Stay tuned for a small stream adventure, brought to you courtesy of Ibuprofen (the Underground needs a sponsor, and it might as well be someone whose product I use every time I go fly fishing…)
Somebody caught trout this weekend... (even if I can barely walk now)
More to come. As soon as I’ve recovered enough to type.
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:
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.
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.
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.
Color me shocked.
The runoff hasn’t really begun in earnest (the Upper Sac will hit five digit flows when it does), but last week’s warm days saw the Upper Sac edging up past 3000 cfs, and a quick visit to my local small stream candidate confirmed it was roaring.
For those of us looking for a small stream experience, that left Stream Z; a beautiful little spring/freestone/meadow stream (“It’s, three, three streams in one”) that fishes better during the early season.
Still, I expected we’d arrive to find it over its banks, and even warned Wayne — who foolishly volunteered to make the 45 minute drive despite the potential for an immediate return trip, wading boots unwetted.
Fly fishermen subsist largely on hope, and after a long winter spent locked in the grip of sickness or work or whatever – and facing months of unfishably high streams due to runoff — the hope for a dry-fly caught small stream trout was too much to resist.
Gentlemen, unlimber the Hail Mary.
They throw... they score!
I’m tempted to note the bite was pretty tough; I held my breath during a lot of “perfect” drifts down the perfect current tongue, and usually had nothing to show for it.
My six fish came from surprisingly slow water; the first brown trout ate my bug on my second cast, and sucked it down so daintily I almost didn’t set the hook (hope, apparently precedes belief).
Still, these were the same beautiful brown trout I remembered; some were a flashy metallic gold, others were that buttery yellow color that makes brown trout seem manmade.
Most were less than ten inches, though I’d suggest two made the double-digit club, and in truth, only a real asshole looks down on a small trout when — just an hour before — he was begging for any trout.
Wayne fished a 9′ 4wt I’d suggest was the wrong rod for heavily timbered, brushy waters, and before we found ourselves on an open meadow stretch where the extra reach was handy, he tended to agree.
And this was one of the more "open" areas...
I tried out an 8′ 4wt Orvis Superfine Touch — one of a relatively new line of Orvis rods designed to fish at what I’d suggest were “sensible” trout ranges, but the industry would probably insist was “close-in” fishing.
I’d fished this same fly rod a week ago on opening day, but in the strong wind and on the much-bigger Upper Sacramento, it didn’t make much of an impression. I was under-gunned.
Today was better. Much better, even despite a sometimes stiff wind (there’s a lesson here for those of us who use tools for things other than intended).
I need to fish it a couple more times before I review it, and I’m far from ready to pronounce it “perfect” — but Wayne and I both agree it’s clearly an interesting modern interpretation of the good old all-around Small Stream Fly Rod.
Orvis: The Flower Power company
Originally, I planned to hold a Fly Rod Death Match between it and the original (old school) Scott G-series 8′ 4wt you’ll have to pry from Ian Rutter’s cold dead hands.
Sadly, with that trip postponed, the more bloodthirsty among the Underground’s fly rod enthusiasts will have to wait.
See you (feeling better after my Quality Small Stream Experience) during the week, Tom Chandler.
Like buttah; Wayne's last fish, and the biggest of the day
Small stream enthusiasts stranded by high waters have our permission to drool...
Many, many small brown trout fell to our flashing fly rods on Tuesday.
Stream X? No. Stream Y.
See? Small streams can be hard work (let the pity flow, Undergrounders).
More coming soon, though I’m out of here at midday to talk to another film crew about the Official Sleazy Mega-Corporation of the Trout Underground: Nestle Waters of North America.
See you on TV, Tom Chandler.
Recent comments