In The Cages

Some time ago, Dr. Steelegood and I, after an encounter-less day on the Salmon River in upstate New York, came up with an analogy for swinging flies for steelhead.  It goes, swinging flies for steelhead is like being in a batting cage trying to get a hit, but you're blindfolded and also the pitching machine doesn't actually throw balls every pitch.

That's the glass-half-empty take on the whole endeavor, and exceptions certainly exist, but there are some valid comparisons in there:  both the batter and steelheader take 'swings' in attempts to achieve their ultimate goals; a fundamentally sound cut with the bat and the picture-perfect cast may be, and often are, unrewarded; the batter and the angler are all alone in their areas of work - the batter's box and the river. 

Of course we can debate what the "ultimate goal" is.  I'm pretty sure any big leagues hitter loves seeing the ball fly over the fence, but I bet they also love the sound of the crowd as they near the box, the feel of the dirt under their spikes and the intensity of staring into a pitcher's eyes.  Thankfully my own contract doesn't depend on the number of steelhead I tail each season. 

With so much going on in the river and in my mind, I sometimes over-analyze the situation when I'm "in the cages."  For sure, confidence catches fish, so a restless mind must be quieted.  I have asked myself, Just what exactly are we doing out here?  Sometimes answers to the simple questions can help quiet the bigger ones. 

A couple months ago, I took a steelheading trip.  Before I made my first cast, our guide gave us his expectations for our fishing.  He had answered my question before I could put it into words.  It's nice to know what you're doing out there.



Self-explanatory, perhaps.  Good to know, surely.  Easier said than done, oftentimes.

It'd be hard to envision a better trip.  The river was prime, the scenery stunning, the camp-life superb, company top-notch, the fishing awesome and the catching even better.  Between four of us, over four days, we touched 30. 

 



Getcha fish on, fisha.

Sun goin' down.  This spot is known as Chukar Flats.  It was the last hole for us that day and the bait would be a Waller Waker.  Cast after cast I watched that helpless, black bug skate and skip around that run, into and out of currents, speeding up and slowing down.  I saw her take it the first time, but it didn't stick.  Two casts later I only heard it, then she was off running. 

I get by with a little help from my friends.

I get high with a little help from my friends.

Deuces!

I can't recall the name of this spot, but I hooked two here.  My guide was just finishing the sentence, "Right about there is where it happens," when I got yanked.  I lost that fish, after which he said he had never had a second encounter in the hole.  Five casts later I got grabbed again.  I wonder if he was lying?

Willa, boat dog.

 

Feast in there.

Fish dat.

At the end of the whole thing, we broke the gear down and prepared for our run of The Narrows.  Aptly titled.  Only on a steelhead river will you find such a spot.  1000 CFS crammed into an 8' wide chute.

Swing, batter, batter, swing...

Highcountry Cutts

Decided to head up into the backcountry last weekend as I figured it would be a good way to exhaust my high-strung pup, get myself slightly into hunting shape, co-scout for moose and elk, dust off the old fly rod, and plus, I always feel better about myself when I drink whiskey in the woods vs. on my couch. Lastly, there were tales of 20in cruising cutties. We crested Cameron Pass into the backside of the Rawah's and found our way to the trailhead neither of us had seen before. We were greated by some men on horseback and said hello to an arriving packer with a string of mules---both parties questioned our desire to hike into our destination by foot. Needless to say the scenary was incredible. We had come up on 6 different bull moose on the way to the trailhead, spooked a bull and cow elk, buck muley, and found ourselves in fields of wildlflowers close to tree-line.

The hike was no 'walk in the park'; roughly 7.5 miles straight up. However, the fish tales held up in full. My buddy hooted and hottered on his first cast as a 17in cut came up and ate. I was off to a slow start, missing a few off the bat, and then the action seemed to slow to a halt after a 15min hale storm rolled in and past. I had enough of the refusals and pulled out the leach. Went 3 for 3 on casts and eats. Some of the prettist fish I had seen in a while. Plus, the water was gin clear and you could see the entire eat from start to finish---it was reminiscent of saltwater fishing, casting to cruising fish, watching them turn and gobble. We made our way around the banks, picking fish off. We switched back to drys as the sun came out and continued to giggle like school girls as some fish would come up and straight deny you with their middle fin up at you, while others simply couldn't resist. Another highlight was that every fish looked a little different from the next.

That about sums it up. I shall return again.

Toilets, Dogs, Drift Boats and the Juan

I spoke to my good buddy William Whiskey Lesley Vance a few weeks ago as he pushed across the midwest on I-70 with the new custom driftboat he built from scratch all winter long in tow.  He noted he was headed to towards Durango to stay with a local legend of a fishing guide for a weeks and to fish the mighty San Juan everyday until his own guiding season began.  As the days passed sitting at my desk, his offer for me to join him began to eat away at me.  So, I finally decided to seek solace, loaded up the truck, kissed the wife, gave the dog a sedative, called in sick, and started heading south.

All in all, we had a blast.  Fishing was pretty damn good, weather just about perfect, boat performed like a dream, and no one was arrested.  Here are a few picks from the weekend.

Les's badass new boat

I realized my pup gets extremely car sick...so we had to make a bunch of pit stops along the way...not bad scenery though

Arriving at the house, this is the shitter of a 48 year old fishing guide...yes that is an arrow sticking out out the top....yes ladies he is single

Nice leopard bow.  All fish over the 3 days were taken on size 22 flies or smaller, including dries.

Dog was straight beat after a morning of wading



Perky Tetons

Apparently, every spring, when the melt is on, the fishing isn't. From mid-late May to early July, pretty much everything in Teton County Wyoming runs chocolate milk as all the mountain peaks shed their white winter caps. This spring however, cold temps delayed runoff until later than usual, kept waters clear, fish feeding, and made for a helluva skwalla stonefly spring on the Snake River.

4lb. Snake River Finespotted Cutthroat

Runoff activities include:

avoiding grizzlies...

untangling the big sister's doings...

lounging...

There are a few exceptions to the runoff rule in Idaho. Reports of the Henry's Fork to come.