Posts tagged: fly fishing small streams

Fall In Summer (or, Welcome To Burger… aiyeeee!)

August 13, 2011, by Tom Chandler 14 comments

By midday on Friday, no useful work was getting done, though it seemed that some useful goofing off could still be accomplished, so I loaded the Wonderdog into the truck and headed for my friendly, neighborhood small stream.

The fish were cooperative, but the wading boots were slick (turns out the Patagonia Rock Grip boots don’t “grip” all that well on dry rock either; it’s back to the glue-esque Riverwalkers), and the inevitable fall was approximately four feet — mostly onto my left hip.

The camera is downstairs and I’m upstairs and there aren’t enough aspirin to get me to make the trip this morning, so expect pictures later this weekend.

But I can still type, and fans of Wally the Wonderdog will no doubt find this edifying…

Welcome to Burger King can I hel…. aiiyeeeeee!

Stiffening up by the minute — and with a wet, tired Wally the Wonderdog sprawled across the passenger seat like a disgruntled pasha — I was too hungry to wait a couple hours for dinner, and in what has become a once-a-year event, the Wonderdog and I curved the straight line home through the local Burger King drive-through window.

The Wonderdog perked up immediately at the smell of all those frying hamburgers, but I didn’t think to roll up the window when I unclipped and turned to the back seat to find my wallet.

Houston, we have a problem.

In an attempt to gain doggie heaven (the Burger King kitchen), the Wonderdog launched himself over the center console and into my lap — actually getting his front paws outside the door and his head through the drive-through window.

I grabbed a couple handfuls of Wonderblubber and started pulling back, and before he could wriggle all the way into the kitchen, the friendly, smiling Burger King employee returned to find a drooling dog with a tongue the size of a necktie waiting for her.

Fortunately, she didn’t scream. (She yelped a little and recoiled.)

After a few electric moments, I got most of him hauled back into the truck (enough to get his nose out of the drive-thru window at least), the no-longer-smiling employee handed over the food, and I drove away, the Wonderdog keeping his nose glued to the bag until he got his half of the Whopper.

When did I become a player in a dog-driven reality TV show (and where are my residuals)?

See you at the medicine cabinet, Tom Chandler.

The Small Stream Fly Fisherman Finds High Water, Trout

July 18, 2011, by Tom Chandler 18 comments

It’s become absolutely critical that I forget something essential on each fly fishing trip, and this time the axe fell on the Pentax Optio camera loaned to me by Singlebarbed after mine found its way into the hands of an airline employee.

Technically, I get half points for remembering the camera, but I’d mistakenly slid a 16MB SD card into the slot, which was good for exactly one photograph, yet wouldn’t let me delete anything.

(In my youth, a move like that would have qualified for a “Way to go, Einstein.”)

So while the small stream was muy beautiful (in a small, prehistoric-looking canyon sort of way); and many colorful trout were caught; and I intended to shoot stunning streamside photos of the Orvis 8′ Superfine Touch I’m reviewing… all you’re going to see is this clunker (burned-out highlights and all):

Wally the Wonderdog searching for trout to retrieve

My Casio Commander cell phone was in the truck, so I retrieved it and learned just how poorly suited its camera is to the Split-Second World of Outdoor Photography.

So instead of colorful photographs, I’m going to paint bright, colorful pictures with words, as in:

The stream was like really, really beautiful. Like awesome, you know?
The trout were small but they were really, really beautiful. Like major-league sick/phat/awesome, you know?
There were wildflowers that were really, really pretty in many awesome shapes and sizes.

There. Your minds are probably reeling under that onslaught of vivid imagery. The rest of your day will seem gray and lifeless by comparison, but that’s normal.

You’ll be fine in the morning.

The Gritty Details

I checked last year’s posts an discovered I fished this same area a month earlier — and the water was lower last year.

In other words — due to the high snowpack and cold spring — we really are running a good month behind last year.

Fortunately, the trout seem healthy, and they were perfectly willing to eat a dry.

I caught many of them.

I wanted to kiss all of them.

And I lost the biggest of them (true story).

It was like running across a great friend from your college days (assuming your college days were decades ago), and discovering you picked up exactly where you left off, no hiccups or false starts.

So while the drifts were not easy (they almost never are on a small stream), the fish were wild, the stalking mine-emptying, the exertion innervating, and the sense of gratitude (on the part of the fly fisherman) was an almost palpable thing.

It’s good to be back. Good to see you, old friend.

The Gritty Gear Details

I thought I’d finished my review of the 8′ 4wt Orvis Superfine Touch, but realized it needed a test on a truly small stream — one where getting more than a foot of fly line past the guides qualifies as an ambitious cast.

How did it work? Look for the review this week.

Since I’m in testing mode, I also dragged out the Patagonia Sun Hoody, which once again performed admirably (no buttons, pockets, Velcro or anything else to snag fly line).

I’d love to parade the fly I fished as the end product of a lot of painstaking trial and error, but this was a small stream filled with fish hungry for both spring and a meal, so they ate all three patterns equally enthusiastically.

Wally the Wonderdog was his usual self; staring hard at the water in a vain attempt to spot trout, and then attempting to retrieve them once I did hook one (which was probably a lot less often once he dove into the water, which happened about half the time).

When he wasn’t chasing trout, he was dashing from tree to boulder to bush in the hopes of finding something dead to eat/roll in, tail wagging hard, tongue lolling to the left (he lost his left canine when he fell down a mountain).

He’s older than he used to be (we all are), so after he basically hovered off the ground for a couple hours, he collapsed in the back seat of the Bronco and was asleep before I got the fly rod taken apart.

Live hard, sleep well, lick your privates.

Sounds like a recipe for life.

See you on a small stream, Tom Chandler.

The Wonderdog Goes Fishing

July 16, 2011, by Tom Chandler 11 comments

(Shot and shipped from my mobile phone)

On a small Stream today with Wally the Wonderdog.

We are both happy animals. More later.

A Visit to Stream XXX (or, Small Stream Porn)

July 13, 2011, by Tom Chandler 18 comments

Our winter blended seamlessly into spring, which is to say they both kinda sucked for a particular fly fisherman jonesing for a small stream fix.

That ended last weekend, when Wayne Eng and I hit a piece of little-fished small stream. The brown trout weren’t anywhere near as abundant as the mosquitoes (nor as aggressive), but they would eat a dry fly in a way that was recognizably my kind of fly fishing, and suddenly, winter and our long, cold, high-water spring simply fell away.

And did so in what amounts to a rampantly beautiful… spot.

How's that for a great fishing spot?

Regulars know I refer to my local small streams with highly unoriginal aliases like “Stream X” and “Stream Y.”

In a fit of creativity, I’m naming this stretch Stream XXX, because while the brown trout aren’t fish-porn worthy, I’d suggest the location itself qualifies as Small Stream Porn.

Of the Triple-X variety. I mean, look at it:

Wayne Eng, small stream style

No, don't even ask me (or him) where it is...

If you’re a fly fisherman, that’s major wood action (I’m referring of course to all the downed timber, which provides exceptional trout habitat).

Stream XXX was running high — higher than I’d ever seen — but it was still wholly fishable. High water tends to discourage trout from taking dries (they’ve got a lot more water to move through), but thankfully, enough trout made the trip to keep it interesting.

I started the day throwing the vaunted new Mini-Hopper, which accounted for four trout (and several other grabs).

Then I found this #10-sized penny from heaven on bankside brush:

That's #10 Bug Porn

That prompted a switch to a #10 March Brown (Catskill style), which went to a watery grave a few fish later, precipitating a move to an Old Joe Kimsey Favorite — the orange Skinny Humpy.

The beauty of a Humpy is that each fish frays it towards a state of grace; the more chewed it gets, the better it seems to catch trout (short of total dissolution).

The Humpy achieves a state of grace...

That, my friends, worked like stink, proving that Joe Kimsey probably still knows more than we do, and we buried him a while ago.

It’s gratifying to stumble on the fly of the day, but more importantly, I was fishing and casting and hooking trout instead of lobbing who knows what who knows where, and the sensation was, well… triple-X pleasurable.

The Clothing Angle

Firmly in the “unpleasant” column we find the mosquitoes, who attacked in force and got worse as the day progressed. They’re irritating to the point of distraction, and at one point, I found myself trying to re-tie my leader while stumbling around in circles; stopping and sitting on a log was an invitation to insanity.

Some deal with mosquitoes via chemical weapons, though I’ve largely given up on Deet. The stuff melts fly lines and bamboo rod varnish, and works (I believe) by altering your DNA to the point that mosquitoes no longer recognize you as a mammal.

Is that really something I want covering my body?

Better, I think, is to simply cover up:

The mostquito-proof fly fisherman

This looks odd, but it’s a damn bit better than constantly swatting your eyeglasses off your face.

Note the CalTrout-styled buff, which — when combined with a hat — leaves very little skin exposed, yet doesn’t run nearly as hot as you’d think.

And yes, that’s a long-sleeve, one-piece Patagonia Sun Hoody — a lightweight, cover-everything piece of clothing — the kind of which is currently found on a lot of flats fishermen, who are more concerned with sun exposure than bugs.

I’m trying it here in the decidedly flats-free Northern California mountains, and so far (that’s two trips), I like the hoody better than your typical long-sleeve fly fishing shirt, which isn’t nearly as snag-free.

Also in the ensemble (but not the pictures) were a pair of Glacier Glove sun gloves, which protected the back of my hands from mosquitoes and the sun, and if you’d ever seen them, you’d know that’s a good thing.

There is plenty more testing to come, but as someone who hates both bug repellent and sunscreen (and who has some serious skin issues), I may just be looking at my mosquito-driven future — a lightweight fishing rig that leaves only my eyes and fingers exposed.

The problem is that you look a little like you’re from outer space (or France), and I’m going to immediately write a letter to Patagonia asking for a camo version of the shirt, figuring that buys you more acceptance in rural areas than silver.

The Footwear Angle

After deciding they were failures on freestone streams, I wore the Patagonia Rock Grip wading boots, and they worked beautifully, but then, of course they would.

This stream was all mud, gravel, grass and trees — barely a slippery freestone-style rock in sight.

A long, downstream drift sometimes works...

They’re wonderful wading boots when they’re not filling the same niche as ice skates, but most rivers come equipped with rocks, and Tommy needs a pair of studded rubber soles for the tough stuff.

The search continues, though I might just opt for the studded Orvis boots in the right size. Sometimes searching’s overrated.

The Fly Rod Angle

This visit concluded my test of the Orvis Superfine Touch 8′ 4wt, a rod that has performed admirably, and I stand by my earlier thinking that it’s a modern interpretation of the classic 8′ 4wt small stream rod.

I’ll write a longer review soon, but will say it’s a nice, modern rod — one that is (somewhat atypically) designed to fish at reasonable small-stream ranges, and has all the heft of a toothpick in your hand.

Rods so light you almost don’t notice them are a manifestly marketable these days, though personally I’d probably still opt for my 8′ 5wt Phillipson — which has enough mass that you can feel it loading even when you’re only casting a leader.

I also recognize the personal nature of that reality, and we’ll explore that more in my review of the rod.

See you on a small stream, Tom Chandler.

Does he feel silly, or what?

Small, but pretty...

A Good Day Spent Fly Fishing A Small Stream (Except For The Mosquitoes)

July 9, 2011, by Tom Chandler 19 comments

I just walked into the house after a day on an alpine stream, and I’m drinking a beer and hammering a watermelon that was picked at exactly the right time. This, my friends, is living…

We're back from a place we might visit again...

The stream was high and the mosquitoes were so aggressive I was afraid that Wayne Eng — who’s so skinny he always looks to be in the midst of his own personal famine — might be drained of blood to the point he’d lose consciousness and I’d have to carry him back to the truck.

Fortunately, that didn’t happen.

What did happen was that many brown trout were caught on dry flies, making this the first wildly good day of the season for me.

I’m chalking it up as a victory.

More to come on this one.

See you receiving a blood transfusion, Tom Chandler.

Photo Update From Yesterday’s Fly Fishing Trip (or, A New (to me) Stream)

May 31, 2011, by Tom Chandler 7 comments

Yesterday’s small stream raid included a reconnaissance in force to a blue squiggle on the map I’d never visited before (squiggle courtesy Expert Mapmeister Older Bro).

Did it pay off? You decide:

Ahhhh. A new place to play...

The water was very high and very cold, and we didn’t get bit anywhere we fished (included the old reliable stuff), suggesting it’s time for some warm weather to make its freakin’ ‘where the hell have you been‘ appearance (it’s 38 degrees and raining as I write this).

A longer report after I’ve made a few clients happy.

See you on a newfound stream, Tom Chandler.

The Long Shot Pays Off; Dries Were Fished, Fish Were Caught.

May 7, 2011, by Tom Chandler 5 comments

Wow. My long shot paid off.

The stream was a little high, but to a cranky fly fisherman, it was plenty fishable. And hugely pretty, though spring really hasn’t fired up there yet.

The early wildflowers were just getting going, and most of the trees hadn't even budded out.

The fishing wasn’t whiz-bang great, but I landed a half-dozen, Wayne did about the same. And on dries too.

Try doing that in the face of a 170% snowpack.

I love that place.

Even tested an Orvis 8′ 4wt Superfine Touch rod, and didn’t find it wanting.

But now I’m tired. So I’m going to bed.

See you dreaming about small streams (that aren’t overflowing their banks), Tom Chandler.

The Halloween Report: Masquerading As A Fly Fisherman On A Small Stream…

November 1, 2010, by Tom Chandler 13 comments

Yesterday’s fly fishing trip was a complete success; I didn’t wreck the Bronco miles from any help, didn’t get eaten by a deer, and celebrated Halloween by masquerading as a nymph fisherman.

The treat for the trick of driving up to a remote stream? I landed exactly one 9″ brown trout and missed two others, suggesting little M did a lot better on Halloween than I did.

Beasley Bamboo fly rod (50DF)

Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling a little ground down by the past couple weeks, and with more of the same in store for the next two weeks, the smart move is to declare victory, which is closer to the truth than you might imagine.

Fly fishing your way up a small valley bordered by steep bluffs – while fog and small rainstorms roll in one after another – is not the kind of experience you dismiss because the fishing was poor.

Clouds, fog and rain all day long...

In fact, it was pretty damned spectacular.

At one point – while I was sitting on a downed tree and wondering about my next move – a doe wandered by only a few feet away (she was screened by some brush).

While I marveled at her lack of awareness, only later did I realize that I’d almost completely missed her too.

So much for man as predator.

That’s not a proud moment; I was fishing in a part of the world where cracking noises behind you shouldn’t necessarily send you into a panic, but they probably are worth a glance, if only to determine how big the bear was that ate you.

We go all artsy on your with... tree fungus?

Proving that I can be trained, later in the day I heard an odd rustling noise like a grocery being carried to the car.

I glanced up, and less than 30′ above me flew a mature bald eagle (a real big mature bald eagle). He was working his way upstream and probably wasn’t expecting me any more than I was expecting him.

Apex predator to the core, he pretty much ignored me, though the same isn’t true for me; seeing an eagle that close in the wild is the kind of experience that should suck the breath right out of you, and as if on cue, that’s exactly what happened to me.

Only a few grabs from trout?

Big deal.

Overcast and gray all day.

The fishing itself was slow, and the first half of the day it was nonexistent, as if the Forest Service people had wandered in the week before, netted all the fish, and moved them to their winter holding tank where they’d stay until next spring.

Later – after I’d exhausted the dry fly box – I actually tied a weighted PT nymph behind a stimulator (basically an indicator with a hook). That delivered one of my three grabs, though due to sizable quantities of underwater wood debris – which you couldn’t see due to the gray sheen on the water – I got tired of losing nymphs (once on three successive runs) and ditched the dropper, especially after the only trout I landed ate the stimulator.

It did occur to me that brown trout spawn in the fall, but I didn’t see a single redd, nor could I even spook any fish when I’d sneak up to a good-looking hole and suddenly stand up, expecting to see them bolting for cover.

Perhaps they’d migrated up or downstream to better habitat. Or they weren’t hungry. Or aliens had taken them. Or (insert any of the other inventive excuses fired up by fly fishermen).

The Bamboo Fly Rod Part Of The Report

Lately I’ve been dragging out a couple of bamboo fly rods I haven’t fished in a while due to niggling little issues.

One of my favorites is a beautiful James Beasley version of a Leonard 50DF; a fairly slow 8′ 5wt taper that neatly encapsulates what’s become known as an eastern “dry fly” action.

A James Beasley 50DF (8' 5wt) bamboo fly rod

This is not a rod designed to hammer out casts all day long from a drift boat (or into the wind), but if you can resist the urge to drive the rod and let it do the work instead, you’ll pretty quickly arrive at a kind of fly casting state of grace.

At least I do, proving only that fly rods are personal things.

Rainy, cold, wet... perfect soft shell weather...

After all, half my readers would cast this rod and frown, wondering if I’d gotten a head start on California’s marijuana legalization initiative, but this is simply proof that one size doesn’t fit all – at least when it comes to fly rods.

And on that earthshaking disclosure, I’m off to grind it out for a while.

See you on a small stream (eventually), Tom Chandler.

We Hurt, But We Happy… (or, Fly Fishing Can Be Hard Work)

October 9, 2010, by Tom Chandler 8 comments

The limbs are aching, the feet are sore, but the spirit soars after a day spent bushwhacking a small stream for little backcountry (and native) rainbow trout.

I’m not as young as I used to be, and at times I get a little dismayed by the need for “Vitamin A” after a day spent rock-hopping.

Then again, when I was younger, I was less cagey about finding places like this, suggesting the aging process isn’t entirely negative.

Older Bro and I talked about it afterward (both of us tired and beat), and decided that fly fishermen simply aren’t interested in putting out this level of effort for tiny backcountry trout (we had a couple in the 9″-11″ class, and many smaller fish), so there was simply no need to publish the location.

You may applaud our thinking at will.

The Admission

I know I’m way, way behind on the writing/photo editing/posting gig; I still have unpublished photos (and the stirrings of a short essay) from my hike into an alpine lake with Craig Nielsen.

The Montana Road Trip 2010 should be good for a hefty wrap-up post, and then there’s the McCloud River Hydro Relicensing (now with the great taste of data) – plus a look into Siskiyou County’s ongoing attempts to stall dam removal on the Klamath, there by driving a stake through the heart of the salmon fishery.

Then there’s today’s Extended Rock Scramble.

I’ll get to it sometime soon. How could I call myself the first “MegaProTurboExtreme if I didn’t?

Until then, watch Older (OK, Elderly Bro) stalk and catch a trout:

Sneaking Up on 'em...

The little backhanded flip cast...

Affirmation!

See you at the keyboard, Tom Chandler.

Montana Road Trip 2010: Notes From the Road (or, Fly Shops, Pork Chops and Brown Trout)

September 28, 2010, by Tom Chandler 7 comments

After leaving the Missouri’s 30 mph winds behind (it was already blowing up big time on Monday morning), we headed for a small stream (headwaters of a much bigger river, actually) that [Name Redacted] used to fish all the time, but hadn’t touched in years.

The problem? Few trout. Why? We can guess, but…

But First, This Commercial Announcement

Wanted to thank the folks at Headhunters in Craig for the help with the Underground’s shiny new (RIO Outbound) streamer line. If you haven’t been there, it’s a funky little shop that features helpful people inside and an old surfboard outside.

The local Headhunters are helpful...

I fish streamers more than most, but had never progressed beyond flinging them with standard fly lines.

[Name redacted] – a self-admitted leader and line geek – suggested I was (in relatively kind terms) an idiot, and that something more specialized was called for.

The Headhunter folks knew just the line needed to make me current (the new Rio Outbound has earned raves from lots of folks), and though this is clearly a budget trip (see meal info below), one is now wrapped around my old Galvan “classic” reel, waiting for today’s trip to…

But First, Food

Even fly fishermen have gotta eat, but instead of staple “health” foods like Fig Newtons or Spaghetti-Os, [name redacted] steered us towards…

The Pork Chop Sandwich.

The Pork Chop Sandwich (better eat just one)

I envisioned a real pork chop on a bun, but in what amounted to a concession to the rising cost of Real Meat, this particular pork chop sandwich was composed of some kind of Compressed Pork Meat Product.

In keeping with the Underground’s mission (to Seek Out Local Foods Which Don’t Contain Even a Hint Of Wheatgrass Juice), we found these bad boys at Pork Chop John’s in Butte, though later we were assured that real pork chop sandwiches were available somewhere else in the Butte area.

Helpful Hint From Those Who Know: Do not – under any circumstances – attempt to consume two Pork Chop Sandwiches even though the first one goes down very easy.

You’ve been warned.

Finally, Fly Fishing

This particular of stretch of stream suffered from heavy metals poisoning (runoff from Butte’s extensive mining operations), and people weren’t fishing it much in recent years.

We stopped by for a visit, and I immediately fell in love with the place, though – if you weren’t a competent caster – it wouldn’t make your Top 10 list.

Snags? What snags?

That’s because it’s basically a stick factory; the banks are lined with willows, and almost every inch of desirable bank is festooned with leader-eating sticks, branches and deadfall.

Great cover for brown trout, but not exactly an intelligent first stop for newbie fly fishers.

I fished my trusty old 8′ Phillipson 5wt impregnated rod, which might have been designed expressly for this kind of water.

Plus, I’ve been fishing little stuff all year long (for the record, I didn’t consider this a little stream – more a medium-sized stream), so the cast came back pretty quickly.

Sadly, the fishing reflected the stream’s difficulties; we had a few encouraging grabs on hoppers and an October Caddis right away, but the action quickly fell off to a pretty slow pace, though the brown trout we did catch were a bit bigger than you’d expect.

Didn't quite get this one, but he was big (for a little stream)

[name redacted] quickly lost one that could have run upwards of 16″, and I moved one to a hopper (twice) that was an easy 14″-15″, but the bite was slow.

We fished way, way too much “perfect” trout water that should have delivered a bite, but didn’t.

It was a little eerie, and you’re left to wonder if you didn’t dial it in, or if – as the locals suggested – the populations simply weren’t there.

Still, some fish were caught (I landed four; [name redacted] landed a half dozen or so):

Caught him, let him go, and he sat right behind my right boot...

You’d be a fool to write off a pretty little trout stream because of a few rumors and one sorta slow outing, especially since fewer brown trout often means bigger brown trout (which looked to be true in this case).

And there are also these rumors of 20″+ brown trout caught earlier in the year, which you ignore at your own peril.

In any case, it was pure, hands-on-knees, tangled-in-willows, once-in-a-lifetime-cast-after-once-in-a-lifetime-cast… fun.

Clearly, I’m not past this small stream thing.

Today’s Fishing Adventure

Today we’re heading for a pond rumored to hold double-digit (pounds, not inches) trout – one of those flat, open places that doesn’t look like much – and turns messy when the wind comes up (as is forecast) – but offers a shot at some seriously big fish.

Tomorrow? Perhaps Georgetown Lake, which is clearly not a secret in the fly fishing world, but does offer hope of a Big Brook Trout (The Official Big Char of The Trout Underground).

See you on the pond, Tom Chandler.