SOUL OF STREAMS

Fall Day on the Ogden River

2011-10-29T22:38:00.003-06:00

I've fished the Ogden River my whole life. Over the years, I have had many fishing partners tell me that they hate wading the Ogden because it is too much work, the boulders are in the way, and the rocks are slippery. I use to just hide a wry grin. I have loved the workouts this river gives. I admit it is one slippery river and one must be careful when stepping on the rocks--submerged and exposed.

I know I'm getting older. I can feel the stress in my back after a few hours of fishing--something I don't remember at all in my youth. I have to use readers to tie on a tippet and thread the tippet through the eye of the fly. But other than that, I feel like I get around good and I do try to be a little more careful. Today, after about two casts, I slipped on a mossy rock and went down hard. I laid there for a few minutes and then sat up. I bruised the front of my left leg and tweaked my back pretty good. The desire to make it a good day had me back on my feet and casting. I could nurse my pain when I was back home. All those wry smiles I used to hide from my partners came back to haunt me. Age has a way of teaching wisdom.

I didn't get a chance to fish the Ogden River during my favorite times this year. I love the early spring Blue-winged Olive hatches and my favorite, the stonefly hatch, but this year with all the snow melt runoff the river was just too high and fast. Even late summer when conditions were better, I was off chasing fish in other canyons and states. Twenty years ago, I would spend two or three evenings in Ogden Canyon and most Saturdays. It's close to home and I can usually be rigged and fishing within 30 minutes from home. I haven't been spending that kind of time with the Ogden River lately. I sometimes wonder why.

Fall brown taken on a cicada pattern.

With my regular season fishing coming to an end (I'm getting where I don't fish much in the winter months). I decided to take advantage of one last good fall day. I decided to stay close to home and give my old friend a try. It was a little overcast when I left home. Overcast days can be perfect for Blue-winged Olive hatches. When I got to the river I noticed a few fluttering around. Most of the fish I spotted feeding were taking emergers just below the surface. Every once in a while I would see a head pop out and a dun disappear. The BWO duns were very small (maybe a size 22 or 24). I had a few size 18 tied up and they looked like giants compared to the ones on the water.

Ogden River brown trout.

I've always had good luck on the Ogden with large attractor dry flies in the fall. One year I nailed a bunch of fish on a fall afternoon using a looped foam cicada. I tie this pattern with a black foam body and then vary the color of the head. My favorite colors for the head are orange, red, and lime green. All three colors have been successful but I like the orange head the best. That was my choice today. Even though I saw a few risers to the Blue-winged mayflies, I decided to throw something I could see in the pocket water. I caught a couple and missed a couple.

When I hit a good stretch of smooth water, I decided to tie on the BWO pattern. It was bigger than the naturals, but I was able to catch several fish. All of the sudden I was getting regular hits on almost every cast, and fish were rising pretty consistently. I had at least 15 hits in this stretch but could not hook them. I finally brought in my fly and noticed there was no hook on the fly. I've had points break off before but this Chain-stitched mayfly didn't have a hook period. I don't know how this happened, and I've never had it happen before, but the hook was completely gone. I tied on another BWO and one the first catch caught a fish, then another, and another. I turned to my wife and said, "see, it works a lot better when you actually have a hook."

Rainbow trout.

I was having decent action but soon put the fish down in the smooth stretch. I tied the cicada back on and proceeded to work up river through some swifter currents. I took a couple of small browns and then nailed a fat rainbow about fourteen inches long. It was the first rainbow I've caught on the Ogden in a long time. I caught three of these fat bows during the few hours I fished. I wondered if these were planters that had migrated up into the canyon a ways. I know the DWR plants rainbows down near the river parkway. They were actually a nice diversion from the steady catch of browns.

Switching pattern.

Brown trout caught on a Chain-stitched Blue-winged Olive mayfly.

Decent brown caught on a BWO.

In all it was a nice afternoon. It was nice of my wife to tag along and take the photographs. I caught some nice fish and the action was fast enough to keep me moving. Some of the fish looked like they were getting ready for the spawn. The last section I fished before I got out looked like the trout were building a redd. I spooked a couple of really nice trout near the end of the cleared gravel. They were big and they were fast. They tore out of the shallows with some real speed. I'm almost positive they were preparing to spawn.

Brown like this are abundant on the Ogden River.

I noticed that the Blue-winged Olives stopped hatching and the skies had cleared to blue. I decided to call it an afternoon. I hiked up the steep bank and then walked back to the car with my wife. We were home in about 25 minutes. We talked about how we sometimes drive for a few hours to fish and how the fishing in the Ogden was just as good as the other places we try. Maybe I need to spend some more time there. I'll think about it. It is a workout. The boulders are big and slippery. I'll have to think about it. Right now, I'm going to take another pain pill for my tweaked back and go to bed. Goodnight!

WHITE PINE LAKE

2011-10-23T17:49:00.006-06:00

It's late Fall, or what is often referred to as Indian Summer. The temperature is ten degrees warmer than normal. The aspen leaves are that dark, golden color before they turn brown and tumble to the ground. Pine squirrels run across the forest floor checking fallen cones for nuts to cache before deep snow buries the mountain.

With each wind, a rustling sound like someone searching the bottom of a paper sack for the last morsel of lunch drifts through the quiet. It's a perfect day for a hike.

From the trail head we gradually climb up a rocky side hill toward a small ridge sparsely covered with sage, quakies, and pine. As we climb out of the Tony Grove parking lot a wooden sign marks a split in the trail. The trail to the left takes you to Naomi Peak. The trail to the right takes you to White Pine Lake. White Pine Lake is our destination. We've already hiked a few tenths of a mile and the sign tells us we have 3.8 miles to go.

Best friends.

We are lured to this area with autumn colors and as a fly fisherman with rumor of a small lake filled with palette-splashed brook trout. At the sign we glance back to take in the view of Tony Grove Lake. The scene is nice. I try to block out the cars and trucks, and asphalt in the parking lot and look upward at the gray rocky cliffs dressed in a shallow coating of early season snow.

Small colorful brook trout.

Autumn brookie

The trail takes us through a couple of clearings, then through areas of pine and aspen. The afternoon sun has melted the frozen trail and we slip and slide through muddy stretches. We end up on a ridge overlooking another canyon. A climb down through a few frozen switchbacks puts us in the bottom of the canyon. We stop to rest and I can hear the gurgle of a small creek. If my map is right, this is Bunchcreek. Somewhere near this creek is another trail that runs approximately seven miles down to Highway 89, the main road in Logan Canyon. Toward the headwaters of this creek is the lake we are seeking. I investigate the creek water and search for any sign of small trout. I see places where trout could survive but never spot any. My attention is then turned to finding the lake. The lake is well hidden and at no point on the trail have we been able to get a glimpse of it. This adds to the excitement. Finally, as we cross a couple of footbridges, and crest a small hill, we look toward the base of two mountain peaks named Gog and Magog and see White Pine Lake.The shadow side of the peaks is covered with a foot of snow while the opposite side has a warm inviting look. The water is fresh and clean; it takes on the color of the green moss bottom. From different angles mirrored images of tall pines shoot across the surface. With each little breeze the images are erased and then reappear with stillness. This is a popular summer and fall destination. Boy Scouts like to hike in for overnight camps. As we were going in we passed a troop of Boy Scouts going out and a couple of people on horseback. When we arrived at the lake we lucked out and had it to ourselves for an hour. I noticed a few fish rise and rigged my rod, line, leader and fly as quick as I could. I made several casts into the area of the rising fish and hooked up with a nice 11-inch brookie. The colors on the fish matched the colors of the fall foliage. I was impressed with the beauty. The dark worm-like mottled back, the bright orange-red belly, the blue and crimson dots, and the brilliant white on the leading edge of the fins made for a very handsome trout.

Notice the snow in the background.

Most of the brookies were about 10 inches.

I can't claim that the fishing was fast but it was fun. I found that my best tactic was to spot a cruising fish and then cast to it. Most of the cruisers would turn and come for the fly. I was using a dry fly and twitching it slightly to get the brookie's attention. It was like fishing in slow motion for me. I'm so used to the quicker rises of fish on moving waters. Watching and waiting for the trout to get to my fly was fun.

Casting to cruising trout.

A beautiful setting.

With the shortness of the fall day, we decided to start our hike out to beat the setting sun. A little stiffer breeze was blowing and fast moving, small cumulus clouds were starting to appear above the mountain peaks. On our way out we passed a few groups of backpackers just going in. This is definitely a great place for an overnighter. As we hiked out I dreamed of hiking back in and staying overnight. The idea of a fresh trout dinner, a warm campfire, and a star-filled night danced through my mind.

Can't wait to do this again.

The muddy section of the trail had mostly dried out with the afternoon sun. I smiled as I hiked and talked with my daughter and wife. Our hike was topped off when three deer jumped out of the brush and across the trail in front of my daughter. She waved for us to stop and then slowly approach her. The three deer stood off the trail about 30 yards and stared at us as we stared at them.

Eventually, we made it back to Tony Grove and the parking lot. A stiff wind was now blowing over the ridge. Our timing was perfect. A few days later I mentioned to my wife and daughter that I loved being outdoors and that I always have a feeling similar to a home sickness after a day outside in areas I love. My heart flipped when my daughter said she often feels the same thing when we leave grandpa's summer home in Bear Lake. I believe there are places in nature that provide a measure of serenity and peace--maybe even an unexplainable healing both to the body and the spirit. As I write this my eyes are moist as I think back on spending a wonderful day with two of the people I love so much. Nature is bringing us closer together.

My daughter, her dog Ottus, and the penguin.

First vew of the lake.

White Pine Lake

GLARE & LEAVES

2011-10-02T09:29:00.000-06:00

First fish of the day.

Fun size for a 3-weight rod.

Small and fiesty.

Blending colors.

LATE AFTERNOON BROWNS

2011-09-17T22:23:00.008-06:00

Today my wife and I decided to hit a local small creek. It was a spontaneous decision for the most part. We talked about maybe going but nothing was planned until we decided to go. Even with the decision to go, we were not sure where we were going. I had an idea or two in the back of my brain, but it wasn't until I was in the car and driving that I decided on the location.

Isolated thunderstorms had me second guessing my decision, but by the time we arrived at the stream, the skies were clearing. I put my fly rod together, tied on a hopper, and started fishing. I missed a decent brown in the first spot I tried and then hooked up with a good little trout on the next hole.

It was so fun. I didn't worry about putting on waders. I left the chest pack in the trunk of the car. I didn't even take a fly box or floatant or tippet. I greased the hopper at the car and then walked down to the nearest opening and began to cast. I didn't even put on my sunglasses or hat. Of course, with a little overcast, they were not critical. After hooking about 4 or 5 trout and missing about that many, I was good for the rest of the evening.

It's nice to have a few trout creeks within an hour drive from home or less.

I stuck a fly in the trees behind me with a backcast and had to break it off. We went to the car to get another fly. As we were standing in the quiet, I could hear the wind coming. I've heard this before. You can hear wind before you feel it on your skin and hair. My wife wasn't sure what it was. She thought an animal was coming through the trees. Just before the wisp of wind got to us, we could hear the raindrops hanging on the leaves start to drop. The wind was shaking them loose and it sounded like a small sprinkle from a storm. To be honest, it was giving my wife a bit of an eerie feeling. She had never experienced those sounds or those feelings. Those are the types of things you can hear and feel as you spend time outdoors. I didn't explain what was happening until hours after the experience.

Typical feisty brown

My wife had discovered, a while back, that she had some pioneer relatives buried in a cemetery in a small town in Cache Valley. Here is the "strange" part of this whole experience. Remember, I mentioned that we left for this trip without full knowledge of where we were going until we were heading down the freeway. For some reason, I just decided to go to this particular stream. As we passed one of the small, country towns on our way to the canyon, my wife read the town sign and said, "Hey I have some pioneer relatives buried in this town cemetery." I responded with a "hm mm." I had fishing on my mind. As I was fishing and my wife was looking at wildflowers, she was also thinking about those ancestors in that cemetery. She was trying to remember their names. She remembered their last name but couldn't remember their first names. It wasn't until I had caught two fish when two names came to her. She mentioned to me that their names were Henry and Jane. Again, I shrugged it off and continued to fish.

Normally, I will fish until I can't see, but the last area I wanted to fish had a truck parked in it. We decided to head home. As we entered the small town where my wife's ancestors were buried we decided to drive up to the cemetery and look for their graves. We looked up on the hillside as we slowly drove looking for the cemetery but not seeing one. I finally said, "Lets turn up this road and look for someone in their yard and ask them where the cemetery is." (I know, brave and unusual thing for a guy to do--asking someone for directions.) I turned up the road and noticed a guy with a small child about three blocks up the road and a couple blocks to the north. We drove up to him and asked about the cemetery. "Your on the right road. Just drive to the next two stop signs and then you will see a road angling up to the cemetery," he said. We thanked him and drove according to his directions. I know things happen that are coincidences, I really do, but as we drove up the angled road I asked my wife what the chances were that we just happened to drive up that particular road, and turn on the road to talk to that gentleman, and find that we were on the road to the cemetery? This strange story isn't quite done yet. As we entered the cemetery, it was bigger than what we expected. What are the chances of finding the graves, I thought. I stopped the car and said, "Usually a cemetery will have a directory somewhere." Just as I said it we looked to the right of the car and there was the directory. At first my wife couldn't find the names she was looking for. I went over and looked and missed them the first time through. We thought maybe there was an older cemetery for people from the 1800s. Then I noticed some of the names were out of alphabetical order. I looked closer and we found the names. As coincidence would have it, we were parked right on the row of graves were the ancestors were located. We walked down and found the graves. After a couple of digital photos of the graves, we were on the road and headed home. Everything that happened on this evening could be considered coincidence, but in a small corner of our hearts and minds, we feel that it just might be more than that. Later in the week, I penned a short poem to capsulize the evening.

A simplified approach

PARADISE CANYON

You can hear the wind
long before you feel it.
It sounds like a person
crashing through the brush.
Sometimes, it helps you hear
the rain again, hours after
a storm has passed.
It shakes the drops resting on leaves,
sends them tumbling to the forest floor.
Henry and Jane buried in Paradise Cemetery
move around on the wind.
You can feel them too,
but you have to practice pausing.

CREEKCRAFT

2011-08-19T22:53:00.005-06:00

First little brown of the day.

It's the same old story: the biggest fish of the day gets away. When it's your fish, you can be pretty disappointed. The thought of holding that fish and snapping a few photos can stay with you for days--sometimes weeks--maybe even years, at least until the next outing where it will be replaced with the next "one that got a way" story. When it's your fishing partner's fish, it can be easy to shrug away, unless you are the one who caused them to lose it. When you cause your buddy to lose the nicest fish of the day, the feeling of disappointment is worse.I keep telling myself that it wasn't that big. But the fact remains, it was the biggest fish of the day, and it was hooked and played right as we had decided it was time to leave for home. A 12 to 14 inch trout in this small creek is a fine catch. One pushing 16 inches is a great catch.

"I've got a nice one on!" Mark yelled. I looked up to see a bending rod and could here the thrashing water. Mark's line shot upstream then quickly reversed and came ripping downstream. Then the trout rolled and spun it's way to the surface.

"That is a nice one!" I exclaimed. "Play it down to this cut bank and I'll help you land it."

I knelt down on the bank and reached out to grab Mark's leader. Now, I've been fly fishing for over 30 years. I know you should always use the rod to dampen the shock placed on a tippet from a fighting trout. The flex of the rod can be the difference of landing and losing a fish--but excitement can still cause one to lose common knowledge and that's what happened. I reached out, grabbed the leader, started to lift, and then felt the trout flip and twist. Before I could get my hand under the trout to release the stress on the leader, the tippet broke and the trout was gone.

Hungry Bonneville cutthroat.

Deep stream-side grass.

There would be no picture of the "big" one. No fly fisherman posing. No silly congratulatory handshake, backslapping, or macho talk you see the professional guides doing with their clients. As in many cases of fly fishing trips, all we have is a fish story: two guys who know the truth and readers who get the "story" in printed words. I feel bad about it--I really do. Yet, life moves on and there will be other adventures--other fish--and more stories.

Typical Cutthroat.

The smaller creeks are teeming with trout. Teeming is such a pleasant sounding word. I like its meanings. It has an association with water. Think of flow copiously, pour, rain, stream (down), pelt (down), come down (in buckets), and rain cats and dogs. Then a similar meaning: abundant, swarming with (or in this case swimming with), prolific, abound, crawl with, overflow with, overrun with, and lousy with. When the stars line up and most times even when they don't, it is fairly easy for a competent fly angler to catch a passel of trout on these small creeks.

Hopper hungry Brown trout.

On this trip Mark and I were able to jump spots, which means we took turns hitting the best holes. A mix of brown and cutthroat were caught. It was such a wet year. All the stream side grasses were high and green. It seems like everything is a month behind this year. I noticed my raspberries came on a month later as well as some of the other vegetables in my garden. I noticed that the hoppers in the grass were small for this time of year. It will be fun to go back in a couple of weeks when the hoppers have matured and the grasses have browned with the late summer heat.

Beautiful Bonneville. My favorite trout.

I would imagine, by then, the brown trout will be getting aggressive and starting to stage for the spawn. I want to take Mark back to this creek then, because I know the bigger trout will be out and feeding heavily to fatten up for the spawn and to put on weight for the lean winter months to come. I think I will give Mark the best water. I owe him the chance to get the biggest fish of the day again. This time, I'll be smarter and either carry a net, or let him play the trout from his fly rod until he can get it to his hand.

Torrents of Spring

2011-04-24T08:48:00.001-06:00

I don't remember shoveling a lot of snow this past winter, yet the Utah mountains received over 150 percent of normal snowpack. Most of it is still in the mountains. Spring storms were cold enough to add to the snowpack when in most years April is when it starts to melt. Rain showers through much of March and April have brought the rivers to flood stage. Rivers like the Blacksmith Fork are at flood stage naturally, while others are experiencing high waters from frantic releases from reservoirs.

This wet season has taken away many of my early season fishing adventures. The peaceful slow flows and warm afternoons have been replaced with turbulent, off color flows, and wind and wet. The opportunity to fish one of my favorite early season hatches, the baetis or Blue-winged Olive, is gone. Missing this hatch and not being able to get near the water has added to the feeling of cabin fever. The few times the weather has been good enough for me to get in the yard and mow the lawn, or piddle in the garden, are not much of a cure.

I'm hoping the sun comes out. I'm hoping for some heat. I know that's not the scenario those who live along the rivers want, but I do. I want to get that snow out of the mountains. I want the run-off to blow out and then subside so I can fish. My plan is to hit some of the small creeks right after they drop from peaking. At the right time, they will be very fishable, and the water will be high enough that the larger trout might just come out to play. That's the plan. Until then, I'm going to try to enjoy the other outdoor opportunities the second driest state has to offer.

Codgers

2011-03-31T22:22:00.001-06:00

Codgers
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They get together in fly shops
worn and washed up like
driftwood on the banks of
the rivers they've strolled.

They talk of huge stoneflies,
and how they hit the hatch
prime-time perfect one year,
and how big trout went crazy.

Someone says, "It just isn't the same
anymore; not as many bugs,
and the trout are smaller."

Heads nod in agreement
as another voice cracks,
"I remember when..."

Out on a river, migrating nymphs
invade the banks like an alien army.
Split shucks shimmer and dry,

as clumsy adults clamber
up willows and rocks,
trading water for earth, again.

March

2011-03-04T12:50:00.000-07:00

I've made it through the two months I dislike, and March is here. Even when it snows in March, I know it will melt soon. We have a lot of snow pack this year so the rivers and streams will be blown out with run-off.

One of my favorite times to fish the small creeks and streams is right after the run-off drops to a reasonable level. The water is still high enough that the larger trout are a little more comfortable in moving around. The water is clear and very fishable a this time. I have my eye on a couple of waters already.

The other thing that is fun to do is fish tail waters below the dams before they start releasing flows. Some very good Blue-winged Olive hatches can be found at this time.

Spring is almost here. Life as I know it will soon awaken. See you outside.

Daydreaming of Summer

2010-12-18T20:01:00.001-07:00

That's right, this is a picture of one of my summer fishing trips. Notice the nice lush green grass and short sleeve shirt and shorts. I'm in the daydreaming stage. I can't wait for spring.

I shoveled about three inches of snow off my driveway this morning, then I went and shoveled two widow's driveways. I just looked outside and it's raining. The winter storm is coming out of the west riding on just enough warm air to keep it from snowing. That could change if the evening cools down enough to produce snow. The mountains are loaded with snow. It's about 130 percent of normal for this year. That will be good for the rivers and streams. A good brisk, run-off will help keep the waters clean and fresh.

As I posted earlier, I will go after some winter whitefish to get me outside and then I will dream of summer like I always do. December 21st, the days will get longer and the sun will start its migration to the north. For now, I will look at some of my summer pictures and remember those nice hot days.

Whitefish Politics

2010-12-18T18:10:00.000-07:00

I've made a mental commitment to go out into the winter wonderland of Utah's wild Weber river and wrangle up some whitefish. As soon as I get through the holidays, I'm going. I remember how to nymph fish. Let's see, it was a prince nymph, a split shot, and an indicator; lob this up into the head of a nice deep run, control the drag with a mend or two and when the indicator pauses, set the hook.

I promised a co-worker a few whitefish for dinner. He loves them. Back when I used to fish all winter long, I would take him a limit of whites. The arrangement is that I don't have to do anything but put a limit in a bucket and take them directly to him. He fillets them, coats them with fish Shake-N- Bake, throws them in an oven for a few minutes and then serves. It actually sounds good, although, I have only eaten whitefish smoked.

I know a few areas on the Weber to visit, but my favorite places are on private property and with the "new" law passed by the legislature last session it will keep me off that water. I had made a deal with the landowner about ten years ago and had verbal permission to enter his property from a public bridge. A couple of inconsiderate fly fishermen ruined my access by blocking his gate with their vehicle one day. He left them a note telling them that he needed to use the gate to haul feed down to his cattle and to please not block it in the future. He told me that he found the note hooked to his gate with a note on the back telling him where he could stick his feed and his cattle using some colorful language. He decided to post his property after that. Even with the ruling to allow access from public easements, I never went back on that property. His stretch of water has some nice whitefish, the biggest I have tangled with on the Weber. It also had nice browns and a few cutthroat.

I will venture out into the waters that are public. I'll be the one with the plastic bucket. Hopefully, I can place a few whities in it for my friend. He keeps hinting about going out with me and learning how to catch them. He's approaching 80 years old, and I don't really see it happening. The smile on his face when I bring him a bucket of whitefish makes me happy. Thinking about him fixing them and eating them makes me smile.

Maybe sometime in the near future the two smiles will be between the private landowners along the rivers and the fishermen who would love to fish the public waters flowing through those properties. First, we have to learn to be civil and charitable human beings, and that goes for both fisherman and landowners.

Burning a Few Hours on the Blacksmith

2010-10-17T15:18:00.004-06:00

Mark with little brownie.

Matt studying a section of water.

Blacksmith Fork is loaded with little brown trout.

Simple Pleasure: An Autumn Day on a River

2010-09-24T19:58:00.001-06:00

Trying out Mark's polarized sunglasses.

Mark was catching cutts like this all day.

Boulder strewn water. Picking the pockets.

Another colorful Bonneville cutthroat.

This was the only brown of the day. I watched it take a Green Drake and then offered it a hopper. It went airborn, landed and then off to the races. Very wild!

Mark took this one with an excellent cast under overhanging willows.

This was my last cutt. Nice way to end an enjoyable afternoon.

Some fly fishermen get so good they catch them with their eyes closed!

Sweet!

Nice and handsome.

DAZED on the GREY"S

2010-09-12T19:57:00.004-06:00

Working some nice water.

I loved the blue tint to the Grey's River water. I glanced at it frequently as we (my wife and me) drove up the dirt road that paralleled it. Mountainsides loaded with pine forests rose on each side of the canyon. This is my kind of place; my kind of water. A fly fisherman with some experience will know what water looks fishy. This water does. I was excited to get to a place and give it a try. I was patient and drove for about 25 or 30 miles before pulling over to fish. The water looked so pure and clean. I was sure if I looked hard I would spot fish. The first hole I fished was a deep plunge pool that ran out into a nice choppy riffle and then a glide of very smooth water. I could spot no fish in the smooth water and quickly moved up into the deeper riffle. I place the hopper right on the seam where the faster water met the slow water on the deep edge of the run. There had to be trout holding along the seam. It was a prime area. Several casts without a look moved me up to the head of the plunge. Maybe the trout were holding behind the rocks. Nothing. I stood to the side of the plunge and cast above the rocks and into the next run. Sometimes the trout will hold in front of the rocks. It's a place that creates a break from the current and a place where trout like to hold. Again, nothing. I was taught that when the fishing is slow, I should move fast, and if the fishing is fast, I should move slow. So far, the fishing was slow so I started to move fast. I cast into some very fishy looking runs and came up with nothing. As I moved, I looked for signs of spooked fish and saw none. I was beginning to be a little disappointed. I mean, this was nice looking water.

Small, beautiful Snake River cutthroat.

I loved the look and color of this water.

This looked like a Bonneville cutthroat?

After a frustrating first hour of fishing and not seeing any sign of fish, I drove upstream to another likely spot. I walked down river and fished back up to the car. I saw one fish about 10 inches that slashed at my fly behind a large rock. This was nice looking water too. In my mind, I began to think of my familiar "home" waters and how I would have had several fish by now. What is so different about this water than the water closer to home? If it wasn't for the surrounding beauty and the company of my wife, I might have gone from frustrated to angry. In my younger years I think I would have been red in the face by now, but I have learned to enjoy my fly fishing for other reasons than just nailing a bunch of fish. Still, catching fish is high on the list for having a successful adventure. Reports from other anglers had led me to this river. What was I doing different than them? Maybe I needed to fish subsurface? I really wanted to get them on a hopper. Hoppers where in the area. The cutthroat trout should be all over a hopper.

I decided to migrate back down river and hit some spots on the way out. We pulled into a vacant campground and I dropped down over a high bank and into the river. I fished about four nice holes with nothing. I was stinking the place up. One the near bank was a downed pine tree that looked like it had been in the water for a couple of years. I cast up along the edge of it and just before the hopper reached the side of the sunken pine a trout flashed out quick and took the fly. It was a decent fish, strong, and full of fight. I worked it to the river's edge and estimated it at 14 maybe 15 inches. Finally a Snake River fine-spotted cutthroat trout!

I never caught another trout in that area and again we drove down river and to a new area. The next area proved to be a success. I caught several trout but nothing as nice as the first fish. Most of the fish in this are measured 8 to 12 inches. Not as impressive as I had expected or wanted. I wanted to fish the Little Grey's River so we drove down to it's confluence with the main Grey's. It was small water and I was able to catch a trout or two in each hole and run. The little cutts were aggressive and catching them in the small water was easy.

We had some places we wanted to visit in Afton and Osmond, Wyoming before it got dark so we left the Grey's and headed for town. After visiting a cemetery and looking at a great grandfather's grave. We drove up a small dirt road that led out of town and stumbled upon a small creek. "That creek looks fishy," I told my wife. "Well, we are here and you have your gear, see if there are fish in it," she replied. I don't have to get permission twice. I was pulled over and casting in minutes. I stood on the road and cast into some nice pools. The third pool rewarded me with a plump cutthroat. I moved to another hole and again caught a healthy looking cutthroat. These were nice fish for the size of the water and it quickly brought a smile to my face. I watched as several fish fed in a smooth run taking emerging caddis flies. I couldn't reach them from where I was and didn't want to get wet or put on waders so I let them be. Those two trout satisfied my curiosity and because they were fine-spotted Snake River cutts made the feeling of satisfaction even better.

A pleasant surprise!

Nice, little trout from this creek.

Yes, that is a very satisfied look on my face.

I could catch trout like this all day.

The small creek was a nice end to a good day. I thought about hitting the Salt River and Salt creek on the way out of Star Valley but decided to get back to Montpelier, Idaho for dinner and then back to the summer home at Bear Lake. Even though the fishing wasn't what I wanted or expected, the overall experience, scenery, and time spent with my wife made for good memories. My pleasures are simple.

Young, bull moose checking us out.

This was the best trout of the day. Nothing to write home about but nice for a blog.

That Fishing Hat

2010-08-21T22:38:00.005-06:00

I decided to drag out my old fishing hat. I used to wear it all the time about 20 years ago. It's a cheap felt hat, but stylish. I even had it branded on the back. "AR" is burnt into it. The brand for a Scout camp I like. It's the camp I used to take Boy Scouts to when I was a scoutmaster. The camp is known for it's horsemanship. Scouts can earn the horsemanship merit badge and spend portions of everyday on horseback. One year the whole troop earned the badge and slight bull legs and saddle soreness. It was fun and in honor and remembrance, I had one of the buckaroos brand my hat. "AR" is the brand for Aspen Ridge, a Scout camp in Idaho up Cub River Canyon. (And you thought I took the Scouts up there just for the horses.)

I've worn the hat on and off, for the past several years, but it has spent more time in the closet. I turned to a ball cap for my fishing expeditions. I don't know why I grabbed it last Saturday. It just called out, "wear me." I enjoyed wearing it. It provided some nice shade for my face and neck. My wife says it was hard to see my face in the pictures because of the shade so it was taken off for a few photographs.

I know some anglers who have "magic" or "lucky" fishing hats. These hats have some special powers that allow the angler to catch more fish. Some of these hats are kept way too long. They become encrusted with sweat and dirt. The owners never realizing that most hats can be cleaned. I have ball caps that have become marked with white streaks of dried salt. If I like the hat, I will wash the salt out and quickly dry it. On hot days, I've been known to dip my hat in the cool stream water and then place it on my head. This helps keep my brain from frying. OK, I agree, brains already fried. The wet hat keeps it from becoming a total burnt offering.

I don't think the hat made Saturday's fishing adventure more successful, but I just felt good in that hat. I caught some nice fish. I spent the afternoon with my wife, thus, the photos of me with the fish as opposed to just pictures of trout when I go solo. She even got in the water and wet-waded up through a couple of sections of stream. Seriously, how many women would do that?

I flipped an air-filled hopper most of the time. I noticed more hoppers jumping around the stream side grasses. Some of the trout would sip at it cautiously and I missed setting the hook. Others took it deliberately.

It was good to get out. I have had two great weekend trips between the thunder-bumper-micro-bust-wind- storms that have been blowing through this summer. I plan to take a week off sometime in September to fish my guts out. Maybe I'll take two weeks. That should get me real acquainted with my old fishing hat again!Oh...sorry for all the pictures of me. Concentrate on the Bonneville cutthroat trout--so handsome!

Remebered Lesson

2010-08-14T16:21:00.002-06:00

Early last fall, I spent a day on the Logan River with Cutthroat Stalker (you can find a link to his fine site on my list of blogs) and a couple of fly fishers out of Canada. The plan was to fish Twisted Foam Hoppers and analyze catches. I have always caught trout with the pattern starting about July and on until the snow flies. This particular outing last fall seemed different. We spit up in pairs and fished different stretches of river. The stretch me and my partner fished was slow and we only moved a couple of fish. At first I thought it was the stretch of water we were fishing. It was flat and barren of deeper holes and pockets. If there was trout, they were not interested in the hopper and we were not spooking them as we waded through likely water. I still content that it was the section of water we were in. I did learn a lesson from Scott (Cutthroat Stalker). I said the plan was to fish hoppers, but Scott was quick to change flies after no success with the Twisted Foam configuration. When we met up his fishing partner told us that Scott had switched to a caddis dry and started picking up fish. I didn't think much of it at the time and figured they fished better water (so difficult for a fly tier to admit his pattern isn't working, especially when it has been a good pattern in the past), but I did log into my mind, that it could be that the trout were looking for caddis--or a smaller fly. Besides, Scott is a local from Cache Valley so he had an edge.

When I hit the Logan a couple of weeks ago, I was trying a larger foam pattern. It's a pattern I have nailed fish with on the Ogden River in late summer and fall. I have heard that Logan Canyon has good populations of cicada. This foam pattern would imitate a cicada well. I had to give it a try.

My first few casts brought nothing and I was fishing real nice water. I moved through several holes and still nothing. Barren water? It seems that is always my first thought. Can't be the pattern, right? I moved quick. I wanted to give the fly a fighting chance. Remember, I have nailed fish with the pattern on the Ogden. Hmmm. Maybe it is the trout? The Ogden is full of brown trout. Do brown trout like a bigger meal? Are the cutthroat in the Logan little bug sippers? I have to think back--no, I've had excellent hopper fishing on the Logan. I've talked to old-timers who say they used to catch "locust" (cicada) in the trees on the Logan and use them as bait. Most of the trout in the Logan are opportunistic feeders. The growing season is short. these fish have to eat during the summer and fall to fatten up for the cold, lean winter months.

I actually caught one trout on the cicada and had a miss. This made me pay more attention and I noticed several fish move back with the pattern but not rise with it. I decide to tie on a smaller fly and see if one of the fish would rise. I tied on a size 12 Chain-stitched Green Drake and cast it over the trout I had spotted. Without hesitation the fish rose to the surface and sipped the fly. I played it to the shallows and set it free. The next few holes produced the same result. It turned out to be a great afternoon of fishing. I guess if I wanted to be real scientific, I could have tied on the cicada and fished it again to see if time of day would make a difference, but when I lost the Chain-stitched mayfly in a nice cutthroat's mouth as I tried to lift it to my hand, I reeled in my line and called it a day.

I walked out to the dirt road and down to where I parked. I have to admit I had a smile on my face. It was a great afternoon of fishing. In fact, thoughts of that trip have kept me in good spirits for a couple of weeks now. I also had a smile because I remembered the lesson Scott taught about changing to a smaller fly.

COMING SOON! THE HOPPER SKIPPER JUMPER!

2010-08-02T13:12:00.001-06:00

The Hopper Skipper Jumper! This zany, somewhat crazy, but very amazing pattern is a fabulous attractor pattern. To be released this fall. HOT! That's all I can say right now.

HEADWATER SOLITUDE

2010-07-21T21:28:00.001-06:00

I know that all of us have lives that cause us to ponder and search. It seems I have a propensity for it. I've always been a quiet ponderer, but recently, I have realized that life is short. Without going into too much detail, I will say that my brother, who is only a year and a half older than me, had a main artery in his heart rip open a few years back. Miracles and a dedicated and talented surgeon saved his life. This incident confirmed my feeling that life is short. It shook me up. Alix Kate Shulman quotes a friend who suffered from a heart attack and subsequent surgery in her book, Drinking the Rain: "I've learned two main things from my heart attack. The first one is, if I survive this surgery I will never rush again. The second is this, I'm going to show my love as often as I can." I like the idea of not rushing and showing love often. Those ideas go with solitary ventures into headwaters.

One of the things I have been trying to be better at, is seeing beauty in the landscape, the plants and animals, and in the feelings I have while outdoors. This is the attitude I carried with me as I searched out the wild, native cutthroat in a local headwater creek.

I walked to the bridge and dropped down to the creek. I was wet wading with shorts and light-weight hiking boots. I stepped into the water and felt the initial sensation of cold wetness. This sensation soon subsided as my feet became used to the temperature change. The rocks were slick and I had to be careful as I moved around the creek. I've tweeked my back slipping on round, slick rocks. Back pain can cut into fishing time so I've learned to be cautious as I wade.

I cast into several pockets and seams and caught a couple of lively, and brightly colored native cuthroat trout; the exact treasure I had hoped for. Each trout was handsome. I looked for the orange slash of color under the jaw and noticed the dark spotting, the bluish par marks, the rose gill covers, and the tea-stained fins and tail. Other colors jumped to my eyes as I admired and released each fish.

After catching a number of fish, my mind wandered. I noticed the green in the streamside grasses and the yellow, lavender, and orange in wildflowers. Deep dark pines along the canyon side gave hints of refreshing shade on a sun-hot day.

I made it up stream about a mile and sat down on a large rock. I ate a granola bar and drank from my water bottle. As I sat, I listened. I heard the voice of the creek: a gentle and bubbling voice with an occassional deep bump when rocks rubbed together. The sounds became soporific and I closed my eyes long enough to start a dream. I was moved to alertness by the call of a bird. I looked around. I stood and gathered my gear. One more trout, I thought, as I placed my cast along a small undercut bank. A quick rise and a lift of the rod brought another cutthrout from its lie.

I followed the road back out to my car. I glanced down to the creek from time to time. I'll be back I whispered. My life is too short to not share a portion of it with my friends.

DELICATE NATIVE BONNEVILLE CUTTHROAT

THIS IS CONSIDERED A NICE FISH ON SMALL HEADWATERS

WILD CUTTHROAT

WILDFLOWERS ADD TO THE BEAUTY

SMALL BUT AGGRESSIVE

MORE COLOR

3-WEIGHT ROD PERFECT FOR SMALL NATIVES

2010-07-06T20:30:00.000-06:00

Hopper Offer

2010-07-03T19:09:00.000-06:00

Hopper time is right around the corner. If you would like to try the Twisted Foam Hopper that I tie, please notify me by email. I will have time to do 1 dozen for 4 individuals. The first 4 to send an email with get the flies.

Here is the deal: $15.00 per dozen. Price includes shipping to U.S.A. only. Flies are tied on size 10 Tiemco hooks. Body is tan and yellow. Allow a couple of weeks for delivery.

Remember, first 4 to send an email.
cutttrout16@msn.com

Quick Stop

2010-06-26T10:08:00.000-06:00

My son was at a camp this past week. Parent's night was Friday night. On the way to the camp I had a chance to stop for just a few minutes and throw a fly. The last time I was at the river it was mud and ragging. yesterday, it was low, clear and beautiful. I hopped around on a few rocks and got in casting position. I knew the trout would be lined up on the far bank in the overhanging willows. After several good drifts and no rises, I tucked a decent cast on the very edge of the hanging limbs and nailed a decent brown trout. I feared that he would take me into the willows so I tried to horse him out. A couple of lively and quick jumps sent butter-yellow flashes downstream. I pulled to hard and fast and my fly came back toward me like it was shot from a sling.

I made several more casts into nice water and picked up a couple of small browns. The small browns were on the fly as soon as it hit the water. They were inhaling it. Instead of the corner of the mouth hookup, these little trout had the fly down in their mouths. I had to use care and hemostats to remove the fly and release the fish.

It felt good to stop for a few minutes and look at the river, cast and catch a couple of trout. When the water is clear, the color of the river rock is so stunning. The sky was perfect blue. The stream side brush alive with green. The mountainside cliffs gray, white and pink. Deep conifer stands looked purple in the side canyons.

I'm glad I left a little early on my way to my son's camp. Mixing the beauty of the river with the beauty of spending the evening with my son made for a very enjoyable time. In a few days he will leave for a couple of years. I will have him in my heart and thoughts as I fish this section of river for the next two seasons.

RAGING FLOODWATERS!

2010-06-10T08:47:00.000-06:00

The wet spring (raining yet again today) and the transition from cool temperatures to hot a few days last week has the rivers, streams, and creeks bank full and flooding in some places. I hate when this happens. To help stop the flooding, big backhoes end up in the rivers dredging them--not a good thing for pristine trout habitat. I know what's more important, trout habitat or human habitat? I took several physical geography and geology classes in college and we discussed the pros and cons of building homes in flood planes, alluvial deposits, and mountain side slumping areas. If I remember right, it just wasn't the smartest thing to do. I wonder if the landowners who were so adamant that fishermen stay out of "their" streams and helped pass House Bill 141 last legislative session ( which keeps fishermen out of public waters flowing through private land) are happy to have their privacy invaded by sandbaggers. Funny how the tables can turn. Maybe the flooding is God's way to show them they were being selfish?

I hope they don't have to get into the middle Provo River and dredge. That area was ruined back in the early 80's and the last few years it was rebuilt to put the river back into its historical, meandering bed. Sandbagging is in full force on the upper Weber. I drove past the lower Weber today and it is bank full and chocolate flavored. The Ogden is prime for kayaking and running silted green. On a good note: the Logan , Blacksmith, and streams and creeks up north seem to be okay--so far.

I'll be dreaming of late summer and fall fishing, patiently waiting for the waters to drop. It seems I have to be patient for lots of things this year--waiting for the waters to recede and waiting for the air to clear. Patience!

Custom Trout and Fly Chandeliers

2010-06-07T20:43:00.000-06:00

Please view one of my custom made chandeliers http://www.crossingopenground.blogspot.com/
Email me if you are interested. Thanks.

WHERE I BELONG

2010-04-11T22:02:00.007-06:00

Why would a trout postion its feeding lie inches off the far bank, in a five foot space, between two overhanging water birch limbs with submerged branches?

I found out as I gently placed a blue-winged olive imitation right behind the upstream set of branches. The imitation mayfly sat motionless for a second, then slowly started downstream. Its migration was stopped when I saw the head of a trout pop up through the water's surface tension. I knew he was a good trout by the size of the head. Plus, the take was deliberate and subtle; not the splashy rise of the smaller trout I had caught earlier. I lifted the rod tip and watched the slow seam of water erupt into the air. The good-sized brown trout followed. I put pressure on quick. The trout had two options: head upstream and into submerged branches or downstream into submerged branches. Either way, I was in trouble. The trout headed downstream which made sense. Upstream the water was shallow, downstream the water was deep. I figured a trout this size had moved up out of the deeper water to feed. I tried to horse the trout out into the open riffle where I was standing, but he was smart and fast. I watched as he rolled around in the submerged branches. He had snagged me up. I waded closer to the sunken trouble. The trout spun a couple of more times and then darted downstream into the deep water. He was gone and my fly and leader was hung up in the branches. I retrieved my fly and came away with catching a gob of moss. It didn't matter. My wife had tagged along to take some pictures and after four photographs of earlier caught smaller trout, the camera batteries had gone dead. This trout was destined to be a fish story.Winter seemed long to me, even though it was a mild winter, and one with below normal snow. Getting out and finding a Spring blue-winged olive hatch was very much needed. I had spent my lunch hour watching feeding trout the day before the outing. The hatch started at about 2:00 PM. I watched several trout and made mental note of where the larger ones were feeding. I went back to work and dreamed the rest of the day, and into the night, about getting back to the river the next day to fly fish. I awoke early and tied some flies to match the hatch. I knew the best fishing would be in the afternoon so I spent the rest of the morning helping do yardwork at my parent's house. At noon, I went home and ate a quick lunch. I invited my wife to go with me and to take some pictures.

We arrived at the area I planned to fish and I quickly put on my waders and rigged up my gear. I felt like a kid as I strung the rod and tied on the fly. I was excited. I mentioned to my wife, the excitement I felt. "Why, after all these years of fly fishing, do I still feel so excited about it?" I asked. It was really an unanswerable question. I'm not sure I know the answer, so I didn't expect her to have one either. The question was my way of letting her know fly fishing still fascinates me and brings me a joy and satisfaction I don't get in my "normal" life. She knows that already and accepts it. In that regard I have been lucky. She has always allowed me to go on my fly fishing adventures, only questioning my propensity to go alone so often. Still, she accepts it and understands it in her own way. On this outing, I waded the river and she walked the bank. With each missed trout or hooked trout, I would glance back at her and smile. It was fun to share the smiles and a couple of hours together. In so many aspects of my life, I have a tendency to look back and wonder how I ended up where I am. I sometimes wonder if I could have been more than what I am. Should I have been a doctor? A lawyer? An indian chief? What would that change? Standing in the river, and knowing of the joy, happiness, serenity, and excitement I still feel when pursuing and catching trout, I realized I was right where I belong.

ATTACKING A STONEFLY HATCH

2010-04-06T20:39:00.002-06:00

I admit it. You have to remember, I was a teenager at the time. I was wading up a river just after run-off had dropped it to a safer level. With fly rod in my right hand, I reached into a willow tree to get my balance. I glanced at the branch and reached for it at the same time. I jerked my hand back and a shiver shot up my spine. The willow branches were crawling with some type of large insect. My initial response was to get away from it before the bugs swarmed me, but running in waders was not my forte. Beside, the bugs seemed harmless once I took a second look. Still, they scared me. I was unfamiliar with aquatic insects at that age. I figured they were some type of locust, or worse yet, an invading alien army; small creatures from another planet hiding out in the canyon near the river waiting for the rest of there kind to arrive. When they had amassed the proper numbers, they would take over the world. Like I said, I was a teenager and I liked science fiction.As I became more observant, I noticed the dried remains of another insect on the streamside rocks and clinging on the lower reaches of the willow branches. Something weird was going on. Whatever these winged insects were doing, they had wiped out another species. The dead remains were everywhere. I watched as one of the live bugs took flight. It was not a pretty sight. Flapping its wings madly, it slowly gained altitude, and moved out over the water. It headed upstream but I could tell it was not comfortable being airborne. Just as I had that thought, a robin darted out over the water and plucked the clumsy bug out of the air. There was hope. The invading aliens could be controlled by birds. Seagulls began to appear flying overhead. They too were eating the insects out of the air. It was amazing. Whatever these creatures had planned, it was being stopped, atleast to some degree, by the birds. The world would be saved, and I would learn through study, and by talking to other fly fishers who were more knowledgeable than me, all about the life cyle of the stonefly, Pteronarcy californica. (See, even the scientific name sounds scary.) As with most western fly fishers, I became interested in the stoneflies. They have held my interest for over thirty years now. Each year I look forward to the hatch of these big aquatic insects and spend some of my winter nights tying up the patterns I use to attack the hatch. I have found that you have to spend the time necessary to know when the hatch will come off, and then don't give up on it. Plan to fish the big nymphs before the adults show up, after the adults are around, and then after the adults are gone. Mixed in with the nymphs, know when to start throwing the big dry fly imitations, and don't stop throwing them just because the hatching adults are not found anymore.This is how I attack the stonefly hatch. On my local stonefly waters, I know the hatch can occur anytime from the first couple of weeks in May through the first couple of weeks in June. Experience tells me that most of the time I will see the hatch mid-May to the end of May. I start driving to the river the first few days in May. I check the willows for adults. I look on the base of the willows and exposed river rocks for dried nymph shucks. I will turn over a few stream rocks and look for live nymphs near the edges of the river. I will do this daily if I can. If I have time to fish I will start to throw the big nymphs and gauge how aggressive the fish seem to be. If they are aggressive, then I assume the nymphs are starting to migrate and the fish are getting used to seeing a few. If the fishing is slow, I figure the fish are not seeing quantities of the nymphs yet. Eventually, I will be at the right place, at the right time, and the stars and planets line up and I smile. The adults will be in the trees, the fish have been feeding on the nymphs, and will soon be used to seeing some adults on the water too. Adults will end up in the water by losing their grip on streamside foilage, wind gusts, birds misjudging them in flight, and mishaps during mating and egg laying. When I fish a dry stonefly, I will cover a lot of water. I cast close to the bank and then work out toward the center of the river hitting all likely seams and pockets. If the water looks particularly fish worthy, I will make several casts, but most water I hit with a few good drifts and then move on. I figure if a trout is there and he has taken a few naturals, then he will hit my imitation. If I'm nymphing, I give the seams and runs a little more effort, especailly if they are deep with good undercut banks. Some fly fishers will use a dry dropper rig. This can be a good approach if you are better at setting up the rig than I am. I seem to spend more time untangling and trying to cast accurately and it takes away my enjoyment. I love to fire the dries around and up under overhanging foilage. Watching a trout come out and up near overhanging brush always gets my adrenalin gowing. It seems the biggest trout take these secure lies and hooking one and then keeping him from snagging in the brush adds to the excitement.The patterns I have pictured here are some of my favorites. I like the way they look and enjoy the durability. I don't know if they are any better than some of the simple ties, but they have been effective enough for me that I keep on tying and using them. The nymphs are tied on size six and eight hooks. I like the Tiemco 200R style or something equal. The dry flies are tied on size four and six hooks with 2X long shanks. I have equal success with the air-filled and twisted foam bodies. I have determined that silhouette is the key factor when tying and fishing the large stoneflies. These patterns catch that important feature. As the title of this peice says, I like to attack the stonefly hatch. It is one of my favorite times to be on the water. I fish these patterns aggressively. I am stubborn and willl stay with them and fish them hard. I just have to believe the trout want to eat these bugs. They are the steak and potato meal the trout have been waiting for. I love to cater up my imitation meal and almost force them to eat if I have to.

Fly Fishing With Rock Worms

2010-02-11T22:18:00.002-07:00

There is no doubt that trout eat caddisflies in their larval and pupal forms. It is interesting to note that they also eat caddisflies of the cased variety when available.

As a youngster, I was often given the chore of cleaning the day's catch and preparing them for the table. During the cleaning process my dad would tell me to cut open some of the stomachs to see what the fish had been eating. "There are rocks inside them," I would say. "They've been eating rockrollers," was dad's reply. Being ignorant of entomology at that age, I was left to assume, as I did for several years, that trout were like birds and needed to eat rocks and pebbles to help grind and digest their food. Over the years I have learned that these rocks were the remains of cased caddisfly larvae, and trout eat them case and all.

Let's take a look at some of the patterns that have been developed over the years to imitate cased and non-cased caddisfly larvae and pupae. In 1925 Franz Pott of Missoula, Montana, was issued a patent for an artificial fly called the Rock Worm. It was made as a definite attempt to imitate the larva of a caddisfly. The weaving process was tedious and the pattern only enjoyed a short life. This is interesting to note because it shows that fly fishers in the 1920's were aware of cassisflies and knew them by the common name rock worm. Pott went on to create his "mite" style of hair hackled flies, which gained a strong following in the Rocky Mountain region.

The mite style gets its name from the hellgrammite, which is what early fly-fishers in the West called the stonefly nymphs they were finding in many of the river systems. The stonefly nymphs were similar to the dobsonfly nymph (hellgrammite) that they were familiar with from the East.

Many of Pott's mite flies resemble caddisfly larvae more--in color, size and silhouette--than they do the stoneflies. Trout probably take them for caddisfly larvae and emerging pupae. The reasoning behind this assumption was brought out by George Grant. Grant lived through this period of fly-fishing history and was very familiar with the Pott patterns and their history. Grant suggests that, "Almost all Montana anglers were wet-fly men before 1950." The techniques employed by wet-fly fishers include the up-and-across dead drift method, the down-and-across swing method, and the hand-twist-retrieve method. These techniques imitate the behavioral drift and emergence of some species of caddisflies.

In Fly Fishing the Rockies by William C. Black (Pruett Publishing, 1931): a paragraph compares the Pott flies to caddis: "...Caddisflies were always plentiful on the South Fork....free swimming caddis pupa, the immature form between the larva and the adult fly, has long trailing legs and antennae, very much like the stiff, bristly conformation of the Pott's flies. The color and size match happened to be quite close too, and further, the trout sometimes hit an actively manipulated nymph with great eagerness, as if it were a swimming pupa."

Another reference to the Pott's flies as a representation of caddisflies can be found in Fishing the West, Macmillan Company, 1950, by Arthur H. Carhart. Carhart writes that Pott began tying his own flies because the ones he bought were not durable enough. "This led to his tying his own flies, and one of the natural foods he tried to simulate was an insect locally called the rock worm. The color varied, in different locations, from a sandy color to almost black. Instead of the soft feather hackles which lie against the body of the fly when wet, Pott tied in a stiffer hair which would give the lure some motion and would stand out so the hook point wouldn't get caught so readily in rocks and other underwater obstructions."

There have also been attempts to imitate cased caddisflies. Paul Young began tying a pattern called the Strawman. The original Strawman was tied with loosely spun deer hair along the shank. This was clipped to shape, and a yellow floss rib was wound through the hair and tied off behind the hook eye. This pattern is tied to imitate caddisfly larvae that use small pieces of bark and sticks to make their cases.

Charles Brooks tied a fly he called the Skunk Hair Caddis. It was tied to imitate caddis larvae thet build their cases out of small stones and grains of sand. The fly is tied on a 2X long hook shank in size 6 through 10. The secret to tying the fly is to find a skunk tail that has hair fibers at least 4 inches long. The fly has a copper rib that helps hold the hair together after repeated chewing by trout. The rib is tied in at the front and wound toward the rear of the fly and then back toward the front again. The skunk hair is twisted and then wrapped forward forming a segmented body. The fly is finished off with one wrap of a soft, black hackle. Charles claimed, "It is the best cased caddis imitation I know of, and has taken many fish for me over twenty some years."

In more recent years, fly tiers have used peacock herl, clipped hackles, twisted yarns, pheasant tail fibers, turkey biots and a combination of these materials to form cased caddis imitations. An interesting example of a cased caddis imitation, called the Garbage Can Caddis, utilizes all the waste materials from a tying session of different patterns. I first saw this tied by Jack Dennis. Jack took a pile of "garbage" out of his tying trash bin and spun it into a small rope between a loop of tying thread. After this was twisted tight, he wound it on his hook shank, tied it off, and then trimmed the material to shape. With the combination of deer hair, elk hair, moose hair, feathers, scraps of yarn, tinsel and dubbing, the finished fly makes an attractive artificial cased caddis.

There are species of free-living caddisflies available to trout predation also. These caddis have been imitated with twisted yarn bodies such as the Serendipity, or with more complex woven bodies, such as those tied and fished by the Polish International Fly Fishing Teams.

Fly tiers can make an effective cased caddis pattern by using a chain-stitching technique.

The Chain-stitched Rock Worm is a pattern that imitates a caddisfly in a sand and small stone case. By varying the colors of flat waxed nylon thread, a tier can duplicate the color of cases found in any stream. The size of the case can be controlled by adding or deleting strands of waxed nylon thread as needed.

A collar of color should be added to the pattern just in front of the case. It can be a small pinch of dubbing or a few wraps of floss. This is an important feature. In his book Caddisflies, Gary LaFontaine explains: "The study of the actual caddisfly larvae drifting with the current revealed a number of previously unknown characteristics. The main trait betraying the insect as a live food was the movement of the larva in and out of the case. The wriggling motion exposed a contrasting band of body color between the head and case." The band of color most commonly used is bright green, yellow or tan. Try to match the color to the caddisfly you are trying to imitate. A soft hackle should be added to the pattern just in front of the colored collar. This will simulate legs and help create lifelike movements.

This article first appeared in Fly Fishing & Tying Journal, Summer issue 1999 by Robert Williamson

Still Fighting For Utah Water Access

2009-11-16T16:12:00.000-07:00

Here is a link to the current information on water right access in Utah. If you can help by donating, please do. Thank you to Bryan and Chris for all the time, money and energy they have sacrifised in this effort.

http://utahwaterguardians.org/

NEW BLOG

2009-10-31T14:40:00.000-06:00

Instead of clogging this fly fishing blog up with non-fly fishing related outdoor adventures, I have started a new blog to write about "other" outdoor activities.
http://www.crossingopenground.blogspot.com/ will be a place for musings about hiking, mountain biking, running, and wandering and wondering about nature. It's in it's infancy; you are welcome to watch it grow.

A Nice Note about the Chain-stitched Mayflies

2009-10-31T10:36:00.004-06:00

"I've finally had a chance to fish them now that fall is here. I used them on the south fork of the snake recently with good success. Couple notes: Being comparadun style, I had much better success in the run out of riffles where the water was calmer. They would sink in the rougher water of the riffles. In areas where they would float, however, fish took them willingly, sipping gently and not suspecting a thing. It was a lot of fun. The only thing I might do differently is the tails. I'd consider something stiffer, like microfibbetts. The tails on the fly (not sure what they were made of) tended to stick together when wet. All in all though, a great imitation and a lot of fun to fish. Thanks again." :)

-Mike Silver

Thanks for the report Mike. I sent patterns out to several individuals each year and rarely do I hear back. Nice to get a report. This pattern was created for smooth water. I was trying to get something that would imitate the silhouette of the naturals for picky trout. As for the tails, I have noticed the same thing. The tail fibers are made from the same material as the body. I have started to stiffen them up and make the split more distinct by running a little super glue up them. I use a small amount on the end of a bodkin so my fingers don't stick together.

Saying Goodbye!

2009-10-28T19:07:00.004-06:00

I peered through the willows that lined the bank of a small, clear creek and watched as a 12-inch cutthroat trout moved from side to side, picking small dark mayfly nymphs from the current.

I was rigged with a brown stonefly imitation which had proven effective on this creek for years. I found a small opening that provided enough room to cast and crawled hand and knees up next to a sizable tree. I slowly stood up keeping my left shoulder snug against the tree; blending into the setting as best I could. I lengthened my line with false casts to allow the fly to float down into the trouts feeding lane.

The cutthroat continued to sip nymphs as my stonefly landed about ten feet above him. The fly drifted down toward the trout as I mended line to keep a natural float. The fly was right on target and came directly into the trout's view. My arm became tense in anticipation of the fish's strike. The cutthroat did not move as the fly passed his snout. I let the fly continue to drift past the fish and began a slow hand-twist-retrieve so I could cast again.

I didn't want to disturb the water by a quick pick-up and risk spooking the cutthroat, so I slowly worked the line in and brought the fly up into the shallows on the creek edge. Suddenly, I noticed a flash of color a few feet below my fly and watched wide-eyed as a different trout raced toward the fly. The fish slammed into the fly with its back exposed, out of the water, producing a wake that sent the cutthroat trout racing upstream for cover.

I set the hook and stared with amazement at the 18-inch brown trout thrashing up and then down stream. This was a powerful fish and was not interested in giving up. Again, the fish tugged line as it tried to head down the creek putting pressure on my shoulder.

I held the brown for a second to admire its length and girth. It was a beautiful trout. I sat it in the shallows and watched as it caught its breath. I was doing the same. It moved toward the middle of the creek and deeper water. I thought I saw it roll its eyes back and pause for a second--maybe not. I waved goodbye anyway.

Fly Fishing and Thoughts of Thoreau

2009-10-04T18:15:00.006-06:00

"The lesson he (Thoreau) had taught himself, and to which he tried to teach others, was summed up in the one word "Simplify." That meant simplify your needs and your ambitions; learn to delight in the simple pleasures which the world of Nature affords. It means also, scorn public opinion, refuse to accept the common definitions of success, refuse to be moved by the judgement of others."
---Joseph Wood Krutch (part of the introduction to "Walden and Other Writings by Henry David Thoreau.")

When I started fly fishing as a young thirteen year old kid, I used a very simple way of angling. I was introduced to it by my father. He was a wet fly fisher who only used a couple of patterns and always fished them down and across. These patterns were hair flies (Fizzle and Rockworm) as tied by the late Franz B. Pott of Missoula, Montana. These flies were tied onto the end of a seven to nine foot tapered leader which was tied onto a floating fly line. The flies were cast down and across stream and them allowed to swing with the current. They were manipulated into the proper seams and runs and then slowly worked upstream with a hand-twist-retrieve. Trout would either hit the fly on the swing or grab it as it was worked upstream. It was an effective method and a very simple method. I used this method for thirteen years.

When I married and decided to take up fly tying as a hobby, I originally wanted to just tie the Pott flies, but as I subscribed to the popular fly fishing magazines and bought fly tying books, a whole new world of fly patterns and fly fishing techniques was opened to me. I tried all the techniques which were new to me, nymphing, streamers, emergers, and dry fly fishing. I spent time using all of these methods and would find myself switching from one method to another during my outings.

Several years ago, I decided to simplify my angling again. I grew fond of dry fly fishing and found that it was my preferred style. With experience I found that at almost every month of the year, I could catch fish on top if I understood the hatch and was on the water at the appropriate time of day.

I have not lived in the woods as Thoreau did, but as I look back on my life, I realize I have spent a great deal of time wandering in the woods. My fly rod has been, and is, a magic wand. I wave it and it carries me to beautiful places. Wave it again and the scenery changes. My favorite rod is a seven foot, six inch paint brush that helps me create the paintings of my mind. Sometimes, it is a pen that helps me write the beginning and ending of my life.

Life is full of rivers to cross. I have for a long time felt I crossed these rivers alone. I prided myself on doing this. I, as Thoreau, sought for solitude:

"I have never felt lonesome, or in the least oppressed by the sense of solitude, but once, and that was a few weeks after I came to the woods, when for an hour, I doubted if the near neighborhood of man was not essential to a serene and healthy life. To be alone was something unpleasant. But I was at the same time conscious of a slight insanity in my mood, and seemed to forsee my recovery. In the midst of a gentle rain while these thoughts prevailed, I was suddenly sensible of such sweet and beneficent society in Nature, in the very pattern of the drops, and in every sound and sight around my house, an infinite and unaccountable friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me, as made the fancied advantages of human neighborhood insignificant, and I have never thought of them since."

I wonder if Thoreau is right? He also said, "I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone. I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude. We are for the most part more lonely when we go abroad among men than when we stay in our chambers."

For years, I believed and pointed out the above quotes as my justification for spending time on solo fly fishing trips. Like I said, I was proud of my ability to wander up streams and creeks alone, to cross rivers alone, and to spend time in the woods alone. I like Thoreau, felt I only needed "three chairs in my house; one for solitude, one for friendship, three for society."

I'm beginning of late to understand better things of solitude, but also of my need to have friends. But that is really another story. What I want to do is get back to my original thoughts on simplicity. I've decided that the pursuit of trout through fly fishing can be very simple, especially, if you are fishing waters that are not what I call technical waters. These are waters with shorter growing seasons, waters that are typically smaller, and where the type of water is more turbid, with lots of riffles, seams, pockets, and sometimes gradient.

In my neck of the woods, this is what I've discovered over the past 30 years (I know, that 30 years just keeps on finding its way into my writing).

December, January, February: Midges. Small nymphs and dries. Hatches occur the warmest part of the day.

March, April: Midges, Blue-winged Olives. BWO nymphs, emergers and dries. Usually between 10:00 AM and 2:00 PM.

May, June: Pale Morning Duns, Caddis and Stoneflies. Evening fishing starts to warm up. PMD hatches most afternoons in June.

July, August, September: Hoppers and beetles. Afternoon and evening caddis

October, November: Still some hopper action, Blue-winged Olives are back. Swinging and stripping streamers.

Yes, there is the specific hatch of this or that, which you may have to figure out, but the above is a simplistic approach to most of the Intermountain areas regular hatches.

I wonder if Thoreau ever considered taking up fly fishing? Probably too busy writing about solitude and civil disobedience.

Natural Relationships

2009-09-28T21:24:00.003-06:00

The meadow looks different in late Fall. Waist high grasses of green are now horizontal mixes of brown, tan, and yellow.

New structures are in place. Beaver at work shoring up dams and lodges against impending winter snows. It is beaver, I suspect, who muddied the water of this small creek. Above their dam, the water is clear. I have to have clear water. My mind is muddy. I can't think straight. I come to clear water to be cleansed.

It's early afternoon and hot. Ten degrees warmer than usual. It's been a dry summer and as mentioned, the grasses show it. I hear the crackle of dehydration with each step.

Low water produces skittish trout, yet I see shadows in the deeper water. Silhouettes rise, turn, then flash. Reflectance of sun and color spark towards my eyes before sinking to shadows again.

I stand still, a heron watching. Two small trout swim behind a larger one. If I cast a fly into the area chances are the smaller trout will rush to the fly and if hooked will scare the larger trout away. I wait. I need a curve cast with the line to the left of the trout. The leader and fly must curve to the right. The cast must be long enough to give the larger trout first chance at the offering. I cast. Another flash of fish; another flash of time. The large trout takes the fly quick. I pull back and watch my rod tip bend, then gaze out at disturbed water and spinning trout. The same joy and adrenaline is released to my heart and brain that has been released with this same scenerio for over thirty-five years. I wonder: why does the pursuit of trout never get old to me? Questions again!

I place my hand down to grasp the trout. It's skin is slick and moist. Gently, I remove the hook from its jaw and slide it head first back into the water. The trout bolts for its sanctuary of deeper water and over-hanging brush. Another circle is complete: stalk, cast, rise, lift, play, land, admire, release, breath again.

Natural Relationships Continued

2009-09-28T21:01:00.005-06:00

Standing in the meadow, and thinking like I do, I realize there are relationships in my life that others would not understand. My relationship to nature through the vehicle of fly fishing is as hard to explain to others as the relationship of two kindred spirits lost for a season then connected again.

I look up from the water and see a coyote in the middle of the meadow. Our eyes meet. I look down for a place to sit. When I look up again, the coyote is gone. I look up the ridge for a glimpse of the coyotes departure but see nothing--no movement--the coyote has disappeared. A different type of catch and release. Friendships can sometimes be like that.

Time and friendship is sometimes measured in seasons. I sit here remembering. The thing that stands out in my mind right now, this very instant, is how short life is. What do I take and what do I give in my flash of time? What do I miss? Am I brave enough to think and feel? Am I brave enough to connect deeply with nature? Am I brave enough to connect deeply with those I call friends?

Mountain Bike Ride Logan Canyon into Bear Lake Valley

2009-09-08T21:16:00.009-06:00

This was my third time riding this dirt road on my bike. The two previous times, I had to dismount on the climb out of Egan Basin. Mentally, I vowed that I would conquer the climb the next time I attempted it. I started to refer to the trip this year as "The Ride." I started to train for it in the winter by doing some treadmill work after the holidays and then started some serious outdoor training in June. After the holiday season, I had put on a little extra weight and wanted to lose about twenty or thirty pounds for the ride. I figured that the hills would be a little easier if I wasn't lugging the extra pounds with me. In June, I started a running routine to cross train and help with the lung capacity. At 6:00 AM I was up and out for a morning run and actually got to the point where I could run 3.5 miles fairly easy. I even did an eight mile run one night to see how far I could push. When I was done and felt like I could still go farther, I felt I was getting ready. In the evenings I was putting power to the peddles doing some distance rides and hill work. I was able to drop the thirty pounds and look forward to the day of the ride. Labor day ended up as the day for the ride.

The actual road is not what hardcore mountain bikers would consider difficult, but for an older man it is somewhat of a challenge. The road is about 17 miles long and has a gradual climb right at the start that follows a tumbling, crystal clear creek.This section gets the blood circulating and the legs burning. About two miles into the ride it flattens out and winds through some neat meadows. The creek is backed up with numerous beaver dams and the water is mirror smooth. This part of the ride is very pleasant. About six miles into the ride, the road starts a gradual climb out of the meadows and up into the aspen and pines. Like I mentioned, it's not a major effort for the young and seasoned rider, but us older guys with aging bodies and eighteen year old brains--it can be a chore. The climb is gradual and just when you think it might level out around the corner, you hit a little stiffer climb to the summit. I tried to stand on the peddles at one point but found I lost traction with my rear wheel so I geared down and stayed in the saddle. I have to admit that at one point my mind was telling me to just dismount and walk up the hill--something about people would understand that a 50+ guy would get enough validation from friends for just being out doing such a ride. Just as this thought went through my brain and started to drain down into my legs, I thought of the training and the weight loss, and friends that knew I wanted to conquer the hills. Those thoughts made me stay with it and grind it out. As I came up the last incline, I spotted my wife (she was the support vehicle and photographer) up the hill. Her instruction was to park at the summit and wait for me to arrive. When I looked up and saw here, I knew I must be close and dug in for the final push. Finally, with a few more stern pushes on the peddles, I made it to the top.

Now the fun could begin! The last nine or ten miles of this road is downhill for the most part, right to the town of St. Charles, Idaho and the Bear Lake Valley. The first drop off the summit is steady and such a welcome relief to all the hard peddle pushing. I felt like I was flying as I looked at the speedometer and hit 18 mph. The second downhill area gets a little steep and I rode my brakes trying to stay in control. When I hit some of the downhill straight sections, I hit my top speed of 26 mph, which seemed fast as I flew through the aspen and pine lined roadway. I tried to be as safe as I could watching up ahead for any obstructions or change in conditions. I jumped over the three cattle guards and continued the descent. My only scary moment was hitting some looser gravel and sliding toward the trees. I had to brake and put a foot down to keep from mingling too close with mountain timber. The vibration from the rough road transfered from my hands, up my arms, and into the shoulder blades and neck. I could feel the muscles right between the shoulder blades starting to tighten from all the bouncing and rattling. It was okay. I had conquered the hills and I was almost to St. Charles. I was a little worried that being Labor Day weekend, I might run into the company of ATVs but I had the road almost to myself. I think I saw maybe five wheelers the whole day.

I rode alone with my thoughts and with the coolness of the shadows. I took in the green of the aspen leaves and the whiteness of their bark. I breathed in the mountain air and listened to the quiet. Every now and again I could hear the crunching of the gravel as my wheels turned and slid.

Back in one of the side canyons there used to be an old cabin and mine. My great uncles and grandpa built the cabin and worked the mine many years ago. The cabin was bulldozed and the opening to the mine closed by the Forest Service. My grandpa and great uncles traveled this road a lot. They travel it now as ghosts. "The Ride" was for them.

FAMILIAR WATER

2009-08-29T23:18:00.013-06:00

When we're young, we live on passion. We think we are old. Someone told us that when we are eighteen or twenty-one we are adults. But we are young and dumb. Everything is seen in tunnel-vision. I saw only desire and it was physical. So, how do we come to know something? We jump in with both feet--we get them wet, right? Then we learn that is not the way. We learn to take our time. We think, we feel, we lift rocks and we watch.

River stones move with geologic speed. We don't have that luxury. Our time is a slap! It's quick and stings for a second then it's gone. In the speed of life, how do we live it to its fullest?

What part do we drink to quench thirst? What part do we spew from our mouths? How do we unravel a braided current? We can't keep on casting until a trout will rise. We move on.

This was a two day trip. The first day I went alone but in my mind a string provided a connection to others. The second day, my wife was my partner.

The river became moving art. I studied the painting. I wondered: where is the pallet that stores the colors? The colors melt and run over rocks and stones. Wetness creates the brilliance. Look at the grayness of the exposed rocks. It's the water that paints the picture.

Some creeks run dry. They are a waste of time. Someone once told me that to look at them can bring sadness. I agree. Rear tires slip and spin--another goose chase. It's time to head for the familiar--it's safe there like an old friend. There's a calmness in the sound of familiar water; a calmness in a friend's voice. The serenity of place is often measured by past experience there. The small subtle changes become apparent with familiarity. The big picture may not seem to change to the casual observer.

On these creeks fly lines are not often airborn in long flowing loops. There is no need. Control of the passion for length and the need for rhythm are haulted. Trees and brush stiffle the need for power. Flips, rolls, dapping, and mends shake off the end of the rod. Much of the time, the fly line is held high and out of the water as leader and tippet dance upon seams and eddies.

Rises are quick. No time to daydream. When the fly hits the water, the reaction is now! With little weight the trout is lifted from it's world. The release is just as quick and the trout darts away with much of its liveliness.

The small creeks are not hard to read. Almost every likely looking spot will hold a trout. Presentation can be difficult if you are not used to casting around trees, brush, and snags. The things they teach in casting classes or on the casting platforms at the sportsmen's shows will serve you no good here. The late Gary LaFontaine taught it right. Standing upon the casting paltform, he would stroke a line out about one-hundred feet to the cheers of the spectators. Then he would say, "let me show you how to catch a trout now." He would kneel down behind the platform and throw out a fifteen foot cast and then talk about stealth and pinpoint casting.

Familiar water feels good. After a long winter, spring, and sometimes summer, the fall season is the time to dance with the well-known. There's a small window of opportunity when it's possible to chat with nature. When things are still. The sky stays blue. Then, just at the right time the quakie leaves will shake, and whisper of cool nights and shorter days.

The colors from the river rock and trout will mix with the terrestrial landscape. It happens with a blink. This is the time to fish hard.

Common color names never do justice to what is really seen. Speckled trout eat there fill and fatten for the lethargic times of sparseness. When the leaves of Fall spin toward the water, the season ends. It's time to sleep.

Dreams of small rising trout and warm summer days permiate the night. On days of catching, reflex jerking of legs and arms to set the hook, keep awake the participants of the day.

The rewards for being in the secret spots are always more than just the catching of trout. But without the catching of trout the spots diminish. Go there to blend the colors. Throw all the hues skyward and let then land where they may. Then leave.

ASPEN MEN by Robert Williamson

2009-08-28T19:43:00.004-06:00

Staring at water art
Peripheral vision knows they are there
I turn quick and look
White bodies with charcoal faces
Some smile, some frown
I slip on wet rock
I hear them laugh
They stand behind the willows
They move when I move
I stop, they stop
I came for solitude
Who invited the Aspen Men?

Innovative Fly Tier written by John Shewey

2009-08-26T22:21:00.006-06:00

This piece first appeared in "Southwest Fly Fishing" January/February 2007. Written by John Shewey.

Robert Williamson's fly patterns provide a rather obvious insight into their originator's fundamental beliefs about dressing and designing flies: art matters.

Hailing from Utah, Williamson has gained regional--and with the release of his first book, more wide-spread--recognition for his creative, artistic approach to fly design. In Creative Flies, Innovative Tying Techniques (Frank Amato Publications, 2002), he refreshingly admits, "I make no claims that these patterns catch more fish than any other patterns. ...Some of the techniques are considered tedious and unnecessary by some fly tiers and fly fishers. To a degree, I concur with this feeling. However, if you like a well-constructed fly, with a neat appearance and durability, you will enjoy these patterns; being able to tie these flies will give you great satisfaction."

Indeed, that satisfaction and a sense of artistic accomplishment are the elements that Williamson finds most appealing about not only tying flies, but also, perhaps more significantly, in designing new and different patterns. "The need to express myself in some type of creative arena began at an early age," Williamson explains. "I have always dabbled in drawing, painting and calligraphy. Fly tying has given me a satisfaction to those artistic cravings. I feel that if you spend enough time, energy, and talent on both the fishing and the tying, they can become an expression of yourself."

His unique surface patterns borrow ideas from a wide range of other flies and tiers, but the key components of their construction are uniquely his own. For example, almost 20 years ago, Williamson devised a method of overhand knot weaving that allowed him to use this little-known tying technique to make extended bodies. His method relies on a series of hand and finger movements that are clearly described and graphically outlined in Creative Flies, and which is most spectacularly displayed on his Woven Stonefly Adult and Woven Hopper. Both patterns are dressed by weaving two different colors of polypropylene yarn over an extended underbody of corkboard trimmed to the appropriate shape. The result is not only artistic (and downright perplexing until you understand the tying techniques and materials involved), but also just about as buoyant as any large dry fly can hope to be. To further boost the buoyancy of these patterns, Williamson adds elk hair wings and bullet-style heads of deer hair. Rubber legs complement the design perfectly, and these are simply strapped in under the thread wraps used to tie down the bullet-head.

Williamson readily acknowledges his influences and appreciates the angling and tying history that has spawned many of his ideas. In Creative Flies,for example, he summarizes the history of the overhand knot weaving method, ultimately reporting, "It can be assumed that the weaving technique Hank's (Hank Roberts) wife came up with is the same one that Dan Vercelino came up with. Both are given credit for this technique."

Williamson uses this technique sans extended body--to dress stonefly nymphs patterns and his Woven Cicada. Imitating a terrestrial insect unfamiliar to many trout anglers--but certainly not those residing in the Rocky Mountain states--this fly also has an underbody of corkboard. Williamson dresses another cicada pattern using a twisted strip of black closed-cell foam for the body. Sometimes called "furling" (which usually involves polypropylene yarn or similar materials), this twisting method is very simple and widely applicable. Williamson writes that the technique "is nothing more than twisting strips of thin foam until it (the strips twisted together) doubles back on itself."

The Looped Foam Cicada displays a simple and logical construction: black twisted-foam body tied in only at the front and extending back over the hook shank, elk hair wing, red hi-vis foam formed like a bullet head over the front by simply poking the eye of the hook through the middle of the foam strip and then tying the strip down a bit back on the shank, rubber legs like a Madam X. The same basic construction, with a slight variation in materials and proportions, produces Williamson's Twisted Hopper, Twisted Stonefly Adult, Twisted Yellow Sally, and Twisted Adult Damsel.

Weaving and twisting are but two of numerous intriguing techniques put to good use by Williamson. He also ties "chain-stitched" patterns and flies featuring air-filled bodies. He says his creative urges cause him to see fly-tying potential in all kinds of materials, no matter whether those materials are intended for dressing flies. "Any material natural or synthetic is fair game for making a fly, in my opinion," he says. "I spend a lot of time experimenting with ideas and materials. Some ideas end up as fly patterns, while others end up as a pile of failed experiments in creativity."

Williamson began fly angling at age 13; his inaugural foray into fly tying occurred 13 years later when his father's favorite flies--the Franz Potts hair flies--were becoming scarce. Not willing to part with the hair flies, such as the Fizzle and Rock Worm, that he and his brother grew up fishing with, Williamson disassembled a few ti see how they were tied and thus launched his tying career. Combining his artistic bent with a fascination for the non-traditional methods of Western tiers like Potts, Norman Means, and George Grant, Williamson was soon "trying to realistically duplicate the size, shape, and color of the natural insects I was trying to imitate." Increasingly he did so, with unique methods and materials.

In addition to compiling many of his innovative patterns and techniques in Creative Flies, Williamson has also written for Utah Fishing, Utah Outdoors, Fly Fishing, and Fly fishing and Tying Journal. And though he admits that he originally wrote his book to seek some recognition for his innovative methods, he has since decided that such motivations are "quite selfish." That self-assessment, however, is too harsh because not only did writing the book provide yet another venue for Williamson to "quench creative urges," but doing so also resulted in a very useful guide for like-minded creative tiers who relish learning and advancing intriquing techniques.

In addition to bespeaking its author's insistence that art matters as much as function in fly patterns, Creative Flies also reveals Williamson's deep respect for the ability of the sport of fly angling to add meaning and mystery to life. He scatters short angling tales throughout the book, and "The Crossing" demonstrates his love of small, unheralded waters and wild trout. In fact, Williamson's favorite fisheries are pristine Utah streams populated by native Bonneville cutthroats.

"For me," he reflects, "the places where these natives are found are like the fountain of youth. They give me a sense that amid all the changes in life and in the world, some things can remain the same. I feel a sense of connection with the past and a hope that it can be passed down to those I love. In a way, I guess I am a romantic when it comes to fly fishing, I am very idealistic. Fly fishing and fly tying are passions that stretch my imagination and my emotions."

John Shewy is the managing editor of Northwest Fly Fishing, Southwest Fly Fishing and Eastern Fly Fishing magazines.

Hoppertunity One Day Event

2009-08-18T16:29:00.002-06:00

Let's make this a one day event. Saturday the 19th of September. Details to come in the next couple of weeks. Limit to eight people would work nice. Wait---Scott, brought up a good point on his blog---I may not have that many readers or friends. Hmmmm. I guess if we only get four folks, it would still work. :)

HOPPERTUNITY

2009-08-15T15:27:00.002-06:00

I am inviting a few fly fishers to participate in an unique hoppertunity. Here's how it will work:

I have the 18th or 19th of September to spend fly fishing. I think it would be fun to get 6 or 8 people together in the Logan area and divide up into sets of two (twosomes). We will assign each twosome a specific section of river and they will fish a Twisted Hopper pattern exclusively ( provided by yours truly). The twosomes will have a notebook, a pencil or pen, and a way to quickly measure the fish. Catches will be documented (numbers, types of fish, and sizes), and then after a certain time period we meet at a designated place to compare notes and stories. A nice stream side dinner would be nice to top the outing off. We could assign people to bring items. Kick this around and post a comment on this site if you want to participate or have any other ideas that would make this fun. If one of those days do not work, throw some others out and we can narrow it down. Thank you great fly fishers of wisdom and trout.

SMALL JEWELS AND UNEXPECTED TREASURES

2009-08-09T11:03:00.017-06:00

The television weather report the evening before our planned fishing day was discouraging: thirty mile an hour winds, sixty percent chance of rain, dropping temperatures of over twenty degrees, possible hail, and lightning! I can handle all of it except the wind and lightning. Casting a fly in wind is not something I have on my favorites list.

So, we changed to plan B. We already had a plan B figured out because we (my bro-in-law, nephew and me) are seasoned outdoors men. Plan B was to bag the two hour drive into Wyoming and hit the closer waters around Logan, Utah. Plan B found me sitting on a half submerged rock on the edge of the Logan River. I'm waiting for Jer (bro-in-law) and his son Matt (my nephew) to work their way upstream to my position. I move up river quick. I hit every spot that is likely to hold a trout and after a few drifts, I move on. It's part of my nature. I read the water like it's a children's book, it's a fast read most of the time, unless, of course, there is a good hatch going, and trout working the surface, then I move slower.

I placed my fly rod on my lap and bowed my head and closed my eyes. The water here is riffles and pockets. I can hear it as it bumps, turns and swirls around the uneven bottom and boulders. It's a nice sound; it's sound I have been around most of my life. It's a nice day. I'm glad to be here. It's good to be out. The sun has cleared the eastern peaks. I take off my cap and let the sun hit my head and face. It feels good.

I glance upstream and see Jer. He moves down to where I'm sitting. I stand and move toward him like two old friends who are meeting again after years of separation. It's only been a half-hour since we parted upstream. Smiles are exchanged and fishing reports shared. It hasn't been the best of mornings for catching. Matt soon arrives and we decide to drive into Logan for lunch and then drive over the border into Idaho to hit a stream.

After stopping to pick up an Idaho fishing license, we drive up Cub River canyon. The lower stretches of the Cub contain Bonneville Cutthroat and is similar looking water to the upper reaches of the Logan only smaller in size and volume of water. We decide to pass the lower stretches and see what trout we would find in the upper stretches near Willow Flat. It is a beautiful area bracketed by high mountain peaks and backdrops of thick forested slopes of shadow-hidden pines. The stream meanders through the flat and its flow interrupted by several beaver dams. It is clear with deep undercuts at every turn. Small jewels of brook trout are caught. The orange-rust bellies brilliant giving way to the crimson spots outlined in blue halos. The backs mottled with worm-like patterns of olive and brown. The tips and leading edge of the fins are outlined in pure white. They are handsome fish. They are small and wild; their only shortcoming is that they are not native to the area. Still, they are welcomed.

From Willow Flat over to highway 89 in Logan Canyon is about 16 miles of dirt road. We decide our course is to drive the dirt road, stop for one last fishing spot in Franklin Basin and then drive back to Bear Lake on 89. Jer is at the wheel. He starts the climb out of the flat and before we know it, we were on long straight run of dirt road heading toward the basin. Jer hits the gas and we are flying along at about 55 miles per hour. I've ridden dirt roads with Jer before, some with white knuckles and the fear of death in my soul, but I have to admit, he has mellowed with age just a bit.

Franklin Basin fishes well for us. Small cutthroat in the eight to ten inch range are plentiful with an occasional twelve or thirteen inch fish caught. I'm able to turn one that looked to be a spawn hold-over that might have gone sixteen inches. It is a fun area and Matt and me play a little game of fly fishing baseball. The rules are simple: first fisher casts into a likely spot. If he hooks up with a trout and brings it to hand, it's a home run and the next fisher is up. If you cast and miss a fish, it's a strike. If you get three strikes, you are out and it's the other person's turn. Matt wins the ballgame with more home runs and the biggest fish.

We finally meet up with Jer and end our fishing day. I have not had the opportunity to spend a whole day with Jer and Matt for some time. It was a real pleasure fly fishing with them and just hanging out. I'm blessed to have them in my life. I love them and would do anything for them.

Small, beautiful brook and cutthroat trout, the beauty of sparkle-clear water, stream bottom rocks, wild flowers, vistas, sun (especially with reports that it wouldn't be sunny) and the quiet sound of serenity found in the woods are the jewels of the trip. Spending time with those I love the treasures.

You would think all the fly fishing is the highlight of the day. But I learned a very good lesson on this trip. I have to learn to put things in perspective. That is hard for me. I am driven by passion for certain things and I have to sometimes slow down, take a step away, look at the situation, and then see the whole picture.

It's funny how the highlight of my weekend fly fishing trip turned out to be something other than catching a bunch of beautiful trout in an amazing setting. The most significant event happened somewhat unexpectedly. It is something I will remember. As we were getting ready to leave for home, I was able to take my sister in a full embrace (something I have never done) and tell her happy birthday. I then told her, "I love you." I fought back the tears that were welling---hers flowed a little more freely. I wonder if she was aware I noticed. What an awesome moment. The beautiful trout, the streams, the mountains are the small jewels. The relationships and expressions of love are the unexpected treasures. I sit here now wondering what is happening to my heart?

Whisper in the Wind

2009-08-04T22:41:00.003-06:00

Dog days are here! Hot, stale air sitting on the valley floor. Rivers and streams down to lower flows. Trout skittish. Drips of sweat roll down the back. Drops like shower water run off the face and chin. Salt-eyes burn. You can taste the savor when you lick your lips or just open your mouth to breath. Colored line in tight loops cannot move enough air to create wind. At high noon there is no one else on the water. Others wait until the cool of evening and approach the water with the bats. They have learned that the largest trout hide in bright sun.

Walking through the tall grasses, hoppers leap like flushed game birds. You watch as some hoppers land in the water. Quick swirls and audible splashes and they disappear. Concentric rings migrate to nothing as a witness that water holds life. You wait and watch. You remember. It doesn't seem that long ago that you were young and you would run to the water. Now, you walk. You've learned to sneak.

You feel the breeze hit the wetness of your neck. Eighty degree chill brings bumps to the skin. You listen. What does the wind whisper when only a slight breeze? That is the secret. Not everyone gets to hear the secret. You have to earn what the soft wind can teach. No matter how old you get, you are always a student at the river's edge.

An Oldie But Goodie!

2009-07-31T10:56:00.000-06:00

Testament of a Fisherman
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I fish because I love to; because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly; because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape; because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion; because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be bought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience; because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don't want to waste the trip; because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters; because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because bourbon out of an old tin cup always tastes better out there; because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid; and, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant - and not nearly so much fun. -John Voelker (Robert Traver )

Thanks for the props Kevin!

2009-07-25T21:30:00.003-06:00

The following was posted on the UTOF web site. I used to frequent that site as RAW or Wildnative. This post is about the air-filled stonefly adults I have been tying. Kevin bought a couple dozen from me to try this year. Looks like they were a success. What more could a fly tyer ask for than a complimentary post such as this:

"Sweet Flies
I have been really jonesing on the flies I have received from UTOF fly tyers this summer.First in late May I got my order of 02 Salmon flies from RAW (WildNative). They have been the bomb for both the HF and SF hatches. Something about the silhouette of this fly and the way it sits in the water drives the fish crazy. It has moved fish that have ignored other patterns. I picked up over 20 fish on dry salmon flies last week on the upper stretch of the SF all on the O2 fly...... and there were no real adults to be seen. The fish just key on this pattern, and it will not sink. The trapped air make the fly so buoyant. Both the gray and the orange 02 salmon flies have been a huge success."

Sneak Attack!

2009-07-24T19:33:00.014-06:00

Give me a 3-weight rod, an imitation grasshopper and a hot summer afternoon on just about any small creek, and I'm going to guarantee a fun and productive time on the water. I usually fish these waters in total solitude. Today was different. My wife, Phyllis, decided she wanted to hang with me today and volunteered to be the photographer. She claims I take too many shots of just trout, and that it would be nice to see the man who actually catches the trout. I'm not much for having my picture taken, but she convinced me that the camera does not remove my spirit from my body so here I am.

I love summer. Even though there was a slight overcast when we started, the grasses were tall and green, the cedars and junipers had a green-blue hue and the sage was powder-coated gray. It was a beautiful day. The sun would peak out from the clouds bringing beads of sweat dripping off my forehead and and off my nose. I usually wear a ballcap when fishing but forgot it today. When I was younger, I used to wear a bandanna around my forehead to act as a sweatband. I may go back to that practice as it was difficult keeping the salt from entering my eyes.

This small creek is loaded with brown and cutthroat trout. The ratio today was higher for the browns. I'm just a little disheartened at this. Last two years I was catching more cutthroat. This water should be cutthroat water. I hope the browns are not forcing the cutts to slowly disappear.

Today was bragger's day. With my wife as a witness, I was able to show off my prowess. This is something that a lone, solitary fly fisher doesn't get to do often. Luckily for me, the trout cooperated and I was lifted to rock star status in her eyes.

I ponder a lot while hanging out with my friends the trout. I thought about pain and hurt today. I am reminded of a quote from a Barry Lopez essay: "The living of life, any life, involves great and private pain, much of which we share with no one. In such places (I'm inserting my own place here) as quiet trout streams the pain trails away from us. It is not so quiet there or so removed that you can hear yourself think, that you would even wish to; that comes later. You can hear your heart beat. That comes first."

Today, I could hear my heart beat.

Independence Day on the Weber

2009-07-04T18:07:00.003-06:00

I spent the afternoon with my nephew Matt Eves who snapped the photos in this post. It was a slow day on the Weber but we were able to land some whitefish and this nice cutthroat. I'm not sure why the brown trout were hiding. There was a nice yellow sally hatch happening but no rising fish. Matt is becoming a great fly fisher. He is a better nymph fisher than I am and I noticed that he has a nice, smooth casting stroke.

This fish was about all I could handle with the three-weight rod. Luckily, the faster water below the hole I hooked it in was shallow enough for me to move down stream and land the fish on a small island.

I noticed the cutthroat's side was a little scratched up and surmised that it was probably caused from the spawn somehow. I don't know if the pictures do it justice. It was a heavy fish with some girth to it.

The whitefish we caught were good-sized too.

It was good to spend a few hours on a river.

Today's Quote

2009-07-04T17:46:00.002-06:00

"The landscape conveys an impression of absolute permanence. It is not hostile. It is simply there---untouched , silent and complete. It is very lonely, yet the absence of all human traces gives you the feeling you understand this land and can take your place in it."

---Edmund Carpenter

Soul of Steams Successful Adventure

2009-07-02T23:07:00.004-06:00

My Saturday hike and fish was a success. Finally a day without thunderstorms, wind and rain. I must admit that hiking in alone and bushwacking, wet wading, slipping on the rocks, and wondering about lions, tigers and bears is weighing on my mind more the older I get. Here I was, however, 3 miles in on a creek with perfect flows, clarity, and numbers of pan-sized trout.

I don't think it would matter what fly is used. These fish as far as I can tell don't see a lot of pressure. They are easily spooked, but are not particular about the food they eat. I used a cicada pattern: black foam body, elk hair wing, orange foam head, and black rubber legs, tied on a size 12 Tiemco 5212 hook.

As stated in a previous post, I went to not only get out of town and into some wild country, but to also bring home dinner. I also wanted to see what type of trout I would catch and if any of them were rainbow/cuthroat hybrids (cuttbows). All fish caught were rainbows with the exception of two. One was a pure cutthroat and one was a cuttbow. This surprised me to a degree. It seems like last year when I went into this area, I caught more cutthroat. I didn't keep an accurate count but in the three hours I was fishing, I brought about fifteen or twenty fish to hand and missed hooking about ten or so. Most of the fish were in the eight to ten inch range with four or five pushing twelve or thirteen inches. I had a small pack on my back which I carried a frozen water bottle. When I was ready to leave, I cleaned the fish and put them in a palstic bag and placed it in the pack with the frozen water. The fish were then taken home, cooked and eaten. They were fresh and good. I offered to share them with my family and they declined. My family usually loves fish so it was a bit of a shock when they didn't want to share in the feast.

When I hike into and out of these areas, my mind almost always wanders. I think about the history of the area. I wonder about the early inhabitants of the area. I dream about being more knowledgeable about the plants, trees, and wildlife. I listen to the birds sing and only recognize a couple of the songs. Again, I think to myself, that I need to learn more. The view coming out was nice. Looking out through the opening of the canyon I could see part of the small mountain valley below and the backdrop of tall peaks with just a few specks of snow left in the highest cirques. My last thought was that I probably will not return to this water again this year. I give it one trip a year. Time to move to other waters that seem to call to me---come here and seek my trout, soul of streams!

Take a Little Trip!

2009-06-26T19:32:00.004-06:00

Tomorrow June 27, 2009 I will be hiking in to a small stream. I think the run-off is down just enough to make this little gem perfect for an afternoon of fly fishing. Native cutts with a few wild rainbows will, hopefully, be willing participants in this foray. I haven't had a good trout dinner for sometime--since my solo three day trip last fall so I will be harvesting four trout for a late evening dinner. On this water, I always let the Bonneville cutts go and keep the rainbows which are a remnant population from planting of about fifteen to twenty years ago. I haven't seen any cross-breeding between the natives and the rainbows but it most likely occurred. I'll look closely this trip. Still, I like to remove the rainbows when given the chance to help insure that the cutts remain as pure as possible. I'll try to get some pictures and share them in the future. Well, off to tie some nice fresh flies for tomorrows stream meanderings.

Trout Art I've Been Working on in my "Spare Time"

2009-06-18T12:33:00.005-06:00

I've been working on some trout art. All are created with colored pencil. The cutthroat and brook trout are drawn on matt board. The rainbow is a cut out silhouette made of composite wood.

I'll be working on some pastel paintings in the future. I'm finding that late at night during my wind-down time, creating these pieces satisfies an urge to make something, and allows me to admire the beauty and color I find in trout.

BWO Offer

2009-04-27T19:57:00.002-06:00

Those who are waiting for the BWO flies, hang in there! My regular job has my schedule all messed up and I've been putting in way too many hours. The flies are ready to go, I just haven't taken the time to package them and send them off. I'll throw in a bonus surprise fly(ies) for being so patient. I'll try to get them on their way this week. They should fish well even if the BWO's are not around.
Thanks!

Level of Respect?

2009-04-17T21:02:00.004-06:00

One summer evening on the Ogden River, I sat halfway up the bank hidden in the brush watching the water. My evening of fishing was done. The sun can leave the canyon early and most of the time I will fish until I can't see. This night was different. I had caught enough trout. There was nothing to prove. It was dead still except for the moving water and even it seemed to slow down for a rest.

I noticed the first shadows move down from the mountain ridges and into a stand of firs. Once sunlit green, now turned black. Soon the shadows would hit the water. Caddis and mayfly spinners would be out. Those who know the Ogden would also know that small, cream cranefly adults would also dance in the coolness.

"We're gonna rip some lips!"
"Hell, yes!"
"Last time I fished this stretch, I killed 'em!"
"I'm gonna beat four of them over the head. I'll take your limit too."
"I'll put the death squeeze on my four best!"

The silence of the evening was shattered. Two fly fishers had entered the water downstream from my position. Their conversation loud and echoing off the boulder strewn river bottom. It was macho. Spawning season was still a month or two out, but testosterone was kicking in.

Since this experience a few summer ago, I have wondered about the language of angling and what it says about the level of respect we have for our quarry.

Before some misjudge, let me be perfectly clear--I have been through a time when the most important thing in my life was to catch more trout than the next guy and I have killed my fair share of trout over the years, but I don't remember using the verbiage that I hear from the throngs of fly fishers today.

I'm not saying what I hear is wrong, I just wonder what it says about our respect and admiration for the trout?

Any thoughts?

Chain-stitched Blue-winged Olive Mayfly Trial

2009-04-01T20:39:00.004-06:00

The Blue-winged Olive mayflies are hatching. If you enjoy fishing imitations of the duns, you may qualify for 4 chain-stitched BWO patterns to try. The first 3 individuals who respond via comment to this post will receive the flies. You must then fish them over trout feeding on adult Baetis and report back through email your experience(s).

The Search for Peace

2009-03-18T20:15:00.002-06:00

What it is that brings peace and serenity to life? Most of you know the answer. Or do you?
Is it the catching of a few trout? Partly, I suppose. I've decided it goes beyond that. I'm to the age where I can look back over a period of years now. I've been at this fly angling for 37 years. I wouldn't consider myself an old geezer, but I'm starting to get closer to that end of the spectrum.

As I look back, I see a pattern for my attraction to fly fishing. Dad and mom took the family camping a lot, at least I remember it as a lot. We camped near the same stream for the most part. I remember that stream, and still return to it yearly. Sometimes, I don't even fish it; I just watch it. I look for the cutthroat trout and watch them. For some reason, just knowing they are still there is enough. I watch the current. I watch for aquatic insects. I listen.

Norman Maclean explains the listening part in his book A River Runs Through It when he tells of his dad reading the "good book" by the side of the river.

Preacher Maclean: "In the part I was reading it says the Word was in the beginning, and that's right. I used to think water was first, but if you listen carefully you will hear that the words are under the water."

Norman Maclean: "That's because you are a preacher first and then a fisherman. If you ask Paul, he will tell you that the words are formed out of the water."

Preacher Maclean: "No, you are not listening carefully. The water runs over the words. Paul will tell you the same thing."

Norman later goes on to explain that a river has so many things to say that it is hard to know what it says to each of us.

If you concentrate on the water, you will come to know what it says to you. Right now, it speaks peace to me. The current takes my cares and concerns and swirls them in a backwash for one last time and then sends them gracefully downstream. The focus then becomes the bottom rocks, the streamside foilage, the surrounding hills and mountains, the sun, the shadows, billowing clouds or clear, blue sky.

Then the sounds... (to be continued)

Working on Air-filled Stonefly Designs

2009-02-17T22:53:00.009-07:00

Getting a little fancy! Working on some new stonefly designs. Imitating a regular "salmonfly" and a lighter yellow stonefly.

RIVER AND STREAM ACCESS

2009-02-14T22:56:00.001-07:00

I found this very interesting.

http://www.nationalrivers.org/us-law-public.htm

On being Alone (This first appeared in "Utah Fishing" magazine April 1, 1988.)

2009-02-09T20:34:00.004-07:00

Rare are the things people like to do alone.

I used to go fishing alone every week and when an acquaintance learned of my solitary expeditions he blurted out, "The only thing I like to do alone is use the bathroom."

It is a fact, however, that I used to leave every Tuesday night during the summer and head to my favorite trout stream to fish, camp, relax, and think. I remember the concerns of family and friends who felt that going alone was unwise because something might happen and I would be without help. They were also concerned because of my camping gear, which consisted of a fly rod, flies, and a sleeping bag. No food, no tent, no kitchen sink.

I would throw my fishing gear and sleeping bag into my vehicle every Tuesday morning so I would be ready to leave as soon as I got off work. I always carried matches and tinfoil so I could start a fire and cook fish. Utensils consisited of a knife and whittled stick.

I learned some important lessons on my lone fishing trips. I learned to enjoy my own company. I found that I didn't have to worry about anyone's pleasure but my own and though it may sound selfish, I was able to do exactly what I wanted--- and that was fish all day long.

Now, any true outdoorsman will tell you that in nature you are never really alone. If I was quiet, I had the company of squirrels, deer, woodchucks, mink, beaver, skunks and other animals. On occassion, I would stop fishing, look up and watch a hawk soar effortlessly across the sky, casting a shadow that would dance and spin upon the earth.

Other times, I would listen to the wind as it would weave through the pines, aspen and maples. The sudden breeze would cause a chill up my spine, not because it was cold, but because it would remind me of my aloneness. The smell of skunkberry and pine would awaken my senses and the sound of the water would penetrate deeply into my ears.

Sometimes I would stop to think about my great grandfather, my grandfather and my dad who passed to me the wonderful love for nature and the way to enjoy it through fly fishing. I would ponder about the stream, the trail, the cutthroat trout and wonder if I was standing in the spots they stood to cast a fly to eager, colorful trout. I felt they were here.

If you stop to think about it, the time spent fishing alone is not as it may seem. Although I never took anyone with me on those solitary trips, I had company. I had conversations with myself and with the trout and, maybe, in some unexplainable way, with other fishermen whose paths I was following. Fishermen who have long since gone, but who move up and down the stream in the wind.

Important to all Utah fisher(men & women). Please help!

2009-01-30T16:11:00.001-07:00

I received this email from Bryan Gregson

Hey all,
Some recent news has been brought to my attention. I got word that there is at least (1) bill being pushed through to take away Utah's public right to access all Utah water. We will need to defeat any attempt to remove the existing law. This will need to be done at the grassroots level by calling, emailing or writing legislators in every district in order for them to be aware of the pending assault on the stream access ruling. This can only be achieved by contacting all of our friends and asking if they will make the small effort it takes to email their legislator. It's going to be an uphill battle but with a joint effort we can make this happen. So to curb any thoughts and to hit this head on before it gains momentum we need to contact our representatives and let them know we support The Utah Supreme Courts ruling, our right to access public water and will not accept anything less. EVERYONE needs to get involved. The more letters the legislators get from more sources, the better. All you need to do is identify where you live, who your area representative is and contact them… its easy! It takes less than 5 minutes. Our small voices can and will be heard! Please call everyone you know and ask them to send an email or letter to their representative asking them to protect our right to access public water and wildlife on public waters. "Utah Water Guardians" have provide simple steps with easy to follow information that will allow your voice to be heard.
Check it out --->http://utahwaterguardians.wordpress.com/action/
Follow the quick easy steps to locate your representatives and make your voice be heard.
Get on it, the time is now! Keep fighting,
Bryan Gregsonutahcutthroat.blog@gmail.com http://www.utahcutthroat.com/

Creative Flies

2009-01-28T08:54:00.001-07:00

Out of print now. Can still be found with some on-line book dealers.

Laminate Trout (by Mikel Williamson)

2009-01-28T08:53:00.001-07:00

My son Mikel has been doing some of the laminate trout for me. He actually does a better job at it than I do.

I decided some time ago, that the beauty of the trout, their form, their color, and the environment where they are found has become more important to me. This feeling for their elegance inhances my feelings of respect as I pursue them through fly fishing.

Making these replicas is adding to the joy I find in trout.

Orange Air-cicada

2009-01-28T08:52:00.000-07:00

Air-hopper 1 and 2

2009-01-28T08:50:00.001-07:00

Air-Cicada

2009-01-28T08:49:00.000-07:00

Air-filled Cicada

2009-01-28T08:48:00.000-07:00

For Those Interested in the Tying Instructions (O2 Stone Adult)

2009-01-22T16:52:00.001-07:00

http://www.flyanglersonline.com/flytying/fotw2/010807fotw.php

The only thing I do different is make the head out of black foam instead of deer hair. The foam looks better and makes the pattern more durable.

Fly Testing Survey

2009-01-06T21:41:00.003-07:00

I've tried this in the past and it has been fun for those who have participated, and fun for me to see the results, and hear the stories.

For right now, I'd like to get a feeling of interest in bringing this fly testing offer back. I have created a poll to gauge the interest. Be sure to check it out and cast your vote. Suggestions and ideas can be submitted by email or by comment to this blog.

Here's how it works:

I will make an offer (periodically) of a fly pattern that I want others to use. I will offer this to the first 4 to 6 people who respond to the offer. Those first responders will get 4 of the offered fly and they will fish with them and then send me an email of their experiences. In the past, I have done this free of any charge. I may consider a couple dollars from the participants to cover packaging and postage of the fly shipments.

Check out the poll and vote on whether this is something you would be interested in. Thanks!

Cabin Fever

2008-12-23T22:20:00.003-07:00

December 21st is one of my favorite days of the year. It's the winter solstice! It's the shortest day of the year. It marks what most consider the beginning of winter. It's the day I trick my mind.

I've never really been a winter person. Oh, I've had my days when throwing snowballs is fun. In fact, I threw four of them today. I tried to hit a spot on a building showing a co-worker that if the planets had been aligned right, and I had spent more time practicing my pitching, instead of chasing trout, I could be playing for the Dodgers. After four throws, he never bought the story, and cold hands convinced me that convincing him was futile.

Like I mentioned December 21st is the day I trick my mind. Here's how I see it. The winter solstice is the day the sun reaches it's southern most migration. The angle of the sun to my position on the earth, at this date, is at it's greatest. From this day forward, the sun begins to migrate to the north again. So, to me, December 21st is the beginning of spring. That's right! Here comes the sun. The days are getting longer. Fishing season is on its way.

It doesn't matter that it's 16 degrees outside tonight. The sun is moving in the right direction and that does wonders for my cabin fever. Cabin fever hits me every winter. It's never hit me to the point of feeling I have Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). I just get a little winter blue. I have studied the recommendations for those who have SAD and I think they can help with mild cases of winter blues and cabin fever. Here are some of the recommendations:

Spend time outside everyday, even on cloudy days. The available light is good to absorb through the eyes and skin.

Eat a well-balanced diet. Include vitamins and minerals.

Exercise 30 minutes a day, three time a week or more.

Stay involved with your social circle and regular activities.

Stay positive mentally. Set goals and actively work toward them. Plan and look forward to future spring, summer, and fall adventures. (Of course, these should include the many fly fishing adventures you dream about.)

Spring is on it's way. I can feel the days getting longer (adding2 minutes of light per day now). I can feel the sun hitting the back of my neck and tanning my forearms as I cast to trout sipping the first hatch of blue-winged olives. It feels good. Close your eyes and watch that nice cutthroat coming for your fly. There he is. He took it. Raise the rod tip and feel the fight. See, spring is here every winter solstice. Goodbye cabin fever!

George Grant Obituary

2008-11-05T08:43:00.000-07:00

http://www.mtstandard.com/obits/obit.php?Id=20081104224929

George Grant Passes Away

2008-11-03T16:43:00.004-07:00

George Grant, famous Montana fly tier passed away on Sunday, November 2, 2008 at the age of 102. Grant was famous for his woven hair-hackled stoneflies, for founding the Big Hole River Foundation, conservation efforts on the Big Hole and for his two rare books: The Master Fly Weaver and Montana Trout Flies. I will write more on Grant when I get a chance.

Condolences to his family. May his spirit rest in peace on his beloved Big Hole River. I hope to see him in the morning mist making a cast, playing a trout and then slipping out of sight on his favorite bend.

http://www.bhrf.org/

http://www.mtstandard.com/articles/2008/11/04/area/hjjbiijfjdgigg.txt

Major Trophy Caught on Madison River

2008-10-31T10:54:00.002-06:00

Check out http://www.utahcutthroat.blogspot.com/ for a picture and story of one of Utah's own catching a brown of major size on the Madison River.

Congratulations Bryan!

2008-10-30T22:16:00.000-06:00

2008-10-30T22:10:00.001-06:00

FALL BROWN

2008-10-30T22:08:00.000-06:00

LITTLE BROWN HUNGRY FOR HOPPER

2008-10-30T22:05:00.000-06:00

TYPICAL SMALL CREEK CUTTHROAT

2008-10-30T21:58:00.003-06:00

ORANGE SLASH OF BONNEVILLE CUTTHROAT

2008-10-30T21:53:00.001-06:00

HIGH GRASS CUTTHROAT

2008-10-30T21:48:00.001-06:00

One of my Favorite Novelists has Died

2008-10-28T21:41:00.005-06:00

This is not fly fishing related but I felt a need to mention that one of my favorite authors has passed away. Tony Hillerman creator of the popular mystery novels featuring Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee of the Navajo Tribal Police died on Sunday, October 26, 2008. He was 83. Hillerman lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico and used the Desert Southwest area as the backdrop to his novels. His love for the culture of native people of the area and the harshness of the land brought a certain flavor to his writing. Early on Hillerman was told by an agent that if he wanted to be a success at writing, he needed to drop the Indian stories. The fact that Hillerman became a best selling author by sticking to his genre, points to his ability to write and carry out a story with compelling characters, cultural understanding, enchanting scenery, and dialogue that carries the reader into the world Hillerman creates. Hillerman authored somewhere in the neighborhood of 18 novels with such best sellers as, Skinwalkers, Coyote Waits, Talking God, A Thief of Time, Hunting Badger, Fallen Man, The First Eagle, The Ghostway, The Dark Wind, Skeleton Man and his last novel, Shape Shifter. Hillerman received the Edgar Allan Poe Award, the Silver Spur Award for best novel set in the West, and his most cherished award, the Navajo Tribe's Special Friend Award. I have read every novel he wrote and often find myself reaching for them when I feel a need to escape and wander through the arid Southwest again.

Looking Back Down River

2008-10-19T00:57:00.004-06:00

The beauty of the scenery and sharing the river with a good friend is what makes the Logan River one of my favorite places.

Click on the image to get the full view of how beautiful this area is.

Nice Cutthroat Water

2008-10-19T00:51:00.002-06:00

Three cutthroat trout were taken from this little run. One at the tail just above the visable white ripple, one from the center, and one at the head just below the dead overhanging branch.

This is typical late summer, early fall conditions on the Logan River.

Hal Making the Perfect Cast

2008-10-19T00:48:00.000-06:00

Fly Fishing Friend Hal Working a Stretch on Logan River

2008-10-19T00:41:00.000-06:00

Summer & Fall Fishing: Seems Like Trout Will Eat Anything!

2008-10-18T23:57:00.003-06:00

In the past I've fallen for the fly theories and fly hype. I've even perpetuated a few of my own over the years, but for the past several years I have come to a new conclusion, at least on most of the local Utah waters I fish. Here's my conclusion: Summer and fall fly fishing is easy! The fish in most Utah waters are plentiful and hungry. I have found that only on rare occassion are they selective to the point where you have to match a hatch to catch them. I'm talking summer and fall here. In early spring, you sometimes have to match a blue-winged olive hatch to get the best fishing, but summer and fall it's as if anything goes, other than the rare case of a hatch of some specific insect for a small period of time. I proved that again today. I took trout on three different hopper patterns, a cicada pattern and a mayfly pattern. Normally, this time of year I will throw on a hopper and just leave it on all day, but for some reason, I had the wild idea to try other hopper patterns as well as the cicada and small mayfly. I don't think it mattered what I had on. I think the cutthroat are looking to feed before the winter months and the browns are gaining fat and energy for the spawn.

I guess what I'm getting at is that we fly tiers sometimes think we have a talent for creating some special fly, when in reality, almost any fly would work if we get it over some hungry fish and cast it into waters that have too many stunted and hungry fish and it's summer or fall, when trout seem to be most aggressive.

A couple years ago, I talked to a fly shop guide and asked about a particular river I had never fished. He told me I had to go small and I would catch more fish using a nymph. He gave me the name of the small nymph that was "killer." I got to the river and stood in a hole just as he had explained. I used the small nymph and fished it as he explained. I actually caught two brown trout in about an hour of fishing. I soon tired of the nymphing and walked around the next bend in the river. As I looked upstream, I thought, this river doesn't look any different than any of the other rivers I have fished. It was late summer, so I tied on a hopper imitation. First cast into a cut bank and I was rewarded with a nice fish. Next cast a little further out into the riffle, another trout. I continued to cast the hopper into each seam, cut bank, pocket and run and either missed a trout or had a hook-up. It was a blast. I've done this every year on most of the waters I fish in the summer and fall and have always been rewarded with trout.

I'm not trying to brag of any prowess I have. I'm just trying to say that we sometimes get caught up in all the fly design and hype, when the trout could care less. If we get a good presentation, are sneaky enough, and fishing waters with hungry, plentiful trout, then fly pattern is not as critical as we want to believe. Maybe some waters around the country fly pattern is critical, but here in Utah it doesn't seem to be that big of a deal.

2008-10-10T11:41:00.003-06:00

Charles Brooks in his book, The Living River, a profile of the Madison River states that "writers and editors of history and science works are largely working with opinions. This in the case of history is because it is based largely on someone's opinion of what happened, and quoting several "authorities" as reinforcement does not automatically make something true." Based on this statement as a prologue to this article, I have reached conclusions and opinions based on my research and I take responsibility for what is presented here. The idea of weaving trout flies can be traced back to the 1920s when the late Franz Pott of Missoula, Montana, was producing his Mite series of trout flies. The Mite flies were made of woven-hair bodies and woven-hair hackles. The Pott weave created a fly with a belly strip (usually orange), and the flies were neat and durable. Many fly fishers have used the Pott flies and feel they are a good caddis imitation for both the caddis worm and the emerging caddis pupa. Pott liked to use certain types of hair for his weaving process and hackles. His Sandy Mite was tied with sandy-colored hair from Chinese ox. Many of his other patterns were made with woven badger hair. Many contemporary tiers who have seen the Pott flies believed they were tied with horse hair, but this was not the case, at least not in the original patterns. Pott was a barber or wig maker by profession, and learned to apply his talents to the creation of artificial flies. His flies were very popular for up to 30 to 40 years. Many fly fishers in the Montana area used nothing else but the Pott flies. The hair-flies popularity spread and found favor in fly fishers' fly boxes in Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, Colorado and other areas around the West. I was introduced to the Pott flies in the early 1970s by my dad. He used two patterns exclusively in his fly fishing. The Fizzle and the Rockworm were his favorites. These two patterns did not have the woven-hair bodies like the Mite series, but they did have the woven-hair hackles. I learned to tie the Sandy Mite and use it regularly with wet fly techniques. I have found it to still be effective fished down-and-across on a tight line. Most trout will hit it on the swing and some trout will hit it as it is worked upstream with a slow hand-twist-retrieve. Almost all fly fishers are familiar with George Grant of Montana. Grant is another one of the pioneers of weaving techniques. Grant created a process for making a woven hackle similar to Pott but slightly different. He also created a weaving technique for his Black Creeper fly. This fly was all black except for an orange interwoven or interlaced belly stripe. The tying instructions can be found in Grant's book, The Master Fly Weaver. One of Grant's greatest accomplishments is his writing. His two books, The Master Fly Weaver and Montana Trout Flies, record for us the history and techniques for many of the woven fly patterns. It has been through the writing of Grant that many of us modern fly weavers have learned our craft. Dan Bailey was creating a woven fly in the 1930s. His pattern was an imitation of the stoneflies found in many of the Western rivers. His woven artificial was called the Mossback and was originally tied with monofilament or horse hair. Later versions tied by other tiers were tied with different colors of nylon hair. The Dark Mossback had a black nylon hair back and a olive nylon hair belly. The Light Mossback had a dark olive nylon hair back and a cream underside. Other fly tiers have used the Bailey weave to create such flies as the Bitch Creek (woven black and orange chenille) and the George's Brown Stone (woven brown and cream yarn). The woven Polish Nymphs which are gaining in popularity look like they are created with the Bailey weave and the Pott weave. The history of the overhand-knot weaving technique is a little sketchy. Hank Roberts of Colorado popularized the technique. Hank gives his wife credit for coming up with the technique, but also claims to have received a package in the mail from Dan Vercellino and Al Ross, that had fly patterns tied with this technique, on the very day his wife came up with the idea. Dan Vercellino lived in Idaho and was tying flies with the overhand-knot technique. He and Al Ross obtained a patent for the process around 1947 and formed a company called, Century Products. As far as can be ascertained, Dan and Al sent the package of flies to Hank and asked if he wanted to by the patent rights. Hank bought the rights and added the woven flies to his catalog. The overhand-knot weave as performed by most tiers involves tying in two colors of material along each side of the hook shank. A dark color for the back and light color for the belly. After these materials are secured to the shank, the tying thread is removed after a whip knot or couple of half-hitches are tied. An overhand-knot is formed out in front of the shank and then pushed over the eye of the hook with the dark color on top light color on bottom. The knot is pushed into place and cinched down snug. The process is repeated until the desired length body is formed. In 1987, I began using the overhand-knot weave with hand and finger movements that allowed me to form the body without having to remove the tying thread. This technique allows tiers to create extended-body dry flies with this weaving method. It would be almost impossible to tie an extended-body with the overhand-knot technique without using this method. Torill Kolbu of Norway performs the same weaving method by using crotchet hooks. Some fly tiers may find the use of hooks helpful but if you learn the hand and finger movements crotchet hooks are not needed. It seems that the woven-body fly is gaining in popularity again. It is fitting that we remind ourselves about the true pioneers and developers of these techniques. Thanks to Pott, Grant, Bailey, Roberts, Vercellino and Ross we have the ideas, techniques and tradition of the woven fly. ©

Dinner!

2008-10-08T00:03:00.002-06:00

A couple of my dinners consisted of kabobs of elk meat, red onions, green peppers, mushrooms and cherry tomatoes. The elk meat was provided by my neighbor. He hunted up near Vernal (Diamond Mountain) and brought home a 5X6. Having the elk meat added to the rustic flavor of the whole trip. In my mind, I created a scenario of being pretty self-suficient (even though the veggies and mushrooms came from the supermarket). As I cooked on an open fire, I dreamed of bygone days when being an outdoorsman really meant something. Today it seems those who consider themselves outdoorsmen would hardly know what to do if they couldn't haul a trailer, ATV, and kitchen sink on their outings. A tent and and air matress anymore, is really roughing it. Anyway, the elk meat was tender and tasty. I could detect no game flavor in it. Watch the cherry tomatoes! Those babies can heat up fast and the juices can burn the tongue. It only took me a couple bites before I figured that out. Taste buds will be back to normal in a few days.

One for Dinner

2008-10-07T23:52:00.002-06:00

This is one of the trout I kept for dinner. It was only the second time this year that I kept a couple for dinner. I was packing very light and planned to use two trout as one of my dinners. Coming from a crystal clear, cool stream and being so fresh, the trout were a meal to savor. Lightly seasoned, the delicate flesh was delicious and hit the spot after a long afternoon of fly-fishing.

A Hint of Fall and a Fat Cutthroat

2008-10-07T23:44:00.002-06:00

Many of the cutthroat were nice and plump. I think they were spending the warm fall days feeding and getting ready for the lean months that will soon be upon the high country.

Streambred Cutthroat

2008-10-07T23:35:00.003-06:00

This was the average size of most of the cutthroat I caught. Two like this one made a nice dinner the first night. A side dish of sauteed mushrooms, bell peppers, onions and cherry tomatoes rounded out the meal.

Mountainside and Billowing White Clouds as Backdrop to Small Creek

2008-10-07T23:24:00.002-06:00

Scenes like this were common as I moved upstream to each new fishing spot. Most of the little runs and pockets would reward me with a beautiful and fiesty cutthroat trout.

Fall Colors and Blue Skies

2008-10-07T23:13:00.002-06:00

This is the area where I spent a good portion of my solo 3-day trip. The aspen trees varied from bright yellow to dark golden. I caught myself gazing inbetween catching and releasing a trout or two.

Back To Civilization

2008-10-07T13:55:00.003-06:00

I'm back! I'll be posting about my solo adventure in the near future. It was a blast. I didn't talk to another human for three days and only saw a handful of people. It was just what I needed. The fishing and scenery were wonderful.

I'm Out of Here!!

2008-10-01T08:53:00.002-06:00

I finally have some days off from work and feeling well again. I will be spending the next three or four days in the woods chasing trout. Lunch will consist of tin-foil trout cooked over the coals of a fire, lightly flavored with some seasonings. I might throw in a cob of corn or two. My neighbor was able to get an elk this year and brought over some steaks. I think I'll gather some vegetables and mushrooms and have some elk steak kabobs one day.

Anyway, I'm out of town for at least 3 days doing nothing but catching trout! I'll report back in if I decide to come back to civilization, hopefully, with some photos. This should be real good for my head!

Holy Shingles!

2008-09-18T16:21:00.004-06:00

I had a couple days off for a Fall fishing adventure last week. I had the two days planned out and I was geared to hit it hard! On the fourth of September, I woke up with a pain in my left flank. It grew worse as the day went on and by the evening I was popping some over-the-counter pain pills trying to get relief. I just couldn't sleep and spent the night in a recliner. Next day, same pain growing worse. Trying to be the macho man stud (a rumor I started years ago, and a few bought into it), I put up with the constant pain all day and all night again. Regular pain medication just wasn't touching it. Saturday, I started to get scared. I finally checked in at Insta-care and was told it sounded like a kidney stone. An appointment was made for an ultra-sound on Monday. The prescription pain killers helped me make through the weekend.

The ultra-sound came back negative. No stone! What is causing the pain? The next few days the pain stayed in by flank and started to move around my side and into my stomach area. I could actually watch as my stomach muscles (okay, fat gut flab) made painful contractions. Thursday night, I noticed a rash on my skin. I visited WebMD on my computer and decided I had a case of the shingles. A trip back to Insta-care on Friday the 12th of September confirmed it. I'm now on antiviral medication, some crazy steriod and a skin ointment. I have never been through anything this painful for so long before. I still have a few points of pain, but I think the medications are working. I'm just so frustrated at missing out on the days I had planned to fish. This is my favorite time of year to hit the streams. I'm hoping for an Indian summer so I can make up those lost days.

3-weight and a Hopper Caught Brown

2008-09-01T23:51:00.001-06:00

Fat, Well Fed Cutthroat

2008-09-01T11:17:00.001-06:00

CHUMMING?

2008-08-31T14:46:00.003-06:00

Hundreds of hoppers flushed out in front of me as I walked through the grasses near the river's edge. Each step produced another wave of airborn kickers. The trout do not receive pressure. This is water very few others want to fish. It's too small. The fishing is hard, even though the trout are easy. No cloddish mortal walking right up to the bank or flogging a rod and line through the air without first thinking is going to have much success. It's a hunter's game. Stalking. Sneaking. Casts are short and pinpointed. Snagging bankside growth the norm.

I learned a few lessons. Maybe I'm thinking more? The grass is tall waist high at least and sometimes up to the arm pits. It grows right to the creek bank and in areas overhangs into the water. It is hard to make a normal cast where your line lands on the water and you pick up slack as the fly and line float downstream toward you. Most casts are made with the line laying in the grass and just the leader and fly plopping into the water. Sometimes, the cast is more of a dapping proposition. Sometimes, just the fly and a couple feet of leader actually hit the water. Throw away all that long cast nonsense you learned at the latest sportsmen's expo. If you have more than about fifteen feet of line out, you're out of control.

If you move slow and use the willows, you can sneak enough to see the trout before you cast to them. This is very visual. The water is low and clear and spotting the trout is very easy. Spook one, or two, or three and they race for cover notifying every trout upstream for maybe thirty or forty feet, that something is up.

As the hoppers jumped out in front of me some would fly to the other side of the creek. Others would land in the water and were immediately eaten by trout. This was easy pickings. The rising trout could be caught by casting my hopper imitation to the exact spot it just ate the natural. Was I chumming? I didn't intentionally add the natural hoppers to the water. Or did I? I knew that by walking through the grass with that many hoppers, that some would end up wet, but what could I do to stop them? Nothing! I kept fishing.

When my imitation hit the smooth, slow water, several concentric rings of disturbance would migrate out. Soon a trout would be inhaling the pattern and the battle was on. These were quick fights. A couple thrashing spins, a quick run, and the trout was then lifted out of the water to hand, or if it had some weight, slid up the bank on the grass. Some of the trout were unexpectedly nice and plump for such a small water. If I could not see my fly as it floated near the overhanging grass and undercut bank, I learned to watch for rings of a rise and sometimes the sound of a rise. This was an interesting way to detect a take and actually something the trout had taught me.

Some of the trout I could spot before I cast to them but I would say that over seventy-five percent of the trout I caught by watching for rise rings, listening for a splash, or by watching a trout quickly appear for the take soon after the fly hit the water. One several casts, I was casting to water that had no trout visable. I would cast into the barren water and then watch as a trout would race downstream to the fly, sometimes moving as much as ten feet. This I tried to understand. Did the trout sense the fly with it's lateral line, or did it see the disturbance rings and then come to investigate the source? The trout were not seeing the fly until they had turned and rushed downstream to consider the origin of the disturbance. Most of my dry fly fishing is casting a fly above the trout and letting the current carry the fly into the trout's window. To have trout ten feet upstream, turn and race downstream to a fly was different and fun. My gut feeling was that they could sense through their lateral line, but some it seemed to hesitate and turn to race downstream after the disturbance rings had rippled overhead.

This outing heightened my senses. I felt closer to my quarry. I somehow felt we were on equal terms. Yes, I fooled a few of them with my senses of sight, feel and sound, And, some of them got the best of me with those same senses. I enjoyed the day!

"When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer"

2008-08-28T15:38:00.005-06:00

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were arranged in columns
before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide,
and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with
much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

--Walt Whitman

Throw out all the numbers. Throw out the sizes. Throw out all the jargon. Wander off to a stream by yourself and in the mystical moist air, from time to time, hook a trout, look at it in silence, then look around. That's all.

2008-08-28T15:33:00.001-06:00

I am always at a loss to know how much to believe of my own stories.

--Washington Irving, Tales of a Traveller

Nothing Wrong with Quiet

2008-08-23T16:24:00.004-06:00

The eagle wasn't always the eagle.
The eagle, before he became the eagle, was Ukatangi, the talker.
Ukatangi talked and talked. It talked so much, it heard only itself.
Not the river, not the wind, not even the wolf.
The raven came and said, "The wolf is hungry. If you stop talking, you will hear him. The wind too.
And when you hear the wind, you will fly."
So he stopped talking.
And became its nature, the eagle.
The eagle soared, and its flight said all it needed to say.

---as told by Marilyn Whirlwind (actor, Northern Exposure)

Average Brown Trout For This Stream

2008-08-04T15:52:00.002-06:00

Some sections of this stream had very smooth flat water, as seen in the background. I had to be very sneaky and make well-placed casts.

Clear Water and Feeding Brown

2008-08-04T15:51:00.000-06:00

Another Brown From Cache Valley Stream

2008-08-04T15:50:00.001-06:00