Back To School

That time of year has rolled around again when fishing must be pushed to the back burner and I crack down and focus on school. At least, that's the story I'm telling. Needless to say, one must have some stress relief on occasion and when that time comes, I'll probably be knee deep in a trout stream somewhere in East Tennessee. Unfortunately, school will cut into my time to think up stuff to put on here so my posts will be running shorter, although I do hope to keep them coming often. I still have several posts to make about West Trip 2007 including the PIG rainbow in Yellowstone among other exciting moments. Check back often and soon for those details...

Also, for those that haven't noticed, we have another poll to the right. Let me know what your favorite season for fishing is...

The Orderly Fly Box

The routine has not failed me yet. I will get out my vest, go through all the pockets, and eliminate the extras and make a note to pick up something if I'm running low. The worst is always the fly boxes. I always carry several, specifically a box for dries, one for dries, nymphs and midges, and one strictly for nymphs and a few streamers. Occasionally I'll add a streamer box to this depending on where I'm fishing. After I overhaul the contents of my boxes and reorganize, they look much better than when I started. Apparently I still have a long ways to go though.

We recently received this photo from Trout Zone reader Phil Brandt. He was preparing to embark on a trip out west and his fly box is, well, immaculate to say the least. At least we now have a higher standard to strive for...

Stream Ethics

Much thanks to those that noticed and voted in our poll on whether or not people should be fishing in the Smokies. The end results where interesting but probably approximately what I would have expected. The final tally had 60% of voters saying that people shouldn't be fishing, 15% said it was fine to go fishing, and 25% said it depended on the water temperatures.

Honestly, I believe any of these answers is fine because it is a personal decision. Everyone that fishes should develop some type of ethic because the thought process is important. Too me, it all revolves around respecting your quarry.

Personally, it bothers me to fish under these conditions but it also occurs to me that there are places around the country where the streams cease to flow part of the year with the remaining fish stuck in isolated pools. These fish do just fine and actually thrive, having adapted over the years to the inconsistencies of nature. A prime example would be some of the streams in the desert southwest.

Regardless of whether we fish during the low water or not, it will be extremely interesting to see how the fish populations are doing once the flows improve. Hopefully it won't be too long!!!

Rocky Mountain High...

The opportunity to go to Rocky Mountain National Park during West Trip 2007 was one that I couldn't miss. Until recently, Rocky Mountain was on the list of parks that I had not visited. Not now...I can officially check it off the list. Trail Ridge Road was everything I expected and then some. The sweeping vistas that can be taken in on this high-elevation road are enough in themselves.

Fishing in the Park was only a bonus...

I wet a line in a couple different streams and came up with a couple brookies and several browns. I missed way more fish than I caught, mainly because I was so caught up in the scenery.

The local wildlife was too bold, I can only assume this little guy was looking for a handout. Probably because too many tourists were feeding it, illegally I might add.

The sunset was spectacular, I'll let the picture tell the rest...

The Frying Pan

After the spectacle that was the Taylor River, the rest of the trip somehow seemed anticlimactic. Yet, with each new place we found something to match or even surpass the quality fishing we had found on the Taylor. Between the Pan and the Taylor, there were some small streams visited but those are better left for another time. I'm a small stream addict and telling about them could become a lengthy endeavor which I don't feel up to right now.

The Pan, ah the Frying Pan...where do I begin? This was my first trip to the river and I really didn't have any idea what to expect. A quick stop at Taylor Creek Fly Shop in Basalt, CO fixed that problem and I came away poorer by several dollars but much richer in my knowledge of the river, not to mention being armed with the best local flies.

The drive up the river had me drooling but also frustrated. All the best water, or nearly all was clearly marked as private. This is the biggest complaint I have against Colorado. The state has a ton of incredible water which could easily rival anything else in the country. However, they don't have the angler-friendly stream access laws found in places such as Montana. Fortunately, despite the large amount of closed water, there was still plenty available and we were after some hogs which meant heading to just below the dam.

The Toilet Bowl is THE place to be on the Frying Pan and after finding it crowded several times, we finally managed to get a spot to cast over the monsters that live there. Despite all we had heard about how technical it was, it actually seemed easier than the Taylor and the fish were every bit as large. Once again the way to catch the fish was by sight fishing. The takes were so soft and quick that by the time an indicator moved it was too late.

Within minutes of fishing the Toilet Bowl, I hooked my first Frying Pan brown and it was a nice fish. Not as nice as the monsters that occasionally drifted out of the depths but still a good fish.

Later on we fished further down river where PMDs were pouring off and the fish were looking up. The hatch didn't last too long but it was great while it lasted. That evening it was back to the Toilet Bowl in search of hogs. I soon had my buddy fishing the best spot and was acting as spotter. He was casting over a nice brown which he couldn't see too well since the light was getting dim. It was still light enough for me to see from my better vantage point though and I saw the fish turn and the white mouth show for a brief second. I made a loud whoop and my buddy set the hook to find a 23 inch brown pulling back. I've never seen anyone so focused on landing a fish. At first I didn't know why but then asked about the tippet. The response was some muttering about 7X and I knew that he was in for quite a ride. Amazingly, the tippet held through several scorching runs and he was able to keep the fish from getting in the heaviest current, a minor miracle in itself. Finally, the fish began to tire and I waited expectantly with the net. An opportunity presented itself and I lunged at the fish, just corralling it before it went crazy again. After a quick picture, we watched the fish swim back out into the current to be caught yet again someday.

Not to be outdone, I caught another fish but not as large as the beast my buddy landed. "Another day," I told myself. The next day was dedicated to the Roaring Fork, another great river I had never got to fish. We met up with a local named Tony that had offered to show us around. He turned out to be a great fisherman and put us on some great fish. The theme of our stay in the Basalt area turned out being the One That Got Away and it started on the Fork.

We were fishing up the river through some of the most beautiful pocket water I've ever fished. I was wading slowly upstream watching for fish when I saw a large brown finning behind a boulder. The fish was actively feeding and I figured I could catch him from where I was at. I carefully lobbed my nymphs upstream from his position and watched as he turned on my fly, pulling it away before he actually ate. "That will spook him for sure," I muttered to myself. Strangely, the fish turned around and returned to his feeding lie and I got another shot. After several more drifts, I saw the fishes mouth open when my flies were in the area and soon found that it was one of my nymphs he had taken. The fish absolutely took off. I mean, he motored upstream through a short rapids and was gone with my fly recoiling with the line back in my face as he shook it free. This was just the beginning.

The next morning was our last one before we took off for Rocky Mountain National Park. We were determined to get another shot at the Toilet Bowl and accordingly got there well before sunrise. Thankfully, we didn't get up early in vane and found the spot unoccupied. We began fishing and I hooked a decent brown right off and figured it was going to be crazy. Strangely though, the fishing wasn't that good and we were starting to think about leaving. Then the Monster showed up. It appeared to be the big brown we had been watching the past few days that would silently appear out of the depths and then slide back like a ghost as quickly as he had appeared. Today however, the fish seemed to be in full feeding mode and stayed out where we could see it for awhile before disappearing, only to reappear again shortly after. After probably an hour of this nonsense, the fish came up within about 8 feet of me and and I shakily made a careful cast....behind him. I was almost to pull it out when the fish slowly turned and then darted back towards my flies. I saw his mouth open and then his head turn as my line came tight and it was off to the races.

The day before over on the Fork, Tony had asked if any fish had taken us to the cleaners. I had replied in the negative but found out quickly what he meant. This fish looked to be somewhere in the 25-30 inch range and perhaps larger. I do know it was much larger than the 23 inch fish caught previously. As soon as I set the hook, the fish took me to the cleaners. It roared straight out through the current heading towards the large eddy in the backside of the Toilet Bowl. I was nervously watching my line approach the backing and then the fish tore through the eddy heading for the farthest corner of the pool. My reel was screaming and I was shaking like a leaf. I'm sure you know what happened next... The line suddenly went limp and I was pretty sure the fish was gone. Reeling line in, I was positive I would find my flies gone but to my shock, they were still intact. I didn't know what to think, could I have done something different? Of course, I had probably done everything I could do and on 6X, this fish would have been extremely difficult to land in the first place. Then I realized, I HAD tricked this monster. The only thing I didn't do was land it and I knew that next time, the fish would probably not be quite as lucky.

I left after that. I just didn't want to fish any more. I had reached the pinnacle and was ready to let the rest of the fish be. Of course, I would be back someday. The experience was something I wanted to have again, and next time, that fish will be caught...

The Journey

Some of my favorite moments while travelling occur when I least expect them. Probably this is largely the allure of the highway, at least for me. Enjoyment comes simply from seeing what is around the next bend or over the next hill. I suppose it is the explorer in me begging to be turned loose.

During West Trip 2007, there were many exciting moments that revolved around fishing. Seeing huge fish, casting to huge fish, hooking, fighting and landing huge (for me) fish. Then there were other moments, ones that still involved fishing but for different reasons. Perfect light for an awesome picture on the upper Gibbon, the huge buffalo I almost walked up on at the Lamar, the elk skull with large antlers still intact, and even the little fish I caught, all these hold a special memory. Finally there are those moments that happen on every fishing trip that occur away from fishing, an interesting stop on the road for example. Or maybe the coyote that wasted my bumper and radiator.

Early in the trip, several interesting moments presented themselves. One of my favorites was a small falls we found roadside in Colorado. It was pouring out of a tiny canyon, more of a slot canyon really. It reminded me of my days roaming around the arid wasteland also known as Utah where the raw beauty of the earth is put on display front and center. The little trickle was in shadows and didn't provide a particularly great photo opportunity, especially considering that I forgot to get out the tripod. It was special though, in part because of the past memories it brought back.


It is these moments that keep me cruising down the roads of America, always searching for something new and yet apparently searching for remembrance also. Already I look forward to my next road trip and hope it will come sooner as opposed to later. There's something I must find around the next bend...

Update to East Tennessee Drought

For those interested, here is a link to several pictures of the Little River drainage from Byron Begley over at Little River Outfitters. Once again, we would encourage everyone to avoid fishing under these extreme conditions. The fish deserve to be left in peace in this tough drought year. If you must go fishing please stick to the higher elevation streams where the water is cooler and more oxygenated due to the higher gradient.

Please see our poll on the right about this subject and let us know your opinion!!!

Home Water

After a long fishing trip, it would be easy to have one of two problems. The first problem that could develop would be an addiction to fishing every day as much as you wanted. The second potential problem is that you could get so tired of fishing that you wouldn't go for a few weeks.

I probably am as close to being right between these two problems (and hopefully this means normal) as you can get. The shakes haven't taken over yet but I don't have to stay away from fishing either. Curiosity took over yesterday and I made the short drive down to my "home" tailwater, the Caney Fork. I had to do some research to see how the fish were doing.

Wow! Talk about being a bit rusty. As much as it sounds ridiculous, the west had spoiled me with hard to spook, easy to catch fish. I started out using standard indicators and quickly had to go back to my dry dropper to get into fish. Once I started the old routine I remembered so well, things started to improve. Another problem soon became apparent however. Caney Fork fish are perhaps some of the fastest in the world at taking a fly and spitting it back out. I had grown accustomed to big stupid Cutts on the Yellowstone that would grab my fly and dart upstream with the indicator dragging behind. Reaction time wasn't all that important and so my reflexes were a bit off.

I stuck some nice fish and missed a bunch, but somehow managed to bring a few to hand as well. The good news I discovered is that the fish are in great shape heading towards fall. If we can avoid any late summer dissolved oxygen issues, this fall should bring some of the best fishing we've seen in awhile on the Caney Fork including some excellent sight fishing opportunities for larger fish. There are lots of healthy holdovers and all the fish seemed fat and full of fight. Of course, I can't make too many judgements off of just one fishing trip so expect to see me on the river again soon doing more "research."