Zen Carp On a Fly

When I was a child and not yet enlightened (or, perhaps, more enlightened than I would ever be) any fish, and particularly a large fish, was exciting to see moving below the surface or feel pulling on the line.  What species of fish did not matter.  Not being enlightened; a fish was just a fish and any fish was exciting to hook.

There is an old Zen proverb that speaks of the process of enlightenment.  Before enlightenment, the mountains were the mountains and the rivers were rivers. Then while I sought enlightenment, the mountains were not mountains and the rivers were not rivers. After I attained enlightenment, the mountains were mountains and the rivers were rivers. Perhaps by extension, after enlightenment, a fish becomes a fish. In other words, a fish is just a fish, and the species does not matter. 

After fishing the “dream stream” and catching several nice trout with my clients, I drove over the river at the gauging station hole, pulled over to watch the river that was flooding out of its banks. There is so much water coming down the South Platte that “lakes” have formed in the meadows and new channels of water have formed.  

How strange that  in one of the side channels, where previously there had been no water, I see  large dark forms moving in the currents. Hundreds of them.  For a brief moment I thought they could be trout. But they were not trout; They were carp. “Monster” carp of 10-20 pounds.

As I watched them I wondered what caused them to move up from 11 mile reservoir. It is a bit of a mystery. Were they looking for new habitat or looking for food? Were they scared? Determined?  I do not know. They were lined up in the river facing upstream (just like trout or salmon).

I thought back to being a child and sight casting with a white marabou streamer to a large carp.  I allowed the fly slowly to sink to the carp.  I noticed my floating fly line twitch ever so slightly and setting the hook.  I battled the large carp and then released it.  Being an unenlightened child I considered the catching of the carp as quite an accomplishment.  Back then, to a child, a fish was a fish.

Here I am 45 years later watching these massive carp on the ‘dream stream.’  I think of books written and cd’s produced describing the challenges of catching Carp on a fly. Fly fishers speak of how wary these fish can be to take a fly.

I then find myself grabbing my fly rod out of my truck and walking to the “river.” I look around and wonder if anyone is watching me. I feel a twinge of shame wondering if my colleagues will think fishing for carp is beneath them and only for kids who grew up in New Jersey. Perhaps they might think fishing for carp is only for unenlightened folks.   

As I walk among the willows, I spook out dozens and dozens of large carp. There are so many I am almost stepping on these strange creatures. They peacefully move out of my way.

I enjoy watching the large dark forms in the currents. For several minutes I watch them move in the currents. I consider if they would take a fly.  I make my choice and my first cast.

I cast in the main run with a red San Juan Worm and my strike indicator stops suddenly. I lift the rod and feel the fish’s massive weight and power as it surges across the river. I can see my San Juan worm in the fish’s mouth.

I feel a certain satisfaction. I fooled the large fish. It sucked the fly into its mouth.  I now chase the beast down river like the unenlightened 11 year old boy I once was and can once again become.

Intuitive Fly Fishing on the South Platte: Sometimes You Just Know

My friend Hank and I are fishing the South Platte. It is running high. It is difficult to see exactly what the fish are doing.

I noticed Hank would sometimes allow the fly to drift longer in the run before making his next cast. Other times he was picking it up quicker and casting to a fish he sighted. We talked about how some times we "just know" which course of action to take and there is not much rational logic to the decisions we make while fly fishing.  We also talked about how perhaps it is a rational process but we just skip over the steps rather quickly. We call this immediate knowing intuition. Some-times, we "just know." 

All I know is that Hank was hooking lots of fish. Nice fish. There was not much science to our fly selection: San Juan worm, Brassie and RS2's.  Same old flies. Often the fish hit at the end of the drift where he allowed the fly to drift that extra 3 inches before picking it up to cast. Sometimes it seemed as though Hank just knew when to allow the fly to drift a tiny bit longer. That last few inches of drift was the "window." We might logically conclude that the fish struck at the end because the fly was coming up off the bottom like an emerger or perhaps it was because in the heavy flows the flies were finally down "in the zone."  We were not sure. Hank just knew, at least at certain times, when to let them drift. And often he was rewarded.

We fished one last one as rain threatened over the canyon walls. Hank was fishing a nice deep run. I watched him let out slightly more line and allowed a longer drift. Right at the end of his drift a large cutt-bow of 19 inches exploded out of the water having taken the fly in the last few inches of drift.

Hank "just knew." We both just knew and we also knew it was time to go home. We felt it in our skin as the rain coated our outer garments.

Finally Spring/Summer On The South Platte River

It has finally warmed up on the South Platte. Often it feels like we jump from winter to summer and with that warming the flows are up on the South Platte. People will often ask me if the river is at a "normal flow." I don't really know how to answer that question as it involves a complex array of economic/political/legal,  variables involving water storage behind a series of dams and water needed down stream (even in other states). In some sense, there is no longer a "natural" flow to the South Platte. I think my best answer in regard to the water flows of the South Platte is to simply say, "This water is like liquid gold and everyone is fighting over it." I might also add, "As fast, strong, and as wild as the river is racing, don't be fooled. Every gallon is accounted for. Someone owns every gallon."

Regardless, higher flows mean that that bottom of the river is being scoured by the strong currents. All kinds of food; annelid worms, midge larvae, mayfly/stonefly nymphs, scuds, large crane fly larvae, are all being washed down river.  It is a time not to concern one self with the question of "What is hatching?" In some sense, everything is "hatching," and almost any fly could work! 

Therefore the best strategy seems to be to try a variety of fly selections. Mix it up. Move around. Try multiple fly rigs in order to offer different food choices. Use plenty of lead. "Get the lead out," as we used to say in the 70's.

When my friends ask me what I or my clients caught their fish on I most often answer, "San Juan Worm and a RS2." This has become somewhat comical.  So, it seems to be a game of  "Worm-in" on the South Platte. And certainly you need to

get the lead out.

Spirituality Fly Fishing Retreats: Eleven Mile Canyon

From the beginning, we have all known, there is "some-thing" about being in nature, being and  participating with the creation, that seems to give us pause, to consider God. Few activities bring us so intimately engaged with nature, as fly-fishing.  I don't know exactly what it is or how to put words to it; yet, when I stand in a river under the immense sky,  there is a sense that the divine is being revealed.  It may be "some-thing" we see or perceive in the trees, the sky, the river or the fish we manage to sometimes catch and hold in our hands. Maybe it is the excitement and the smiles we see in others as they momentarily "connect" to a fish by hooking it, even if only to release it. I don't know what it is but it is "some-thing,"and it is wonderful.

The fishing remains good in Eleven Mile Canyon with the usual assortment of flies working such as Brown San Juan Worms, small Pheasant tail nymphs, brassies, zebra midges, and RS2's. If you have not tried going smaller with an RS2, give it a shot. A size 26 gray sparkle wing RS2 remains my best "go to" fly.

Eleven Mile Canyon: Overcast Conditions; Trout Rise to B.W.O's

BWO's love overcast days. The bugs seems to hatch in greater numbers. More fish seem to rise on overcast days. I am not sure if that is truly the case or if  the cooler moist air delays the duns drying of its wings. If the drying takes more time then the bugs are on the water longer and draw more attention/feeding from the fish below. More fish rise. Maybe it is both, more bugs hatching and bugs on the water longer. Now lets throw in a 3rd variable. Trout do not like bright light so perhaps on overcast days more fish are likely to rise.

BWO's are hatching right now on the South Platte in Eleven Mile Canyon. Dry fly fishing is great in the upper two and half miles. A size 24 parachute adams or a BWO parachute, usually does the trick. But you have to love these dreary overcast days and learn to look carefully. BWO's are not easy to see on the water and especially in overcast conditions.

Years ago at Deckers there was a spring snow storm that dropped snowflakes the size of half dollar coins. The BWO's started coming off like crazy and the fish rose all over the river. This went on for an hour or so and then the clouds parted and the sun came out. I could not find a single BWO or a single fish rising. 

Eleven Mile Canyon: South Platte River Fly Fishing

Good fishing in Eleven Mile Canyon today with predominately Rainbows hitting RS2's, PT's, and black zebra midges. Midges and BWO's are hatching. Over cast days seem to be the best for dry fly activity. Low flows still persist.

To Fish Or Not to Fish In The Storm

Last night I looked out of my "worried windowpanes" searching the skies and feeling the wind.  I smelled the air and I could feel "something" coming.  Nevertheless, I was going to head to Deckers in the morning. That was the plan.  Then the snow started. By the end of my early morning run there was already 3 inches on my deck. I decided not to fish.

 I did not want to fight the storm. I decided to let the storm have its way and as the poem below suggests, allow the storm to "drive on, across the woods and across time."  I will allow it to dominate as I, "decisively defeated" can watch, ponder and perhaps learn. 

The Man Watching by Rilke.

I can tell by the way the trees beat, after
so many dull days, on my worried windowpanes
that a storm is coming,
and I hear the far-off fields say things
I can't bear without a friend,
I can't love without a sister.
The storm, the shifter of shapes, drives on 
across the woods and across time,
and the world looks as if it had no age:
the landscape, like a line in the psalm book, 
is seriousness and weight and eternity.
What we choose to fight is so tiny! 
What fights with us is so great. 
If only we would let ourselves be dominated
as things do by some immense storm, 
we would become strong too, and not need names.
When we win it's with small things, 
and the triumph itself makes us small. 
What is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us. 
I mean the Angel who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:
when the wrestlers' sinews 
grew long like metal strings, 
he felt them under his fingers 
like chords of deep music.

Whoever was beaten by this Angel 
(who often simply declined the fight) 
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand, 
that kneaded him as if to change his shape. 
Winning does not tempt that man. 
This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively, 
by constantly greater beings.

                --Translated by Robert Bly