Fly-Fishing Your Way Through the World

“The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it.”  Wallace Stevens

I easily get bored sitting around thinking about the world to come or to what lies beyond. I get even more bored when I have to sit in churches and listen to people pontificate on how to find the way to heaven and how great it is going to be.  I have little interest to sit around listening or discussing such matters.  

However, I think I understand why we might choose merely to sit around in heavenly contemplation.  Although terribly boring, it is far easier to sit around and talk about a way beyond this world than to find a way through this world. It can be easy to sit back, disengaged from life, trying to “save” others under the pretense that they must find the way to the heaven beyond with its streets of gold.

Nevertheless, to find a way through this world requires my full engagement, participation and that I am fully human.  It requires passion and a great love.  If I sit around, only thinking of lofty heavenly states, it disengages me from life. I have come to believe that finding my way through the world even by fly-fishing is far more difficult. Yet, this is the task granted to me and that I embrace.

Fly-fishing requires that I make a commitment to journey, find my way through the world to a river, and learn of God’s creation and the world of fish. For it is while fly-fishing that I have to find my way through my fly boxes and find the right fly and I have to use the proper techniques and casting presentations that allow the fly to drift properly. Fly-fishing my way through their world, this world, allows me to stay focused on the fly as it drifts down a current seam-line.  Perhaps a fish takes the fly, and allows me to know, if only briefly, that I have found the way, my way through the world.

Sometimes, as I am finding my way through the world, fly-fishing, I contemplate deeper tugs that come from down in my soul. I do pay attention to these deeper tugs. These tugs help me better understand the way even if others might misunderstand me. If I talk about a spirituality and faith regarding fly-fishing, then some folks might assume I am only sitting around waiting for the next life to come. No, I enjoy this life too much and feel deeply responsible to respond to the beauty all around me in this world. Therefore, I fish and try to find my way to the fish.

I love to cast to the elusive beautiful forms swimming under the currents, as I try to find my way through the world. I prefer the wonderful sensations of this life; the strong pulsations of a large fish hooked on the end of my line, surging downriver. I choose to find my way through the world, this world; engaged in life, this life, reading the mysterious waters.   

Yet, at times, I know how difficult it can be even to find my way through my own home and life’s complications, to get to the garage to rig a fly rod. Harder still to turn the key to my truck and find my way to the river. And, then if I get there, I might take a fall or get in a tangled mess and catch nothing.

Yet, all of this searching, struggling, falling and rising, tugs or no tugs, catching and not catching, are finding my way through the world and perhaps in the world to come.  

Fly Fishing My Way into Existence

There is an existential choice that I try initiate within myself and I try to proclaim again and again. Quite simply, I try to say to life, to God, ‘I am here.’  If I can say ‘I am here,’ I acknowledge my existence.   

If I exist then a certain peculiar responsibility comes with that existence, the steps I take into the world, and the words I speak. I am responsible during the specific moments of time for my existence and the choices I make as opposed to being ‘checked out,’ and numb.

If I make this declaration then I can become more aware of how I am responsible for my life even when it seems that humanity ignores me, or I ignore humanity and I live in isolation.  I can declare my existence even when it feels as though nothing matters or my life does not matter. These can be challenging times to believe in my existence and the meaning of my life.

However, if during these difficult times, I can spend some time out in nature, casting on a river, I can some times find connection, a sense of flow and belonging. For me, it is while fly-fishing, that I can best proclaim my existence to the Earth and the creation even when I feel alone, insignificant as if no one even knows my name. As the poet says,

“And if the earthly no longer know your name, whisper to the silent earth I’m flowing; to the flashing waters say, I am” (Rilke).  

I can whisper to the silent Earth that I am here. I can say to the flashing waters, I am.  To say that I exist means I carry a certain weight; however slight, that leaves wandering footsteps along the banks of rivers.  As I fish, I may not see any other footsteps in the mud nor meet anyone I know. I cast and drift in the flowing waters. 

The fish might swim away from me in fear as I cast, ignore me for hours but sometimes one fish drawn to my fly enters my world and I connect.  I connect to the fish and watch it propel itself in the flashing waters as I contemplate my existence and place in the world; their world.   

Within the flashing waters of the silent Earth, I might dare to proclaim; I am, and know I exist as a small part of the creation.

Deep Snows of Winter: To Cover the Scars We Left Upon Eden

 
The Mountains need snow.  We need the water, and of course, so do the fish.

However, besides these basic needs, I think we also need the snow to block our way to the river.  The banks need healing along with the fish. We have left our scars upon the land and the fish themselves. 

Can I help it that I secretly wish for storms so heavy with snow that they deny us access to the river. Perhaps heavy snow is the only way to keep us out. Let the river, the fish and the land heal.  

Am I being too dramatic? Who has not seen in years past when sections of river were temporarily closed to fishing because of high water or threat of fire, how wonderful the fishing was when it reopened? 

With no closures in sight, I can only hope for heavy snow. I hope the snow falls and denies us access for a day or two. Or maybe a week.  Any break might help heal the scars.

Who has not seen the scars on the fish; the broken off flies in their mouths, and their tired response when hooked? Have we not seen every day and all day long the relentless pounding of our favorite holes? 

How many times can a fish be hooked, its feeding cycles interrupted, and still thrive (or even survive?).

I doubt the D.O.W.,  park service or the national forest agencies would ever propose rest periods for the fish by periodically closing sections of river. I doubt fly shops could collaborate and agree to limit guiding.  Could the fly fishing community ever agree to fish less?

How could I, as a lover of fly-fishing, during a 60 degree winter day, deny myself the urge to fish? Or, how could I not cast to a 30 inch fish that has moved up from a lake during the fall and Spring migrations?  

Therefore, come heavy snow and cover the river, the trails, and the roads. Deny me access if only for a day.

Heal the damage I have done. Heal Eden.

Heal my own heart. 

Back to Deckers for One Last Stand: Still Good Fishing

My client today at Deckers holding a fat South Platte River Rainbow. 

Well, I thought I was not going to fish again until January but while driving down the pass after a ski trip, the fly shop called me to do a guide trip, I committed to one more trip over to Deckers before winter settles in the area.

How strange that the fishing, in spite of the cold morning, was quite good. Small Black beauties and white miracle nymphs were the ticket. Some of the fish were heavy.And in some sense, the fish were more willing than they were in the summer.

Why was the fishing so good in late November? My theory is that with less pressure, (the summer crowds are gone!), the fishing has revived in spite of the absence of any substantial hatches. During the summer, the big crowds push the fish into hiding and ultra selectivity.

We enjoyed a good number of hook ups to heavy fish.  Nice to get out one last time before a cold and dark December descends upon us. 

Leaving Cheesman Canyon for the Season

I am never quite sure when I will leave the Canyon for the winter. But most years it is near Thanksgiving. Some snow and ice were on the trail and waters edge.  Perhaps it is time.  I think yesterday might have been my last day. Every year, I try to give the fish a break for a few months.  I will return late winter/early Spring.

Yesterday I was in the canyon guiding a few very thoughtful gentlemen. The fish were willing to strike at our flies just enough to keep us engaged and warm our cold hands. As is often the case, changing flies and trying something new now and then seemed to help with these finicky fish. One such fly was a tiny size 24 Hares Ear nymph.

Regardless, yesterday was a special day. We talked about life and how much more there is to fishing than catching fish. It was a beautiful day and a wonderful pause from our day to day routines. Imagine three men on a river quoting poets.

Nice to end the guide season gaining two new friends.

Now I want it to snow. I like to imagine heavy snows falling and blocking the trail to the canyon; or at least making the hike in the canyon more difficult. Special places need protection and some of that protection comes from my choice to know when it is time to leave.

The Last Days Of Summer:

My friend Jim and I had to steal a fishing trip before the weather changes.  And what strange weather we are having. Of course we have seen this kind of pattern before: A warm prolonged summer-like season that extends into Thanksgiving and even December. The mountains remain largely dry and void of snow. Maybe today some snow will fall but then just as quickly it looks like it will warm up again. I bounce back and forth between two worlds; between two seasons that seem confused. Rather than plan a ski trip I will plan to fish again. I might as well go with the flow of nature.

But is this the flow of nature? Or have we changed the environment. I know this is "hotly" debated. Here is my thought: If we as a civilization are even responsible for a fraction of a percent of a global weather change then, this is profoundly significant; not in the usual sense of debating if there are dry spells, record highs, what might be happening to the polar ice caps, but, rather in how we experience nature.

Nature has had a bedrock independence from us and in some sense, its independence has been its defining characteristic. We experience nature as some "other." The fact that we seemingly can't alter nature is what makes it meaningful and therapeutic to us. There has to be some natural place that is not impacted by us; a place where we are not in control. As the saying goes, "You can't fight mother-nature." We might mess around with many aspects of life but when we go out fly fishing in nature,  nature should remain steady and indifferent to our petty activities. 

But suppose we have altered the weather even just slightly. While fishing, Jim and I felt the warm sunlight on our faces. I was fishing in shorts. It was a beautiful "summer-like" day.  We looked around at the beauty and said to each other, "Thank you God for this beautiful day." However, how can I truly say this anymore, if we have helped create the warming;even if only slightly? The beautiful day has a man-made "mark" on it and at least for me, that takes something away from how I experience the natural world.

If we have altered the weather then that change has robbed nature of its Independence. Our power has changed the meaning of a beautiful day and I am not sure that is a good change, regardless if the snow falls and blankets the mountains.

.

Dream Stream Midges

Some nice fish are still rising on the Dream. Midges, midges, midges. Crowds are still prevalent. No sign of snow. Small black beauties.

Fall Fishing: Slowing Down Into Melancholy

It happens every Fall season. I slow down. I enter a state of Melancholy.  Those out of touch with this seasonal, deeper, inward turning, of the soul, might call it depression.

However, I think more highly of the seasonal mood, like a trustworthy and faithful friend, that ritually returns every year.   I believe that this inward musing is something deeper and older; perhaps from a time long ago, when a conservation of energy was a needed survival instinct with the approach of winter or perhaps, even now, in modern times, a turning within that helps preserve my soul.  

Turning inward and slowing down might be an inward revolt; a type of an adjustment made against a society that moves at an insane pace.  If the pace of the culture continually overrides my inner cadence, not allowing me to contemplate matters of the soul, then perhaps my soul revolts by slowing down into melancholy. 

Sometimes when I cast with a nymphing rig and a strike indicator, I can see and feel how the surface currents are dragging my flies faster than they should be drifting. I then need to slow down the drift by mending the line up stream, allowing the flies to slow down, and settle into to the drift of the pool I am fishing.

Likewise, I sometimes need to mend my life.  I need to mend the pace I am living. I need to make an adjustment. I need a season, even if briefly, to slow down and contemplate, who I am, and where I am going. I need rest for my soul. Why go at a crazy pace all year and year after year?

I need to ask, what does it profit me to gain the whole world and yet lose my soul?

If nothing else, if I can slow down as I walk the banks, I might better see the 25-inch Brown that lies under a seam line.

Leaving the Fish for a Day

From the runs of the Dream Stream to the runs of Arapaho Ski Area; sometimes it is nice to give the fish a break and to experience nature in a different manner.

Remember the old Pink Floyd lyric, "Hey, teachers, leave those kids alone?" Well, sometimes, as a guide I sing that line to myself, "Hey guide, leave those fish alone."

So, I did.  For a day, I left the fish and the river to ski. Another beautiful day in the mountains and hopefully the slightest reprieve for some fish.

Dream Stream Browns

A beautiful Fall day on the Dream Stream produced some nice Browns.

Cheesman Canyon: A walk into The Quiet

Cheesman Canyon: A walk into the quiet; almost.  At least we did not hear the trucks, cars and motorcycles down river at Deckers. But we did hear some fish breaking through the surface of the canyons clear pools.

Looking for Big Fish in All the Wrong Places: Dream Stream

Last Fall I wrote a post on the large number of anglers looking "down" and throwing weighted flies down to any big Brown they can locate. A "few" spawning Browns have appeared on the Dream and so have the crowds. Every Fall I make the comment, "It seems like it is a 100 to 1;  that is 100 anglers for every one Brown."

Last Fall, I suggested maybe we should look "up" for  rising fish. Fall is a great time on the Dream Stream to fish dry flies during late trico and BWO hatches. I found it greatly rewarding to catch several 20 plus inch Rainbows and Cutt-bows throwing drys. And even a few big Browns rose to the occasion.

Why not throw some drys? The weather is too nice for most of the big Browns to come up out of the lake. And besides, I get the feeling that the few big fish that are up, are already ducking from those weighted flies being thrown over their heads.

South Platte Fly Fishing With Our Youth

It is great to watch a young kid learn to fly fish, make technical casts, get good drifts and then watch a rainbow take a dry fly off the surface. Of course, as is true for any angler regardless of age, we need to make hundreds of casts,  while we problem solve and  persevere before everything lines up just right, and we net a fish. It was wonderful to watch Evan learn these skills and to be patient. Well done Evan!

Eleven Mile Canyon: Midges/Tricos /Amy's Ant's

Water Up at Deckers Puts Fish Down. Trico Swarms Still Thick.

The recent rise in flows has stopped the fish from Rising to the tricos. Too much water to move through to rise so it is not worth the energy. But fish still taking "Drowned" forms and nymphs.

Deckers, Deckers, Deckers. . .

I'm not sure how the South Platte fish at Deckers are holding up to the pressure but they seem to be doing quite well and actively feeding through out the day. The usual flies that imitate tricos, PMD's, midges, terrestrials and caddis continue to take fish.

Deckers: WhenThings Line Up Just Right On the South Platte

Some days things line up just right and we catch fish after fish, after fish.... The right fly, the right drift, the right time, the right spot, and just the right hook set.

Deckers: South Platte River Trout Still Rising to Tricos In Approching Fall Weather

Deckers: Tricos Dwindling with Cooler, Wet Weather; But Still Bring Trout Up To Rise

Fish still rise to Tricos after cool slow start. We had to wait for the "switch" to turn on, and then we hooked up again and again.

A Day at "Work" on the South Platte River

Cheesman Canyon Rainbows

Deckers: South Platte Trout still taking Tricos

Cheesman Canyon: A Natural Wonder

Whenever I am in Cheesman Canyon I am amazed of the quality of water, natural structure and wild fish. What a place! In terms of natural habitat, nothing around here compares to it.

Deckers: Tricos, Throw Something Different

It is strange how this time of year on the South Platte it seems flies that are not exact imitations of the hatching bugs work better. As many fly fishers know, these fish are fished over and over and have been fooled by the best. So, the best approach is to sometimes throw something different at them. And at least sometimes, this works. I do try to stay in "The ballpark" in terms of size and color.  But over all when I look at what flies are hooked in the fishes mouth, I have to admit that the flies do not look like the tricos that are hatching all over the river. It helps sometimes to not be so logical,  scientific and exact. 

 Another good day on the river!

Dream Stream 8/1/2016

Trout Rising to Tricos Along the South Platte River

Beginners to experts are catching trout dry fly fishing during the famous South Platte River summer Trico hatch. The fish are willing to rise but are highly selective and demand all our skill.

Why Fish If No One Sees? Why Speak If No One Hears?

Emily Dickinson would observe Robins singing and ask, “Wherefore sing if no one hears?” She concludes that the Robins sing for the sheer joy of singing even if no one listens. She adds the interesting possibility that angels might applaud the Robin’s unheard song.

“Wherefore sing if no one hears. How do I know but angels, once themselves, as patient, listened and applauded her unnoticed hymn?”

Why Fish if no one sees? Why do anything in life if no one observes or listens? Why write, paint or speak if no one will see or hear and validate us? Can I still catch a large beautiful trout and not take a picture of it and post it on the internet?

We live in an age where we can delude ourselves that many are listening to us simply because we post our fishing accomplishments and our commentaries on the internet. We assume, “Everyone will see and hear.”  If not everyone, then at least someone; anyone. We seem to need and want this validation.  

Interesting that Emily Dickinson wrote about the Robin’s unheard song when she was deeply aware of her own writing being unheard.  Yet, she did not desire to be published. She preferred her solitary voice without affirmation from others.

I realize I am much too vain to claim to be like Emily. Yet, she sets an ideal that I can strive to emulate even if I fall short. Most often,  I tend to write and post pictures of fish thinking others might hear my unheard song and see the fish I have caught. I try to challenge myself. Is that why I write or fish?  To be heard? To be seen?

I remember in the innocence of childhood that alone, I would walk a pond or a river. I would spot a fish. I would use all the skill I could muster up to make a very difficult cast to get the fish to take the fly. The fish would explode out of the water spraying droplets in the stillness. I stood pleased and rewarded within.

 I was alone. No one heard or saw. There were no pictures to post. It was for the sheer joy of fishing and casting a fly.

Perhaps, now, unseen and unheard,  I can still walk alone up into the upper reaches of a canyon and in that quiet enchanting moment, while no one is watching, I can make a cast, using skill that allows me to hold a magnificent fish in my trembling hands. I look around and there is no one who sees.   

Yet, how do I not know if affirming angels applauded my unseen cast and broke the silence of the morning;  And, perhaps, the meaning of my life.

I can know I am not alone.

I can also consider the possibility that at least at times, if I had snapped a picture, the frame would have been too small for an angel to enter this most enchanting moment.

First Fish On a Fly at Deckers