enough movies, including all Star Trek episodes, to say
nothing about all Stargate episodes, to know that you have to be careful.
There could be monsters. Or super energy beings (they can be so condescending,
to boot). Or crazy shape-morphing creatures
that know what you're thinking. Things like that. Ah, but there could be big fish there, too. Really stupid fish that haven't
seen any fly. Probably haven't even seen tall animals standing over them waving sticks.
Haven't seen nets. Or funny fishing hats. We should also keep in mind that fishing tackle may have changed in 3,000 years.
There might not even be fly lines. Maybe there won't be leaders or tippets,
either. Maybe not even fly rods. Maybe flies will behave more like fly-bots,
swimming under the water searching out fish, which are then electro shocked. Or
maybe the fish will eat the fly-bot, which take over the fish's brains, causing
it
to swim towards the flyfisher or botfisher or whatever (that's not important),
or causing the fish to swim in circles at the whim of the botfisher/programmer
guy, or cause it to jump in the air every three seconds, or mess with its
piscatorial synapses enough to make it say something. And if the bot-fly fails, the botfisher would probably put on what any
reasonable botfisher would--a woolly bugger. It's not going away any century soon. They'll work
in every current on every planet in every galaxy born since the Big Bang started
pumping out galaxies. Some things never change. September 30, 2006
Recent news reports have it that competitive fishers were required to pass
a drug test during the World Angling Championships in Portugal. It's about time.
I've often wondered why those who don't fish with a fly catch more fish. I
knew it wasn't the powerbait. Now I know. Now, my preferred drug is a double short latte. Hell, by the time I'm done
brewing it, it's a quadruple latte. Oh, and I also like chewing on those power
bars mid-stream. I don't even drink beer while fishing, which is another thing
those guys on the other side of the tackle box have over me. According to the drug story, drugs can quicken your strike speed. I don't
understand this. One's fishing can improve with an increased sense of action on
the end of the line, not how quickly you respond to it. In fact, it is a fairly
common error in fishing to strike too quickly. Thus the supremacy of a quad
latte to keep you awake long enough to sense what's going on--in, on, beyond,
and under you. Drug testing--indeed! September 24, 2006 Fishing on the other side of the
Atlantic The Trout Underground has a
nice blog on European blogs. I've always been intrigued by European flyfishing.
Not that I know a lot about it. We yanks are seldom exposed to it, unless you
take a trip over there. Even then, I suspect many Yankee flyfishers simply apply
their own techniques and flies and don't think to tie on an arcane CDC pattern
and chase grayling on a misty lake, or go deep after tench (do they go deep over
tench?). Europeans love their CDC patterns--as they should. I'm learning to fish
them to the exclusion of everything else. I'll fish the same CDC fly dry, moist,
wet, on a dry line, wet line, slow sink, fast sink, here, there. So simply to
tie. So effective. I haven't touched a roster neck in years.
Don't get me wrong. I really don't know that much about European fly fishing.
Therein lies my problem. I wish I knew a LOT more. They always seem to have
something unique on the end of their line. Someone should write a book that
details or compares how they approach the sport. Until then, let's read their
blogs and get some insights. September 7, 2006 The last fly I want to fish, it sometimes seems, is the best fly. You see, we
fly fishers can do odd things. I've been at this sport for . . . hell, I can't
remember when I wasn't fly fishing. Just when a fly starts catching a lot of
fish, I'm just as likely to abandon it as continue fishing with it. We're
weird. I had one fly call the Predator, which resembles something between a zug bug
and woolly bugger. Big, lots of herl, chicabou tail (Ok, marabou), pheasant tail
rump feather wrapped spey-like. Beautiful fly that caught lots of lots of fish
in lakes, rivers, trout, bass, steelhead. I no long touch it. In my twisted
mind, I need to try a different fly. If your catching too many fish with one
fly, you've stopped learning about fish, I guess my logic goes. In other words,
I got bored with the fly. On the other hand, I have yet to catch a fish with my new fly. A caddis
pattern, silk body, CDC wing, metal rib (yes on a dry fly). I'm going to fish it
until it catches a fish, the reason being is that the fly looks too beautiful
not to fish. On the other hand, I've tied flies in the past that were very complicated to
tie and stunningly beautiful, resembling the insect itself. Delicate wings,
lovely olive body. Art. I've never fished it because it was so complicated to
duplicate and so lovely to look at. There it sits in my fly box, perched like
art. Don't ask. We're weird.
September 1, 2006
Say you are on a long trip up and down the eastern seaboard, numerous
destinations, and you simply don't have enough time to slip into the usual
tourist outposts to pick up postcards and toothpaste. You now have a solution to
impressing your club members with no more trouble then licking a stamp on the
way to the next put-in. Or take the postcards into work and pin them on your wall. No one will know
you didn't tie them yourself. If they ask, say: "Yeah, I tied that one over the
weekend." "Weekend?" "Yep, you can't hurry those flies." "Golly." What we need are more of these books/cards. I can think of a few: Postcards
of unusual CDC Flies (They always photograph well). Postcards of other unusual
dry flies. Postcards of famous fly fishers. Of famous rivers. Historic and
modern fly rods (probably just the handles). Historic and modern fly reels.
Fishing hats. Or maybe unusual species of fish not usually thought of as fly
fishing targets. Let's hope Amato Books produced more of these little gems. August 27, 2006 There goes my vacation plans. No way am I going to fish on anything less than
a planet. What really irritates me the most is that all this realigning of the
planets flies in the face of all the trust I placed in encyclopedias and text
books of my youth--the forefathers of what googles us today. Scientists love to rename things. You can't blame them, really. The
classification of things helps scientists uncover relationships that weren't
evident before. Before you know it, a rainbow trout will not be a trout, but a lousy salmon.
Oh, wait. . . . That already happened. Salmo gairdneri
became Oncorhynchus mykiss. Thank God, I don't have to
change my flies to match. August 16, 2006 Catching a lot of nothing provides perhaps the best opportunity to reflect
upon the nature of nothing. What does that mean? I have no idea. Probably a
piece of nonsense I picked up from college, where I evidently understood more
things than I do now. Sometimes when it becomes perfectly clear that there is no
fish within four counties, you either have to start thinking of something, no
matter how silly or stupid, or you create the worst sin of them all--boredom.
And I have thought up some mighty silly things while fishing. You see, if you catch a fish, well, then, you've got something to think
about. You even get some motivation to accompany legitimate fishing thoughts.
You might even begin to spot fish before you catch fish. This is called a good
time. But when you got nothing, it is tempting to start changing a lot of flies.
Too often, though, this isn't the solution, especially if you look around and
realize that not only are there no fish within four counties, then are also no
insects within four counties. Casting a longer line is another common last-ditch strategy. But this is
stupid, too, because, remember--if there are no insects within four counties,
then are also no insects 80 feet in front of you. Plus, you end up with a sore
rotator to accompany your no fish. So what do I do. Well, not much. I like casting a shorter line, say 35 to 40
feet. I try to cast this short line perfectly, with different curves upstream
and downstream. I get a little mesmerized by the physics of the cast, how it
feels in the hand as different part of the line load up. I might invent a cast,
like a twirling, curving, twisting cast that probably has no value in presenting
a fly, but is fun to do nevertheless. I try to catch myself doing something fun,
minus the fish. I practice looking through the water at the rocks, and imagine that the long
thin rocks are fish, but then sensing that this is stupid, I stop doing it. As a last resort, I might sit down and stare out over the water. I do a lot
of this. If you wait long enough, something might actually happen. This is
probably your best strategy. Waiting. Doing more of nothing. Maybe a few
swallows will show up, catching insects you swore didn't exist within four
counties. But then again, birds don't do stupid things. They don't think stupid
thoughts. They don't get bored. And, no, this isn't existentialism.
Existentialism only happens in college. This is a sport. Let's face it. Sports can be defined as one damn performance
after another. The percentages are clear: we're all headed toward lousy, like a
current that in time will sweep the strongest fish downstream as Eagle food.
It's times like these that you suspect that a sport, any sport, is defined as an
activity that you somehow don't deserve to play well at. Or not. Relax. Pretty soon, you'll see some movement on the water, which is probably
just a small errant wave over a moving rock. And you'll be up trashing the water
in no time. Be happy. The worst day of nothing on the stream is better than any
epiphany you'll have at work. July 30 2006 Squawfish? Why those fish? Let's call them the poor man's carp. The fool's
carp. The idiot's carp. Whatever. To be honest, when you haven't caught a fish
in three days, they start to look a little better. I've been targeting them for
years on one particular lake. I won't tell you which lake, cause you will all go
there to hunt out my elusive squawfish. Yeah, right. I target them because the
kokanee that used to be there are no longer. The cutts have left, too. And I get
bored of rainbows. Because the various department of fisheries want everyone to start thinking
about targeting squawfish (like on the Columbia), they've changed the name to
make them more interesting. Now they are called Pikeminnows. I'm kidding about
the reasons. They original name wasn't appropriate in these politically-charged
times. Read my article on Squawfish (err,
Pikeminnows) to learn more. Now, do I like catching these fish? Yes, to be honest. Would I rather catch a
squawfish than wild kokanee? Hmm, I guess not. But I can say that if suddenly I
caught 50 kokanee in this lake, I'd be curious enough to put on a snorkel and
figure out why. Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself.
That's life. You just wait: 200 years from now (OK, maybe one million years),
pikeminnows will be Thee fish. They'll be patterns named after them, like the
Pikeminnow Buster, the Green-Butt Pikeminnow, the Pikeminnow Adams, the
Pikeminnow CDC emerger, the Pikeminnow Bugger. There'll be fly line tapers
designed for them, like the Squaw Taper. Then I'll have the last laugh. Wait . .
. I'll be dead. July 11 2006 You know, I have nothing to blog about today. I'm watching some Texas Hold
'em poker, and trying to draw a connection between poker and flyfishing. But I'm
afraid I can't, except maybe when a fish the size of my head breaks the surface
just at dark and just as I'm ready to leave because ... well ...
it's dark. And, to tell you the truth, I'm a bit afraid of the dark. But I also have a wind knot in my tippet (read my article on
Wind knot angst). Now the wind knot brings the
breaking strength down to 50 percent, the fish is 50 percent bigger than any
fish I've seen, yet modern tippets are darn strong, and just maybe. Just maybe.
It'll hold. Hmm. I think the best strategy is to go all in and toss the fly
under those conditions, and maybe I can at least talk about the one that got
away. Maybe 4x tippet that has the strength of 7x tippet is good betting odds.
I'd just play that fish as if I had a midge on a 7x tippet, yet I've never
fished with a 7x tippet. Hmm, I'll never get rich fishing. July 2 2006 This is what we all aspire to--A carefree life of chasing serious trout, which become suddenly less than carefree. Read my review of the The Trout Bum Diaries, and then ask yourself, Do you feel lucky? Now, don't get me wrong. Living an adventuresome trout-filled life has its drawbacks. You'll lose a bunch of flies. They'll get stuck in trees. You might end up yelling at trees, at yourself, maybe at the fish, who probably conspired to lose some of those flies (those wily browns). You might bust an axel, sleep next to a highway, find sand in your shoes, your reel, your soup. Lose some more big fish, really big fish, really really big fish. Fish bigger than you thought fish could be. Ought to be. What kind of trouble will these flyfishers get into next? Stayed tuned for more videos.
June 10, 2006  A
Mulberry Fly? As if matching the hatch weren't difficult enough, now we are
matching the fruit? Real fisherman, I guess, don't argue with a fish. If the
fish wants a mulberry falling from a nearby tree (or a cranberry, or a grape, or
wants to look at a magazine filled with naked trout) then that's what the fish
gets. In the end, tying a fly matching what you've been seeing the fish
take and then snagging that fish, is what we should aspire to. Those offbeat
anglers (aka, The Brown Water Boys, or Sebastian O'Kelly and Christopher Arelt)
discuss their Mulberry Fly (pictured above) and other offbeat things in their
recent book,
The Offbeat
Angler. You can also read my review, then maybe
decide, if they can do a mulberry fly, you can tie a corn fly, a marshmallow
fly, or a Wheaties fly if that's how you go about chumming the lake.
May 19, 2006 It takes a lot of effort from me to tie/design a new dry fly. I don't have many unique patterns I fish with. When my fishing buddies look at my fly box, they are sometimes amazed by the quantities and types of flies. But 90 percent of the flies they see have been parked unused in the fly box, the victims of time and failed experiments or lack of interest. if I were to remove them, then those same fishing buddies might snicker at the few I actually fish with. And we flyfishers are very sensitive about such things, aren't we? I have the few tried and tested, a few different colors, a bunch of sizes and profiles. Lately, its been CDC and quill bodies, or CDC married to a sparkle emerger pattern. These are patterns that flyfishers smarter than I and with more time have devised, only to be tweaked by my mind's eye to become mine own. We all like to do this to many of our flies. Of course I wouldn't presume to rename them just because a added this feather and not the one a Borger or a Schollemeyer said I should. Read my article on naming flies to get a better sense of my attitude on designing and naming flies. Most of flies that I call my own, don't have a name. This is my segway into another topic--testing a dry flies floating qualities. (OK, it's not a segway. I just started using this stupid word at work to impress someone at a meeting that I wanted to irritate a bit). To save time testing the floating qualities of your new fly, use the bathroom. That's it. That's my point. I bet nobody thought of this (probably wrong here). If you turn the bathroom sink on at different strengths, you can simulate different wave and riffle properties on the stream. This is important for determining the relative floating ability of, say, a CDC fly versus a more beefy deer hair or cork pattern. You can make a speculation like "If I tie a longer fly on a smaller hook with minimal CDC and no tail with Antron body, does it have a chance on the stream?" "Will it hang vertically?" "Will it lie horizontally with hook down?" "How fast does it sink?" "Does it look stupid?" One thing's certain: if it looks stupid to you, it's probably going to look stupid to a fish, too. This saves you having to go out on to the stream to find out for sure at a distance of 30 feet. And it minimizes the accumulation of stupid flies in your fly boxes. Now, this testing environment isn't perfect, of course. But you might find yourself going back and forth between sink and tying table with minor tweaks to see how the pattern performs in the "lab" before trying the pattern on a fish. And while your in the bathroom, go ahead and put the fly in a clear glass of water and hold it up to the light to see how it looks from underneath. And when your little girl comes into her bathroom and wonders what you're doing, either explain yourself (good luck), or tell her you're cleaning the sink. May 1, 2006 Our theories on flyfishing are very delicate things, dangling by a thin tipppet before us while we trust the fish to validate our theories--which too often they do. Sitting down to the start of some lake fishing, I find myself meditating upon a crayfish pattern. Reviewing the literature on crayfish patterns, I find I can tie in either pincers with hen hackle or deer hair, both dyed a precious brown olive. I image a big brown in the early hours of the night becoming mesmerized by those pincers, duped by my design. Being totally honest with myself, I desperately want the fish to take the fly because of those pincers. Without those clever pincers, the fly be would yet another version of a woolly bugger. And if the fish takes a woolly bugger thinking its a crawfish, it would not be because of my cleaver pincers. Too much thinking, here. You see, we are way too willing to assume that the fish's take validates our precious presumptions about why the fish took the fly in the first place. If I put legs on my crayfish pattern, and the fish takes they fly, those legs, by damn, were the reason. I suspect meditating and fantasizing at the vice is the easiest part of fly fishing. So much of it actually happens there, and in books about fly fishing. How can we help ourselves--there is plenty to read and tie--and even more time off-stream to do it. When we actually get to the stream, we have very few precious moments as we desperately try to put something into its proper place as fantasized or read about or in some other way told to us. What's the point? Not too sure really. I should be fishing. A fishing friend of mine is a biologists who, like a fish, dons snorkel and fins to perform fish counts. I would burn 100 books on flyfishing if I could get into the water and act like a fish. April 19, 2006
April 9, 2006
April 1, 2006 Not all good fishing is fishing good. Hmm, that was an odd thing to say. I'm trying to be clever, but it isn't working too well. It is early in the morning for me. Let me start over. It is really easy to buy a ticket to a fancy location that you've read about in a magazine, only to arrive and to be stuck with yourself--again. Then the fishing begins, and you're fishing the same way you always fish, and maybe you don't get a fish. Then you get home and start fishing your old haunts, and maybe begin to not take the home environment and familiar ponds for granted. (Or maybe you're cheap at heart.) Then you discover some fish in a pond that no one has ever fished before, except maybe for a few kids in a nearby farm. And you begin to put things into perspective. Maybe you catch a big fish there, or more than likely, just any fish you totally didn't expect. A gift fish moments from your home. Maybe then you need to read a book that'll help get your perspective back, such as the Offbeat Angler. Seems a really interesting way to approach fishing and your environment in general. Not everything is brown trout in far off destinations or fee-based fishing. Three-quarters of our fishing, just like three-quarters of our lives, is myth. march 21, 2006 We've just been told that, for sure, the universe is 13.7 billion years old today. That's Billions. That's a very long time. Not only that, we're told that the universe began as an object (well . . . matter/object/energy/einstein stuff) that was only the size of a marble, which then exploded out to the far reaches of the then future universe in one trillion trillionth of a second. That's a trillion trillionth. That's a very short time. So here I am on my favorite little spring (well, imagine if you can, for I don't do much computing there) putting back another brook trout with delicate swirls on its back like the arms of a solar system and spots like stars and constellations, trying to put all this into perspective. I don't know why, but this stuff bugs me terribly. I think it bugs a lot of people terribly. How did a big bang make a cute little brook trout? Well . . . let's see. The first particles had single electrons and protons, maybe not even that. Then there was a significant boom, then more complicated elements formed like carbon, then eventually oxygen, nitrogen, then . . . you get the idea--life. Just like that. And before you know it, I'm putting back a pretty fish. Not only that, but the universe is expanding and not slowing down. It's accelerating. No rebirth. This is called entropy. Entropy sucks. Anything good needs effort to keep it good. That's the lesson in all this. Wheh. Now that I figured that out, I'm going fishing again--and putting back more fish and being nice more often (even to the jerks), because . . . well, what if they're wrong? Happy birthday, Universe! march 9, 2006 All creatures great and woolly
February 19, 2006 What is the oddest fish you caught? Or the oddest way you caught a fish? Or the oddest thing you did while fishing? Send me your story, and I'll post (with a link to your site if you have one). I'll start. I was fishing for cutthroat in the salt one day, and all I could pick up were flounder. Now, I've caught flounder on the fly before in shallow water. And I have nothing against flounder. But this particular fish was rising to my fly in the oddest way. Imagine a pancake griddle chasing a fly, and that is how this fish kept chasing my fly across the surface. A flounder's rise would make a trout's rise to a caddis seem dainty. Plop, plop, plop--like your hand slapping the water. Perhaps there is a special word for this ring in the rise to add to the lexicon of rises--like, well, "slap". Now, if you know me, you know I like to play games with the fish sometimes, sort of like how people will play with their cats. After missing the first few hookups, and thinking that maybe my fly was too big for the small flounder's mouth (I was using a Deceiver, after all), I started intentionally pulling the fly away just as a rise occurred. For the next twenty minutes or so, I managed to keep that flounder slapping at my fly as I pulled it closer to shore, maybe five slaps per cast. After a while, the action stopped. I could almost hear the fish swim away in disgust, with a "This sucks." February 10, 2006
February 2, 2006 Apparently, astronomers go through similar discovers and angst over small matters. Now we have reports (more attitude, I suspect) that our beloved underdeveloped Pluto may no longer be a planet at all, and that a nearby tenth planet is. Indeed! I don't think so. Soon, they'll be saying that rainbow trout are salmon (oh, wait, they almost do). Somehow science isn't as fun as it was growing up. January 18, 2006 The 2006 IGFA Record Book is out It's out! It's out! The
2006 IGFA book of records as reported by
Midcurrent. Check the appendix for the smallest trout ever caught. You'll
see my picture. Chapter 27 contains additional records seldom reported upon: The
biggest trout caught under the most unusual circumstances, which was won by Fred
Jenkins of Redding, Iowa, while eating an anchovy sandwich. The trout jumped out
of the water and grabbed his anchovy. January 11, 2006 World's largest freshwater fish  Now that's a fish. The National Geographic reports that this is the largest freshwater fish caught, a 650 lb. Mekong catfish. I wonder what fly they used. I swear, though, that the fish I had on last week was just a tad bigger. I wouldn't want to try noodling for this kind of cat, as real men in Oklahoma might do. January 3, 2006 The sticky myth of head cement   Using head cement to put that finishing touch on your perfect fly is a relatively new idea. As far as I can determine, using head cement to secure the head wrappings on a fly is somewhere between 30 and 50 years old. Frederic Halford, Theodore Gordon, and Charles Cotton never used it. Certainly not Dame Juliana Berners—our first writer on the subject of flies and fly fishing. Even if they thought about it, our earliest fly fishing legends would probably figure they were too busy tying their flies with their fingertips and then tying them onto horse hair next to a stream to bother with another impediment to getting on with the fishing. Read more . . . December 22, 2005 To fish or not to fish--just ask Shakespeare  Of course, Shakespeare was a fisher, if not a flyfisher. The Shire of Far Reaches site has interesting speculations on William's fishing (as well as a great history of fishing in general), as seen through the eyes of his poetry. According to scholars, the poet knew about everything happening in his culture, to the point that some have questioned the bard's existence (He knew too much?) A hundred years had passed since the publishing of Dame Juliana Berner's "Treatyse on Fysshynge wyth an Angle". It seems to me, with the paucity of book publishing at the time, any book is going to embrace fairly common practices and interests to survive, especially if it is attached to a book on farming (which it was). Shakespeare must have sensed all this as he took the pulse of the land and lords--no doubt while lounging on a mossy rock, rod in hand, dabbling a red wool fly, waiting for a trout to break his reveries. Go Bill. December 16, 2005  I love soft weight on leaders, but it tends to slip down after a while--that is, until I figured out how to spread it on the leader to keep in place. If the soft weight is rolled firmly with your fingers until it is fairly long and thin while keeping the center thick, the adhesive material within the weight has more leader surface area to adhere to, and it stays put, even with strong casts. Be sure to compress the weight firmly with your fingers to help with the adhesion. You'll figure out how thin to make the ends of the soft weight to maximize adhesion. Too thin, and the ends can separate. I no longer have to use the blood/surgeon's knots to hold the weight in place, which are usually located in an inconvenient position relative to where I want the weight and fly to be. Even in Winter when the weight gets rock hard, the weight stays in place. Typically in winter, I have to rework the weight at least once during a 4-hour trip. This is usually accomplished with a touch of my lighter flame to warm the soft weight before I mold and compress it again into the right shape.
December 15, 2005 Interesting Irish fly pattern contest winners  The
2005 Irish Open Flytying Championship has some most interesting winners.
Take this one from the "Nymphs/Emergers/Pupa" category. This is not a still from
the movie "Aliens". It's an emerging dun (Or, I suppose, and emerging spinner).
Now, you don't fish these--You ponder them. Fly tying contests are fascinating
events. Shame on our Buggers and San Juan Worms :-)
December 13, 2005 Such a fine writer. I've probably enjoyed reading Ernest more than anyone. Midcurrent has nice words about on our great ambassadors to the sport. December 12, 2005 Another interest flyfishing podcast Flyfishingradio.com has produced another podcast for easy listening at home or work, which for me means work. I don't normally listen to podcasts, but our media outlets need all the flyfishing support they can get. Wylie Thomas always puts on an interesting, home-spun radio show. You can always pick up something interesting, such as thoughts from a member of the US Flyfishing team. Lance Egan, and how he goes about seducing the wily carp throughout the year. December 09, 2005 T. S. Eliot should have fished more often T. S. Eliot was dead wrong. April is not the cruelest month. Any month in Winter chasing steelies as cold as Pluto is far crueler than any April. Try pulling a cold rainbow out of a freestone river, then tell me about cruel. I spent 8 hours on my local river and managed one 10-inch trout, a steelhead I'm sure, if you define them as any trout within shouting distance of an ocean. A peach egg pattern with red eye and CDC draped around (because I'm anal like most flyfishers) married to a Baetis nymph on an 8 inch dropper to pick up any Whitefish nearby--that was my weapon. Probably the only fish I'll touch this month. T. S. Eliot was an optimist. I love trying to match the hatch as much as the next guy wading in a clear chalk stream. Quill body, CDC, beautifully long split tail, size 18--what more could a fish want? Perfect match for Baetis or large midge. Except for that piece of iron sticking out the fly's butt. If the fish is going along with our plan and playing by the rules, then what is the fish thinking about the hook point? How come the fish isn't rejecting the fly because of the hook. I've always wondered. December 05, 2005 I've had it with leaders. Fight back with a 4-piece one Trying a new leader formula--the Gary Borger 4-piece style. Apparently, more of a George Harvey formula. Whatever. George Harvey's formula uses a very thin butt section, .013 inch. Gary uses a more traditional .020 (with maybe thinner ones for some leaders), but he depends on a longer tippet and mid section to cause the leader to collapse. I guess that's good. Mainly, though, I wanted a simpler formula, and just 4 pieces is certainly simpler, and something I can tie stream-side. The triple surgeon knots joins the sections for me--a new knot for me. I usually rely on a blood knot, but I'm finding the triple surgeon to be much easier to tie--and as strong or stronger. I almost sliced my fingers off pulling apart a 5x tippet tied to 3x with a triple surgeon's knot. I was worried that a 4-piece leader would hinge or not cast smoothly, but I've perceive no difference in how the leader turns over. The nice thing about the leader is that it is easier to carry only the one leader and adjust as necessary while fishing. Usually, I'm carrying 8 or so leaders carefully filed away. With large piece sections (except for that odd 1 foot of .013), I don't feel I'm being inefficient by shortening the leader significantly each time I want to change tippet diameters. Cutting and splicing takes much less time than it takes to take one leader off and put on another. Read Gary Borger's fine book Presentation. It has changed my mind a lot about my basic assumptions on presentation, leader design, and casting. November 29, 2005 Waiting for Steelhead to come ashore. Mainly though I'm bumping into Chum. I love how these big fish bump into my legs as I fish. One nearly three feet long swam right through them. These fish must lose their sight (certainly their common sense) when they get into the rivers. The eagles are up above, making their odd squeaky noises, probably waiting for the salmon to beach themselves. Maybe the fish are hoping I'll protect them from the eagles. What is odd is that I have to change my casting in response to the fish. I know they are just upstream where I want to start my dead drift, and I don't want to snag them. Not that I'm pure or kind-hearted (well, OK, I am, sort of), but fighting a fish with the determination of a sack of rocks isn't my idea of fun. I'd probably end |
Well,
now, that's interesting. Amato Books has come out with a book of postcards put
together by Richard Twarog and displaying the wonderful flies of Tim Trexler.
Beautiful postcards really. Hmm, the possibilities are interesting. 
Don't
get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with science. Science has thought up some
great things, like rocket ships, fly rods (I guess) and . . . well, fish. 
At last--the missing link. We've been waiting for years now. National Geographic
has just 
If you can't hook up with bonefish, you can try for one of these, as long as you
have a fast fly line that can get down three miles.
Even
if you prefer waving graphite over your head, you'll enjoy this fine video on
bamboo. The history of flyfishing is as much cultural and societal as it is
mechanical and physical, and this documentary illuminates this sometimes
neglected aspect of what we do to entice a trout. 
So which is it? Who
deserves the king of small? 
But now, an even