High Alpine Anglers

It's been a while since my last update....bless me BFC, for I have sinned, I've not been fishing in a while. In fact, it was last year with Schleich and Johnny in Maine. I guess it wasn't that long ago, just 2015. We tied into some solid browns in a small stream - in my opinion, the most fun you can have trout fishing - and maybe 15-20 pig brook trout in the span of 15 minutes, which allowed for a very unique photo that you don't get too often while catch and release fishing...

Not too long after that, those boys had a hell of a time doing battle with some real monsters on a Great Lakes tributary, which I hope someone will give the full report on here, as I saw some photos from the trip and was totally blown away.

Anyways, there's some new water that's open in the winter this year on the Henry's Fork that's been fishing real well so a report soon to come on that and finally, I'm starting a new guide service in Jackson Hole - www.highalpineanglers.com. Tell your friends, tell your kids, tell your wife, they taking errybody fishing up in here. A lot of our water is going to be new as the State has put in some brand new access points on blue ribbon rivers that were previously inaccessible to float so i'll need some help exploring in the Spring. Any takers? I think that Schleich and Johnny will agree with me when I say the exploring is pretty damn good in the area.

No Ducks Were Harmed During the Making of this Post

I can’t remember the last time I caught a fish with a fly rod from the beach, it’s been a long ass time. Maybe that’s why I’ve ignored a few tips to check out a certain rivermouth in Southern Maine until a few days ago.

In all honesty, we didn’t even go to fish, we went to surf. The NOAA weather buoy 44007, which also has a phone hotline, and in hurricane season gets more phone calls from me than family and friends do, was reporting signs of a building wind swell at sea. I was hoping to get in a quick surf – a rare treat during the summer months when the Gulf of Maine is almost always dead calm. As soon as we arrived though, it was painfully clear that the wind had been howling hard for hours and had flattened what little swell there was. The plan to surf was immediately abandoned for a leisurely walk down the beach amongst the sunbathing vacationers.

Sarah and I hadn’t walked far when I remembered my trusty 8 wt. was back in the car. I jogged back, the boards were switched for rods and we walked East across the sand.

As we approached the rivermouth, fishiness was immediately apparent. Points of sand stuck out at angles from the main riverbank creating swirling eddy lines in water that dropped off impossibly deep just feet from shore. The main channel was narrower than I had remembered when surfing here in the past and because of this, hope was immediately inspired in a trout fisherman who panics in the absence of structure and definition.

After a quick knot check on the only fly we had, I fired one out into the middle of the channel and started walking down the sandbar with the outgoing tide to get a little more sinkage in the ripping current. Probably 8 strips into the first cast and I connected with a hard jolt. The 10 foot Helios in my hand doubled over and 50 yards of backing was long gone before I could scream a few gems, double check the drag, and tear off down the sandbar in pursuit of the beast on an outgoing tide.

About 5 minutes into the fight the fish surfaced in the face of a wave and I got my first, and only glimpse of the largest bluefish I had ever seen. Almost immediately after this, my line went slack. It had gnawed through the leader, along with my hopes and dreams, and had taken my only fly with it. It was not a pleaseant scene on the beach for a few minutes afterwords and I’m quite sure that I seriously offended a large group of vacationing French people with a fit of convulsive howls and expletives.

After a self imposed time-out and some reflection on an epic battle, my horrified girlfriend convinced me to suck up my pride and walk over to the only other fly fisherman there, another Frenchman, to ask for a fly. Not only did this jolly angler give me another large deceiver after complimenting me on my “losing the fish dance” but he insisted that I take a wire leader as well.

A short while later I was back in the game and although this baby wasn't quite as big as the first, it was undoubtedly a beauty of a bluefish.

Immediately after releasing this fish, we went back up the sandbar in hopes of hooking up Sarah. Unfortunately, as quickly as they had come in, the marauding school of blues had disappeared. The last sign we saw of any activity came from a lone duck that was charged and snapped at from beneath. The duck quacked his ass off and splashed around on the surface for a bit before flying off without any apparent injuries.

Catchin' the Bug with Old G-Dubb

My old man is a fisherman.  He enjoys catching fish, the camaraderie, the adventure, but while he can handle a fly rod, the fly fishing bug has never really bitten him.  Last Sunday (5/6/12) I invited him on an adventure; he took the bait and after an hour drive, four miles by boat, and a half mile hike we were fly fishing in earnest.

The flow was a modest 400cfs and we made quick work of a few nice salmon in the second choice run as the first had a few older gents already occupying it.  As the fishing slowed we crossed to an island and worked above where we picked off a few brookies and salmon in what I'd consider the third choice run.

A few fishermen thinned out and we were able to slide into position across from the gents fishing the prime run.  We bullshitted throughout the morning as we caught one fish after another on sinking lines with streamers and floating lines w/ nymph rigs.  With limited room on our side of the run, we more or less made due alternating rods and positions and essentially unleashed an epic afternoon.

 One must catch fish consistently in order to truly catch the fly fishing bug....we may have accomplished this as we lost count of the fish after we landed our 20th specimen.  Trout and Salmon ranging from 13-19" were the mainstay.

 And if you're not personally catching the pigs its awfully damn encouraging to know they're in the water that you're flogging.

 His fly fishing fever may be setting in......

Side Note:  We both witnessed on two occasions a brook trout (the size of which I've never personally witnessed) absolutely body slam and bite two separate Salmon around 16" that we were fighting into our nets at a range of less than 10ft.

5/12/12

Fast forward a week to this very day.  One of the gentlemen that was fishing across from us last weekend turned out to be someone I knew through the grapevine and we both had heard fishing stories about one another.  We became quick friends that day and he offered his boat which was chained up in the woods from a southern access point.  A plan was instituted for my father and the mutual friend of this legend to join forces and go back for another round today.

400cfs last weekend rose to 800 cfs yesterday which is an ideal flow.  The three of us arrived at the boat around 6:45ish and reached the fishing spot around 7:15.  I immediately hooked a salmon in the second choice run (1st choice run was filled with guys yet again).  The day appeared to be starting off on a good note.

For the next hour the group went cold.  Dave hooked a fish briefly but that was it.  As quickly as it began everything came to abrupt halt as we watched the flow rise from 800 cfs to roughly 1200cfs.  With the increased flow came dirty water and shoreline debris....game over.  We hopped in the boat, motored to the lower river in a last ditch effort to outrun the flow and in the hour or so we managed there before the high water caught up with us we went 0 for 0.  Major bummer.  Audible called.  Back to the Toyota for a run to another river that treated me better than well just yesterday.  Hopes here were dashed.

We arrived at River B around 12:30.  Four cars at the pullout; I feared this.  Yesterday however I made good on allowing a friendly guide and his sport into the spot where I was crushing.  Paid off today when he was at the same spot with other clients and relinquished the position to the three of us.  He left by stating "Its not like it was yesterday; good luck"

The flies that worked so well yesterday on a cold drizzly outing held no stock today.  The bluebird skies all but ruined that dream.  So we took to working 18's & 20's of the nymph variety.  We could see the trout and eventually we struck.  We went two for four in a couple hours with me missing an NJ for my old man on a beautiful fish.  He saw how big it was and I wanted it more for him then I'm sure he wanted it for himself.  I never struck the fish but it darted around a rock and sheared the leader.  He was elated to have danced with the great fish, I was devastated that I couldn't capture him holding it.

After this battle I settled in trying to tempt a nice trout I could see holding along a boulder.  The indicator was spooking the fish so I removed it.  The fish would shift to the right and left each time my nymphs rolled perfectly on target.  After many pattern changes I saw him begin to feed.  He would rise up off the bottom by maybe a foot, open his mouth, and fall back to the bottom.  Beadhead pheasant tail in the lead followed by a partridge and brown wet fly was put into action.  The wet rode high as the beadhead ticked bottom; on the third cast the fish rose slowly and took the wet.  We danced, and at the buzzer it came to net.  G-Dubb has got the bug.

Amen