Posts tagged: fly fishing the upper sac

With Friends Like These…

December 5, 2011, by Tom Chandler 6 comments

While I’m locked in desperate combat with the keyboard, some of my friends (for brevity’s sake, let’s refer to them as “slackers with evil, swine-like tendencies”) are deeply concerned for my well-being.

Which is why they send me photographs like this from their smartphones:

Upper Sac Rainbow Trout

This still-warm, dying-October-Caddis-driven photo comes courtesy Chris Raine, the bamboo fly rod builder who clearly knows what it’s like to have bamboo slivers driven up under his fingernails (how else do you explain this photo, which — not to belabor the point — isn’t the only one he sent).

Important Announcement

Starting next week, the Underground will be taking applications for the position of “New Best Friend.”

No health benefits, but you get to walk Wally the Wonderdog.

See you anywhere but the river, Tom Chandler.

Holy Crap, That’s Some Cold Shit (or, Fly Fishing The Upper Sac In Winter)

November 20, 2011, by Tom Chandler 19 comments

Things got stickyÂ after the #22 Quigley Cripple disappeared in a swirl and I lifted the fly rod.

I got a pair of those ponderous head shakes that tell you the fish is big (or he’s foul hooked), and then the reel went from zero to ohmigod speeds in a fraction of a second.

That’s thrilling stuff, but hardly Jack London-esque — unless the fast-moving trout decides to run under the only laydown on the whole run.

Well played, Mr. Trout.

It was cold and I was wet and trout were going everywhere, so this is the only pic I got (it's the smaller of the two)

I waded over and sized up the situation. The trout was still on, apparently hanging around just downstream trying to figure out what was going on.

The fly line dove under the tree and made a right-angle exit downriver.

I remember thinking “I can fix this. This won’t be too bad at all.”

Which is when things started to go sideways.

Hey, This Clear Liquid Is Cold

Sometimes — for brief moments — I fancy myself a Man of Action, though at my age, you’d think I’d connect those moments with what inevitably follows.

Which is generally humiliation.

I waded up to the downed tree, put the rod in my left hand, reached down into the water with my right (a lot farther down than I originally thought, which should have been a clue), and lifted the tree.

So far, so good.

But sliding the rod under the tree took me a little deeper than I anticipated, and that extra couple inches meant the top of my waders (and the side of my head, and the neck opening of my jacket) got… submerged.

At the time it happened I realized it was trouble, but I’d started and you know how it is — you’re already there so you decide to brazen it out.

I distinctly remember straightening up — a huge wad of wet, decomposing leaves clutched in my hand along with my still-attached-to-the-trout fly rod — thinking I had the fish and I was still dry.

Which is when the 39 degree water hit my skin.

It kinda takes your breath away.

Shrinkage was body-wide and immediate.

I managed to land that trout — the second of the day. It went between 18 and 19 inches (Raine put measuring wraps on my rod at 16″ and 18″, suggesting a distinct lack of faith in my ability to catch 20″ trout).

The other trout fell just short of the 18″ mark.

I was wet enough that I squished when I walked, though — thank god for the Nano Puff jacket — I warmed up a bit after I got past the shock, though my feet never really enjoyed the trip.

Taken as a whole, that’s still not a bad day.

The Nitty Gritty Details

The air was around 40 degrees, the BWO hatch was light and only lasted an hour, but I still managed to get seven rising fish to eat the bug.

At just under one grab every eight minutes, that’s Happy Hour as far as I’m concerned.

The hook popped out of three with only slight resistance (it’s a #22 cripple after all), and I landed two of the four I hooked.

That’s not a stirring percentage — and I sometimes catch myself wondering WWGD (What Would Gierach Do) — but the fish are big and the hook gape is probably best measured with an electron microscope, so I’ve largely done away with fly fisherman’s remorse.

The 8’3″ 5wt Raine hollowbuilt has confirmed its status as a killer BWO rod — you need to make longer casts than you think on this stretch because wading any closer means the trout simply stop rising.

Thirty feet is a gift. Forty is common, and casting at an upstream or downstream angle can leave you with surprisingly little fly line on your reel.

It’s cold up here (we’ve got two inches of snow on the ground as I write this), but we’ve reached the Bonus Portion of the year; the “real” Upper Sac winter when the little fish go into hiding and the big fish start eating BWOs — provided the hatches come, the sun stays behind a cloud, you’re on the right piece of river, and the fly fishermen don’t wade too close.

See you on the river (literally), Tom Chandler

The “Upper Upper Sac” Hatch Report (or, Why Wally the Wonderdog is a Better Fly Fisherman Than I Am)

December 28, 2009, by Tom Chandler 8 comments

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.