'Tis the Season

Manitou Springs: Temp -4'

I take a certain satisfaction by engaging in activities that are in tune with the seasons. I love to fly fish to specific hatches that are seasonal. I enjoy the feeling or that sense of  knowing I am in the right place at the right time. I love that sense of,  "It is time".  There is a time to put on a specific fly during a certain hatch. There is a time for the fish to rise and a time to lay low. Now, is the time when both I and fish will lay low.

Often for me, 'Tis now the season, to retreat from the river.  While it is cold and snowy, I prefer to cross country ski. I feel more in harmony with nature when I allow the seasons and the weather to influence what I do. This is important to me as I find myself living in a society that is largely divorced from natural cycles. My choices to "go with" what mother nature offers makes such activities as fly fishing and skiing more meaningful as I may vaguely intuit being a part of something that is so much bigger than I. 

I don't really know when I will fish again. Year to year, December tends to be my down time month for fly fishing. But, as we know, Colorado weather can change so quickly. A warm day in January might bring me out to the river again. For now, I lay low like the fish. For now, I allow the snow and the cold to come down upon me.

I glide silently, low and deep, in the womb of the wood. I ski the mountain and forest, forever looking for a glimpse of the source of all this winter beauty.  I look for a hint of warmer days to come, when a fish might rise, as I too rise from my own interior winter. 

'Tis the season.

Blue Winged Olives Persist On Pueblo's Arkansas River Tail Water

 It is the middle of December, and we are still fishing dry during the fabulous Blue Winged Olive hatch on the Arkansas River in Pueblo. Air temperature 65 degrees. It was warm enough that anglers were shedding layers of clothing. I don't know what to think. It kind of feels a bit crazy and out of place. But my best guess on what to do is to "just go with it". Proceed. Fish it!  Match the hatch!  Practice your dry fly skills. Why not? Numerous action on top. Bigger fish mainly laying low among the deeper holes around the boulders. We are hoping those bigger fish are still around hiding. Time will tell.

My friend Don and I were catching and missing dozens of fish. Then while the hatch was still on and in the midst of the fish still rising we just said, "Enough". We stopped fishing. We decided it was time to go. We both decided that there is something good  about leaving the river with rising fish. And it was good.

Spot Fishing: Divinely Shaped Spots of Time

Norman Maclean, in “A River Runs Through It,” spoke of spots of time.  “Spots of time” is a phrase used by Wordsworth to describe those moments in life that seem to be divinely shaped and designed. Together, Norman and his father often spoke of poetry, the Bible and perhaps about these divine moments.  

Maclean would spend much of his life trying to write about such moments. For better and certainly some times worse, I have spent much of my own life looking for divinely shaped spots. Sometimes I could see them, other times not, and at other times, I simply refused to "see". Regardless, this kind of “spot fishing” can be quite profound. What could be more profound?

As we approach and transition to winter with the shorter and darker days, I was first inclined to say that it seems more difficult to find these spots of time. But, I am not certain. Maybe this is the “season”, or the in between time in which to more carefully look. Perhaps these divinely shaped spots of time are all around us.  Perhaps the darkness, the shorter days and cold can help us focus our attention more intensely on what might be divinely shaped. It could be that in the summer, our vision is too “spread out,” and we miss the best “spot fishing”.

Fishing in the winter often is about waiting for those narrow openings to appear on the river. These moments could be a narrow time slot when the water temperature raises just enough to trigger a hatch of midges or BWO’s.  In that spot of time the fish feed. I guess in a way, we could think of these hatches as divinely shaped spots of time often surrounded by wind, snow and cold.

I am also aware that the month of December is one of the most difficult times of the year for many people. The culture of course will keep telling us we should just be happy and buy as much stuff as we can.  Our culture does not feel divinely shaped to me.

I think I would rather be on a river, or skiing a mountain looking for divinely shaped spots of time. I don't think they are to be found in the malls or on the tube.

Late Fall On Pueblo's Arkansas River Tailwater

When it is 72 degrees and fish are rising to Blue Winged Olive Mayflies on Pueblo's Arkansas River it is difficult to believe December is just several days away. The best fishing this time of year seems to be around 11:30am to about 2:00pm when the B.W.O's are hatching. We have been using size 22-24 parachute BWO dry flies.

Jim and I had a nice day on the river enjoying hooking up to some nice fish both on nymphing rigs and dry flies. The flows are low right now under 70 CFS.  Water seems to be clearing.

Today, I was actually "too warm" as I had a few too many layers on. Tying on flies with "warm fingers" was pleasant. The only problem is that there are many folks who also find the fishing pleasant and so crowds can be heavy.

When There are Bugs Or Snow You Go!

I kind of live by by this motto when it comes to fly fishing and skiing. When the hatch is on, you just go. If you don't, if you hesitate, a dozen reasons not to go, will come crashing down on you. You might not make it out the door.

Responsibility is one thing, but indecisive wavering is something else. The South Platte can have some great hatches; BWO's, caddis, Tricos and then in the fall, BWOs' again, but the snow can also fall. Sometimes the snow just dumps.

Over the last few days a  cold snap hit and there was snow.  Time to go!  I found a mountain trail, where the snow was  blowing  and I glided on freshly fallen powder. Few things are as special as skiing on brand new deep powder. It is similar to catching a heavy BWO or trico hatch. You just have a sense of having found a secret treasure and the timing is perfect.

If you hesitate an hour you might miss the hatch. If you don't throw the skis in the car and just start driving you might not make it over the pass. Remember the Greek story of trying to get the ship past the crushing blue stones? When there is an opening; time to go!  When there is snow, you just go! When there are bugs, time to go. 

I will now be looking for one of those big midge or late BWO hatches on the Arkansas River tail-water.  Ready to go.

No Place Like a Home River: Returning to the South Platte

The phrase, "There is no place like home,"  seems to speak of a deep truth to me as a fly fisher. When I go away and travel, even to a world class river such as the Bighorn in Montana, I miss my home river, the South Platte. Of course, the Bighorn is a fabulous river,  however, as I fished it, I was strangely being pulled back to the Platte. There really is no place like home.Sometimes it takes a trip away to appreciate what we have here at home.

What an amazing varied river we have in our back yards. From the meanders of the Dream Stream in South Park to the boulder filled canyons of 11 mile and Cheesman Canyon. We are still finding fabulous dry fly fishing to BWO's in all sections.What is so strange is that even though the South platte is so much smaller than rivers like the Bighorn, the Platte produces amazing fish! Where can one fish a river of a volume similar to the Platte and have a chance of hooking a 25-30 inch fish?  Where can we fish where we can  consistently catch trout 14-16 inches? When I think of its value I wish we could find ways to better protect it and secure its quality in the decades to come.The South Platte is a jewel! Let's treat it well.

Finallly, cold weather is on its way. Perhaps the cold will give the river some needed rest.

Still "Summer" at Deckers 10/24/14 Fly Fishing Report

I just can't believe this weather. It still feels like summer even in the mountains at Deckers. I could have easily wet waded today.  We had a good flow of 140 CFS for the South Platte River. There were some marvelous hatches still occurring about  mid morning that continued into the early afternoon. This morning we saw BWO's and Tricos. My client and I  were impressed with the number or large fish rising to the small bugs. These were "slabs";  big healthy rainbows. My client caught several large rainbows in the 20-21 inch range and broke off several larger. We also netted a number of  "smaller" fish. How exciting to catch big fish on small dry flies. As is often the case we just use a variety of small parachute type dry flies in sizes 22-26 on 6X tippet using "reach mend" and "parachute" casting techniques.

Hard to believe the snow is going to fly soon.  An old song from my high school years just popped in my head with the lyrics,  "It may be warm but the snow is going to fall, enough to cover us all....."

Better get those last drifts while it is still summer.

Looking For Big Fish In All the Wrong Places: Big Fish On Dream Stream On The Rise

This time of year, on the dream stream, the crowds go after the big Browns that run up out of 11 mile reservoir. Most fly fishers are chucking heavily weighted nymphs and fishing down to the monsters that are laying low. We are looking "down" trying to sight fish, but maybe we should try looking "up".

This morning, once again  there was  a heavy Blue Winged Olive Mayfly and Trico hatch that brought the fish up on top. I put aside my nymphing rod and fished to large rising rainbows, Cutthroats and Cut-bows. I landed several heavy fish over 20 inches. It felt "right" to fish on top since that was where they were and they were actually eating. It also felt right to match the hatch and make a nice delicate dry fly presentation. Sometimes, I just get tired of chucking lead. 

It is also common knowledge that there are a lot of little dinks that are rising. In fact, most of the rising fish are small, but in their midst you will sometimes notice a slurp and a gulp that is NOT  made by a small fish. Cast to those gulpers and you may be rewarded for looking for the big fish in all the right places.

LATE TRICOS in ELEVEN MILE CANYON

Unbelievable BWO and Trico hatch in Eleven Mile Canyon. It lasted for hours and better than I have seen all summer. Every fish was up top slurping. As always I just use tiny size 24 parachute adams or a black parachute trico (white wing post), or a BWO parachute. It seems to help to mix it up and try different ones. A perfect drift is way more important than the fly. This rain and cooler weather might but an end to it though.

Dream Stream October 3, 2014

What was most strange about fishing the dream stream today was the huge hatch of Tricos. They were so thick below the dam that I had a hard time seeing through them as I was trying to sight fish. And the fish were responding to them. Big fish! It is October 3!  This past summer I had seen some great trico hatches on the dream stream but often the fish were apathetic. Today they were gulping and not messing around.

Dream Stream Browns

I am still catching resident Browns on the dream stream. Best flies are San Juan worms and small red or black midges down deep. The Browns are healthy and look like foot balls. This morning I caught several 20 plus inch Browns and numerous smaller rainbows.  The Browns are  truly beautiful and certainly remind me of the the yellowish/orange colors of the Aspen in the surrounding mountains.

It seems to be too warm for the big surge up from 11 mile which is a good thing because without many of the big fish up, people are somewhat staying away. It is so mild that Tricos are still hatching in significant numbers bringing the fish to a rise (at least the smaller fish). The hatches, the mild weather, less pressure is all good as it allows the resident fish some time to put on some weight for winter with out being harassed.

Habitat improvement work is still being done in the middle of the river.

Eleven Mile Canyon Dry Fly Fishing: A Late Surge of Feeding

Just show up and cast. Cast a dry fly. Almost anything seems to be working. I mainly only see Tricos and midges hatching but a wide variety of drys are working right now. People are catching fish on trico dry flys, all kinds of parachute adams/BWO's, PMD's, midges, caddis, Amy's Ants, hoppers, and what ever else you can float. The fish seem  to be more opportunistic than selective, perhaps trying to put on some weight for winter. So, this is a great time to throw some dry flies and work on those different dry fly casting techniques.

Decker's South Platte River Fly Fishing Picture Report

Some times pictures are better to tell a story as these images from yesterday reveal. Lots of water flowing down through Deckers especially compared to up stream in Eleven Mile Canyon where it is a trickle. Expect a lot of pressure at Deckers on the South Platte. There are some nice fish at Deckers but as always they are picky and getting hit hard.

Fly Fishing In Perelandra's Eleven Mile Canyon

There is something about 11 mile canyon (when it is not so busy), that reminds me of paradise. It is like Eden. With its abundant fish populations feeding on numerous hatches through out the summer this place is teeming with life and possesses a certain beauty that mimics something of paradise.

Perelandra (C.S Lewis) is a fictional fantasy story about another planet; a complete paradise before the fall. It is truly Eden. There are no divisions. On Perelandra the relationship between the natural world and the woman who lives there is quite different than on earth. A human  visits this planet and experiences some of these relational differences as he tries to figure out why he has been sent.

His name is Ransom and has been sent from earth to Perelandra on this  unknown mission. He lands and roams around this beautiful paradise and quickly encounters the "otherness' of this place. He becomes thirsty. He wanders through a forest and  sees these great globes of yellow fruit hanging from a tree. He accidentally pushes one of his fingers through the fruit. He puts the hole up to his mouth and drinks. The drink is so wonderful that Ransom could never quite describe it when he returned to Earth. To him it was a whole other category of pleasures; something he never experienced on earth. What is most interesting to me and how this perhaps relates to fly fishing is his reaction to this pleasure. He is about to grab another fruit and drink again but he stops.  He does not stop out of guilt or fear. He just stopped. CS Lewis writes;

“He was about to pluck another one, when it came to his head that he was now neither hungry nor thirsty. And yet to repeat a pleasure so intense and almost so spiritual seemed an obvious thing to do… Yet something seemed opposed to this reason.”

What was this “something” that seemed opposed to his reason? Perhaps Ransom was under the influence of Perelandra and that influence had altered  his relationship with the natural world and with himself . His response was different and “unearthly”.  It is difficult for us to understand.  Another explanation could be that God was influencing Ransom directly through nature. I am not sure how or why but somehow he was satisfied even as his rational mind which had been so conditioned on earth to repeat such pleasures urged him to drink again.

I draw a parallel with this story and experience on Perelandra to our  catch and release fly fishing rivers and the need of some higher consciousness. Is there a mechanism, a "something"  inside of us that when we have caught fish that whispers, “Enough, I do not need to repeat this pleasure over and over again”.  I know for me I have been the type of fly fisher who often continued  to feel the need to catch fish after fish, not so much for the repeated pleasure of the experience, and not even to build up my  fragile ego as a guide, but rather because I am somehow often under the compulsion of the experience.  I get the sense that so much of what I do in this life is under some kind of a compulsion, a form of addiction rather than out of thankfulness and joy or even for the sheer pleasure of the experience. In fact it not just my relationship to the fish and nature that seems "off". It is, in some sense, with everything. There is a sense, however faint, of brokenness.

Yet, in my “old age” there are times when I do choose to stop and in the midst of this awareness of the brokenness of life there is also comes some sense of healing.  I also see this healing in many of the people I fish with. Many of the folks I take fly fishing do seem to have some mechanism that tells them when enough is enough. This is good. Our sacred waters  in paradise need such stewards. But of course I know there are also those who go on and on caught up under the compulsion. And damage is done.

Today I guided a gentleman who had an internal mechanism that was more or less working. Not perfectly, but working in some mysterious manner and it spoke to him this morning  in some powerful way. He also had good fishing skills. He was one who seemed more mesmerized by simply observing the abundance of fish rising to the tricos than in the need to actually catch the fish. He missed many. He “lost” many.  But  in the midst of all these sipping fish and the casting and drifting of tiny flies, and all this beauty, Mark also caught some wonderful fish as he  too was caught up in this heavenly experience. And then perhaps the beauty and “Eden-ness” of Perelandra in this good old down to earth place called Eleven Mile Canyon, spoke to him and said it was enough.

And it was.

And it was good.

And we were satisfied.  Well, almost.  After all, this was only Eleven Mile Canyon in Colorado  and not Perelandra.

Dry Fly Action In Eleven Mile Canyon: South Platte River

We have been enjoying some of the best dry fly action anywhere. Flows are still up but fish are rising to Tricos, PMD's and midges in the upper canyon. Any thing small that you can see on the water and drift well will probably take fish. We have been getting away with using 5x tippet which is nice. They will soon get more picky and demanding. Good drifts are always a must.

Decker's South Platte River: It Only Takes One

Sometimes it only takes one big fish to make a dramatic ending to a day on the South Platte River at Deckers. Tom had put in the time. Made hundreds and hundreds of casts. Hundreds and hundreds of drifts. And for the most part he did not have  much to show for it. Tom was one for five in landing fish. Some how the hook kept pulling it out before we could net the fish. Or the fish broke the tippet on the strike.

Then the one big fish struck and blasted out of the water. I don't really know exactly why or how sometimes everything seems to line up right. But, Tom set the hook just right. He let go when the fish bolted. The hook held even after the fish exploded out of the water two times. Somehow Tom was able to put just enough pressure to keep the fish from running down under the bridge. He kept just enough pressure on, but not too much, to keep the fish in range. Tom's shoulder held up just long enough to keep the rod just high enough to ease the strain on leader and hook. When the fish surged, Tom let it go.

Maybe there was also that thing we call "luck"???? I don't know.

I never told Tom this but my money was on the fish escaping. I lost the bet. I was wrong. Glad to be wrong.

What a fish! Great piece of angling Tom. It only took one and everything came together.

A World With Dew Still On It; Fly Fishing New Waters

Norman Maclean recalled, "Every afternoon I was set free, untutored and untouched till supper, to learn on my own the natural side of God's order. And there could be no better place to learn than the Montana of my youth. It was a world with dew still on it- more touched by wonder and possibility than any I have since known."

Sometimes I get a glimpse of paradise. A world with dew still on it as Norman Maclean recalled.

Such was the feeling while fly fishing with my friend Jim on the North Tongue river in the Bighorn mountains of Wyoming. The meadows were vast and untrammeled with thousands of wild flowers as far as we could see. Vast silence filled the air.

 The fish were wild, frisky and willing to take our flies. We hooked fish in every pocket. Fish abundant.  We never crossed paths with another fisherman. Never thought of "sitting on a hole". We saw moose. We fished pocket after pocket of water and kept moving with excitement as we wondered what was around the next meander. Waters never fished by us. Rarely by any one.

I could not help but compare this river to my home river of the South Platte. I do love the Platte but it gets hit so hard by fishermen that the fish have become very selective to the point of being tame if not "beat up".  There is the very real sense that the fish have been altered by man by his over abundant presence. There is not that feeling of wildness, wilderness, nor, of paradise. Too many people casting over the fish. Too much noise. But not here in the middle of the mountains of Wyoming. This was a land with dew still on it.

Jim and I kept saying to each other; “This is perhaps how Eden was; I feel like we are in paradise”.  I kept remembering how the Platte was once like this river. But not anymore.

Maybe we need to remember paradise.  Perhaps we lament its loss in hope of figuring out a way to bring it back. Not sure that is possible anymore.Or maybe we remember it because it is our hope of what is to come.

Decker's South Platte River: A Real River, Real Fish

The South Platte is racing through the town of Deckers flowing over 500 CFS. A real river. Real fish. Strong fish. A river that if you take a tumble you are going for a ride. It holds the kind of big fish that only come out when the river is high and wild.

None of this fishing off the tip of your rod with fine 6x tippet and a mico-shot. Nothing of weak and tame fish that come by your feet when you hook them. In these heavy flows the fish go ballistic and race wildly with the heavy water down stream. Standing in one spot and trying to pull these fish upstream against the current will not do. You have to get up on the bank and and run down after them.

Such was the case when I took a father and his two sons to fish the Platte just upstream of Deckers. The river was raging. It was clear but, even as a guide, it looked intimidating.

Kelly, the father, was a big strong guy. When he was younger he benched  425. As a baseball player he would step up to the plate, not take the first pitch as my Dad had taught me, but would swing away and often drive the ball deep into the gaps if not out of the park. No messing around. Step up and swing away.

And this is exactly what he and his boys did on the South Platte. I guess the boys had learned it from watching Dad. Step up and swing. No messing around. Step up to the river and swing.. Cast, drift, set the hook and move.

Dad was fond of saying about raising kids,  fly fishing and in life in general, “They will figure it  out”. And they did.

I had left Dad downstream by the island. He would explore on his own. I would work with the boys up river. But before I could even catch up to the boys and show them anything about where to cast,  one of them was chasing a big rainbow downstream tripping over rocks, losing his balance, falling here and there.   But he kept moving. Two hundred yards downstream we netted a large rainbow that had taken a brown San Juan worm.

And then another, and another, and another. I think we netted 5-6 big rainbows (and one brown). Most took the worm. One on a PMD nymph.

After a while, Kelly came up with his leader in his hand. The flies had been stripped off. He was a bit out of breath. He had a stunned look on his face perhaps similar to one of the few times he got caught looking  as a pitcher had thrown a fast ball down and away to strike him out. Maybe there had been a few times when he just could not see that low and away fastball coming.

He did not see this fish coming. Earlier he had landed a nice chunky 16 inch rainbow. But this fish that stripped him of his two flies was “nothing in comparison”.  He would add, “Twice as big as the one I caught”. I asked, “How big”? He opened his hands to over 2 feet long. I said, “Twenty-five inches”? He said, “At least”.

He would tell us, “I thought I was snagged so I kept yanking it trying to get it to come lose when all of a sudden the water exploded.” Several times through out the morning I would ask him again, "So, is it  still your testimony that this fish was at least twenty-five inches"?   Each time, "Yes", was all he responded.

Kelly is a Judge. He seems fair minded. Good sense of right and wrong. Likes to tell the truth. Hates lies.

I believed him. I don’t think this is so much because he is a judge. But rather it is just who he is as a person. I could sense this guy was not one to mess around. Not one to tell stories. And I will never forget how he was shaking a bit when he put his hands out to show me how big the fish was.

Kelly caught a few more nice fish with the boys. But, two times he walked back down to the island where he had hooked the big fish. He wanted another shot at it. I could tell he was thinking, “Maybe this time I will drive that low and away fast ball off the right center field wall”. And I think he would have if he had been given the chance.

But he would not be granted this next at bat. No sign of the great fish. But, I think Kelly and his boys will be back next year to step up to this real river with real fish and swing away.  

Dream Stream Fish Story: Creating Our Own Endings to the Fish Stories of Our Lives

This sort of thing does not happen often. Might have been the first time.

I am about ready to tie on a new  RS2 nymph as a dropper to Greg’s caddis emerger. We are on the South Platte’s Dream Stream. The fish are large and picky. Flows are up. The fish have virtually ignored a thick trico hatch. No response. Only a few fish were put in the net and those came by nymphing. A few lost opportunities.

After a snag, with a certain level of desperation,  I ask Greg, “Do you want me to tie this RS2 dropper on  with 5x or 6x fluorocarbon tippet.?”  (At this point I am thinking it would be nice to just hook up even if we break off). He considered the question and made his choice. “Lets be daring, use 6x”. I hesitantly agreed but immediately had this little story play out in my mind and shared it. “Greg, I just had this little story play out in my mind.  You are going to hook a large fish on the caddis on the 5X. We are going to be playing out this fish and then the caddis is going to slip out of his mouth and we are going to re-hook the fish on the RS2. We are then going to be in a tough situation and I will feel a bit guilty wondering if I should have ever dared to tie it on with 6x in these waters with big fish. Not sure what is going to happen after that. You finish the story.”

Not sure Greg took my little story seriously. Not sure I did either. At times in life we might get impressions of things that might occur; Glimpses covered in mystery rather than conviction. With out any more discussion or thought, I tied the new rig, 5X to the caddis and 6X to the size 24 RS2. And we were casting and drifting again looking for fish in the Dream Stream's meanders.

We make our choices in life and we have to live with them and by them. The choice had been made. I made my choice. Greg made his.

It was about ¾ mile above the Weir, above the Charlie Myers parking area when the large fish rolled on the caddis emerger. Greg gently struck remembering the light tippet and the fish was on. The fish rolled again showing its deep bodied side. We knew we were in for a battle. Excitement filled our hearts as distant storm clouds starting rolling in from the collegiate peaks and flashed lightning.

Greg knew what to do but seeing the size of this fish, I yelled the commands anyway. “Get on the bank and move with this fish, you will have to land him down stream. It’s our only chance. Do not rush this fish. Do not try to pull him back up river against these currents. Move with the fish”.   

The fish surged down stream with the heavy currents. The fish knew how to use the heavy water to his advantage. Again and again the fish rolled and turned showing us its size and strength.  Several times we temporarily got the angle on the fish and worked the fish in toward some calmer water on the edge of the bank. Several times I was ready with my 4 foot long net handle  only to see the fish turn again and surge down stream.  All I could yell was, “Let go, let go, let him run”.  A guides famous last words.

The battle went on for a quarter mile and then a half mile. Greg had been wet wading and now lost one of his sandals in the muck. Now he is chasing the fish with only one sandal over the willows and rocks. In the chase I thought about the Greek story of Jason in pursuit of the golden fleece and how it was prophesied that the chosen one would appear with only one sandal. I am brought back to the river and the chase as Greg yells something about his toe being broken but neither of us stops in our pursuit. We could deal with his battle wounds later.

Finally we had the fish on the edge of the bank. Tired, I saw our chance. And then it happened. As I reach the net into the water the caddis slipped from his mouth and for a moment I thought we had lost the fish only to see that we re-hooked the fish with the RS2. I was so caught up in this pursuit,  I had no recollection of the story I had told Greg 20 minutes earlier. The fish again surged down the river as though its taste of its freedom revived the fish’s instincts.  We all knew (and perhaps the fish also) we were connected to this fish with only a 3 pound test connection that had been strained, and stretched to a mere thread and our point of contact was a size 24 hook.

Again we chased. Again the fish surged. Again we pursued trying to stay sideways of the fish. Finally, another calm area. We had our chance again. Would the 6X tippet hold?  We were tired. Greg makes a choice to put pressure on the fish to drag him toward the net. I make a choice to lunge at the fish with my long-handled net.

I hear a blast of thunder. Dark ominous clouds over head. Lightning flashes. Time to get out of here.

We are covered in mystery and the choices we make. It is all part of our life story that we all must help finish.  .

Finish the story. Greg finished his.

Banner Fly Fishing Day for 11 Year Old in Eleven Mile Canyon

It is one thing to be an experienced adult fly fisher and catch fish like this Snake River Cutthroat and quite another thing to only be 11 years old!  This young man is well on his way to becoming a master fly fisher!
Great cast! Great Drift. Perfect hook set. Perfect battle. This fish was  netted and released to live another day.

Eleven Mile Canyon Fly Fishing Report: Banner Days and Some Not So Banner Days

Inconsistent might be the word for 11 mile Canyon right now. If your in the right place on the right day it can be great fishing. And great dry fly fishing. But on the wrong day such as when a cold breeze is whipping down the canyon it can be a whole different game. I think the heavy flows are also impacting the dry fly fishing. Why rise to tiny tricos in heavy water when the fish can just lay low and feed on nymphs and larvae and worms. In some sections we are also seeing great PMD hatches but once again it depends on the day as to how well the fish will rise to them.

If you find rising fish to tricos in the morning try your usual dry fly trico imitations. But experiment. I often throw a small parachute adams and that often does the trick. A small black and white winged parachute trico seems to work well. And a  small yellowish olive bodied comparadun (size 18)  has been working for the PMD's

As far as nymphing goes the old brown San Juan worm and small sparkle wing RS2 (try gray and black) has been producing as good as anything. Same old rig for 30 years now!   :)

Co-Ed Spirituality and Fly-Fishing Retreat 8/20-21

Spirituality and Fly-Fishing Retreat

for

Wednesday-Thursday, August 20-21,  2014

Join us.  For more information email Anthony Surage at suragea1@aol.com 

In depth discussions on faith and fly fishing. Guided fly fishing on private ponds and the South Platte River. $135.00/person. Includes 3 meals, lodging, and fly fishing equipment (except waders).  

Trout Rising to Trico's On The South Platte

In spite of the high flows trout are rising to Trico and PMD mayflies  in Eleven Mile Canyon's South Platte River.This type of dry fly fishing can be maddening and exhilarating at the same time.  

But it is a memorable experience to catch one's first trout on a dry fly as Rochelle did this morning.The Trico hatch is particularly challenging due to the small size of the insects (size 24),  the fine leaders, and the perfect presentation needed to entice the trout to take the fly off the surface. Expect many fish to snub you as they stick their nose up only to turn away at the last second. The trick is to "spoon feed" them with a "fly first" drag free presentation.

"Look at this Wonderful Place for a Father and Daughter to Fly Fish", South Platte River

Eleven Mile Canyon is a wonderful place to fly fish. For anyone. But,  it seems especially wonderful for a father and daughter. Yesterday I helped out Ken and his daughter Bonny.

Not that they needed my help. They were hooking fish up and down the river on San Juan worms, RS2's and black midges. I helped do some netting and releasing but Dad had already taught his daughter how to net and release fish.

Dad was fishing well. Really well; but Bonny was out fishing him (funny how that often happens with Father's and daughters). The fishing was so good and they were doing so well that I wondered  why I was even there. Was I really needed? They did not need much guiding.

Yet, right from the start they had my attention because whenever I see a Dad and daughter spending special time on a river it tugs on my heart.  I have two daughters of my own and we have spent special time on rivers together. So, while they had my attention I started to wonder if I was here to learn something from them or maybe even the rocks themselves.  It felt like I was in a "thin place" and I was about to become aware of something.

As we fished,  Ken and I talked. I told him I had just  retired  from education and I was mainly now only  guiding on this river.We both spoke of how we did not like how certain aspects of  "religion". can be ugly and yet agreed there was a creator to the beauty we were looking at. Ken got quiet for a moment and gazed at the sunlight on the granite canyon walls and then said. "Anthony, look around you. Take it all in. You are living my dream. I would love to retire and move here and be able to fish this river all the time"

He repeated the phrase, . "Look around you. Take it all  in".

"Anthony, Look around you. Take it all in". .

"Anthony, Look around you. Take it all in."

"Look around you and take it all in." 

But can I learn what it is that 'he' was wanting me to see?



 .

Fly Fishing On The Rise in Eleven Mile Canyon

Fish are rising in 11 mile canyon to caddis, Pale Morning Duns, midges and some Tricos. Water flows are dropping, fish are rising.

"This Fish IS Going to Get Away"!! 'Letting Go' and Chilling on the South Platte River

Some times the old reverse psychology works while fly fishing. After my fly fishing client lost his first 4 or 5 fish we decided that our strategy upon hooking up would be to just keep saying to ourselves, “I hope this fish gets off ”. And of course, the fish stayed on. And Connor started netting fish after fish.

It could have just been coincidence. But, maybe there is something to be said for just “not caring” so much about losing the fish.  “Teach us to care and not to care” said T.S. Eliot. Perhaps, consequently the fly fisher relaxes and just does not try so hard. We “go with the flow”. We stay connected.  As some of us still say, sometimes we just need to “chill out”.

This seems to be true of many things in life. We can fret and try too hard whether it be running a race or skiing down a mountain or taking a test, or, trying too hard in a relationship or overworking at the job. I know some times I can still try too hard as a guide.

Regardless, once again the fishing was great in Eleven Mile Canyon. Most importantly, lets try to remember that fish netted are released anyway. So why fret? 

  

The One That Got Away: Large Fish Lurking In the High Flows of Eleven Mile Canyon, South Platte River Fly Fishing Report

There always seems to be one great fish that gets away. Whether this is more in our imagination or reality it does not matter. A great fish seems to lurk deep in our souls moving now and then to the edge of our senses. And the high flows of Eleven Mile Canyon are bringing those big fish out of their deep hiding places to the edges where we just might get a glance.  Perhaps even a hook up.

Rarely does a big fish show it self entirely. Browns seem to be the best at remaining hidden. We only get glimpses of their greatness, beauty and size. Some times, so large, we second guess ourselves; “Did I just see what I thought I saw”? I have seen glimpses of such great fish. The pond I fished as a kid. The Platte. The Taylor, Frying Pan. The Blue. The Green. The San Juan. The Arkansas. And somehow these great fish most often elude us. Some have been so big, I wish I had never seen them.

Such was the case when I was guiding a gentleman in Eleven Mile Canyon. Tom just recently had a knee replacement. A shoulder surgery for his casting arm was scheduled in the near future. But Tom was a warrior. At 70 years old he was a wounded hero of sorts stalking the Platte’s large fish.   He was here with me hobbling the banks stalking big fish.

He had caught a dozen or so nice fish, when late in the morning, out of no where the great brown struck. We watched the initial power surge of the fish heading down and across river as most big fish will do. The fish moved deeply. I did not see its true size until after several minutes Tom slowly worked the fish back toward us. And there the great fish lay regaining its strength as many big Browns will do. Then while the fisherman is sort of lulled to sleep a big brown will explode catching the hunter off guard.  

That is what this big Brown did. We tried to chase it. But there was Tom’s bad knee and the heavy water. We had almost taken a few tumbles crossing the river in some spots. So, the risks seemed too high. The fish bolted and the 6x tippit tied to a size 26 gray sparkle wing RS2 broke. And that was that. The fish that got away.

May there always be a big fish that lurks in the waters we fish and under the surface of our souls that stirs us to return again and again.

Eleven Mile Canyon Fly Fishing Report 6/21/2014

Nice fish in 11 mile Canyon this morning. Still taking brown San Juan worms and small midges. At times  a tiny (size 26) sparkle wing RS2 was the ticket on the picky trout up high in the canyon close to the dam. Some PMD's and caddis fluttering about but mainly still a nymphing game for now.

Deckers Fly Fishing Report 6/18/2014: High Waters and High Leaping Trout

Flows were heavy this morning on the South Platte River at Deckers. But the fish were actively feeding taking San Juan worms and Pat's "rubber legs". It seems the fish are thriving in the higher flows and are incredibly strong leaping high when hooked.. Even on 4x  it is a battle to move these fish to the net.