The Winter Months

The winter passed quickly and there didn't seem to be enough time for fly tying. But then again, is there ever enough time for fly tying? But a sunny stretch in February could only result in a quick run over the mountains for a couple hours on a favorite stream. And that little taste just makes the coming spring more anticipated. Come on April, hurry up...

Fall Getaway

Fall comes too quickly some years... And then there are times when you wish it was fall all year long. The water conditions are so great in October. And the autumnal colors are fantastic. And the fish are hungry. It's just a great combination.

Of course, The guy in the shop told me flat-out to come back when it was raining. He said the water level was a mere 520 cfs and 80% of the Steelhead were sitting down in the Columbia River waiting. Rain and rain alone would bring them upriver. I used my zen-like powers to pretend I didn't mind. I went fishing for four hours and then spent the rest of the weekend sight-seeing with my wife. And I actually had a pleasant time.

It was my last fling before winter. I usually take November through February off and it was a melancholy goodbye to a year I'd spent entirely in my home state for the first time in probably fifteen years. When I stopped and thought about it, I couldn't believe it.

The older I get, the more great fishing I find here at home and the less reason I have to drive eight to ten hours to anywhere else.

Here's to a quiet winter spent tying and restocking fly boxes. And dreaming of spring...

The Summer of October

The sun was shining and the temperature was around 50 degrees as I walked downstream, away from our two-man pontoon boat. I could see that the riffle along the edge of the island was dumping water into a deeper run. I walked carefully through the boulder-strewn stretch of river to make my way from ankle-deep to thigh-deep water. I pulled line off the reel and made a few false casts, shooting at a 90-degree angle toward shore. As the line drifted downstream, the 3-inch long black streamer sank into the water column and as it reached the 45-degree position I began to make slow strips to move the fly and maintain contact.

On my fourth cast, the fly hung up and I thought momentarily that I'd found bottom. But the movement on the line soon told me otherwise and I lifted the rod to set the hook. The fish turned and ran downstream and I let it go. I began to reel up when the fish turned and ran back up the run, going past me and slowing as I kept up pressure. I got the fish in close then and could see it was a good one. Once in the net, he measured out roughly to 17 or 18 inches. And he was fat in the belly.

This was a real prize for me. After a long afternoon of trying different flies to no effect, it was exhilirating to hook such a big prize on a streamer. I waded back to the same casting position and tried again. Two casts later something big took my fly and immediately ran upstream with authority. I tried to give out the slack line with my off hand but the fish moved too quickly. Just like that he broke the 4X tippet.

My shoulders dropped and I looked to Frank, my fishing partner.

"That was a big one..." I lamented.

We caught several more before the day was over. And all on streamers. The afternoon sun had long since dropped behind the hills above the canyon as we rowed for the boat launch, content with what the day had given us. A great day during a two-week stretch of sunshine in the middle of the month. We'll long remember our summer of October.

Fishing in the Dark

When you're out on a stream in the middle of nowhere at midnight, the darkness can sometimes make it feel like you are stuck up a creek with a paddle... But we did alright this night and had the canoe moving quickly against the gentle current on our way to a favorite hole. Neither of us had tried this location after dark before but we were excited about the possibilities. In the end we caught a few fish and we called our few hours on the water a success...

And, as it turned out, it was the setting and the time of day that was the real story.

"Casting," David called out.

I couldn't help ducking a little.

I had no idea where his line was going and I was either very trusting of this man who I've been fishing with on many occasions... or I was dumb. I've never had a big Wooly Bugger stuck in the back of my head (although in the spirit of full disclosure, I should admit I have done it to someone else) and I really didn't want tonight to be the night I put a tick mark next to that little gem on my ever-expanding list of fishing mishaps...

His line hit the water, something I confirmed by sound alone, and then I put my line in the air.

"Casting." I said with a neutral tone.

As I fished I thought about how often I have been out in the dark with a heavy weighted fly. I've thrown Muddler's by moonlight in Idaho for Cutthroat. I've tried for Musky and Smallmouth, even this summer. I've caught lots of Snook on the docklights of south Florida and even tried for Tarpon one night. So, I actually have some experience at this and can do it by feel now, something I associate with Jedi powers. You either get the feel for it or you spend all night untangling your leader. For myself, the secret is knowing not to put too much line in the air. Keep the range reasonable and all will be well...

I held a mini flashlight in my teeth and changed flies. The red lense provided just enough light and I tied on a small Puglisi micro minnow in olive and white. On my first cast, I made a half dozen strips and was fast to a trout. I eventually took a flash photo of him in the net but my camera didn't focus very well in the total darkness and I went home with the blurry photo of a fat Rainbow Trout.

Still it was an adventure and put me ahead of the game. After all, the fish we caught were more than any my other buddies got at home asleep in their beds.

Late Summer on Banks Lake

A weeklong escape to this 30-mile long lake in the high desert turned out to be more about swimming and tubing than Bass fishing, which was a good thing since my flies were not doing a good job of getting down in the deep water where the fish were hunkered down in the heat. My brother-in-law, Terry, did the best, jigging a Muddler Minnow in deep water from shore and catching several nice Smallmouth.

His son, Josh, did well early one morning from my boat, catching a mess of 6-12 inch Bass and having a ball (see photo below). At one point he even lucked into a larger Walleye but it wiggled and fell overboard before we could get a picture.

I resolved to care more about enjoying where I was than about catching fish, convenient since I wasn't catching a whole lot... Although, during a little midnight fishing I did manage to catch a fat Rainbow Trout which both surprised and tickled me - it was only the second Trout I've caught on Banks.

We left content, having enjoyed the good company of family and the beauty of a lake which offers up rocky high-wall canyons, grassy coves, and fiery sunsets and sunrises. Simply beautiful and relaxing. Everything you want from a final week of vacation before summer comes to an end.

August Exploration

August is coming to a close soon and the truth is that I haven't been out fishing much. Of course, that is typical for me in August. I prefer the cool temperatures of spring and fall and find the bigger fish more agreeable then, as well.

But I did get down to southwest Washington in the Mossyrock area with my son, Terry, to spend a few hours on Riffe Lake and Mayfield Lake, neither of which produced much in the way of fish but it was still a fun adventure. We enjoyed getting the boat out on the water and running up and down such long lakes.

By far the most obscure fish caugh was the majestic Pikeminnow in Mayfield Lake. State officials feel so warmly toward this species that they planted Tiger Musky several years ago in the hope of cutting down or eradicating the Pikeminnow. The one pictured here was seventeen inches long and put up a whale of a fight... for all of about ten seconds before it gave up and I landed it.

Summer Sea-Run Cutt's

Everyone has a secret spot or two where they like to fish in solitude and under the sometimes mistaken belief that no one else knows about the place. I was fortunate enough last week to have David Dietrich take me along to one of his and I have to tell you that this tidal creek we went to was about as remote and rustic as you can find and stuffed full of good-sized, Sea-Run Cutthroat.

That's all I'm going to say because I'm sworn to secrecy and I don't want anyone else to find it. See how quickly our altruistic, fishing brotherhood, one-for-the-planet perspective devolves? I don't want any of you bums on that creek. It's mine, I tell ya...

Oh, wait a minute. It's David's. Dang...