In a story that will sound uncomfortably familiar to those who remember a similar day on the Upper Sacramento in 1991, MidCurrent links to a report about a Pennsylvania stream which just experienced a train derailment and poisoning. Damn.
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Runs On
Tom,
I admire your willingness to hike so far to fish those lakes. It is inspiring. Maybe someday I can do that, when I can work less. I guess I just get lazy with the Rogue in my backyard, and I should explore more.
Somehow though it keeps me entertained and every night out is a new adventure, and I learn something new. Lately what I have learned is the biggest fish seem to be in the most impossible lies, where you have to cast through tree branches and blackberry bushes, and curve your line around a squirrel or two.
That is a great looking trout.
- rriver
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I posted the above in the wrong spot. (I meant the article above it). My brother and Dad fly fish that area in PA. I’ll ask what they know.
- rriver
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rriver,
Guess “fly fishing guilt” touches all of us; I feel guilty for fishing the Upper Sac too often when all the other hot local rivers (McCloud, Pitt, Hat, Klamath, Rogue, LSac, yadda yadda…) see me a couple times a year… (tops).
And don’t get me started on “alpine guilt” – where I feel bad for all those backcountry Brookies who die of old age without ever seeing a fly.
Fly fishers are truly a tormented bunch… 8-)
Short of a trust fund or winning lottery ticket, I guess none of us will fish as much as we want (or more importantly, when we want). Gierach might have come the closest to getting it right, and even he complains about the water left unfished…
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One good thing about living on a river and being able to fish everyday is that you don’t feel rushed, and can spend time just trying things. Sunday morning I decided to fish with a size 12 royal wulf. I like the way they look, and tie them for entertainment but never actually fished with one. It looks sort of ridiculous on the water (At least to me, where often a size 18 looks one size too big), and it takes alot of faith, like the kind you need to sit on a mountain waiting for the rapture.
I drifted down the river casting it into likely spots shaded close to the bank. A big brown mayfly landed on one of the calf wings making the fly spin in circles. Up a nice rainbow came, and I hooked and landed it. It did not seem to count, as it was really an assist. Still not convinced this fly has any “juju”.
There is this one spot that holds a really big rainbow, and I had never managed to catch it. I actually think this fish tries to mock me, because it will do a big splashy rise as I am approaching, then never take a fly drifted over it, to assume big splashy rises again as I pass.
Same routine, but this time it comes up at the royal wulf like a rocket. It took a while to finally land it on the 3 weight. It was a great fish, probably close to 18 inches, and fat. I felt like it was quite an accomplishment. The feeling was up there with 10 lb+ steelhead catches.
I put a few royal wulf’s in my dry fly box when I came back.
- rriver
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rriver;
Nicely written. Though we’re going to disqualify it from the Annual Underground Writing Awards because of your unfortunate use of live bait in catching the first rainbow.
In any case, welcome to the world of the junk fly – a subject I’m going to write about in a future post.
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There is actually a little more to the story. The section of river has many homes on it, but this one stretch is pretty overgrown, because it is owned by an old guy with a chaw of tobacco in his lip and an old cowboy hat on his head, a belt buckle that would make a Texan jealous, and he only wears cowboy boots. He listens to KKRM 94.7, which plays the most wonderful old country music, pre Johnny Cash, etc, that is kind of like old blues – you just can’t not like it. You always hear it as you float towards his property. Sometimes he sings along. He used to rodeo when he was younger.
Because he lets his bank go, he doesn’t destroy habitat and his place hold a lot of fish.
He sits out on his deck, and watches the river, and sometimes runs down if I have a nice one on, and he likes to talk about the old days. He asked me once if I was from around “here†and had a look of disappointment when I told him I moved up from California. He has lived on the Rogue all his life and first started fly fishing it in the 50′s. I asked him what was the popular fly back then, and he said for many years the only fly he used was the Royal Coachman. The Royal Wulff seemed close enough, and I ran into him in town Saturday, he asked about the steelhead run, and that is what put the idea in my head to use one Sunday morning.
I, being a person of low moral character, never mentioned this fish to him, as its lie is obstructed from his view by a large tree, and probably is not fishable from his property anyway. I could never tell how big this fish was, it could have been 5 lbs, though it was about 2 or 3. It was always feeding in the morning or evening in the same spot. I coveted this fish like a dark secret, always trying to get it to rise, but never being able to. I guess in a way he helped me catch it. I have another more stubborn fish to conquer this summer. I know it is bigger, because I saw it come out of the water after a caddis. It is another fish that seems to live in 4 square feet of water, tucked up behind a tree.
- rriver
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Nice. You will, however, share the location of the second fish with all your close friends, here, right??
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