Grip of Death

I can't even remember the last time I went fishing. Maybe close to a month now. There's something about standing over a redd drifting eggs and worms that makes you want to vomit. Perhaps swinging something big with the double-hander or strippin' the nasties over the spawning browns will suffice the purist's heart. Or maybe getting the hell out of the trailer park and hopping on a Greyhound for some tropical destination, I don't know maybe the Keys, is in order. And I'll be damned if that ain't the plan.

The wind is gusting upwards of fifty miles right now and there's a snow drift blocking the view from my living room window. I've used up all the saltwater hooks I've got so now I'm reduced to sitting on the couch surfing the internet and reading the Fly Fisher's Guide to the Florida Keys and watching Chasing Silver or Location X, sitting around in shorts and a tee shirt with the heat hovering around 75 degrees, eating scallops and cocnut shrimp with a side of deer tenderloin pretending its a Key's deer. I'm losing my fucking mind and I cannot wait to find it.

I've been threatening for the past couple years to never spend a winter in the Fort again. It's been a long December, and there's reason to believe, maybe this year will be better than the last.

See you in April.

The fly pictured above is Jennings' Boogie Shoes.

Summer's End

Since the fall like weather has set in and I've been laid up pending a roll-over accident, time has allowed me to take a look back over the last couple months, and though most of it seems a blur of flies and trout highlights still pop out. We saw a great water year and by the end of June were seeing over 9,000 CFS. Fishing became very fast paced and if you couldn't get the flies where they needed to be at the exact moment you'd lose ten yards of trout water. Boats were flying down the ditch, flies and fishermen in the bushes. And when the water receded the trout began to eat grasshoppers. In fact they still are. This has been one of the best hopper seasons anyone has ever seen on this river, you could almost hand feed these trout. Our Summer hatches were compromised by ths high water though; mahogany duns never appeared, the caddis came and went, and what PMD hatch? The high flows even decimated the still-decent trico hatches on the lower river. And the grass is out of control at the end of this season, thanks to the high water. We can only look to the bright future that the raging torrent has cleared open for us. Siltation is almost non-existant on the river bottom and the channels now have ample flows to support more trout and spawning gravel. I'm already looking forward to next summer...

A few highlights from this Summer

Spring 2008

Fishin' with Tim

It's been a while since I've updated this thing, I know, but I'm down in Phoenix right now dying of absolute boredom. Fishing on the 'Horn has been great as usual and fun as hell. Went fishing with a freelance writer who asked toooo many freakin' questions and took some decent photos. So here's a link to his Picasa album. Check it out, very nice. http://picasaweb.google.com/kalamatim/FishingTheBighornWithMarkAndDan?authkey=fn-GuRsHh5k

Baetis?

The baetis have been poppin' and the fish are eatin' 'em. Here's some video of an afternoon dry fly session with a couple guide buddies and myself. Please keep in mind that we are professional guides and only amateur filmmakers. Enjoy.

Stinking Water River

We pull up to the ramp at the Twelfth Street Bridge where seventy or eighty trout eagerly rising to morning midge await our arrival. With one guide raft just upstream, the fish usher us down river a mile or so, slappily sipping alongside the banks. The first few rising fish we cast to are a little persnickety and I’m told this upper stretch gets fished regularly from walk-in traffic. The sun is high and warm for 11:00 A.M. and the midge are clustering, the water is gin clear with a glacial tint. To the west ominous clouds envelop the Absarokas, ruminating, waiting to unleash their energy across the sage deserts and grain plains of the basin. Smaller dark gray clouds break free from the leash of the mountains and congregate above us and begin spitting flakes of snow. I see the first tiny sail boat. Then another one. And then another.

The baetis hatch hits its peak about 2:00 P.M. The sun is high and has burnt off the clouds in the valley and they have receded to the cathedrals. Chad and I just happen to be in the right spot for filming after we both get our rocks off on some solo technical fishing. Here is some video that speaks louder than words. There are sooooo many bugs that the little guys attack the fly before it even gets to the nicer fish. This is my first time down the Shoshone River and you can bet I’ll be back.

Laundry day

Just in case anybody does ever read this blog, I decided to update it a little. I’ve been too busy fishing, actually, so I have a viable excuse. I’ve had a couple stellar days with clients in the last month and aside from a little bit of guiding I’ve been working at the Angler on the weekends. It drives me nut having to listen to people talk about fishing when I’m cooped up inside slaving over a vice. I had a guy come in a couple weeks ago touting on about how he saw some guy, the greatest fisherman he’s ever seen, one time catch three thirty-plus inch rainbows, in the Snag. I told him I didn’t believe him and he shouldn’t be fishing on redds.

Spring time in the shop is fun because it’s busy and I’m able to go midge fishing when I get off. Soon there will be baetis. It’s also nice to see the faces that return with every year. John Dobson came in the shop the other day to see how things are working out with new ownership and to sell us some shit, of course. We talk about this, that and fishing. And then he tries to pawn some crap. At least he's always got some free shwag unlike some of the other reps, and kicks down a pair of Kaenons to the both of us (which, by the way, are better than my Smiths). Eric and I had no trouble convincing him to go for a ride on the lower river in the air boat, ya know, a swamp boat. Ha. This one has a Buick 404 in it and a plane prop and probably exceeds the decibel level. The lower river this time of year is clean and crystal clear and you’d think it’d be off the wall fishing. Even with midge clustering, raking streamers through the troughs and the normal nymphing fare, I think Dobby was the only one who caught any fish, two rainbows. The beer was great for washing down the tequila.

I’ve been fishing with John six or seven times and we always have a pretty wild time, this was no exception. After a jaunting ride through some un-navigable channels and getting stuck in mud and silt up to our waists that smells like a backed-up septic system, we run out of gas. Luckily we had just enough to sputter up to the Royal Bighorn Lodge. Eric gets a ride back to his vehicle at Bighorn Access at which point he finds a dead battery and Paul blazing saddles back up the dirt road. Oh well, Paul had plenty of beer at the lodge and we still had a little tequila left. Just another day on the ditch.