Posts tagged: fly fishing small streams

Today’s Fishing Report? “Green”

August 24, 2011, by Tom Chandler 12 comments

This was one of those alpine meadow streams that’s loaded with Brook trout and surrounded by a sea of grass, which — whenever the wind picked up — rolled convincingly like swells in the ocean.

The cold spring meant the wildflowers were firing on all cylinders (they should have been done a month ago), and everything that wasn’t a flower wore the hard-working green of summer leaves.

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(click the images to see full-size versions)

Older Bro and I hiked into this tiny alpine meadow stream based on his recommendation; “You’ll love it, though don’t get too excited about the size of the fish.”

I knew exactly what he meant.

And frankly, I was proud of him. He’s a relatively new fly fisherman, but aside from the casting and the knots and drag-free drifts, he’s already mastered the art of couching his recommendations in case the weather’s bad or the trout are sulking or the other guy’s a headhunter.

I’ll be blunt; I think a lot more people say they love these little streams than actually fishes them; they’re pretty, but for a lot of fly fishermen, fish that seem to top out at 9 inches (we got one 13″ and one 10″ fish on this trip) add a little glitter to that other, bigger water.

Still, we hiked the length of the meadow and fished our way back up, and before we even strung up our fly rods my heart rate was picking up.

I even tried a couple of the standard gambits on him (“Didn’t you notice the special reg poster at the ranger station? This stretch is bamboo fly rods only…”).

Sadly, he didn’t fall for any of them, but then, he’d probably been disappointed if I didn’t try.

I admit I was disappointed by the state of my lower body after we got back to the car; if we went farther than six miles I’ll eat my government surplus Boonie hat, yet I felt like I’d been crossed the continental divide, and with a heavy pack.

The late, great Jim Gade once told me that the way to avoid geezerhood was to not start thinking like you were an old man. “Once you start thinking you’re a geezer, you’ll start feeling like one.”

Tomorrow — if I can drive a stake through a couple projects — I’m going for a walk.

The Fishing Details

I fished a (probably) 60 year-old Phillipson Peerless 8′ 5wt, and I was reminded that although the rod wasn’t necessarily designed to cast a leader, the mass of the bamboo in the tip does tend to load the rod when there isn’t enough line to do so.

And if you’ve worked your way through the pictures, you can imagine how rarely we cast more than a foot or two of line.

As you might imagine, fly selection wasn’t exactly critical, though given the sheer tonnage of grass and insect life living around the stream, I wasn’t surprised when the Arizona Mini-Hopper worked slightly better (OK, it’s hard to know for sure) than anything else I tried.

After all, it’s as much a beetle or caddis as it is a hopper, which seems like a pretty ideal combination for a stream so often visited by terrestrial bugs.

See you somewhere green and wavy and Brookie-filled and beautiful, Tom Chandler.

Again, Why Do You Fly Fish Small Streams For Puny Fish?

August 22, 2011, by Tom Chandler 7 comments

You don’t fly fish small streams for the big trout or the chance that a raft full of drunk college coeds will float by, but you do fish them for scenes like this:

Fly fishing a small brook trout stream

Today is launch day for a client website, so instead of writing about the weekend’s fly fishing trip, I’m throwing a teaser photo at my readers. Tomorrow we’ll get to the real thing.

The Rest Of The Small Stream Fishing Report

August 15, 2011, by Tom Chandler 13 comments

I’m recovering from Friday’s horizontal test of gravity (from a four-foot height, into 1 inch of water), and because I’m a horrific whiner when I’m hurt, rapid healing is a good thing.

I already detailed my Olympic-quality belly flop and the Wonderdog’s Assault on Burger King, and since this isn’t a big fishing report (it wasn’t a big fishing trip), I’ll simply upload a couple pictures and a few thoughts:

Wally the Wonderdog standing in my trout water

The Wondermistake

I bundled the Wonderdog and brought him along (it’s almost impossible to leave him home), but I shouldn’t have.

This little stream runs through some fairly Wonderdog-unfriendly terrain, and in fact, I fell while trying to find a Wonderdog-friendly route around a logjam.

Worse yet, the temperatures hovered around 90 degrees, and the all-black Wonderdog collects BTUs like the Republican Party collects presidential candidates, so more than once — having crawled up to a small pool on my hands and knees so as not to frighten the trout — I’d see Wally the Wonderdog swim right into the middle of it in an attempt to cool off.

I don’t necessarily measure the success or failure of a fishing trip in the numbers of fish caught, but I will cop to at least wanting to have a chance.

The Fly Rod

One thing I can say with some assurance; the Orvis Superfine Touch 8′ 4wt fly rod I’ve been testing is tough.

In the fall, it took almost as much of a beating as I did; I fully expected to end the day with a 5pc fly rod.

Instead, it’s still in four pieces.

Without getting all gushy and unmanly about it, I will say the Superfine Touch is a better small stream rod than I initially wanted to give it credit for.

More coming soon in the review.

The People

After I’d thoroughly mashed my left side, I was headed upcanyon, where I’d gain the road and hike back to the truck. I was bypassing the marginal water and only fishing the bigger pools — a form of pain-induced cherrypicking — when I stumbled out of the brush and into my favorite water on the whole creek.

And ran smack into a topless woman.

Well, not literally into her, but she and her boyfriend were enjoying the cold water, and basically, they were being all Euro and calm about nudity and I’m basically all Upstate New York about it, so it was an interesting few minutes trying to get Wally and their dog to stop sniffing each other and to get the hell up the creek without (dear god no) looking.

I think she was more amused than I was embarrassed (which frankly sums up a lot of my interactions with women over the years).

Tight fly fishing, but a pretty small stream...

No fly fishing trip ever occurs without a few notable moments, but I remain astonished how much weirdness the Wonderdog and I can cram into a short, two-hour fly fishing sprint.

See you at the medicine cabinet, Tom Chandler.

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.