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.

Beaver graciously takes the credit for “conserving” pretty much every trout on the Eastern Seaboard, yet fails to mention he also unlawfully prevented access to many of those trout to all but his big-dollar “club” patrons.

From the Beaver’s mouth:

In the 1970s, I noticed two major changes in the landscape along my favorite trout streams in Pennsylvania – developments and subdivisions, and “No Trespassing” signs.

By the late 1980s, I decided I wanted to do something to prevent development and gain access to these trout streams. At first, I leased access from private property owners as a hobby for my family, friends, and business associates. In 1995, I decided to approach the acquisition of blue ribbon trout streams as a full-time business.

The Trout Underground’s pretty much wetting himself right now (I think I just shot Coca-Cola out my nose) at the sanctimonious tone of The Beaver.

Clearly, he considers himself the Albert Schweitzer of the fly fishing world (well, maybe if Schweitzer wasn’t interested in helping people as much as making a lot of money for himself).

Yet his Spring Ridge Club recently lost a court case because it was trying to block river access to Pennsylvania’s Little Juniata River in violation of the law which permits public access to “navigable” rivers.

He fought the law, and the law won.

Given that there’s no mention of that little incident in this bought-and-paid-for Helium interview, I’d suggest we all visit the interview page and leave a comment at the bottom (I already did) suggesting the interview failed to tell the whole story.

Be nice and respectful so there’s no reason for the comments to be censored, and let’s see what happens. It should be amusing.

[tags]spring ridge club, donny beaver, little juniata[/tags]

I don’t know about you, but bouncing around inside my head are detailed (and mostly unrealistic) plans for 2007′s fishing trips, and while some of them might actually come to pass, they almost certainly won’t happen the way I imagine them.

Which – if you stop to think about it – is probably the point.

It’s the kind of rainy day, lay-around-the-house leisure activity that could waste a whole afternoon, assuming such a thing could ever be a waste.

What’s the plan?

The Early Season

Winter fishing on the Upper Sacramento hasn’t been stellar, but with the snowpack far below normal and no real storms in sight, we’re looking a drought right in the eye.

That’s not the best news for salmon, steelhead and the California delta, but it’s not the end of the world up here in the mountains.

With a little luck, we could hit a few good hatches before the runoff even gets going, and once started, it won’t last long.

A drought would also open the backcountry earlier, and if I sound almost giddy at the prospect of a drought, so be it.

One man’s tomato stake is another’s priceless bamboo fly rod, and complaining about the weather rarely changes it.

I’m just making lemonade.

Tennessee

About the time the runoff gets out of hand I could be winging my way to Tennessee.

You’ll find me headhunting Tennessee’s rich tailwaters, and enjoying my time on the smaller rivers and streams of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

I might even tumble for an overnight trip into the park’s backcountry, and scarf a few slawdogs at the local Phillips 66.

I’ll even have a chance to test fly the lies which don’t work in California any more, but might find a new audience in the Southeast, where they’ll make a worthy addition to the Southern oral tradition.

Consider me a verbal philanthropist.

Tennessee’s key attraction is the fly fishing diversity; one day I’m casting for tiny brook trout in tiny streams, the next I’m fishing a blanket caddis hatch on a rainbow tailwater, and yet another I’m chasing Brown trout with streamers the size of squirrels.

The bonus? All this happens while the Upper Sacramento fishes poorly.

Idaho? Wyoming? Montana?

This summer, I’m mulling over a tour of the trouty fleshpots in the Rocky Mountain West. A new trip.

Sure, Yellowstone’s famous rivers call, but I’m looking for destinations not found on the travel plans of the well-to-do angling set.

Instead, lesser-explored parts of Idaho beckon, as do some of the more interesting bits of Montana and Wyoming.

A handful of covert hints have come my way, and the old saw about killing you after telling you applies.

More on this as it happens.

The Backcountry

Last year I fished the backcountry’s lakes and tiny streams more than usual, and had so much fun I expect more of it.

Starting in early summer, the backcountry loses its snowbound status, and all the underfished Brookie lakes open.

I even bought a shiny new ultralight backpacking tent, and have been turning equipment lists over in my head.

Modern day backpackers prune away excess weight seemingly at the subatomic level, and though I won’t exhibit that level of mania, I’m learning that a 45-pound pack takes all the fun out of backpacking.

The goal? Pare the backpacking equipment list down far enough that a float tube is a possibility.

Of all the trips I’ve listed, the backcountry wanderings offer the greatest potential for solitude – a solo appreciation of beauty that

Maine

Every year I’ve gone, Maine has delivered a different fishing experience. It’s not a 100% lock that we’ll go this year, but I hope we do.

It’s textbook smallmouth bass water, and smallies are pure fun on the fin.

Plus the lakes are beautiful, the Grand Lake Canoes are beautiful, the smallmouth bass are beautiful, and the whole setup is just plain, well… beautiful.

It’s not the kind of vacation where you fish until you drop, but it’s the perfect vacation when fishing is a main course on the menu, but you want to spend a lot of time with the L&T Spouse too.

Salt Anyone?

I admit to a long-distance fascination with redfish, and keep idly speculating on the costs of a Gulf Coast redfish trip.

Complicating matters is the need for a boat and guide, which run upwards of $450 a day.

It’s hard to imagine coughing up several grand (flight, rental, hotel, guide, slaw dogs) for a couple days of fishing, but this is how trips happen.

I start with the seed of an idea, and the whole thint eventually dies on the vine or grows into a full blown idea.

The Usual Suspects

Naturally, I’ll be fishing all the local hangouts: the Upper Sacramento, Rogue, Klamath, McCloud – and a few smaller venues which I am not going to mention in print.

Of course, once you compile a list of all the places you want to fish, you realize you couldn’t possibly do so outside the confines of a trust fund or winning lottery ticket.

It’s a reality that hovers around the periphery of any wintertime “places to fish” list, but if you let it slow you down then you’re taking life too seriously.

One thing is true: driving 15 minutes to fish for an evening is something done (or not done) on the spur of the moment, but epic trips to places you’ve never been require some small amount of planning, or they simply don’t happen.

So what’s your plan for 2007? Where are you headed?

[tags]fly fishing, fishing, 2007[/tags]

Flows are good, but it’s been damned cold. Neither of us has a clue what’s happening. Flavs? BWO’s? Nothing?

In truth, it doesn’t matter. We’re going to fish some nice bamboo fly rods – maybe even catch a steelhead.

Back Tuesday with a report (maybe). See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

[tags]rogue, upper rogue river, steelhead, dave roberts[/tags]

Most of it was due to fears about damage to the resource (e.g. anglers trampling the spawing beds), some fish and game promised to monitor.

The Underground loves winter fishing.

It seems like that those fears haven’t been realized, and I just noticed an article about Fish & Game proposing a Catch & Release season on a few Sierra waters. From the North County Times Article:

Early this month, the new winter regulations were adopted, allowing trout fishing in such prime places as Hot Creek, the East Walker River, the upper Owens River and Carson Creek. If allowed to go into effect in March, the regulations would allow for Sierra fishing all year, though winter regulations would be catch-and-release only.

I believe that – on many waters – the concept of a trout “season” is an obsolete one, and I’d like to see the implementation of winter catch-and-release regulations on the trout streams that can handle it.

Winter fishing is a unique, technical, and (still) largely solitary aspect of the sport that I’ve always enjoyed.

See you in the snow, Tom Chandler.

[tags]hot creek, east walker, owens river, carson creek, sierra, fly fishing, regulations, catch and release[/tags]

To that end, he’s been chasing California’s native trout for years, and chronicled the completion of his quest in this California Heritage Trout post.

It’s definitely worth a read.

[tags]california trout, california heritage trout, trout[/tags]

His latest post chronicles his descent into madness when brown trout attack his indicator instead of his carefully chosen nymph.

Here’s the Money Quote:

Or maybe I should gang my flies: a BWO under a woolly bugger, which is under a floating muddler, which is next to a… what, I’m not sure. I think I have to stop at the muddler (unless I wanted an indicator, too).

As always, it’s worth a visit (more so than those porn sites you’re visiting).

[tags]fly fishing, brown trout[/tags]

Talk about front-loading the conversation.

In truth, it didn’t matter – it was Thursday and I was going fishing, good omens or not. And frankly, things looked pretty good. The weather was gray and damp, with drizzle coming and going.

One of two landed yesterday. This was 12″ (that’s a #22 dry). My second fish was 14″.

It was, in fact, perfect BWO weather, though flows were a concern.

The last two years have taught me that conditions can be great, but the bugs and trout might not show if water levels have fluctuated dramatically (this free theory is worth every penny you’re paying for it).

As you can see, we’ve experienced some significant fluctuations in flows the last several days. The river itself was much higher and picked up some color, which was fine with me.

A little more water (and a little more dirt in that water) would mean less-spooky fish, and I went with 6x on water that required 7x a few days ago.

Where are the bugs?

The stage was set for a truly epic day of dry fly fishing, but the bugs largely failed to show.

A light hatch kept a few fish working sporadically, and those fish were a far cry from last week’s spook-meisters, but we spent a fair amount of time standing around and waiting for a rise.

I landed two, lost another at my feet, and – frustratingly – had five other grabs that didn’t lead to a hookup.

I also experienced several of fly fishing’s equivalent to getting slapped in the face – the refusal rise. These were later explained when I realized the leader was furling a bit on landing.

Bad tippet. Baaaad tippet…

The changing water level could have brought this down upon us, but it’s also possible the hatch – tentatively identified as the pseudocleons by the Underground’s Long-Distance Bug Whisperer Sully – is petering out.

Two years ago the bugs started small and got bigger as fall progressed into winter, and perhaps we’re seeing that process starting now.

The bug of the day was nothing more than a quill bodied #22 dry with a clipped mallard tail (trailing shuck) and medium dun hackle.

I use mallard dyed woodduck for a trailing shuck on a lot of flies, but wasn’t happy with the durability. Sully mentioned tying it in longer and clipping it square, which seemed to work just as well but held up better.

But enough fly fishing reportage. It’s back to work writing for those who pay the bills. I’ve got a couple good things in store for the Underground, including a report from Baja from the Underground’s “I’m fishing someplace warm and taunting you about it” Saltwater Correspondent.

Plus another article guaranteed to make you shake your head and wonder what the hell we’re smoking up here.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

I will say it was beautiful out there, and throwing an October Caddis dry worked well enough, though the bite tailed off once the sun left. The later it got, the slower it got. (And the colder I got).

Several nice fish but nothing huge. I’ve gotta learn to fish where they release the hatchery brood stock, thereby plumping my ego and impressing the babes.

Also, the Underground’s Minister of Keyboard Destruction (Ian Rutter) finally got it all together enough to post a fall fishing report from Tennessee. It confirms my worst fears: someday I’ll need to travel back there in the Fall too.

Damn.

Later! See you at dinner, Tom Chandler.

[tags]Upper sacramento river, ian rutter, october caddis, fishing, fly fishing[/tags]

But first, a rainy moment of zen:

The Upper Sacramento River. What a dump.

With the rain coming down lightly and steadily (that’s BWO weather if ever anyone described it in print), I struggled through a trying morning, threw on the cold weather gear, and headed downriver.

The forces of evil conspired to keep me working later than I wanted, so I didn’t hit the water until 1:00. which is when the bad decisions began.

With the skies leaden, the rain drizzling, and the water picking up a teensy bit of color, I assumed 6x tippet would do the job – even though it was marginal yesterday. Glug glug.

I could detail the next 45 minutes in graphic, whiny detail, but let’s just suggest I tried a *lot* of flies and only hooked up with two fish, both of whom escaped.

Stellar? Not.

Chandler Makes a Move

Still, I finally got the drift (heheh). I changed to 7x tippet, switched to the least bushy #22 BWO I had (a simple quill body with hackle collar, no wings), and started catching fish.

Ha! Damnit, I’m slow, but I’m steady.

Four fish later, the fly disappeared without a swirl, the rod lifted without a thought, and the water exploded without delay. Holy sizzler, Batman.

This is a wide-angle view of a broad-shouldered, into-the-backing, 19″ Upper Sac bow.

It’s been a while since I saw backing (and that one was foul hooked), but I saw it pretty quickly today.

I’d love to give you the Hemmingway rundown on the extreme manliness of the angler (in tiny, adjective-free sentences), but I basically wore him down, did a two-step when he made a last ditch dash between my legs, and netted him.

And just so there won’t be a repeat of the irritating “no way that fish is XX inches” e-mails, I measured him. (Twice, you bastards.)

It Ain’t Over ’til It’s… OK, it’s Over

After the big fish was released, the hatch had largely dried up. One more smaller fish got fooled, and then I waded back to the Bronco Fishmobile in the rain.

A little fish tale.

Tiny Flies Needed. Few Found.

The bugs are definitely #22s, something in short supply in the Underground’s fly box. Tomorrow the forecast is a little clearer, but we’re still talking about what could be stellar BWO weather, and if the stars align, I could be out there again, this time armed with 7x tippet and – hopefully – a couple of freshly tied #22 dries (donations accepted).

The big fish was thrilling, the bumbling start was frustrating, and the grey, drippy weather was strangely exhilarating.

The colors saturate in the wet weather and the sounds deaden, and what’s left is purely the essence of the place and the moment.

I’d go back again even if the fish were small.

[tags]rainbow trout, BWO, blue winged olive, fiberglass fly rod, Upper Sac, Upper Sacramento River[/tags]