We’re pretty sure we saw a few BWOs hatching out in one of the video’s evening sequences, but that’s not important now.

What’s important is the conclusion any reasonable person would have to draw from this video:

The Trout Underground is – on a global basis – making trout cool.

See you in all the hippest places, Tom Chandler.

(found via AdFreak)

(As an added journalistic bonus, he retired last year and now raises dauchshunds). From the Associated Press:

In the 1990s, whirling disease slashed the rainbow trout population by 90 percent compared to levels measured in the 1960s and ’70s.

Now, after a succession of rebound years, rainbows under 10 inches have “pretty well recovered to pre-whirling levels” and the population of those larger is about 60 percent of what it was before the disease, said Dick Vincent, whirling-disease coordinator for the Montana Department of Fish, Wildlife and Parks until his retirement last winter.

Vincent has now embarked on a new career as a breeder of dachshunds, but the agency says Vincent remains the authority on whirling disease in Montana.

Rainbows in the blue-ribbon Madison River, where guides this summer charge about $425 per boat for a day of fishing, have developed considerable resistance to the disease, a parasitic condition often characterized by a tail-chasing whirl. How that resistance came about is unknown, Vincent said.

Later in the report, Vincent wonders if whirling-resistant trout genes didn’t find their way into the Madison’s population via reservoir trout:

Vincent said he suspects, but cannot prove, that whirling-disease resistance in Madison River fish is tied to disease-resistant trout that were in southwestern Montana’s Willow Creek Reservoir, somehow ended up in the Madison years ago and shared favorable genes with fish there.

Dave Kumlien of the Bozeman-based Whirling Disease Foundation, part of the conservation group Trout Unlimited, said developments on the Madison are encouraging but “we’re not entirely sure the population is recovered. The infection level in the river is still quite high.”

However it’s happening, it’s good news for anglers – and a sign that whirling disease may eventually not the pack the punch it has the past.

Madison Rainbows Developing Resistance to Whirling Disease?

“It’s truly remarkable,” said Dick Vincent. “A decade ago, whirling disease had wiped out 90 percent of the Madison’s rainbow trout. Today, we have a population that’s highly resistant and bouncing back quite nicely.” Read the full story to get the details.

We’ll take it. Really. See you on the Madison, Tom Chandler.

madison river, fly fishing, rainbow trout, whirling disease

Some guys know where all the best fishing spots are.

That’s a tough starting point for any trip.

Then there are the trout, who aren’t a party to your expectations. After all, they don’t care what you think – their goal is to leave you broken and disappointed at the water’s edge.

Steve Bertrand probably didn't have the same expectations I did, which was smart.

Big Brown Trout Syndrome

Last year, I fished McCloud Reservoir with Steve Bertrand, and yes, you could pretty much say we ripped it up, though the Undergrounders never actually read about it.

On that day, we caught a fair number of smallish rainbow trout, and then went headhunting. In the space of a spectacular two hours, I landed 21″, 19″ and 17″ brown trout – in addition to a pair of oversized rainbow trout.

That’s the kind of raw finny tonnage you dream about every time you string up your fly rod, and that it happened while I was stripping a streamer just as fast I could was only a bonus.

One of last year's McCloud Reservoir Brown Trout - in a great big boat net

In the clear water, you could see the big browns rocketing up to the streamer, though sometimes – in what amounted to a test of bladder control – they stopped just an inch behind the streamer.

In those situations you’re supposed to keep stripping just as fast as you can, and for fly fisherman who’s proven himself not quite capable of doing two things at once, it’s a tough job.

That you heard nothing of this Supersized Brown Trout Festival wasn’t game playing on my part; the trip fell just a few days before my father’s death, and for a time, confusion reigned.

Enter this year’s reprise of the trip, and for reasons that probably amount to little more than howling at the moon, I wanted a repeat of last year’s trip.

It seemed like the universe owed it to me.

The Early May Brown Trout Festival

Which brings us back to the expectation thing, which I’ve already suggested is unhealthy.

And in this case, I was right.

McCloud Reservoir was murkier than usual, and littered with debris. That’s not unusual for spring, but it doesn’t exactly scream “streamer” fishing.

Early on, we did well on the rainbows, half of which appeared to be recent stockers. The other half were pretty and full finned, and you never know if they’re holdover stocked fish or the wild McCloud variety.

A McCloud Rainbow Trout: Who'd overlook this in favor of something else?

Did I say we did “well?” Actually, we did lot better than that – to the point that we were calling the spot on the drifts where we’d get bit.

Still, even the hot rainbow bite hadn’t entirely erased the thought of big brown trout, and eventually we fired up the streamer rods.

And never caught another trout.

Frankly, I probably deserved it.

Expecting to catch big fish belies the gratitude you’re supposed to feel when nature hands you a raft of big trout, and as the Greek dramatists suggested, hubris is rarely rewarded.

There’s also the thought I’m something of an ungrateful shit for looking past the pretty rainbow trout, some of whom stretched into the 13″ range and sported those iridescent strawberry gill plates that hint at art instead of wildlife.

Still, while expectation probably leads directly to disappointment, hope remains the salve for any fishermen’s wound, and yes, I know there are big, big brown trout in a certain part of the reservoir, and it’s likely I’ll make another run at them, though hopefully with the right attitude in place.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler

Sometimes, it’s not just a luxury – it’s a badly needed escape from what we euphemistically call the “pressures of everyday life,” and clearly it’s a universal concept; I just got off the phone with about-to-go-fishing Wayne Eng, who was also tired and sore from all last week’s snow removal.

Like me, he was wondering where all his fly fishing time had gone.

Apparently I need a lot of gear to put dust-sized pieces of lint in front of trout.

That’s why yesterday I found myself strapping on the skis and slogging to the Upper Sacramento River – too much work and snow removal makes Tommy a dull, boring (and potentially homicidal) boy (no, I’m not saying any more).

Skiers Only

The road to this section of the river isn’t plowed in winter, so I threw some skis in the car (along with Wally the Wonderdog, whose stubby legs aren’t exactly snow-friendly). The ski in was all downhill, but hardly the stuff of a Warren Miller epic.

The texture of the snow could be described as “mashed potatoes” and even going downhill was a slog (and no, “anticipation” wasn’t how I’d describe my feelings about the wet, uphill ski out).

Still, the river’s beautiful in the winter (based on the empty hotel rooms and restaurants, too few people know that).

Small bug, big sky, corn snow. (Click the image for a 1440 x 900 pixel version)

We arrived at a stretch of slow, technical water; while I pieced together my fly rod (an 8’3″ hollowbuilt 4wt – a 3pc for transport reasons),  the Wonderdog began drinking his body weight in Upper Sacramento River water.

I’d love to relate the kind of steely eyed mountain man savvy it took to spot a trout, but in truth, a good one began sipping BWOs right in front of me. This was 1:00 in the afternoon, and while the BWO hatch wasn’t heavy, it was heavy enough to move at least one trout.

In what I’d later realize was a Gross Tactical Stupidity, I didn’t slip on my waders and wading boots. And yes, on the fourth drift, the trout ate something near my fly (at least where it would be if I could see it, which I couldn’t because of the glaring snow on the far bank).

I lifted the fly rod, and homicidal urges suddenly went away.

The closest I got to a photograph of my big, lost trout.

And yes, it was a big trout; after a couple of seconds of ponderous head-shaking, he rolled on the surface, and his big, broad tail caught the attention of the Wonderdog, who immediately swam out in a wet, cold, misguided attempt to retrieve the fish.

This isn’t one of Wally the Wonderdog’s most endearing traits, but I gave the trout a little line, the Wonderdog circled the “splash zone” once (the fish was well upstream by then), swam back all disappointed and confused, and all was well – until I tried to tail the trout, which is when the hook simply popped out, and he was gone.

An iced mayfly moves slowly enough to make this image a reality.

I wanted to get a measurement, but after the initial caveman-want-food instinctive disappointment stuff went away, I was fine with the outcome.

He was at least 17″ (probably a good deal more than “at least”). That’s a good fish almost anywhere (especially on this river, especially on a #20 dry, especially in the middle of winter).

Even better, after I immersed my hand in the water retrieving a couple dozen pieces of .22 brass some slob had left behind, I was happy enough to only get wet once.

These dotted the snow; I don't know if the trout were on them.

In a nuts-and-bolts fly fishing report, that would be the extent of the story; I saw another fish rise once, but he didn’t respond to a dozen drifts, so I laid down the rod, skied up and down the river a bit, came back, took pictures of bugs in the snow, and around 3:15, started the inevitably painful uphill slog.

Forty sweaty minutes later – with Wally the Wonderdog already snoring away in the back seat – I was in the truck and heading home. Which was only ten minutes away. Did I mention why I moved up here?

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

Special Bonus Wally the Wonderdog Section for Kentucky Jim:

Wally the Wonderdog blows a raspberry to litterers.

Wally the Wonderdog wonders why his human is slow damned slow.

We begin our egress (Wally knows from egress).

Of  course, the “let’s go fly fishing while everyone’s eating chips and dip” thing isn’t exactly a secret, and in truth, you almost never see anyone on this river in winter anyway. Still, I like the feeling of putting one over on everyone else, even if that feeling is an illusion.

Mend, damnit; Wayne Eng on the Upper Sac, Super Bowl Edition

Wayne Eng and I shuttled one stretch of the river that Wayne’s wanted to fish for a month now; we dropped a car at the top of the run, drove to the bottom, and fished our way back. It’s gorgeous water, and though I’ve fished it all at one point or another, I hadn’t done so in exactly this order, and in a fit of self-definition, decided that made it a new trip for me (see, self-delusion can be fun).

The banks are largely bare of snow, and in fact, the temperature was a decidedly un-winter-ish 50s. (Sure, it’s pleasant now, but wait until next summer when wells are pumping air and rivers are slowing to trickles.)

In fact, I was pretty sure I erred in wearing my too-warm Patagonia soft shell – at least until I got on the river, where a steady wind was blowing and the section Bob Grace has named “The Icebox” lived up to its name. Turns out the soft shell was an inspired choice; I didn’t overheat even on the final speed hike the last quarter mile to the truck.

Maybe those clothing guys are onto something.

This was my 16" football; more fun than a pigskin, and great fins

The fishing wasn’t great, but that’s why you invite a guide to fly fish with you (a Free Fishing Tip from the Underground).

I shotgunned a few nice runs with a Beetle Bug and tiny Pheasant Tail-ish nymph combo, while Wayne got serious with a two-nymph rig – which he was fishing on a no-name, very cheap, need-electrical-tape-to-hold-the-ferrules-together bamboo fly rod.

Wayne specializes in doing weird things to bargain tackle (the rod was $25; the reel cost him $2.50, but functioned like a reel costing twice as much), and in this case, it worked.

The no-name rod with the cheap ferrules and reel seat not only survived, it played the fish nicely.

Rare portrait of the artist nymphing (that's Wayne's rod, and this is Wayne's photo)

He hooked two trout, and I landed one that turned out to be a 16″ Upper Sacramento Rainbow with some of the longest, most elegant fins I’ve ever seen on a trout (and here I thought I fly fished for the scenery).

Natural variation is one of the unsung features of Mother Nature; you never know for sure what you’re going to find, see, hook or land, and when you no longer  care, then it’s time to find another sport.

Water and Wayne (I go all coffeehousey and artsy on you kids)

All in all, a successful Super Bowl Edition of the Trout Underground, even if I still couldn’t tell you who the quarterbacks were or recount the key plays at the water cooler, but then, I’ve put myself into a situation where I don’t have any of those nearby either.

The Details

For some reason, I keep shooting this picture over and over:

Bamboo grain apparently fascinates me; as do nice hollowbuilt quads)

I fished the Raine prototype 8.5′ 5/6wt, and I’m leaning towards deciding it’s a 6wt. Being as it’s a prototype, he’s making some changes to the taper, but while he’s futzing around with numbers and big machines, I’m happy to keep fishing the thing until it goes back to his shop for dissection.

Meanwhile, the Patagonia Sticky Rubber Wading Boot trials continued, this time on a more widely varied stretch of water than before. A post, my geary Undergrounders, is coming soon. Maybe one or two more trips.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Foiled again.

“Save yourself,” I mumbled. “Go on without me.”

“Get your ass up” he said. “We’re going fishing.”

And thus, a fly fishing trip was born.

In the afternoon light, Wayne's last trout - colorful to begin with - lit up (click the image for a 1440 x 900 pixel version)

With much of the country blanketed in sub-freezing temperatures, those living near Trout Underground/Man Cave World Headquarters have been enjoying unreasonably warm temperatures – some days approaching 60 degrees. (Coincidence? I think not.)

While we could damn sure use some snow, I’ll probably find myself laboring behind Satan’s Snowblower soon enough, so in the spirit of opportunists everywhere, you go fly fishing while the fly fishing’s good.

Wayne and I ended up on a good dry fly stretch of the river, where Wayne personally witnessed a decent BWO hatch – and yes, rising trout – only a couple days before.

Wayne Eng fly fishing away. It’s been warm, but some snow remains.

Observations like that excite me; some people crave powerful illegal drugs, others accumulate power and expensive cars, but I’ve got a thing for rising trout. Sadly, the universe knows this, so while conditions were almost identical to a couple days ago – and the weather had been stable – the BWOs didn’t show, and neither did any rising trout.

Sometimes, the Universe sucks.

Still, the low-on-the-horizon light was gorgeous, and anyone who can’t embrace the reality of fly fishing in winter – wearing only two thin layers – needs more help than this site can provide (“lie down on the couch, and tell me about your fishing childhood…”).

Without risers, Wayne and I plugged away for a while, then headed downriver a bit, where I fired up the Pentax Optio digital and Wayne went nymphing.

A half hour netted him two fish – the biggest a chunky 14″ Upper Sac Rainbow, complete with color.

See? The rainbow trout just went pure color in the late afternoon light.

I popped a few more frames, tied on a woolly bugger, and we headed back upriver, where I quickly caught a wide-shouldered 15″ rainbow, and Wayne proceeded to get three more from an upriver run – two of which were gloriously colored in the golden afternoon sun (it was a daylong “Magic Hour” out there).

Earlier in the day, we’d stumbled Ted Fay Fly Shop owner Bob Grace, who pretty much confirmed what we’d discovered – the fish really hadn’t turned on until mid-afternoon.

A rare Bob Grace sighting (at least when he’s not behind the counter at the Ted Fay Fly Shop).

It was bracing to catch trout in that final flurry, but the old say about “it was just great to get out on the river” was true. I won’t pretend it’s been a hard winter (so far), but cold is cold, and the warm sun not only contributed Vitamin D by the truckload, it just plain felt good on bodies used to being swaddled in layers of fleece.

The river doesn’t wash away all our sins, but water’s a solvent after all, and any time spent in moving water lightens the load in some small way.

The Pesky Details

The day was a study in contrasts; Wayne strung up one of the best fly rods of all time – the Sage 389LL. And while I wanted to believe I’d hit a BWO hatch (I had a glass 5wt in the truck if I did), I pulled my Orvis 9′ 6wt Zero Gravity streamer rod out of the tube, and after fruitlessly casting a dry for an hour, ended up tying on a streamer anyway (the Underground’s streamer fly rod mantra: Longer, Stronger, Warrantied).

My ongoing review of Patagonia’s Insulator soft shell remains stalled; it wasn’t cold enough to wear the thing, much less the Micro-Puff insulated jacket still hanging in the Trout Underground/Man Cave.

The Patagonia “Sticky Rubber” wading shoes did get another workout, and while the jury’s not wholly in, I remain pleasantly surprised by the results. I would have told you an un-studded rubber sole wouldn’t function on the Upper Sacramento, but so far, the results are pretty good.

They don’t grip as well as studded felts, but my feeling is they’re better than the Weinbrenner studded rubber soles – and absolute dynamite on dry rocks, where studded felt can get downright dangerous.

So far, so good – Patagonia’s “Sticky Rubber” wading boots are light, comfy, protective and grippy. More to come.

Lightweight yet supportive, I am willing to say the Patagonia Riverwalkers would make an excellent hike-to-fly-fish-a-small-stream boots, but more testing is needed on the big river.

Plus, with Simms, Patagonia and Cloudveil all planning to release new Vibram rubber sticky soles soon (with very different sole patterns), the rubber-soled wading boot will evolve yet again.

See you on the river, Tom Chandler.

Hell, I even threw you a bone about a couple good places to eat.

Well, Undergrounders, your time is waning; Wayne Eng and I found the October Caddis bite (the big, big dry) still working on the Upper Sacramento, though it’s clearly winding down.

One of only a few pictures worth showing; Wayne high-sticks a big dry.

Is there still time to abandon your family and catch trout on big dries in the afternoon? Probably. Will it last forever? Certainly not.

By this time last year, we were past our first big snow storm of the year, and I was well into my wrestling match with Satan’s Snowblower.

This year, it’s been cold at night, but the days are clear and sunny, temporarily prolonging the October Caddis dry fly bite.

In truth, it’s something to marvel at; you’re wearing layers of warm clothing, the water’s cold enough to sting your fingers, there’s ice on the rocks, yet good-sized trout are eating #8 dry flies off the surface.

Fly Fishing By the Numbers

Wayne and I descended into a canyon section of the river, looking not so much for numbers of trout as a couple better specimens. It didn’t work out that way – I landed four in the footlong range and lost more than that to slow/poor/limp-wristed hook sets (it’s a big fly), and Wayne did about the same.

Closeup, flash-lit photo of today’s star attraction; these trout are gorgeous.

Leaves carpet the banks of the river, and trees are completely bare. In short, it’s what winter looks like on the Upper Sacramento (sans snow, and we’re going to talk about that in a bit).

The canyon stretch was dark enough that 80% of the pictures were unusable due to camera shake (the result of too little light and too-slow shutter speeds).

I fished an 8.5′ 5wt Steffen Brothers fiberglass fly rod, which Wayne tried and promptly wanted to steal. One thing’s true of good glass rods – everybody who tries one is well and truly surprised by the experience, and about half want to buy one immediately.

Our intrepid blogger trying to be sneaky (I missed this fish). [Wayne Eng photo]

I’ve said it before (and because I post often I’m doomed to repeat myself), given the dueling aspects of cost, durability and the demands of under-60′ casts and playing fish on fine tippets, there probably isn’t a better material for trout fly rods than fiberglass.

And speaking of gear, I test flew a new Patagonia soft shell jacket – something worth a post in the near future.

Soft shell technology is firmly rooted in other outdoor sports (mountaineering, skiing, etc), and we’re seeing it trickle into fly fishing clothing, and I’ll give you the reasons why you might (and might not) want to look at it.

See you on the (still largely empty) river, Tom Chandler.

Wayne tentatively identified this as a Chevy Superglide Powerglide transmission. It’s been there forever.

fly fishing, fishing, upper sac, upper sacramento river, rainbow trout, october caddis, dry fly fishing, fiberglass fly rod

Powered by ScribeFire.

That’s because catching a fish on the first cast is a jinx, like talking openly about a no-hitter in the seventh inning, or telling an actor to have a great performance.

Fortunately, I found another Big Wood Rainbow trout 15 minutes later, and before my day-before-Thanksgiving trip to Idaho’s Big Wood River was over, I’d landed six pretty trout.

My jinx-breaking trout; I’ll always be grateful.

Still, the first-fish jinx sorta held; my first fish was my biggest, and the fishing slowed as the day went on. I didn’t see a fish the whole last hour, which was my cue to find a way up the bank and onto the riverside trail for a hike back to the car.

It was a laid-back, pleasant day on the water, and – due to the first-fish reinforcement – I stuck with a red brassie all day.

The day also reminded that the 8.5′ 4wt Diamondglass rod is a nice technical nymphing rod; it flung the small, stick-on indicator, #4 shot, and red brassie in pretty much the right places all day, which was nice because I was operating largely on autopilot.

The Big Wood River in Ketchum, ID.

The 1.5 miles (or so) of the river I fished was deserted – at least until the last few minutes, when I stumbled across a local. A little older than me, he urged me to fish right above him, and as we got to talking, it turned out how he’d fished the McCloud River a lot.

We have a joke in Dunsmuir about “all roads leading to the Upper Sacramento” and it’s true enough – at least among fly fishermen. I’m simply not that surprised when someone knows my home water.

He was a nice guy, offered what information he knew about the upper reaches of the Big Wood River, and pointed out the easy path to the trail.

Naturally, he’d hooked a few trout too (I watched him hook and lose one), and because I absolutely sure that a midge was the right fly, he told me he’d caught his on a big rubber-legged nymph, having struck out on the Zebra midge earlier.

So much for belief.

The Big Wood was a different river than in its winter incarnation (the only one I know), and while I’d like a shot at it in warmer weather, I’ve also been warned that it’s heavily fished during the warmer months – enough that the locals tend to find other water.

A Big Wood River rainbow trout in late afternoon light.

Perhaps it’s better that it remains a cold-weather river for me; it’s never disappointed, it’s fun to fish, and some of the trout have a yellowish coloration that makes them look like brown trout when they jump.

And yes, to catch a trout on the day before Thanksgiving is a powerful symbol of what life is like right now, and I think I’ll postpone my Thanksgiving post for a day in order to gain a little perspective on that thought.

See you around the turkey, Tom Chandler.

Happy Thanksgiving! (to the Undergrounders from the head turkey).

fly fishing, fishing, idaho, big wood river, ketchum, rainbow trout, brassie, nymphing

Powered by ScribeFire.