Bluelining For Dummies, Or, Deadfall Isn’t Our Friend

I spent 6.5 hours in a car to fly fish 7.5 hours for trout I knew weren’t going to exceed 11 inches in size, yet by the complex calculus we use to define our fly fishing experience, I’m pretty damn happy with the bottom line.

Dave Roberts fishing a 7.5′ 4wt on a small, southern Oregon stream

After all, small streams aren’t about magazine-cover hero shots or an endless stream of big dumb fish. Small streams are one of the branches of the sport where you truly embrace the role of predator (if you don’t, you’ll be a largely fishless fisherman), and the intimacy of the setting is wildly seductive.

It’s really just you and the fish (well, not exactly; see “word of the day” below), and when you mess up and spook a good one, you marvel at the finely honed instincts trout use to survive in a tough, predator-friendly environment.

That’s provided, of course, you’re not throwing a temper tantrum at spooking him.

Bluelining For Dummies

Dave Roberts called, said he’s been doing a little bluelining, and hinted he was onto something. When I heard that, I (once again) abandoned my adult responsibilities, drove north to Southern Oregon, met up with Roberts, and like a pair of rugged, extra-manly mountain men, we headed into the mountains (only with paved roads, a powerful truck, cell phones, modern fly fishing gear, electrolyte replacement drinks and air conditioning).

Beautiful, but a little on the minuscule size; an alpine brown trout

Our first stop was beautiful, but surprisingly bereft of eager trout. The stream looked like it should be loaded with fish — and it probably was — but sometimes these alpine streams don’t wake up until the afternoon.

After we scratched out a handful of finger-sized rainbow and brown trout, we decided it was time for Plan B.

“Plan B” was another blue line on a map — a slightly smaller and even prettier stream that turned out to be filled with small trout.

Between streams, Roberts and I took a few minutes, sat on the tailgate, and ate a late lunch. In those minutes, we ran through a whole laundry list of the world’s problems, neatly solving them between bites of our by-now soggy sandwiches.

It’s a recurring theme on our trips, and it’s one of the reasons we fish together so frequently. At the very least, it’s one of the payoffs of fishing with a good friend (it’s not the soggy sandwiches).

Today’s Word: Deadfall

Alpine small streams are known for their difficult conditions, and ours are largely defined by the amount of dead trees scattered about. In fact, 80% of our alpine stream fishing time is spent in the following activities:

• Stepping over deadfall
• Climbing over deadfall
• Slithering under deadfall
• Straddling deadfall
• Walking on top of deadfall
• Walking around deadfall
• Tripping on hidden deadfall

After a while, deadfalls ceases to be just wood on the ground; it becomes a tormenting entity placed in your path by a vengeful god, who clearly wants you to lose a lot of weight or break a leg.

Dave Roberts in the stream — the only deadfall-free place in the area.

After a few hours of hand-to-deadwood combat, a good forest fire looks like a reasonable, sane alternative to even fifteen minutes more climbing, slithering and cursing, and you wonder why the forest service bothers to extinguish the things. Fire is our friend, right?

On the other hand, a well positioned piece of deadfall can provide cover to a stealthy fly fisher, providing what may prove to be deadwood’s sole redeeming feature. In fact, that’s today’s question, Undergrounders: Deadfall — friend or foe?

Back to Plan B

Stuffed with sandwiches, we hit the Plan B stream, and immediately started getting bites. The variety was impressive; Dave Roberts actually scored a Brookie/brown/rainbow Grand Slam from a single riffle.

I managed rainbows and browns, but ironically — given the Underground’s full-fledged embrace of all things Brookie — a brook trout evaded me.

An alpine Brookie. Why did they shun me?

At one point, my patience also evaded me, and Dave was forced to quickdraw his flask of 15 year-old whiskey to keep me from breaking my fly rod over my leg.

Fortunately, the fish started coming from the places you think they would, and after the morning’s beating, we were recognizably fly fishing a small alpine stream again.

Finally — after several hours of fishing our way up the Plan B stream (and running out of water along the way) — we turned and hiked out (over acres of deadfall, natch).

The Gear

You can start a pretty good fight on the Internet message boards by simply asking “what is the ultimate small stream fly rod?”

The answer, of course, is that there isn’t one, and I proved it pretty conclusively yesterday. I fished an 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass that was a pain when maneuvering through tight spaces, but a joy once I actually got to fish it.

By contrast, I used a 7.5′ 4wt hollowbuilt cane rod (by Chris Raine) on the Plan B stream, and found it far less painful in wooded and restrictive spaces, but not quite as useful when pitching bugs at fish.

I don’t think the answer is an 8′ 4wt; I think the answer is to make your own choice and start avoiding contentious message boards. Dave fished some a 7.5 4wt cane rod and Hardy reel (he’s soooo predictable) while I fished my 4wts with an Orvis CFO III reel (which Orvis wants you to think is a 5/6 wt reel but handles a DT4 nicely).

I told him I prefer the quieter Orvis over the Hardy reel because I’m a classic, understated genius while he’s a loud, obnoxious redneck, and all he said was “what’s your point?”

Well played, Roberts.

My only gear oddity is my recent embrace of a small North Face hydration pack, which also has room for a minimal amount of gear. I use a small Orvis pouch on a Lanyard — big enough for one good-sized fly box — and the whole rig allows me to carry a fair amount of water and the simple fly selection needed for small streams, and to do so far more comfortably than with simply a vest or chest pack.

It’s today’s tip, absolutely free of charge.

Since I’ve got real work to do, I leave you with a moment of fly fishing zen (again at no charge):

See you on the blueline, Tom Chandler.

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