First, a bug photograph:

A winter stonefly on the Upper Sacramento. Hmm. Wonder what the trout were eating?

Second, I really needed that.

Not the bug, or the photograph. I mean the ski trip into the Upper Sacramento River, where I tried some new gear, fished a bit, caught a trout, and then turned around and slogged skied back up the hill.

The trip (in order).

Ingress

Skiing into the river here shouldn’t be hard – at least if you could ski acceptably.

It’s downhill, and for the talented gravity slaves among my readers, that means smooth sailing.

Alas, when you’re accompanied by a big, clumsy dog possessed of both a need to be in front (the hunting dog instinct) and the very real tendency to get distracted by tree bits in the snow – resulting in a sudden stop right where my skis are pointed – “smooth” doesn’t quite describe the situation.

In fact – if you’re the skier – you tend to describe the situation with a lot of four-letter words, most of which you wouldn’t repeat in front of your pre-verbal child.

It doesn’t help that the “skier” in question isn’t exactly talented, and to say more would be to flog this horse long after it stopped moving.

And besides, all that’s behind me. Having fly fished and returned home to the bosom of my living family, I’m happy now. See?

That's me being happy (despite the snow jammed down my pants)

The Fishing Part

I won’t delve into the fly fishing overmuch. It was a lunchtime trip – one that actually included a riverside lunch – so my fishing time was limited to that stuff that didn’t include the following:

• Skiing in
• Getting skis off, removing jacket, removing snow jammed in pants (courtesy multiple Wonderdog-related crashes)
• Getting into waders
• Assembling fly fishing
• Starting stove for lunch
• Eating lunch
• Sitting and grooving on intense, snowy, people-free beauty
• Catching a 13″ trout
• Taking photos
• Re-packing gear
• Slogging Skiing up the long, steep hill

I did fish long enough to catch a single trout on a nymph – a brilliant fly fishing decision made in part after I observed the following:

Ahh, Stonefly on a Stick - a new snack sensation.

Because I’m the very essence of the Scientific Fly Fisherman, I saw the bugs and immediately made a decision: I’d use a small, skinny black nymph.

(I can almost hear the Undergrounders shaking their heads in wonderment.)

Sadly, the Underground’s waterproof Pentax camera was stuck at home – the victim of a re-waterproofing attempt via some Marine Epoxy – so I was forced to bring the big DSLR, which doesn’t venture out onto the water with me.

Thus – while you no doubt expected one – there is no in-water trout portrait today.

Sorry.

You’ll have to simply trust me when I say the trout was sleek and pure and beautiful and strawberry-striped and leave it at that (you can close your eyes and imagine it if you’d like).

That was it for the fishing portion of the trip: one bite, one hook set, one bowed rod, and one fish.

And trust me, it was plenty. I was a happy man (see picture above).

And why not?

The only thing prettier than a trout stream in spring might be a trout stream in winter. Astonishingly – despite the yards-high piles of snow up in town – the Upper Sacramento wasn’t blanketed with snow, and in fact, a couple bare spots near the river forced me to take the skis off and walk around them.

Clearly, the Snowy Line of Doom for our recent “storm of a lifetime” ran just above the Upper Sacramento River.

The Gear Stuff

Because I often wake up at night wondering if I’m doing enough for my readers, I decided it was time to test-fire a 9′ 4wt rod and reel provided by the Redding Fly Shop – their own “Fresh H2O” private label brand.

How did I end up with this? At one point, I contacted St. Croix rods in the interest of seeing how their “new” Imperial fly rods compared to the much loved, smooth-tapered classic Imperial series.

It seemed like a natural story, and frankly it would have been grand – both from a “is this a new classic?” standpoint and a “where are the bargain-priced rods today” perspective.

Sadly, St. Croix didn’t bother to respond to the request, treating me the same way that cheerleader in high school did, and while I’m kinda misting up right now just thinking about it, I want you all to know I’m moving past the whole thing.

Just talk amongst yourselves for a minute.

…

OK. I’m back. And happy, dammit.

So when I had a conversation with the Fly Shop’s Mike Michalak about the McCloud relicensing – and he offered up one of his value-priced Fresh H2O combos for testing, I said what the hell?

The Redding Fly Shop's Fresh H2O combo. Testing begins...

He did just before I left for Ethiopia, and one problem with testing gear is that you actually have to use this stuff (at least here, though I have questions about some of the other reviews I read).

That I’m just getting around to it now says a lot about my unwillingness to part with the gear I already use and like, but that, my friendly Undergrounders, is the hell of it.

Because I only nymphed with the rod and didn’t actually air it out, I’m not going to craft a detailed report. Suffice it to say the rod’s plenty powerful for all-around fishing (has the high-modulus 4wt become the “standard” trout rod?), and the reel – while a bit on the heavy side – was impressively smooth.

In other words, this is the kind of combo that has high-end manufacturers asking questions about their onshore production lines – and the kind of bargain-priced (under $300) setup that should have been available during fly fishing’s boom years.

In truth, I’m not a huge fan of many of today’s graphite fly rods, but I do try to set that aside, at least so far as the Undergrounders are concerned.

More to come on this setup; I plan to let Wayne Eng loose with it for his thoughts.

In Other Gear Tests

The availability of really warm, really light, really weather-ready winter gear has largely revolutionized cold weather pursuits like skiing, mountaineering, ice climbing, backpacking, etc.

Yet the bleedover into fly fishing has been slow, though after last year’s Patagonia soft shell tests, I’m back testing some new cold weather gear – a pair of ultra-warm, ultra-light insulated jackets from Patagonia (disclosure: I paid for the things).

And I’ve come to some interesting conclusions, which I plan to publish next week.

Until then, let me tease you with a picture of a jacket so warm, comfy, silky and tiny that it was immediately stolen from my grasp by the gear-houndish L&T.

Gotcha! It's a jacket in a tiny packet - the Patagonia Nano Puff. So far, Tommy likes.

Divorce loomed until the L&T ordered a Patagonia Nano Puff jacket for herself (I had to dangle a new Nano in a far more interesting color, natch), and now that the Nano’s safely back in my grasp, I’ve proceeded with testing.

And yes, the word is good.

In truth, ultra-light backpacking and cold-weather gear isn’t often translated to the fly fishing world (or if it is, it goes slowly). Wading jackets are still (in many cases) bulletproof, but also heavy and bulky. Why is that?

Clearly, there’s more to come on the gear front.

For now, I’ll leave the Wonderdog partisans with this photograph of the ski-career-ending hound doing something mindless. Eating snow:

Wally the Wonderdog... eating snow?

See you on the ski trip in, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing gear, fly fishing report, fly fishing the upper sacramento river, patagonia nano puff jacket, redding fly shop fresh h2o fly rod, upper sacramento river

Though the Upper Sacramento River was every bit as high as I thought it was – and no trout were hooked, seen, or even imagined – the fly fishing trip walk along the river (with Wally the Wonderdog) was exactly what I needed.

Well, actually it was a small, tiny piece of what I needed, but these days you take what’s given, and besides it was a fishing trip; no trout were caught, few casts were made, and yet it remains a smashing success.

For those who haven’t seen a pretty river in months – or haven’t seen moving water for weeks – here’s a photograph containing both:

No trout were caught, and my trip was a success. Could views like this have something to do with it?

After several days inside, Wally the Wonderdog never once stopped sniffing, running, whizzing or wagging, and because there’s little in life happier than a working dog who’s working, his huge dog grin says it all (this for the Wonderdog partisans):

(I know what you’re thinking. Not since Fellini has anyone so gracefully mingled the pathos and existential baroqueness of the canine universe. And you’d be right…)

The Wonderdog basically goes crazy anytime I get the near Underground’s BroncoFishMobile – a truck that’s seen many of California’s rutted dirt roads, and has barely lived to tell about it.

The Wonderdog loves the Bronco not because of the box of empty shotgun shells, or the fact the interior’s so dirty you could irrigate it (so he gets to muddy up the seats without fear of retribution).

No, he loves it for the places it takes him, which often include lots of stuff to sniff and critters to chase.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, fly fishing the upper sacramento river

I fished the next-to-last day of 2009, and because I left the digital camera at home, had to make due with my cell phone camera – which does not take stellar pictures. Still, when you make like a Russian icebreaker so you can get to the moving water (where the BWOs are), then you’re not dealing with challenging subject matter:

I predict Orvis will release special "Icebreaker Waders" in the Fall of 2010

In that sense, my readers are lucky I only caught two trout in the 13″-14″ range; you’re not being subjected to really poor quality photos of average-sized trout (I simply didn’t take them).

The BWO hatch was heavy. The number of rising trout was few.

You don’t have to be a math geek to hate ratios like that.

It was a day I was glad I was alone – not forced to play nice with another fly fisherman (even a friend). I was able to chase the sporadically rising trout up and down the run, ultimately working pretty hard for my shot at four fish.

The trout, it seems, weren’t cooperating. Despite a strong hatch, one or two would rise sporadically for five minutes, and then stop (usually about the time you slow-waded your way into casting range).

A lesser, whinier fly fishermen would choose that moment to anthropomorphize the trout. “They’re doing it on purpose,” he’d say. “They stop rising when I get within casting distance, and probably start giggling hysterically with their damned trout friends while flipping me the middle fin.”

Like I said, a whiny fly fisherman might do that.

For sure I didn’t.

And yes, some days are like that. Some days you’re happy to share the fish, so when your buddy catches one while you stand to the side, it’s like you caught it yourself.

Other days, well… to hell with everyone else. I need a trout.

The obligatory Big Fish Story of the Day goes thusly; I drifted an #18 Quigley Cripple (Official Cripple of the Trout Underground) a long ways downstream, a nice fish ate it, I lifted the rod, and nothing happened.

Nothing.

That, my dear Undergrounders, is the kind of moment us effette, bamboo-waving dry fly fishermen live for.

Unfortunately, when something did happen, it involved two shakes of a big, big trout head, and the hook popped out.

Thus, one of the frailties of a downstream presentation rears its ugly head.

Sometimes the long, downstream drift is the best way catch trout on tough water, but the resulting upstream hookset means a lot of lost fish (more proof of an ironic – if not vengeful – god).

It was grey and lightly misting all day, and I was damned warm wearing my Micro Puff jacket (Patagonia). It’s an ultralight, highly packable jacket that deserves its own post (which it will get soon).

I’m largely old-fashion when it comes to gear, happily cruising along with slower fly rods non-cutting edge fly patterns, but I draw the line at being cold, and some of the latest cold-weather gear is startling stuff.

More to come on that.

See you (warm and dry) on the river, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: blue winged olive, fishing, fishing the upper sacramento, Fly Fishing, fly fishing the upper sacramento river, upper sac, upper sacramento river fishing report

With only a few hours left in 2009, it’s probably time I actually started writing my “The Underground Looks Back at 2009: The Year in Mirth & Pictures” post.

And while the Underground’s fly fishing-related theme for 2009 has to be that smaller is better (I was on an extended small stream jag most of 2009), not everything that found its way to the Underground was about the little stuff.

A recurring theme in 2009 was our obsession with small streams...

First, the Underground threw a brick through his own plate glass window and became a father.

That’s the kind of statement that requires a little pause, and maybe a few deep breaths (or even panic).

I won’t lie; daddy-hood requires an adjustment – one not made easier by the presence of Zombie Terrorist Contractors – but it’s something that’s already added a dimension to my life (and no, that dimension isn’t soiled diapers).

Still, life moves on, though sometimes in odd, erratic ways – like when I found Wally the Wonderdog contentedly munching a still-wet brown trout in my backyard, despite the fact we live miles from the nearest trout water.

I later figured an Osprey – returning from the Mt. Shasta Hatchery – dropped the brown trout on a flyover, but to say the whole event took on a surreal cast qualifies for “Understatement of the Year.”

In the same vein, I believe the Underground laid claim to “Best Fly Fishing April Fools Post of 2009” when I fired up my “Fly Fish From Home” faux business which eliminates messy fly fishing trips, instead offering fly fishermen what they really want: A Hero Picture.

My brilliant FlyFishFromHome.com concept never received the billions in funding it deserved...

It remains a brilliant concept and an excellent example of the following: The Underground’s A Decade Ahead of the Rest of the World.

My “Dozen Best Fly Rods of All Time” post continues to draw visits (and comments), and it’s successful enough that I probably should create a followup, though I’m not all that clear what that will be.

Time passes, and these decisions are sometimes made for us.

The Underground even found itself on national television courtesy of Trout Unlimited (the other, less-famous TU).

Naturally, I caught exactly one, small fish (and looked foolish doing it), so it appears my future in television is on a par with my future with supermodels.

The Fly Fishing Stories

Naturally, we let a little fly fishing creep into the blog, including one essay on Home Waters which seemed to hit home with a lot of readers (it was one of the most linked-to posts of the year).

Fly fishing is something we engage in for reasons of fun or sanity instead of revenue or food gathering, so in other words, it’s an emotional thing, which allows us significant latitude when we talk about it.

Home waters are a state of mind – not GPS coordinates.

For example, the concept of “home water” clearly isn’t geographic in nature, but a matter of the heart.

One fly fisherman can tell another his “home waters” are literally halfway around the globe, and the second fly fisherman won’t bat an eye.

That’s because his “home waters” are a five hour drive to the north (the last ten miles on dirt roads), and while humanity is generally poor at accepting alien perspectives, fly fishermen do sometimes make worthwhile exceptions.

That’s why I tend to seek out smaller, wilder waters even though I live on a beautiful freestoner. It’s not because blueline fishing is “easy” (for the record, nothing’s easy when you’re fishing from your knees or crawling through bushes).

It’s because the fishing is – to leverage a pair of overused words – intimate and predatory at the same time, a combination I find irresistible.

In the same vein, a few other small-stream fishing reports remain my favorites of the year, including this picture-heavy fly fishing affair from early in the season.

This beautiful little stream yielded a grand slam to me - and provided a resting place for a few of dad's ashes.

Then there was the small stream trip in Montana where I caught a trout grand slam on a tiny meadow stream which was – oddly enough – populated with 100 year-old freshwater mussels.

I’ve been there twice and It’s already become one of my favorite places, and because I embrace symmetry and symbolism equally, this time I left a few of my father’s ashes behind to hang out with the slow, patient mussels. It’s a perfect fit for him.

Later – as the season wound down (well, it never really winds down; the Upper Sacramento is open year-round, and in fact, I fished it yesterday), I found myself hitting a pair of local small streams, discovering the unhappy reality that trout which hurl themselves at dries in the summer don’t have much interest in doing so while winter tightens its grip.

First, on a remote water:

Lucky To Be Here

That said, I felt lucky to get what I got. In one sense, I was lucky to be there; it was sleeting when I arrived, but by noon it had grown colder, and by two, it was snowing.

When I finally left, I wondered if this was the storm that would close the road.

Even if it doesn’t, the next one might.

On the drive out, the truck skidded and slipped on dirt road, and I figured I might be the last fly fisherman to spook those trout until June or even July of next year.

Once, I entertained thoughts of skiing into this stream and fishing it long before others could get there, but the distances are daunting. And hell, I’m not even sure if the roads to the road are plowed.

Soon (very soon), the meadows will fill with snow, and they’ll stay that way for better than half the year, and the trout will go on about their lives largely untroubled – until one day the snow melts and a strange shape looms above them, waving a long, skinny stick.

If the romance of that escapes you, then check for a pulse.

Then, on the last day you actually can fish most of the small streams in my neck of the woods, I visited something nearby, and found the catching was great only if I was interested in ice-related photographs:

The last small stream trip of the year? Almost certainly...

In other words, small streams are reviving when you want a “pure” fly fishing/predatory/wild experience, but they’re not above kicking your ass, then freezing it, then sending you home empty handed.

Good for them. Us fly fishermen are a ragged lot, prone to ego and willing to forget those moments in time when we’re not skilled or heroic, and if it takes a dumb trout living in a tiny stream to remind us, all the better.

At least we’re learning our lesson in a pretty place.

The Humor/Satire End of Things

One of the Underground’s most-viral posts was my story about the vicious, man-eating chipmunk brought into our house by a cat – a wild animal that hid under a blanket until I promptly grabbed him, thinking it was the cat, proving once again that the Underground can scream with the best of the little girls when he’s surprised.

In a less-startling vein, a couple of less-than-optimal (euphemism alert) experiences on the river left me ruminating about the kind of people you run into on a river, and why you wouldn’t necessarily want to hang out with all of them: The Top Ten Signs You Don’t Want to Fish With That Guy You Just Met

Late in the year, an Onion story got me thinking that the sport would acquire a whole new urgency if death was the result of failure (instead of a ribbing at the hands of friends).

Along the way, I managed to alienate the fly fishing industry on several fronts, including the ongoing trade show spat that’s served as one of fly fishing’s longest-running soap operas.

The Year in Pictures

It was a tough year on the picture front; my trusty Pentax Optio camera continued its slow decline, and yes, I managed to forget the thing often enough that it’s become a running joke with the L&T.

Still, I managed to scrape together a few nice pics for use on this post, and here – in no particular order – are the better pics from the Underground’s 2009 season.

I hope you enjoy them – and also hope you and yours experience a 2010 that is memorable for all the right reasons.

Big winter trout, last light.

The next two pictures were taken on my best ski-and-fly-fish trip.

If you were a trout, would you eat these?

One of my favorite pictures of 2009

Another big trout caught at last light.

"On The Rise" TV host Frank Smethurst on the Lower McCloud - when flows rendered it almost unfishable.

Winter fly fishing on the Upper Sac isn't all BWOs; Wayne Eng nymphs up a trout

Wayne Eng caught a trout on this very drift...

The local scenery isn't bad either...

The Wonderdog remained a fan favorite, and why not?

Sometimes snow falls in black & white instead of color...

When the fly fishing's slow, the napping can be good.

Wayne Eng again, this time on Burney Creek.

An early season stonefly.

Stephen Betrand and I paid a spring visit to a small, meadow stream.

This brown trout's giving me the fin.

Sasquatch siting on a small stream.

Does he feel like a putz, or what?

Do we know all the best spots, or what?

Sometimes it's not just the trout that are pretty.

Without the hike, you're missing half the good stuff.

Weird, but we like it that way.

Mount Shasta's almost always visible around here. Lucky us...

See-through beauty...

This is what happens when the fly fishing's slow.

IMPORTANT NEWS UPDATE: One important 2009-related fact went unreported in my Year in Review post, and I wanted to correct it here: The Underground is proud to announce that we were one of the few organizations who did not sleep with Tiger Woods.

You may resume your normal lives.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, fly fishing small streams, fly fishing the upper sacramento, the year in pictures, the year in review

Lately, Wally the Wonderdog has developed a pleading look in his eye. Though he’s getting daily walks with Little M, our fly fishing adventure count was down. Way down.

And while the Wonderdog is fine with a quick circle around the block, he’s not really alive unless he’s in the woods, sniffing everything in sight for clues to other animals.

So many bushes, so little time... The proud, noble (wet) Wonderdog surveys the Upper Sacramento

So the choice was clear: In the couple hours I had available, I could run downriver to a fairly reliable BWO hatch – a place the Wonderdog wasn’t welcome – or reconnoiter upriver, where the deer and the Wonderdogs play (though the BWOs often don’t).

Despite the spotty hatches, I stayed upriver, and Wally the Wonderdog and I had a fine adventure – a day out bereft of other people, disasters, bugs and yes – trout.

Let’s get the ugly bits out of the way.

From 12:30 until 3:00 – and on four different pieces of water – I saw the following bugs:

None.

From 12:30 until 3:00, I saw the following number of rising trout:

None.

From 12:30 until 3:00, I witnessed the following number of grabs:

One.

That last came courtesy the Big Bug – an October Caddis I tied on after the lack of BWOs became apparent. It’s a little late in the year for the big dry to reliably attract grabs, but in the absence of other clues, it’s not a bad backup.

Despite the overcast and constant light drizzle – perfect BWO weather – I never saw a bug.

In truth, the winter hatches on the upstream part of the river are far more sporadic than those of the mid-river region, and while I told myself I was scouting water in the hopes of finding close-to-home trout, I also knew it was a long shot.

Still, when Wally the Wonderdog reminds you with a searing glance that he hadn’t been fishing since the height of the October Caddis hatch, your priorities tilt away from trout and towards the dog.

True to form, the Wonderdog was like a racehorse breaking from the gate; constantly in and out of the water, he ran around like the Energizer Hound, sniffing every bush and shrub for signs that other animals might be abusing his wilderness.

The lack of snow is troubling - though not so much to the Wonderdog...

On a handful of occasions he spotted water drops falling from overhanging limbs and hitting the water, and – thinking they were rising trout – ran full tilt into the water after them.

If they had been rising trout, I’d have sighed and rolled my eyes. Because they were just water, the whole event became good clean fun.

If it’s one thing fatherhood is teaching me, it’s that you can rage against the universe when things don’t quite work out, or you can sit back and try see the humor in it all.

While us humans wrap ourselves up in a Gordian existence cluttered with expectation and righteousness and denial, the Wonderdog sees rings on the water and runs in after the trout that must be there.

He’s more excited than I am when I hook a fish, and he’s also (apparently) the more forgiving of the pair when I don’t.

Thus, today’s heavy-handed morality play; If a big, dumb dog can have the time of his life running up and down a cold, wet, apparently trout-less river, why can’t the big, dumb human with him?

The Gear Stuff

New on the testing front are a pair of Orvis “Sonic Seam” pack & travel waders (disclosure: Orvis – apparently knowing of my love for hike-in trout – sent these to me for testing).

Look for an introductory post soon.

Also, the Underground’s wading boot test is winding down, and while I’ve already made my preferences clear in prior posts, a final wrap-up is necessary in the interest of closure if nothing else.

Also, Orvis replaced my broken Zero Gravity 6wt with a similar Hydros model, and while it’s not exactly 6wt season up here, I plan to beat on the thing a bit to see what happens.

See you on the river (Wonderdog in tow), Tom Chandler.

A portrait of the blogger as a wet (but warm) troutless fly fisherman

Technorati Tags: dry fly fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing the upper sac, fly fishing the upper sacramento river

Local fly fishing guide Wayne Eng used to grow so depressed when the Upper Sacramento River closed for the season, we considered confiscating his belt and shoelaces and placing him on suicide watch.

Now he gets to fish the Upper Sacramento all winter long (which is good, because it runs right by his home), and Wednesday, he was very, very happy the fishing season extends year-round. Why? Here’s 27 great reasons…):

Bigger than life? Wayne Eng's 27" of Upper Sacramento Brown Trout happiness.

That’s an Upper Sacramento Brown trout which Wayne suggests taped out at 27 inches. That’s two-seven, Undergrounders. On a river not exactly known for its populations of monster brown trout.

He caught it on a (ta-da!) black woolly bugger – at a time when the rain and snow melt were just starting to drive higher flows and murk the water a bit – an awfully good time to go headhunting.

Still, these kind of fish have a tendency to appear in the winter, and you’re often left to wonder exactly where the hell they were all summer.

Hiding at the bottom of a deep pool? Living the high life in Lake Shasta? Lacking a hideously outsized government research grant more information, we’re not sure.

But at least we know the things exist.

See you at the fly bin, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: brown trout, fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing the upper sacramento, wayne eng

You can’t ascribe human terms like “revenge” or even “manipulative bastards” to trout, but you damn sure can experience those feelings when you’re fishing for them.

One day you arrive late in the hatch and the trout show themselves just long enough to let you know they’re down there, but they stop eating even as the blue-winged olives continue to float by.

Wayne Eng contemplates vengeful trout on the Upper Sacramento

“Too late” you think, and the next day you head back (only much earlier), and you and your friends catch the exact same number of fish as the prior day, and this despite experiencing the entire BWO hatch instead of just 20 minutes of it.

As you stand there in water that is only barely liquid (water temps at the Upper Sac’s Delta gauge registered 36 degrees that morning), it’s not hard to think you threw the trout off balance for a few minutes by showing up early, but they recovered quickly and sulked on the bottom.

The result?

Day One Party Wide Trout Count: 3
Day Two Party Wide Trout Count: 3

In what has come to be a regular occurrence, the BWOs of “deep” winter are actually larger than those that hatch in the fall. The early bugs are #20s and #22s, but the bugs now look like perfect 18s, though some have much larger wings (I’m told the females have bigger wings).

Raine picked this cripple out of the film. Poor cripple...

With air temps hovering around the water temperature, fly fishing the Upper Sacramento would normally offer fly fishermen few chances at trout but excellent odds on frost bite, but through the miracle of modern gear, I was a toasy, happy camper the whole day.

Yes, it rained. Yes the BWOs are now a size 18. Yes, I was warm.

Last year I became a convert to the fly fishing soft shell, a remarkably lightweight jacket that’s achieved widespread acceptance among mountaineering and active types for its ability to keep the wearer dry even during high-output activities.

It’s an ideal choice for many situations, but this, my cold-weather Undergrounders, wasn’t one of them.

In truth, something warmer was called for – a Patagonia Micro-Puff jacket I got last year, but rarely wore on account of it being a little too warm.

The last week – with us experiencing temperatures in the low single digits and my time on the river making a weekend in a deep freeze seem tropical by comparison – I hauled it out, and was happy I did.

Lightweight, water resistant and damned warm, I’d marry it if I wasn’t already married (and let’s face it, the relationship would fall apart in the summer), but in terms of keeping me warm on the river, it was perfect – even to the point of being compressible and light enough to stuff in a vest back pocket.

It's winter - time to break out the prototype Raine quad hollowbuilt

As for fly rods, it’s oddly true that fishing tiny bugs on tiny tippet on the Upper Sacramento in the winter demands more rod than you might imagine.

A three weight sounds like the right piece of equipment, but the trout on this particular stretch are wary, and you regularly find yourself laying out long leaders and long casts, and my mainstay in the winter has been a strong 8.5′ 5wt, in this case a prototype Raine hollowbuilt quad that he loaned me for testing and forget to take back.

Let's hope Raine's not reading this...

Whenever I fish it and he’s around, I cringe, wondering if he’s going to remember and ask for it back. It’s not as if I don’t have other rods capable of doing the same job, but again, this one works real well, and only a fool would give that up.

At some point, you tend to settle in with the gear that works for you – and I’ve been that way roughly since I moved up here more than a decade ago – but every once in a while, you check out the new stuff and see if the state of the art has advanced (instead of the state of the industry’s marketing), and in the jacket world, it appears it has.

That’s coming from a guy who still mostly fishes bamboo and fiberglass fly rods, which suggests I’m a lot more interested in staying warm than I am in generating high line speeds. (Of the two, I know which is most useful on my river.)

Still, in the end, fly fishing the Upper Sacramento in the winter isn’t about gear or even catching a lot of trout.

It’s about practicing a sport in conditions where hope is your biggest ally, and the trout and the bugs often act like they’re out to drive you mad.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

I could pretend I went for the painted effect, but the pic just wasn't that sharp...

Technorati Tags: bamboo fly rod, blue winged olives, fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing the upper sacramento, patagonia micro-puff jacket, upper sacramento in winter

After exposing the terror war being perpetrated on fish, I looked out the window (as fly fishermen often do), and noticed it was snowing lightly.

And that air temperatures were hovering around freezing.

Hot damn.

That my friends, isn’t just snow.

That’s BWO Snow.

A couple calls later, and Wayne and Steve and I are gearing up and heading for the river – a stretch known for its BWO hatches.

Bolstered by a few tiny BWO flies sent by a sympathetic Undergrounder – and wearing the latest warm-weather stuff (Patagonia’s Micro-Puff jacket) – I’m ready to do what I couldn’t do before (namely catch trout in the midst of a BWO hatch).

Even as you envy my soon-to-be-freezing ass, say a quick prayer for me. The bugs are tiny, the trout are picky, and I’m out of practice.

See you on the river (really), Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: bwo hatch, Fly Fishing, going fly fishing

The bugs had just started and a few trout were rising, and it was suddenly very clear I’d spent most of my summer fly fishing small streams.

Well, somebody caught something. It just wasn't me...

Fishing a small stream is gratifying, but it’s not the best preparation for throwing #22 emergers at very spooky trout – which tend to stop rising whenever you wade closer than 35′.

In other words, I was rusty.

Rusty enough that I got a little cranky with myself on the water.

That’s a bad thing, because when I’m cranky, I start cataloging my fly fishing failures, and under the impetus of an admittedly self-critical nature, that list can grow very long.

Wrong flies. Out of 6x. Every cast eight inches short. Not sneaky enough. Not piling enough tippet for a good drift. Not focused. Bad karma from prior lifetime.

It can get a little weighty at a moment in your life when a little confidence is a real asset.

The Code

Sometimes, you never do crack the code, and the bugs stop appearing and the fish stop rising, and you stand hip-deep in seriously freezing cold water and wonder why you took up this sport in the first place.

Other times you change one simple thing: tippet, fly, more reach in the cast – and the whole experience resolves itself right in front of your eyes, and the trout do their part by eating the fly.

It’s either the way things are supposed to work, or pure magic.

When that does happen, you tend to forget the first half hour or so; that stretch where some apparently immature fly fisherman would be tempted to imitate his new daughter by stamping his wading boots and whining.

(Thank goodness that doesn’t apply to you or me.)

In this case, I sorta cracked it. Barely.

Well, not really.

I was able to get fish to eat, though before it all came together, I had one actually come up under my bug while aiming for the natural right behind it.

My simply too-big #18 parachute simply slid off his broad back, and I simply stood there wondering at the unfairness of it all.

The answer, of course, is that fairness isn’t a concept often adhered to in nature, and it wasn’t the trout’s fault I was stinking the place up.

The Ugly Reality

Chris Raine – who was ironically fishing my backup rod (an 8.5′ Raine prototype) because he’d grabbed the wrong rod tube on the way out of the shop – landed two nice fish.

Sure, his fish, but MY fly rod. I claim at least half of the trout's 15 inches

Naturally, I claimed ownership of half of both trout, suggesting it was a fool’s tax for grabbing the wrong rod (an obvious symptom of advancing age).

Just as naturally, he replied with a rude gesture.

I fished an 8.5′ Jim Reams hollowbuilt (a rod I love dearly for its smooth nature, but may sell because I’m not nearly caster enough to enjoy the taper when the bugs are on the water and I get impatient and start driving casts).

I had a total of four grabs, one brief hookup, one driven-by-frustration hookset (broke him off), and missed the other two on general principle.

In other words, I kinda sucked, and because I was preoccupied with rising fish, I can’t even save this fishing report with a handful of good pictures.

It was the kind of day that shows you brief flashes of promise, yet reminds you that you’re not nearly as good at this (or most other things) as your daydreams suggest you are.

Or more accurately, I’m not always as good at this as I was on the one day I did it all perfectly – a day which somehow becomes our benchmark for normalcy, which is self-deception raised to a high art.

While I’ll eventually adjust to the demands of the BWO hatch (I’m stocking up on #20 Roy Palm biot-bodied soft hackle emergers), I’ll also embrace the concept of letting the trout win the day without assuming I’ve lost my marbles.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: bamboo fly rods, fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing bamboo fly rods, fly fishing the upper sacramento, upper sacramento river

OK. I lied to you.

Last week’s trip to an alpine stream wasn’t my last of the general trout season, but then, after my flyfishfromhome.com post, let’s face it – you’d be a fool to trust me anyway.

Lumpy ice buildup reflects last warm sunlight of the day.

(Clearly, I intend to toy with my readers again, so, you know, deal with it, suckas.)

In fact, the only reason you know I’m not fabricating this report is because I admit I got skunked – the kind of admission no self-respecting, self-promoting outdoor writer would make if he didn’t go fishing. (See the logic?)

That’s the Underground: We’re all about the Truthiness, except when we’re not.

You’ve been warned.

Oh Yeah, the Fly Fishing

Though some enlightened Upper Sacramento winter fishing regulations mean I’m never far from a Quality Fly Fishing Experience, it’s hard to ignore California’s general trout season closer.

Last week, I thought I’d staggered through the last trip of the season, but on Sunday, that little nagging voice on my shoulder (the one that wears waders over its cloven hooves) told me there was still time.

So I went fly fishing. On a tiny stream I fished for the first time earlier this year.

Why?

I guess because I’m a deeply tortured individual, suffering at the hands of my my own wader-clad personal demons.

(Frankly, how much weirder could it get?)

Fortunately, I get to deal with the voices right on the stream. And though that stream is apparently fishless (as if all the little trout had been airlifted out for the winter like some kind of trouty theme park) – it’s still damned nice.

The mountain wasn't too hard on the eyes either.

Sadly, I lack any pulpish Man v. Trout action sequences to fill out my word count thrill my readers, so I’m going to voice a few observations about fly fishing small streams on cold season closers:

• When it’s cold at home, it’s colder on a tiny stream that’s spent the last couple thousand years digging its own tiny gorge, where cold air presumably settles in large quantities starting mid-November.
• That cold thing? It means you need a warm jacket, and there might just be an icy glaze on the rocks.
• That ice thing? While those Patagonia Riverwalker “sticky rubber” wading boots are the perfect small stream wading boot (they’re like rock climbing shoes on the boulders), they (important note to self) don’t function well on ice-glazed rocks. In fact, they don’t function at all.
• That cold & icy thing? It’s a small problem when the trout are eating, but it turns out that trout don’t eat as much when the water’s cold. So it gets to be a big thing.
• That eating thing? It turns out (and I should have learned this last week) that trout in small streams don’t really eat dry flies at all when it’s really cold and icy, and in fact, they don’t seem much interested in small nymphs or streamers either.
• That 7′ 3wt Diamondglass fly rod I never fish? It’s actually pretty stunning on a stream this size.

Plan B

With the trout not eating and the wrong battery in my slowly dying digital camera, the Wonderdog and I fell back to Plan B; we hiked up the tiny river gorge to see what was up there.

See, in addition to screwing with my readers, I derive happiness from looking for places to fly fish that other people maybe haven’t fished lately, and this stream offered that potential, though in part because its trout are tiny and the fishable spots rare.

Still, the Wonderdog and I did bushwhack our way up a particularly steep stretch – which contained zero worthwhile holding water – stepped out on a ledge, and found something interesting waiting for us:

Next year? I think so...

Let’s hear it for Plan B.

The Big Finish

In the end, a pair of trout too small to hook threw themselves at my fly, so no fish were harmed in the making of this fishing report.

Wally the Wonderdog – not exactly built for rock hopping – suggested he’d been badly harmed by a criminal lack of dog treats, but then, he says that pretty much every trip.

He’s consistent, if not agile.

In an odd, long-term-thinking kind of way, it makes sense to close out this season with a trip dedicated to finding places to fish next season.

It’s also telling.

Some have suggested I don’t always keep my eyes on the horizon – that I’m more grasshopper than ant.

Yet I’m already looking ahead to next year, suggesting I’m more of a grownup when I’m playing than when I’m acting like an adult.

See you next season, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: closing day, fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing small streams

Shielded by a bush, rod pointed behind me, I knee-crawled up to the bank of the stream, hunched down, carefully poked my head around the branches, and watched every brown trout in the pool scatter.

Instantly.

This, I realized, was going to be harder than I thought.

The Old Small Stream Ain’t What It Used To Be

It turns out life happens even while we’re somewhere else (who knew), and in this case, Stream Y – so happy to give up its brown trout in the spring and summer – turned miserly as winter closed in.

Going down in flames, but classy - a Phillipson Bamboo Fly Rod makes even failure pretty

As I watched a half-dozen small-stream trout disappear (as if they’d been beamed up to the Enterprise), I realized the snow was falling again, so instead of simply being cold and fishless, I was about to become cold, fishless, and wet.

If that sounds as good to you as it does to me, then this may just be your blog post.

As The Options Narrow…

With the general trout season about to close, I thought about flogging the McCloud, but frankly – with fly fishermen reporting catches of big trout on big dries – it seemed a little obvious.

You know, too normal.

And besides, the same pair of small streams I’d been fishing all year beckoned; I’d never fished either stream this late in the year, and I wondered what was happening at altitude.

Were the brown trout spawning? Were bugs hatching? Would streamers work? After a couple storms, were some of the dirt roads even passable?

(Answers: Not really, no, not in my hands, mostly)

Stream Y - the last look this year

In truth, I’ve been on a small stream jag the last couple seasons, and I found little reason to stop now.

If you’re happy catching 7″-10″ trout in the summer, why not in the fall?

Which is how I found myself crawling around in the mud and leftover corn snow, wondering how the hell I was going to catch a trout when I couldn’t even get close enough to properly spook them?

Normally, this is the moment when I drag out the camera and take pictures, figuring the fishing isn’t going to get any worse while I’m being artsy, and it might just get better.

Sadly, I’d cheated myself of even that escape; I’d left my digital camera at home, and was reduced to taking pictures with my low-quality (and definitely non-waterproof) cell phone camera.

I forget, so you suffer. That’s symmetry for you.

The Part Where I Make Excuses

No fly fishing trip is complete with an exhaustive list of excuses reasons why the fishermen failed/succeeded in the face of overwhelming odds, and here’s mine:

• The riffles and current tongues that provided overhead cover (and plenty of bites) earlier in the year were largely vacant; the brown trout had moved to slower (and clearer, and tougher) stretches of water.
• The leaves on the bushes and trees were gone (depriving me of cover), and the water was low, so the trout were spooky. Damned spooky.
• I didn’t see a single bug or terrestrial, so the trout simply weren’t looking up.
• The brown trout were spawning/had spawned/were about to spawn, and were uninterested in feeding
• The water was extremely cold and hurt my hands, so I was happy I didn’t catch many fish

Ultimately, two deranged very smart brown trout fell victim to my cunning presentations, and while I’d love to suggest I solved the spookiness problem through some kind of Darwinian adaptation, the truth is less impressive: I just made longer casts.

(I didn’t say I was proud of it or anything, but it worked.)

Of course, there is a Big Fish story lurking here somewhere – a monster in the 11″ range which zipped out of a log jam, grabbed the black rubberlegs streamer I was dangling, and ran right back – wrapping me up and breaking me off in the process.

Other blogs talk about big fish - but we show you exactly where they live...

When you’re down, it seems even the trout know to kick you.

Lucky To Be Here

That said, I felt lucky to get what I got. In one sense, I was lucky to be there; it was sleeting when I arrived, but by noon it had grown colder, and by two, it was snowing.

When I finally left, I wondered if this was the storm that would close the road.

Even if it doesn’t, the next one might.

One the drive out, the truck skidded and slipped on dirt road, and I figured I might be the last fly fisherman to spook those trout until June or even July of next year.

Once, I entertained thoughts of skiing into this stream and fishing it long before others could get there, but the distances are daunting. And hell, I’m not even sure if the roads to the road are plowed.

Soon (very soon), the meadows will fill with snow, and they’ll stay that way for better than half the year, and the trout will go on about their lives largely untroubled – until one day the snow melts and a strange shape looms above them, waving a long, skinny stick.

If the romance of that escapes you, then check for a pulse.

Technorati Tags: fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing excuses, fly fishing small streams

With California’s general trout season almost over (15th), fly fishermen all over the state are no doubt considering one last run at the McCloud River – or some other favorite water.

Frankly, it’s a great idea – but bring foul weather gear, because the Mount Shasta forecast suggests wet and cold.

Sure, the optimists among you are already thinking “that’s BWO weather” and you’d be right, but don’t forget the big October Caddis dries.

In fact, it’s possible I’ll make one last pass at a certain mountain stream (heavily edited pictures if I do).

Any Undergrounders making last-ditch plans for the season closer?

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, mccloud river, october caddis

The fly fishing? About as good it usually is later in the October Caddis hatch – when the fish are used to seeing them and enough of the hummingbird-sized bugs are dying to make it interesting.

Even if the fly fishing goes to hell, there's always something to look at

Unfortunately, Older Bro and I ran into a bunch of cars in the parking lot, and plenty of fly fishermen on the river (and yes, one real asshole), and while we got plenty of eats in a few of my Secret Big Fish Spots, things slowed dramatically when we fished used water (which was most of the evening).

Still, the Upper Sacramento’s fishing very well – and rumour has it the McCloud’s going even better.

As proof, I offer this clearly sympathetic email from an Undergrounder, who was out fishing while I was wrestling soiled diapers off the Littlest Undergrounder:

BWAH, HAH, HAH!!!
fish, big fish. Lots of em…..
Big black noses, sucking up caddis dries….
Big, jumping hot fish…
Best night…ever. I was THERE!!!
and you…..BWAH, HAH, HAH!!!!!

As always, I’m warmed and comforted by the love and support of the Undergrounders, though as the above email writer will soon discover, I know people – people who carry power tools in the trunk of their car, yet don’t build things.

(Then again, in Day 71 of the Underground’s Home Contractor Hostage Crisis, that pretty accurately describes our contractor too)

Naturally, the usual caveats apply whenever I suggest the fishing’s good:

• The fishing could become un-good tomorrow
• I could be lying (changing diapers makes me cranky)
• You might not be a good fly fishermen
• I might not be a good fly fishermen

Helpful Hint: Everyone’s throwing stimulators, and while they work, they don’t offer the best hooking percentage. Consider a pattern that sits a little lower in the water, and bring a handful so you can replace the chewed, soggy mess on the end of your line.

Helpful Hint #2: leader selection is important when you’re throwing short casts with a wind-resistant fly. Micro-drag isn’t a big issue, and shorter leaders throw much better, so…

More to come (and soon) – including a short summary of our latest wading boot test. It went – sadly – about as expected.

See you at the keyboard, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: Fly Fishing, fly fishing the mccloud, fly fishing the upper sacramento, october caddis

At some points in your life, a little reflection is needed. Here’s why it should happen on a river.

The next step's a doozie.

The day before trout season opened in 1999, I ditched the Silicon Valley and moved to a tiny mountain town with its own trout river. I spent a chunk of that trout opener just sitting on the bank and watching the river go by, wondering just what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

Then, on the first day of the new millenium (1/1/2000), I fly fished Baum Lake (not much was open in the winter back then) – despite doing some things the prior evening that I did not discuss with local religious leaders.

Due to the hangover, I don’t remember a lot about that trip, but I do remember catching a fair number of Baum’s stockies on a BWO dry, which is a pretty good way to start your next 1000 years. At that point, I had no idea just what the hell I was getting myself into.

Today, I’m packing for Ethiopia, making yesterday’s trip to a small, never-fished-by-me stream – my last as a childless angler.

A couple times after I moved to Dunsmuir, I toyed with the idea of becoming a trout bum/writer/largely single guy, but never did quite pull the trigger. And frankly, I’m happy about that.

I greatly admire people like John Gierach, a man who decided to fly fish for a living and then made it happen (and does so without the posturing, false bravado, and suspiciously compensatory behavior that marks so many who take that route).

Still, admiring someone doesn’t necessarily mean following in their footsteps, and while I’m aware my new adventure represents a right turn from an earlier, more carefree existence, it’s not The End of An Era or anything remotely that dramatic.

Still, it is a moment that demands a little bank sitting, wondering just what the hell I’m getting myself into this time.

Fly fishing trips will do that to you. They force the rest of the world to recede, yet still invite you to ponder the imponderables – a neat trick for any sport.

I’m also aware that when I start thinking too deeply in the above vein, maybe it’s time to simply go fishing.

Which I did.

The Schedule = The Fishery

Due to the madness that has become life, I haven’t fished much lately, and yes, I badly needed to go despite a schedule suggesting zero tolerance for fun.

That’s why – the day before I left to start my pretty-much-around-the-world trip – I ran to a nearby small stream I’d found by accident earlier in the year, but hadn’t fly fished.

Small, pretty and almost certainly unfished.

The Wonderdog sure remembered our previous trip, and his first act – after marking every tree near the truck – was to spot the rings of a rising trout in a pool at the bottom of a small gorge.

I’d seen those rings too, but I didn’t gallump down the hill at speed and plunge headlong into the pool after the trout.

Naturally, he caught nothing, but quickly got over the disappointment after finding the bones of a recently deceased deer.

Thus, the key differences between fly fishermen and retrievers are revealed (stealth and a gag reflex).

Sure he's happy - he smells like dead deer.

I knew in advance there would be no big trout, and there was a chance there would be no trout at all.

That’s inherent in any fly fishing trip (especially one already severely constrained by distance and time), but the thought was a little punishing this time.

I hadn’t fished recently, and because this was something of a turning point in my life, I needed a trout to make the occasion. Any sized trout.

Needed one.

Just one…

Thanks. I needed that.

Deep breath.

With all the uncertainty ahead, it’s nice to know that dogs still roll in dead things, undiverted streams still flow during droughts, trout still eat dries, and fly fishermen can get their heads screwed on straight through the simple act of catching fish.

A portrait of the fly fisher as a newly young man

Working my way upstream was a challenge in stealth, casting, and yes, Wonderdog management, but I managed to land another half-dozen little trout, the biggest of which might have gone seven inches.

I didn’t care of course – this year I’ve been on a small stream jag which pretty much guarantees a dearth of “Slab of the Month” entries.

It also guarantees a slower-paced fishing experience, one which invites some odd photographic experiments, including those which find your tiny point-and-shoot camera half submerged in the water:

Why not experiment with your camera?

Or even fully submerged and looking up, trying to approximate what a handsome, local, small-stream fly fisherman might look to a trout:

Is this what trout see right before they're unhooked and released?

An hour after I started, I was finished.

Deadlines called, bags needed to be packed, people needed to be met, and I ended my last outing as a childless fly fisherman wondering if my daughter would find the same peace on small streams filled with tiny, largely ignored trout.

She’ll see plenty of running water (I’ll see to that), but will she ever find her way to a stream in the middle of a busy day, turning over stones, watching for telltale shadows on the stream bottom, rolling her eyes as her dog plunges into a fishy looking pool, and desperately wanting just one single trout – confirmation the world isn’t tilting wholly off its axis?

Cleary, the future is filled with little certainty. And a lot of possibility.

What trout see?

See you on the Stream, Tom Chandler.

Technorati Tags: fishing, Fly Fishing, fly fishing small streams, i need a trout, the restorative powers of small streams

I’ve heard it said that you can never go home again, which is a nice way of saying that things change in your absence, only the pictures in your mind don’t.

The brown trout in Stream Y remain gorgeous (if a little uncooperative)

That’s why – when older (less handsome) bro called – I thought we could go back to Stream Y, even though I hadn’t fished it since spring.

Between then and now, the great circle of life had rotated some, which is a really nice way of saying too goddamned many cattle were allowed to graze the place, and parts were barely recognizable.

The lush, green shores of Stream Y had been chewed down to dirt, and the gnarled remnants of young cottonwoods and aspens dotted the banks. In places the bank had been trampled into the water.

And yes, a couple bazillion metric tons of cow flop decorated the place, which meant we were visited by a lot of flies, and I was properly thankful the buggers didn’t bite (unlike the mosquitoes from my earlier trip to Stream Y).

What’s sobering is this: Stream Y suffers less damage than a lot of little streams. In fact, this is probably a model of conservative management.

That, my friends, is an unpretty thought.

Tricky. You had to be tricky.

Spooky Little Trout Like You

The cattle damage was irritating, but the real impediment to catching brown trout wasn’t the flies or cow flop or cows – it was the low flows of August.

The trout – whose existence was laid bare to the skies by trickles of crystal clear water – were spooky to the point of insanity. (Which is to say they made me insane. I’m sure they were fine.)

I once crawled up to a stump, poked a couple inches of human head around it (the sun was in front of me, so no shadow), and watched a half-dozen brown trout turn and swim away.

Mortifyingly, they didn’t even flee in terror; they casually swam away, probably because they didn’t consider anything so clumsy a legitimate predatory threat (over the course of my life, many women seem to have agreed with them).

To his credit, Older Bro – a relative newcomer to the sport of fly fishing – adapted quickly to trout so spooky you had to basically not be there in order to catch them:

Older Bro learns fast (Mom will be so proud)

Fortunately, every population has its bell curve, and over the course of the trip, I found a dozen brown trout that clearly existed on the “dumb” or “incautious” shoulder of the curve.

Older bro hooked up with several, and landed two – real trophies in a situation where even a real small stream expert could find himself fishless for long stretches of time.

The Fishy Details

Like my earlier trips, the fly fishing didn’t turn on until mid-day; until noon, we’d get an eat here and there, but also experience long stretches where really, really pretty water didn’t produce so much as a refusal.

Small streams are like that, and the portions of humanity that expects things to happen on their schedule doesn’t always cope with those moments with what you’d call grace.

Fortunately, I’ve weeded out the partners that fish with a sense of entitlement instead of a goofy sense of wonder.

When the fish aren’t eating, you either keep fishing, or bank sit for a while.

Normally, I also invest that time taking photographis, but in truth, I just didn’t shoot too many images this trip. Some days you’ve got it, and some you don’t.

The Fly Fishing Stuff

We chose to change flies and keep fishing, though in truth, we found little difference between a parachute Adams, a small stimulator, a Humpy – or any of the other flies we tried.

Later in the day, I tied on a Ak’s Hopper pattern on the off chance it would attract bigger fish, and for a time, it seemed to. Overall, my big winner for the day was the Underground Fave Beetle Bug, though I caught plenty of fish on a horrifying, tinselly Red, White & Blue version of a Royal Wulff.

The Brown trout were pretty, but weren't sporting their spawing colors yet...

Stream Y’s brown trout may be spooky, but they lack a well-developed aesthetic sense.

Older Bro – who owns a typical 9′ 5wt graphite rod – fished my 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass for the first time, and yes, those “aha!” moments you read about actually occur in the wild; he took to the slower taper like an Osprey takes to a fish hatchery.

This isn’t a knock on graphite, just another observation of that bell curve thing; some of us were made to fish slower rods, and some of us weren’t.

I fished an 8′ 5wt Diamondglass – a rod so slow, so even-tempered that it brings great joy every time I cast it. It’s the less-likely-to-make-me-cry-when-I-break-it-in-the-brush version of my 8′ 5wt Phillipson bamboo fly rod, which I was kinda sorry I hadn’t fished.

Regret, it seems, isn’t solely the province of politicians and televangelists who get caught.

People love flower pics (right?)

So maybe you can go home again, though if someone runs cattle in your house while you’re gone, better get ready to return to a wreck.

I was tempted to drive over to Stream X, but realized there wasn’t any percentage in doing so; it wasn’t going to look any better than it did when I fished it in the spring, and it was probably going to look a lot worse.

Still, the Underground’s Small Stream jag seems set to continue; I simply can’t get enough of the trickles.

See you on the small water, Tom Chandler

Technorati Tags: brown trout, Fly Fishing, fly fishing for brown trout, fly fishing small streams, overgrazing