Omak Disaster

Sometimes even the best plans turn to swill... The photo above proves it. The wind was blowing 20+ miles an hour but I had not driven 5 hours for nothing so I launched my pontoon boat and headed off for the south end of the lake. Three passes through the honey hole got me two nice Cutthroat when a wave came along and ended the day for me. The waves were whipped up one or two feet high and were bouncing me around pretty good. One wave too many and both welds on the right side of the frame gave way. The pontoon rolled over but didn't separate so I was able to let the wind blow me into shore.

It could have been worse but instead of consoling my wife that I was alright, I had to convince her I hadn't done it on purpose to justify the purchase of a much better boat the next day. Within 36 hours, I was back out there catching more Cutthroat!

Tying & Waiting

Got the vice out a week ago and have been working on some of those patterns that I used up last year. Sealbuggers, Boatmen, Epoxy Minnows, etc. Mostly lake patterns.

In about a month, all the boxes should be refilled and I'll be ready to get my new season underway. I'm hoping to work up the courage for some early spring Bass on Lake Washington and I know I'll be traveling in the high desert for some big trout by mid-April.

Let's go...

Cold But Fishy

The Groundhog spoke (or should I say "indicated?") and the sunshine this past week seemed to confirm that spring will indeed arrive early. We were fooled by the sun into making multiple trips over the last few days. I say fooled because 35 degrees is not spring weather. But moldy Northwesterners are often confused by that little-seen yellow orb and we were drawn out from our hiding places to marvel and bask in its rays...

I found an angle along the shore of a certain spring creek where I could see a nice Rainbow holding in a couple feet of water. He turned and made a small loop downstream so I cast upstream and let the black Sealbugger sink so it would come to rest on the bottom, just up from his lie. This was close enough to the bank that my fly line was laying on grass and bushes and only the leader was in the water.

I waited.

And I waited some more. I even displayed patience, something I don't always find possible. And then the fish was back, moving slowly, three feet off shore. As he got close to his original position, I gave the line a couple short hard strips. The first one took up the slack and the second caused the Sealbugger to scoot a couple inches along the silty bottom.

The fish froze and then moved forward. I gave another micro strip and the fly moved another inch. The fish came up and observed his prey from eight inches away. I saw his head start to move left and away from my fly so I gave another strip. The fly kicked up a little silt and jumped another couple inches. The fish turned, tilted down, and showed the white of his mouth as he sucked in the fly.

I waited until he started to raise back up and then strip-set.

He turned hard and threw his head back and forth. I stripped twice, long and fast. I had him. He boiled to the surface and thrashed before turning and running downstream. He jumped once, then twice, and I held on as best I could while I reeled in the slack line. Once on the reel, he made another brief run and after a few minutes was at my feet.

A winter fish in the two-foot range is always special.

And, funny enough, I don't actually remember being cold that afternoon.

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.