Canadian Sal-mon

The timing is never right for this trip. It usually falls during my busiest time of the year for work and at a time when the winter shack nasties are still very much a part of one's personality. I've often thought of quitting my job in the month of April so things that get you excited, like sal-mon, rarely help.

We have been invited on this trip by a senior honorary Solidhookups brother so we wait for his call.
It's hard to bring more people in to the fold as it is not our trip but come spring we wait for the phone to ring.

High water and cold temperatures were what we were planning on and we were not dissappointed.

Old Wik had been battling a stomach bug ( one which I have ingested as well, as I sit home from work today to type this for you)

But first a stop for gas. $52.00 for two tins of dip and the Canadian toilet paper was divided into appropriate sizes for me already.

A quick stop to admire hand tied flies at the fly shop.

Soon we were right where we wanted to be. Fishing off an ice shelf.

Think winter steelheading with a floating coyote corpse down stream.

We got a few that first day and hoped things would look up.

I've recently started fishing old Hardy Perfects, 1950's and 60's vintage. They are cool and loud and make me think of the fisherman from yesteryear and all the encounters they have been a part of. I like them.
But, the Brit's were all left handed ( joking of course) the reels work very well if spooled for right hand retrieve. If you hook a semi hot fish and have it spooled for left hand wind, the fish can pull line out quickly and will eventually "unspool" the spool from the winding plate. When this happens, one friend should help, one friend should take photos and you, the angler, should just hand line that puppy to shore.

 

I tried to fish some classics, flies a friend had tied for me with blind eye hooks and cat gut.

But the fish wanted the old Wilkie Special.

These "black" sal-mon will put a bend in a 6wt that's for certain.

Boo yah,
Thank you Canada.

That time of the year....

Hundreds of deer are being slaughtered.
Shot dead while the look for a mate.
Imagine how that would have changed your approach while picking up co-eds in Lewiston ?

Regardless, this is the time of year when people are harvesting fly tying supplies for you and all you need to do is ask them for some scraps.

The musky flies I'm interested in require buck tail, specifically I like long, talented tail fibers. I like ones that have been harvested by a friend or co-worker. Throw it in a bag and toss it on my desk, I'll find it at 5:00am the next morning.

Primo, Maine, buck tail. Bloody stump and all, hopefully smelly with good mojo as this one is.

Toss that tail in a warm water and soap bath, remember, this thing was the bow tie on a poop machine.
Clean it up a bit.

Washed. Now identify the tail bone, prepare your surgical area.

Carefully remove the bone and muscle surrounding said bone, then scrape as much of the white fatty tissue and remove as well.

You can see in the photo above I removed a little too much fat and skin and cut through to the hair underneath. Party foul but we will live with it.

I stretched my tail out and pegged it in place, then add the Borax.

The internet says that 6 weeks of the Borax on the fat and skin will "cure" things.
Pro Tip : Place the tail covered in Borax in a tupperware tub and do not leave it inside the house.
Your wife/partner/team mate will be very upset with you and will result in an "argument".
Stash the tupperware tub in an unused closet and let it sit.

Save money, have fun, do it yourself.
Thank you,
Jasper

Hail Mary

After dropping my wife off at work yesterday I made a quick decision to go chase some fish for the day. You see, I'm recently unemployed, and one of the first things I did with my new-found freedom was to meet a friend from Montana and head out to the OP for a week, and now I've been bit by that Steele bug. Pretty bad, really. I mean I'd always been keen on 'em, but to stand in the middle of fabled waters in the right conditions just knowing that the next cast might produce the fish of a lifetime; a wild winter-run OP steelhead... The hook had been set. I'd elaborate but in doing so would also be preaching to the choir, and I'm digressing anyway. Point being, I got Steele on the brain. The wifey's been working late a lot anyway so that bought me plenty of extra free time. There's a tidy little river that runs into the Columbia a little ways north of here so I decided to throw my gear in and hit it for the day.

The first place that had been suggested to me already had people in it so I moved on. I pulled off above there a little ways at a picnic/day use area to set up and prepare myself to capitalize on the day's potential. Immediately upon attempting to slide the tip section of my nymph rod out of the sock the tip broke off. Awesome. That's the second time I've broken that rod since steelhead fishing opened in October, and who knows how many times total. We all know how casting with a broken tip is, especially nymph rigs, and I could feel the day's potential withering already.

I made do. I fished some decent looking water here, swung a little bit there, but hardly did more than piddle around with each piece I stopped at. I was mostly annoyed with casting with a broken tip and not having found any really satisfying swing water yet. Later in the afternoon I decided I was done messing around with the whole nymph getup and moved upstream to one last spot that was supposed to have some decent swinging water. There was a big, deep hole where the river turned 90 degrees right where I parked and I got out to take a look, knowing full well that if fish were going to be holding anywhere it would be in there. Actually, I think my first thought was, "Damn, I'd like to snorkel this right now because I know there's more than a few fish hanging out down in there." I wasn't wrong. Almost immediately I spotted about four fish of varying sizes holding pretty tight, almost abreast of each other, deep, quartered downstream towards the bank in the ginormous eddy of the backwater. I figured as much, but didn't see much hope in enticing let alone even reaching those fish. So be it, I moved on.

I texted a friend asking about where the good swing water was, but he had mentioned that with the cold water temps the fish wouldn't respond well to swung flies and that nymphs were much more productive right now. Dammit. Along with the hope for a tug on the swing my thunder for enjoying the rest of my day swinging good water was swiftly stolen. I went back to watch the fish. There were maybe six now I could see down there. The flash of a shivering flank caught my eye as one of the fish appeared to pick up something near the bottom. Hrm, well that's interesting. Then I noticed a small rock ledge upstream that appeared to make a pretty reasonable casting platform. Hell, not only that, but it was a actually a great platform specifically for a left-handed cast, and such is my specialty. I also realized that from that platform I could reasonably nymph to those fish like I would normally, only facing downstream and fishing the eddy back to me. The slow churn of the cogs in my brain began accelerating into a palpable buzz in my ears. My chips were down, but I was quickly hatching a plan to go all in.

I cut everything off my line. I started with a fresh 9' 20# salmon leader. I figured I would need the extra oomph to help cast the monstrosity I was about to concoct. At the end of the leader I tied a perfection loop to drop my flies from. I wanted the thickness of the leader for casting but felt that I should try to be stealthier in my presentation, so I attached a piece of 2x fluorocarbon via clinch knot directly to the loop, and threw three BB split shot onto the loop itself. That's almost 9' of leader to my split shot; I needed the length to help deliver my flies deep. From there it was about 18" to a Pat's rubber legs, dropped with a small 8mm bead and stinger about 18" behind it.

I took another look at the fish and measured their position against landmarks on the bank before scrambling down the bank into position. The ledge made a perfect platform to stand on, but an upstream breeze made reaching my mark difficult. I crept forward and climbed onto a downed tree just upstream from the fish. I finally was in range, and after a few botched attempts finally landed a cast in the approximate area where the fish were holding. It was an achingly slow drift, but only one or two casts in and my indicator started to dip. I ripped into it, arguably premature, and nothing. Huh. Well, I doubted that I could be hanging up on bottom so that was reassuring. A few more casts and I got another one into the zone. Sloooooow drift, bob bob goes the indicator. Wait another second, bob bob, SET! After a few vigorous head shakes the fish tore off around the pool, peeling line with it. Concerned about my position on the log I climbed back to the ledge, tightened my drag a bit, and nervously settled into playing the fish. It was healthy and strong, the kind of fight that really satisfies what we as fisherman seek. She ran up, she ran down, she ran deep. I played her towards the ledge and got a few glimpses before she'd take off again. After a few moments of give and take, enjoying the scream of the reel when she ran and recovering line when she slowed, the fish began to tire. I eased her up and over the ledge and a moment or two later had her tailed. BOOM.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a few quick picks with her in the water, backed the hook out of her jaw, and sat there for a moment enjoying the beautiful, wild fish that I held before me. I gently lifted her out of the water to steal a kiss, then slid her back into the current and watched as she descended to the inky black depths of the pool. I pulled out the flask and sat there for a second, elated with my success, just taking it all in.

Pure. Wild. Satisfaction.

A Lil Sum'tin

This place looks like it needs a little life breathed into it. Though I can't quite spill the beans on the stuff I'd like to be sharing, here's at least a little something to keep things plodding along in the meanwhile... Some release shots of brownies Down Undies.

Halloween brown.

Fish #50 - The Last Release.

Well. At least it's a little something new for now...

Consolation Prize

I'll start by mentioning that I should be working on my resume and applying for jobs, for if the government shuts down tomorrow then I'm out of work for the immediate future. But I find this more compelling. 

A couple weeks ago I made plans to visit a friend from Maine I hadn't seen in several years. He was in Spokane briefly before taking off to another far-flung corner of the world for who knows how long. We met halfway on a lake in the middle of Nowhere, WA, and spent our time catching up late into the night. The next morning as we prepared breakfast I noticed some fish activity on the water right in front of our site. Then I saw more. And more. And more even yet. Lo and behold, unbeknownst to me we had camped on a lake that is rather well known for its carp fishing. It's plausible that I had somehow inadvertently ended up on what might be the best bay on the whole lake for said carp fishing, and that was what laid in front of me. Rod-less. I watched helplessly as what seemed to be dozens of carp finning and feeding on the mud flats everywhere in front of us. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Lesson learned, always carry a rod. 

I mentioned my observations to Brother Jesse, who also found this information very compelling. This past weekend we both happened to have free and he arrived Friday night, ready to make good on all those carp. Judging from the arsenal of rods he brought with him he looked like he was ready to make good on any other fish that might swim within 200 miles of here too, but as you often know you need to plan for contingencies. As it just so happened, we needed to plan for contingencies as his arrival also heralded the arrival of a trio of wet and wild storms fresh off the Pacific, up from the tropics and down from the Arctic. Between the flash flood warnings and high wind advisories the forecast was the first inkling that maybe trying to fish at all was a bad idea. However, instead we planned for contingencies. South to the Yak, east to a spring creek, north to a small trout stream or even Steele water above and beyond there. The prospect of carp seemed too exposed and thus no longer reasonable. We were going to set out in one direction and see where the wind blew us. 

We opted to try our luck east. For reasons one or another it seemed like the best chance at having a legitimate day on the water. The wind still blew like stink all day, but we saw hardly saw much more than a few sprinkles. The only time it wasn't windy was when we weren't casting, and that wasn't often, but the few other people that we saw on the water cleared off shortly after we arrived and we had the place to ourselves. We spotted fish right off the bat, but it took us awhile to get them to do more than just window shop. Jesse finally figured something out and got himself into pretty consistent action from then on. I wasn't so lucky, and did little more than prick one lip until well into the afternoon. I finally managed a couple, but such fine specimens they were it was worth the investment. All in all, I'd say the Basstards dun gon an lemonaded the shit outta that day!

Offshore

We got the call about a favorable weather window so we went fishing. It started off as simple as that.
Due to the kindness of the BFC members I have been able to experience some fantastic fishing and overall good times. This trip would be no different.

Before any trip or major life event, I look for a few signs beforehand. I stay aware of what is going on around me and use these signs as a way to get an impression how this event ( read fishing trip ) will play out.

Old man Wilkie and I left central Maine making our way to a friends house for the night before we would head offshore. The drive down was uneventful for us, not so for the owners of Toyota Camry we saw fully engulfed in flames. Sign number 1.

We arrived at our friends home to relax before our 1:00am departure time. Wilkie had a beer and I walked around, taking it all in if you will.

The bathroom was a bit of a mess and the chips we found were expired.

But there was cool artwork on the fridge and fishing gear stashed everywhere.
 ( Edited for your work place viewing)

"These are men" I reminded myself.
" Real fishermen" I repeated.
I'll take this as good sign number two.

I slunk off for two hours of sleep and Wilkie and Capt. Lane planned our attack. They woke me early and we headed south. First a pit stop at the local McDonald's and some chit chat about tattoos with the young woman working the night shift. She showed us her piece and I took this as good sign number three.

We arrived at the boat and met up with Alex The Russian and Massachusetts Joe, solid dudes mind you. Out of the harbor we motored looking for open water. I had never been offshore before and was not sure how many land legs would handle it. 20 minutes into our 4 hour boat ride I threw up, I caught most of it on my arm and shoulder. I kept this  up for another 2.5 hours as Wilkie, The Russian, Joe and The Captain crushed beers in the darkness.

 

With the sunrise came calm seas and guts, as we set our second line of the day the reel began to scream and we were into fish. Yellow fin began to stack up in the fish box.

We even got into a few Mahi Mahi !

The Russian spotted porpoises, first a small pod and soon a pod of hundreds. Capt Lane pointed the OI right at them and almost instantly we were hooked up with triples.

We bent the gaff on one of those Blue Fin.

It is hard for a land lubber like me to describe the views 100 miles offshore. First, the water color is crazy. It is a shade of blue that is hard to describe, magical blue we'll call it. Warmer water welcoming fish and fisherman alike.

 

It was a spectacular day, my thanks to all of those involved.

Thank you to Captain Lane and crew.