BWO Offer

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?

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

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

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

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

RIVER AND STREAM ACCESS

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.)

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.