High Desert Escapades

Two weeks in the high desert of eastern Washington and now I'm exhausted.  Actually guided a few days on a big Cutthroat Lake and then took family and friends for some so-so Bass fishing on Banks Lake.  But that's the fun thing about bass fishing.  It's casual and no one expects great things.  Instead, you give each other a rash and while away the hours mocking each other between getting bites and landing fish. 

The weather was good the first week and bad the second.  We caught some two to three foot waves on Banks Lake that were almost too much for my bay boat.  Of course, the good news is that there is not another bass boat in sight during such times...

Here's my favorite story from week two:

Banks Lake provides nothing if not variety in the species you can target.  We were there to chase Smallmouth Bass in pre-spawn.  But the first night I hooked and landed an eight-pound Carp which taxed my 5-weight to it's limit.  The fish actually hit a gray Puglisi minnow pattern I was slinging on an intermediate sink line.  I've never had one hit a minnow fly before and I was surprised.  Pleasantly surprised. 

A few days later, I was out with Adam and we were dragging deep, looking for more Smallies.  I was less surprised to find that I'd hooked a Walleye on a crawdad pattern in twelve feet of water.  I had caught a chunky Crappie the evening before so variety was becoming the theme for the week. 

Later that afternoon Adam hooked something strong in a small cove and ultimately landed a good-size Rainbow Trout on a Clouser Minnow.  The next day when he was leaving, he gave departing instructions.

"You need keep it going and find another species to target." 

"Well, I'll be fishing with Duane.  He can probably catch a Perch or maybe a Whitefish." 

But then Duane got the last laugh.  We were moving through a series of islands and broken rocks about an hour before dark when Duane took a long cast between two small islands.  Within five or ten seconds he jerked up hard on the line and knew he'd hooked a good one.  A few minutes later I netted a Largemouth bass for him and handed him the net while I got the electronic scales out of one of the lockers. 

I held the top of the scales while Duane hooked the fish under one lip.  Three point eight...  Three point nine...

"Four Pounds!" I exclaimed. 

That's a big bass for my circle of friends and we were extremely happy.

I got to text a photo to Adam later that evening with the note, "your wish is our command."

May Muskie

In September, 2010, I bought a thick rod and a heavy line and made my first attempt to find Tiger Muskie on a lake near my home.  I still swear that the lone bump I felt on the line was one of those silent monsters.  Of course, I'll never know.  But the idea of a big Muskie has been lodged in my mind since that time and I don't know how I let last year slip by without trying again. 

So I went out during the first week of May and made my second play for one of these fish.  After a couple hours of casting in a strong wind on a very gray day, I was getting tired.  Or maybe a little frustrated.  Or both...  I knew the fish of a thousand casts can be ten times that for a fly fisherman but I was questioning, for the first time, my ability to stick with the task at hand.  Could I really cast and cast and cast all day, likely over the course of several outings, in order to earn this coveted prize?

God may have known that I wasn't capable of such fortitude. 

I was fighting the wind as it repeatedly blew my pontoon boat in toward the brush-covered shoreline in front of me.  I wanted to work my way along and try this entire stretch so I had decided not to drop the anchor.  But that meant that I only got one or two casts in and then had to grab the oars to move back out.  At one point I cast within a foot of a several branches that had fallen into two feet of water. One or two stuck up to mark the spot.  I made four or five strips and felt the line hang up.  I didn't have time to wonder if I had snagged a branch because the line started to vibrate and move.  Fish on.

The fish flashed and I saw it wasn't that big.  I then immediately assumed that golden gleam couldn't be a Muskie and must be a Smallmouth Bass.  But I was confused because if it was a Bass then it was a big one. 

It wasn't long and I got a better look, the long body giving away its identity.  I knew then that I had hooked a small Muskie.  Small by Musky standards, that is.  He would measure 28 inches.  Nothing to sneeze at for a guy's first Muskellunge.  And I was tickled. 

I'd done it.  And on only my second outing.  I'm a lucky boy...  And I'm still grinning.

April Redfish

My son is in the Army and stationed in Georgia at Ft Stewart. I went down for a visit the last weekend in April and we got to spend a Saturday together, out with a guide chasing Redfish on the coast in St. Simons Sound. For a coldwater boy like me, from the Pacific Northwest, this is exotic stuff.

  

We had the rare privelege of hitting things just right. It was low tide, pushing the fish out of the grass and onto the flats. It was a nip tide, moving a smaller amount of water and stirring less mud. Combined with the beautiful sunny day and no wind, it allowed us to see the fish and track every little wake they made in the calm, clear water. Fish after fish pushed passed us in a foot or two of water, going by two, three, or four at a time. We lost count of the number of fish we saw.

And, of course, this being a new thing for me and my son, we lost track of the number of fish we had a great shot at but missed because of a bad cast.  Too short, too long, too far in front, too far behind...  We found every way to get it wrong.  It was frustrating but we kept with it.  After a couple hours, a bad guide would have had it with the two of us but our guide stayed patient and kept instructing us. Eventually it paid off and my soldier-boy finally made a perfect cast, two feet in front of a feeding Red. The fish rolled over on its side in the shallow water to take something off the bottom. When he came back up, Tom's fly was just sinking. The fish took the fly without breaking stride and Tom made a strong strip-strike, just like he'd been told to do.

  

The fish ran and the reel sang. I was relieved for him and excited, too. After a good fight, there was a seven pound Redfish in the boat. Congratulations and celebration commenced and we went on to have a great day with several fish landed, all between six and eight pounds.

Four months earlier, my boy had come home from Iraq. He then took leave in January and got married. He's been passing all kinds of milestones in his young life and he's no longer the nine year-old I still see in my mind's eye when I think of him.  Instead, he's off living his life, 2,600 miles away from mom and dad.  So, I'm glad that I got a few days with him and that we were able to make a memory or two together, passing a less important milestone, catching our first Redfish together...

Near Savannah?  Call Capt. David Edens, Fly Cast Charters (912-289-1061)

In my haste to usher in Spring, I found myself inviting my son, Terry, to spend part of his college spring break fishing in eastern Washington.  He agreed but the 38 degree water wasn't very cooperative.  A couple fish on the first day and one on the last left me realizing that I love fly fishing a little too much some times...  Oh, well.  it was an adventure and spending time with my son is always rewarding. 

In the photo below, I am huddling in the warm cab of my pick-up truck while Terry is out on the boat.  Brrr...

Winter Provides A Gentle Hint

Caught up in all the fun this year had to offer, I found myself still fishing in November when normally I would have hung up my waders to enjoy a quiet winter.  But a couple days ago I snuck out with a friend and spent the first half of the day wading on the Yakima River.  The scenery, with the fall colors, was just beautiful.  And once the sun came up we caught several fat trout.  But at 8:00AM there was ice on all the leaves and branches.  Twice that morning I couldn't strip my line because it was actually frozen in the guides of my rod. 

That's winter's little hint that you either got up too early that morning or you are actually fishing too late in the season.  My die-hard friend chose the former but I'm going with the latter and will wish you all well as you enjoy the winter months.  Me, I'll be tying flies by the gas fireplace in the family room at my home, dreaming of spring and the adventures of a new year...

Cold & Happy on Puget Sound in October

Mid-October and the sun is shining...  Sure, the mornings are cold and when the sun goes down in the evening, you are immediately reminded that it's not September any longer.  That said, cool temperatures with sunny days and calm waters make the south Puget Sound something special to experience.  And I was out chasing Sea-Run Cutthroat for three solid days which, in my book, is icing on the cake...

One night I went scouting with David, looking for a likely spot or two.  No wind, still waters, and a brilliant sunset blew us away. 

Then the stars aligned yesterday while I was out by myself...  Okay, the stars didn't align.  I just finally did what I was supposed to do: check the tide, be there when the water starts moving, and throw a minnow pattern into shallow water off a sharp point.  Easy, right?  Somehow I regularly find ways to screw up that formula.  But not yesterday...  One hour after slack tide, I cast into calm water behind a rip line and saw that much anticipated flash in shallow water.  My line went tight and began to pulse. 

This was a nicer-than-usual Cuttie...  He ran for deep water and then decided he liked the dark water under my boat. It took a little bit to get him out from under but I eventually leaned over the gunwhale and lifted a sixteen-inch Cutthroat from the water. I slipped the barbless hook out and slipped him back into the quiet water.  He slowly finned away and out of sight.

For just a little more than an hour, the action was steady.  Then the little cove behind me filled with the incoming tide to the point that the water was no longer moving past the point.  And that was that.  The fish were gone.

When I turned the boat back toward the marina, I had a smile on my face for the seven fish landed, all between eight and eighteen inches.  I couldn't believe the size of the fish or the size of their fight.  It had been a good afternoon on the water. 

More Pink Ponderings

Well, I said I was done fishing fishing Pinks but I lied...  I've been out four more times since I made that original decision and I'm not sure I'm done just yet since the fish still seem to be cooperating even here in mid-September.  So now the action has extended itself for a solid month and, over the past 30 days, I've been out 15 times for an average of a trip every other day.  I'm sure the run has provided lights out fishing for some folks but for me its been more slow and steady the whole way through.  Sort of a slow burn but rather satisfying and we've enjoyed this 2011 season immensely.

These last few trips provided me with some Florida-style run and shoot where we were chasing down visible pods of fish and lining up ahead of them as they moved.  I got my son, Terry, up on the casting deck in the front of my boat and used the electric trolling motor to pull us quietly within casting range.  One time they came by us close enough that he got to watch the lead fish move over and take his fly.  It doesn't get any better than that...  

One of my favorite moments was finding a pod resting on the surface in 300 feet of water.  They were quietly milling about with their fins sticking up above the surface.  I have since seen this several times and it's provided an impressive moment or two when either a seal or a nearby boat motor has spooked the happy fish and the entire surface area explodes as the fish scatter and disappear.  

We're learning lots about their behavior and I'm already looking forward to 2013...