LATE AFTERNOON BROWNS



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

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

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

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

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

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

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.