Sipping Emergers Fly Fishing Blog. Essays, Reports, & Ramblings on Fly Fishing

In the Smokies, Going Home

2013-06-17T07:26:00.003-04:00

On any trip, the last day is different. It represents the point at which thoughts invariably turn back towards the workaday life. Whether it's a week on the beach on the Cape with the family or a week on the Kvichak fishing with close friends, the last day means the end of something extraordinary and the beginning of something more mundane. When the trip spans a brief, long weekend, the mundanity boomerangs back rather rapidly. Sunday was upon us.

Sunday brought more rain and another ghost town, Elkmont. It's another example of manifest destiny preserving this place for us and screwing a handful of individuals out of their vacation homes. It's a valley full of summer cabins with all the people missing. And it has one sweet river. We got to the river at the magical moment when the rain had just stopped and the clouds had parted and the light came through at just right angle to make the green's glow and the river sparkle.

Marc fishing the head of a productive pool.

The rain had finally taken it's toll and the water was high though not too murky. We had until around noon to fish at which point Mike and I had to turn east to put me in cell phone range before an afternoon conference call. The only thing worse than taking conference calls on a weekend is taking conference calls during prime weekend fishing hours.

We nymphed a bunch. I struck out but Marc and Mike did okay though Mike cheated and used a San Juan Worm which would have been okay had I thought of it but I didn't and thus Mike garnered unfair advantage.

At one point I lodged my dry-dropper rig in an overhanging branch. The nymph was hooked tight to a leaf and the spindly limb resisted efforts to dislodge the fly. I moved a couple of steps downstream to gain better leverage and noticed a hornet circling around the large, bushy dry. Before long there were several hornets assaulting the dry and that's when I noticed a small, Bald-faced hornet's nest about a foot or so up the branch from my nymph. I stepped back, tugged my rig free, and looked elsewhere for fish.

Troll territory

Like most folks, when the fishing is slow I usually dig through the fly box with fervor trying to dial something in. The wiser me occasionally breaks through the mania, resigned to the reality that it's just not happening, and I dig through the fly box thoughtfully. That's where I was on Sunday, less manic more willing to take it all in. Perhaps I was just happy to be out of cell phone range of the world.

Water Snake I found basking the elusive sun. Almost stepped in him.
That was better than the one that swam towards me on Saturday. Creepy.

Sitting on a boulder tying on a rubber-legged Copper John I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. It was the wind blowing an eddy of small yellow flowers. Grasping the stems of these flowers were large yellow stonefly nymphs. I had seen similar nymphs scattered on rocks and tree stumps on Friday and fished a large yellow stonefly nymph without success. I'm always disappointed when the stonefly doesn't get hits. It's such a big yummy meal. One would think it the sure thing.

Wouldn't you want this if you were a fish?

Much too soon, the road demanded attention and we packed up and drove east. Marc gave us a tip on heading over the mountains to Cherokee instead of going back through Pigeon Forge. It was the right call. Heading back through the carnival would have been too shocking after a weekend of wandering deep valleys dripping with rain and roaring with water. The road over the Smokies afforded us the spectacular, eponymous views that these mountains

Smokie Valley

We stopped in Cherokee, NC for a Hardees Burger and a conference call. Even the local First Nation population was texting and phoning with the abandon of Manhattan Investment Bankers. I suppose it was a fitting reentry into what passes for civilization these days.

In Cherokee, a Cherokee, texting.

Nestled in the Smokies under cloudy skies it is easy to be transported to a different frame of mind. The country is intimate. The world ebbs. Time eases. Language slows. That which nurtures the soul rises. It's a place where one relearns the sound of one's heart beating and the feel of footfall on mossy banks. The nearly constant blanket of clouds and fog and heavy air is so far from where one is day-to-day that you find the plug trailing behind you long before you consciously decide to remove it from the wall.

I have less of that now.

High Water

2013-06-16T09:00:00.000-04:00

Spent a pleasant afternoon on the banks of the Housatonic yesterday picnicking with the Candlewood Valley TU crowd. After weeks of rain we had deep blue, sunny skies, a light breeze and warm air. The Zebra Caddis were out in great numbers. And, we had about eight times the normal flow in the river. Chocolate milk was the color of the swollen stream. Still, it was nice to be out in a "not fishing due to epic flows" sort of way. Maybe next weekend. Or the next after that. Our rivers are big.

About the only folks who were happy for the high water

A good three inches of visibility

Zebra Caddis were everywhere. I suppose they don't mind the high, muddy water.

Anglers not angling.

A Prayer

2013-06-13T11:01:00.001-04:00

Almighty and everlasting God, omnipotent ruler of all that is, was, and will be;
In thine glorious righteousness thou have chosen to smote the unjust and wicked.
And whilst I recognize thine infallibility to rule everything under the heavens,
I still beseech you on behalf of my brethren and sistren who reside in that place marked as Colorado.
Spare them for their sins of plying the angle for Carp and other rough fishes,
For it is only in the brownline and slack waters that they may seek creatures that swim,
Lacking the soul quenching rains which you have seen fit to deprive them.
May it please you to return your healing waters to them so that they may return to proper angling
Forgoing the rough fish for the holier and fairer trout and char.
Bless them by quenching the fires that rage across their landscapes
threatening home, health, and livelihood.
And in so doing, spare myself from the relentless friggin' rain
which you have supplied in too great abundance, to your everlasting glory.
Amen.

Too little water

Too much water

In the Smokies, Day Two

2013-06-11T06:02:00.000-04:00

Overnight storms felled trees and dumped a ton of water on the mountains. Marc ran late meeting us due a tree blocking the road out of his house and it was still raining when he arrived at our motel. We drove into the park in search of trout water. The rivers were up a bit but were clear and the rain was only coming down in sporadic torrents so things were looking up.

Things have odd names in Tennessee. At least odd to the Yankee tongue. Pigeon Forge. Metcalf Bottoms. Foggy Bottom.* And creeks and brooks aren't called that, they're called branches. Sure, on a map they do sorta look like branches but when you're standing in the water it looks like a creek or brook. They should call stuff by what it looks like when you're standing in it. I don't stand on maps, much.

The rain assaulting Marc on some branch.

We fished a variety of places that day in the rain, sun, and rain again and while the fishing wasn't epic, it was better than I expected from a rainy day of fishing. Even though the water temps were still reasonably cool most of the swipes at my fly came in the fast water. I managed to land a spunky brown and a handful of larger Warpaint Shiners, a local minnow. Sadly, I didn't get a photo of one, being intent on trout, but they're pretty things.

We ended the evening in Cades Cove and I picked up a bunch of wild trout in places that looked too skinny to hold em. Marc cleaned up but then one expects the homewater's host to at least demonstrate that the trout are there.

Standard Cades Wild Rainbow

Cades Cove is an odd place. It's a ghost town. The residents of the valley were shooed off their land by the Yankee government in Washington back in the 1930s so that the public could enjoy their lands. Everyone just up a left and the lands and buildings are maintained in a pristine, post-zombie apocalyptic kind of way. It's all sort nice, scenic and creepy at the same time.**

No review of Cades Cove would be complete without describing the drive around this Yosemite of the Smokies. According to the National Park website, Cades Cove features an:

"...11-mile, one-way loop road circles the cove, offering motorists the opportunity to sightsee at a leisurely pace."

They should boldface and underline "at a leisurely pace". And god forbid a friggin' deer should walk out of the woods. The one-way loop road becomes a parking lot with people ogling the white tailed rat. Black bear?! Well, if a bear appears you should just pull off, sling you gear on your shoulder and walk out. You're screwed. Some folks actually walked by us while we were sitting in traffic pining for beer.

We were off the water at twilight and a malted beverage, a cigar and good conversation capped the day. While good catching makes a fishing trip enjoyable, there's something to be said for good company. Many a poor day of fishing has been rescued with a cigar and a beer and bullshitting while waiting for a hatch or a storm to pass. It turns out our evening ended with as much rain as it began with which somehow seemed appropriate.

Marc

Mike

With the last full day in the Smokies done we made plans for the morning. Again, not too early and for a spot that was on the way back towards Charlotte. Mike and I sought out a Five Guys for a burger (only a one-way, 35 minute drive) and called it a night to the sound of pounding of rain.

So much rain in the mountains and the rivers were fine. Could it last?

Notes:
* I made that up.
** I can see Rick and the gang dodging zombies and The Governor's henchmen all through these hills.

In the Smokies, Day One

2013-06-08T12:22:00.000-04:00

Even before I returned from the Smokies, perhaps before I left, work intruded on leisure. For the past three weeks I have been consumed by that which earns a salary and not by that which restores the soul. I'm feeling thin. This weekend will be a slow weekend with family. It should be just the thing.

Rewind three weeks...

Like most fishing adventures, it seems like I spend more time planning and preparing than I do adventuring. Last summer I tied dozens of flies for a trip to Yellowstone. In the past thirty days I tied a couple dozen flies special for this trip as well as countless others to fill gaps where flies should have been. This for two days of fishing in the Smokies. Sometimes I get carried away.

A box full of hope.

The first leg of the trip took me to Charlotte overnight. The next morning Mike was driving west from Raleigh and I joined him en route to Townsend. We spent the morning driving west on 40 which, while not the most scenic route through the Smokies, seemed the most direct. We shoulda gone the other way.

I was hoping for the sign proclaiming the
Mind Reading Pig but it changed too fast.

Pigeon Forge, Tennessee is something to be seen though not visited. Mike referred to is as the "Hillbilly Vegas". It is quite the spectacle. Between the Talking Dog Show, the Hatfield and McCoy venue, the Titanic (yes, the ship, in Tennessee), the Mind Reading Pig, and countless other entertainment options, one could make a lifetime of night's out in the Forge. Fortunately, we had plans for elsewhere.

The descent into Townsend brought us back to where we were supposed to be. It's a town whose purpose is solely as access to the playground of the Smokies. There are a plethora of establishments from which to rent tubes for floating the Little River, modest lodgings in great abundance and one of the finest fly shops I've ever visited, Little River Outfitters.

Our mid-afternoon arrival could easily have swerved into a few beers and a siesta but the mountains to the east tempted us and after a visit to the fly shop for supplies and some local intel we were heading into the park to fish the Middle Fork of the Little River.

While not a promising catch, one has to start somewhere.....

The Middle Fork is the perfect sized river to wade fish. It's an easy cast to the far bank and it has all the structure you'd ever want from pockets to pools. And it has trout; browns and, mostly, rainbows of the 5'-7" variety. It was a joy to be wading wet again and the new Simms boots kept me sure footed.

A fishless pool up on the Middle Fork. I took a good fall on the ledge upstream.
Slippery as shit. Those Simms boot failed me (I exaggerate); still have a tender spot on my forearm.

The evening ended with barbecue and conference calls (work seems to find me no matter where I roam) and with the promise of some new rivers in the morning.

This was my second time to the Smokies. I am enamored with the place. While culturally it is foreign to the place where I was raised, is is very easy to approach. The water is cool, the people are warm and the folds of the lands allow you to nestle in and get comfortable.

Sacrifice

2013-05-27T06:00:00.000-04:00

Most of us live very soft lives. That's not to say that this life is easy, it's not. Every day we deal with the challenges of earning a living, raising a family, growing relationships, and fighting through the things that make us weak to find the things that make us strong. But we do so in a society and culture that allows us the privilege to do so in relative peace.

There are many reasons that the men and women who serve in our armed forces do so. Regardless of their motivations they provide for us a shield against those who mean us harm. They answer the call and go to places that few of us can imagine and they serve in ways that challenge the human spirit.

And some never come home.

This Memorial Day I pause to honor the sacrifice of all our fallen soldier, sailors, marines and airmen. In particular:

LT Robert R. Duncan, USN, MIA August 29, 1968; KIA North Vietnam October 22, 1975
Johnny Michael Spann, CIA, KIA Mazar-e Sharif, Afghanistan, November 21, 2001
CDR Keith E. Taylor, USN, KIA Baghdad, Iraq, January 29, 2005

May god bless them all and the families and friends that they have left behind.

Smoke

2013-05-20T10:26:00.000-04:00

Cigars.

That taste, that feeling, lingers in my mouth and on my lips from the day's fishing and the smoke swirling slowly around my head in the dense, dripping, post-thunderstorm air stings my eye's memories. 47 ring size. Dominican Perfecto. Bought at the deli who's selection is infinitely better and fresher than the cigar store the next town over.

Those things may kill me. Or not. We roll the dice each time we exit the door and wading deep, rough water or driving on I-84 is more likely to kill me than hand-rolled, Cameroon-encased joy. Rationalization, I suppose.

I only smoke on the water which may be my one concession to managing my addiction, even though I occasionally have one at home. And, rarely, other places.

I like them with scotch. Or beer. Crisp, fresh water is good on the stream on an unseasonably hot April day. So is a cigar.

Three in a cigar case. Two for me, one to offer a friend just in case he's wanting. Lacking a friend the third is in reserve though the reserve rarely lasts the day, though it did today. When the fishing is good, regardless of the catching, even desire can be dampened.

Writing for the Tongass

2013-05-19T19:22:00.001-04:00

Last summer I was lucky enough to make a trip to Yellowstone National Park to participate in the 2012 Blogger Tour sponsored by TU, Simms, Yellowstone Park Foundation and the Outdoor Blogger Network. If I were to say that this event changed my life, I would be greatly exaggerating. However, it did open some very interesting doors that have changed my writing. It also gave me an opportunity to experience and write about the critical conservation work going on at Yellowstone National Park.

Perhaps most importantly, I met some extraordinary people and made lasting friendships. In fact, as I write this I'm sitting in the Charlotte International Airport waiting for a flight home after spending a weekend fishing with Marc Payne and Mike Sepelak, two previous Blogger Tour winners. Perhaps this fall I'll wander off to Idaho to fish with Chris, Rebecca and Bruce.

This year the Blogger Tour is going to the Tongass in Alaska. It is an extraordinary landscape of sea, mountains and rivers that is, among other things, the source of epic Salmon runs. This important resource is currently unprotected and TU is working with partners to gain watershed-level protection for the Tongass. Winners of this year's tour will ~~get to fish epoc salmon runs~~ get a chance to see first-hand the resource and the work TU is doing.

Entries for the contest are due by May 22nd. If you have a blog, have a passion and talent for writing about conservation, and can get yourself to Juneau, Alaska by July 15th, I encourage you to enter.

This is not my entry for the Blogger Tour. But if I could enter, I would.

Kids & Trout & Clean Water

2013-05-13T21:19:00.002-04:00

The kids in the Candlewood Valley TU chapter's Trout in the Classroom classes have cooked up some public services posters for keeping our streams healthy. Head over to CVTU's Facebook page and take a look (and vote with a "Like").

You need to keep Saving Bristol Bay

2013-05-09T06:08:00.000-04:00

I read the new EPA Executive Summary on Pebble Mine. You should too. This peer reviewed piece of work, which is in its second draft, continues to indicate that Pebble Mine would, with certainty, harm the fisheries in Bristol Bay. It's only a matter of time.

The video below is simple and powerful. It shows very directly the people, places, and fisheries that are at risk.

It's easy to voice your support for these people, places, and wildlife. It takes about two minutes to fill out the form. I once heard from a politician who said that if he heard from five people on a subject he paid attention. Let's make it more than five. Every voice is important.

Please, fill out the form.

sea-swallow'd from ryan peterson on Vimeo.

Das Boots

2013-05-08T06:25:00.000-04:00

I long ago made the switch to rubber soled boots. I buy the anti-invasives pitch, especially that cleaning a felt sole is a whole lot harder than cleaning a rubber sole. I still own a pair of Orvis Henry's Fork boots with a felt sole. When my go-to boots are drying (after being cleaned) I'll use the old Henry's Forks for a fishing trip so as not to risk invasive transport. Of course, I'm doubly careful about when and where I wear the Henry's Forks. Usually only to streams that are ~~known~~ believed to be scourge free.

The other night I wore them when I caught The Nose. Every time I put on the rubber soled boots I feel like Herman Munster. Wearing the felt soled Henry's I feel like a ballerina. I think the real joy of felt, aside from the light weight, is how the feel of the bottom is easily communicated through the sole. Rubber boots by comparison are dead.

I bought a new pair of back-up boots this evening. Big, rubber soled monstrosities. I considered some of the "lightweight" models but I killed my last pair of lightweights pretty quickly. I'm not easy on gear and I need something robust. I'm gonna miss these lightweight boots when they finally kick.

Maybe there's hope. I've gotta find my tube of Aquaseal.

Scar and The Nose

2013-05-06T07:12:00.000-04:00

I fished for stocked trout one night last week. I did pretty well as one with a modicum of skill is wont to do when uninformed, hungry trout mill about in a small steam. It was a stretch of water downtown where the state dumps a couple hundred trout before opening day. There are two good pools where the Opening Day crowd can retrieve those trout and they do so with a vengeance.

I stopped by the deli in town a week or so ago for a sandwich. It was one of those days when working from home became too claustrophobic and I had to get out. I ate my sandwich on a bank overlooking the stocked pool.

Freshly stocked fish have about as much sense as school children dropped unprepared in the middle of the African subcontinent. They do pretty much everything that a trout interested in long term survival should not do. There's far too much racing about, holding over a bottom that perfectly silhouettes^[1] a trout shaped form, or trying to hold in a spot that requires far too much energy to stay in place.^[2]

A couple of days later I returned for lunch and additional trout ogling. I noticed that the trout seemed to be congregated/racing in much the same place. I also noted that the number of fish had not diminished. none had yet landed on the dinner table. Anglers are drawn to the pool above this one and it seems the trout are drawn here.

There were a couple of trout the caught my eye. There was a crop of wild trout, notable for their diminutive size, that held tight to the bank in the shadows and did not try to eat flowers. In the heavier current at the tail of the pool a larger Brown with a scabbed hatchery-tank nose held in water that seemed to require more effort than he likely received in food. I don't think The Nose is long for this world.

Further up the pool was a Brown with a scar below his dorsal fin. Scar sat in front of a large boulder and flicked his tail just enough to stay in its soft cushion. Scar seemed to have a good feel for what was edible and what was not. If I didn't know better, and I didn't, I would think he was a wild fish. Scar got chased out of his prime lie every ten minutes or so by a larger fish but that fish didnt know that he had just boggarted a great thing and moved on. Scar sidled back a minute or so later.

Tonight I went out again to the pool I watched at lunch. Scar and The Nose where right where I had left them. I caught The Nose pretty quickly on an Adams Sparkle Dun. Upstream I marked the rock that Scar had been holding against. I made a couple of casts but Scar was having none of it. I caught a dozen other fish, but not Scar. That's one wily trout, wild or not.

Scar has a pretty sweet lie

Scar. Chilin'

Scar gettin' the brush off. He'll be back soon.

The Nose

The Nose showing off his moves.

Bait

Notes
1 - I spelled silhouettes without using spell check. Impressive.
2 - So as not to embarrass anyone I will not mention by name how many times I saw one particular trout sample forsythia flowers.

On Writing

2013-05-04T09:03:00.001-04:00

"The night's dampness clings to the hillside in long gray smudges."

Bing!

The nightstand beer clock into the hillside long gray smudge

What?!

"The night's dampness clings to the hillside in long gray smudges."

Bing!

The night damp a.m. Klaum to the hillside in Long Gray smudges

Fuck it. I type it myself.

Siri can't take dictation worth shit.

Signs of Spring

2013-04-29T07:59:00.003-04:00

I've been too busy with work, Trout Unlimited, writing (new work), family this past week to get some reasonable words on this page. Hopefully some pictures will suffice.

Signs of spring from my neck of the woods.

Jonny tells me the correct scientific name for this flowering shrub, is Stripersarein Fishtheoutgoingtonight

We lost all the magnolia blossoms last year to a hard frost as soon as they blossomed. Nature is a cruel mistress.

I like the idea of my kids participating in team sport but I'm glad this ritual holds no longer in our household.
I think the second baseman should turn around before she gets beaned by this ball.

Opening Day. I don't fish it. Especially at the "Trout Park". They should call it the "Butcher Shop".

Sharing a rod, Sam and I cast for a few hours on an outgoing tide with much luck.

Watched a pod of stocked trout tasting everything that passed on the surface

Fished a wild brook trout stream with a few buddies. Found lots of perfect Brookies. Some larger than this.

Flats Mud

2013-04-18T10:55:00.002-04:00

Got out again last night with Sam, Jonny and Bob. A late tide meant we were fishing after dark under the sliver of a moon. Spooky and peaceful all at the same time.

Not big numbers but the fisher were all bigger. Everyone got into fish. More later.

For now, mud.

Evidence on the driveway of a successful stroll across sandy & muddy flats.

Tax Day Schoolies

2013-04-16T08:10:00.001-04:00

I'm a trout angler. I don't fish for Striped Bass (Unless, of course, I get a text saying that the Striped Bass are in and Bob was catching them last night one per cast).

Last year I fished for Striped Bass twice. Once in the spring when they clearly weren't there and later in the summer when they were elsewhere as well. I had heard tell of times when the schoolie stripers were on the move and they could be had with abandon but that was last year or last week or at the other spot that I wasn't at.

Until Sunday evening.

Flats.

The day before the tax deadline I was at the dining room table putting the final touches on what was owed to whom. Living in one state and working in another was further complicated this year by a move of my office from one state to another in June. New York needed its slice and Connecticut hers and I'm not sure either will be happy. I expect questions.

If I could be done with the taxes by 4 p.m. I might have just enough time to gather my scattered salt water gear (which doubles as Steelhead gear) and make it to the designated sandy pull-off that would allow me to join a small group that would follow Bob to the fully recon'd beach where the Schoolies had been the previous evening.

I was done by 3 p.m. Made dinner for the boys. Assembled the gear and was standing in the sandy pull-off at 5:28 p.m.

As a trout angler I often fish alone. But I'm such a newbie to both Steel and Stripers that I follow the crowd of experts and they're generous enough to allow me to tag along (and loan me the special fly or two). It turns out that all the Steelhead guys I fished with last November were here. It's a group of guys that I'm not sure would work in any other setting but as anglers we all seem to fit together perfectly. I enjoy their company.

The walk out to the spot was proper prelude. The sticky saltiness of the wind coupled with the crunch of shells beneath the feet and the grip of tidal muck on the boots let you know you were far from the mountain stream. Ahead we spooked a couple hundred Canada Geese that were on our beach. Tiny shore birds raced past us in dense flocks.

Jonny gets into fish early.

The outgoing tide had a few hours to run and we set-up along the obvious rips. The first ten minutes had us all secretly doubting Bob's reports, then our ability, the presence of fish and the myriad other things that one doubts when the fishing isn't what it was supposed to be.

And then the switch was turned on, temperature, tide, water speed, who knows, but the next two hours brought fish after fish to the hand. My first Striper on the fly came that evening. It was a small fish by striper standards -- maybe fourteen inches in length, 2-3 pounds -- but what a specimen. Beautiful creatures. Caught it on a white and chartreuse clouser.

Fully Stripered Clouser Remnants

For two hours we caught our fill. Thirty pound test leaders allowed the fish to be brought to hand quickly and just as quick the line was back out and another was hooked. Grins and hoots and aching arms all around. By the time the fishing slowed I was standing back with Jonny enjoying a cigar and watching the gang try and tease the last fish out of a spot where the fish now weren't.

So far Steelhead haven't ruined me for trout and I don't suspect Stripers will as well but I'm already looking at tide charts for the next day or two. Perhaps another quick trip is in order.

Schoolie Striper. With bonus water spot on lens. Last one
of the night. I was so busy hauling in fish that I
almost forgot to take a picture of one. That's good fishing.

Schoolie Sunset

2013-04-15T07:05:00.001-04:00

More when the pain in my arm (and the smile on my face) subsides.

Why I fish for Trout: Reason #14

2013-04-11T10:00:00.000-04:00

Half Price Trout

2013-04-08T09:01:00.000-04:00

Thursday evening was my first time on the water in weeks. It was a breezy, spring evening cool enough to remind you that winter was just over the next hill. I put on a scarf for what I hoped would be the last time this season.

I only had an hour or two until sunset and intended to fish three spots where I thought I might find a trout. In my hands was a old rod with a new reel and line. I had succumbed to Orvis' marketing scheme a weekend before and purchased a half-price reel. Actually, I eventually purchased a half-price reel; things don't often go as planned.

I was at the airport two Saturdays ago when I saw the social media marketing pitch and immediately purchased a reel and new 5 wt line. I only later realized that I had forgotten to check out. By the time I realized my error it was Monday and the offer had expired.

When I noted my idiocy on Twitter, the Orvis folks -- Kathleen Moore and Juliana Booth -- swung into action and made things right. What is astounding about this is not Orvis' legendary customer service in making things right when they goof up. It's that they made things right when I goofed. Incredible. I screw up, Orvis comes through. I wish Orvis worked such wonders in other areas of my life.

So down to the water I went with my half-price reel and commenced to fishing. Dry-droppers are my usual rig on this small stream and Thursday it was a Usual above a chartreuse brassie. If you don't have a Usual in your fly box -- I don't care where you live in the world -- you're missing out on what may be the best fly pattern ever; not as famous as the Adams, but probably better.

The first spot yielded a trout on the second cast. The brown hammered the Usual which greatly pleased me. A sure sign that winter is waning is trout looking up. Sometimes I can coax another trout from this bathtub sized pool but not that day so upstream I went.

The next reliable pool was a repeat. About a third of the way back, just past the root ball of a tree that'll fall during the next storm, an equally aggressive brown smacked the Usual and quickly came to hand. This one was dark, buttery color with large brown and red dots. It's interesting how two trout of the same species living within a hundred yards of one another can appear to be entirely different things.

The third spot was a relatively new discovery. It was fishy. Very fishy. A deep slot that ricocheted off of a stone ledge. I had never caught fish there but I believed in it's fish-holding hydrology and knew that I'd get a fish there, eventually.

The first cast was awful. The second cast hit the water hard. The third cast was a token offering for a pool I had already spooked. One hour. Three pools. Two Trout. Home for dinner.

Sunday evening I returned to the stream with a couple of friends intending to show them a few good spots. I remembered my camera but forgot my rod. I think that's a first. Hopefully it will be a last.

Regardless, we had a nice walk along a stream. I got to ramble on about a place that I love, I took some pictures and they got into fish.

Along the way, Ann and Sam came by walking Ripley. It was unexpected and it was a joy. At times I seem pathologically drawn to crowds or solitude. I suppose the familiarity and routine of daily life makes family, despite the closeness of our bonds, somehow less. But whether I travel around the world or ten minutes down the street that return to the embrace, the smiles and knowing comfort, remind me that it is always more than anything else.

Back. Considering Options.

2013-04-02T07:50:00.000-04:00

After a few weeks in Slovakia I'm finally back and my jet lag is waning. Spring may actually be close. Just one pile of snow is left; in the shaded spot out front. I've had reports, and recordings, of peepers.

It can't be long.

And the winner is:

2013-03-29T04:01:00.004-04:00

The Random Number Generator has spoken: Ben Sameshima is the winner of the Simms loot.

Ben, shoot me your address via the Contact Me link above and I'll get your stuff in the mail.

The Simms Scavanger Hunt

2013-03-24T09:52:00.000-04:00

This scavenger hunt has been a week or so in the offing. I've been traveling on business - all airports and offices (with an occasional stop at a pub for sustenance) -- so I've been greatly delayed in getting this post up. I've got a brief respite having just arrived back in Slovakia. Sadly, trout season here doesn't open for another three weeks. Damn.

When I posted my Headwaters Pro Waist Pack gear review last week I promised a scavenger hunt for some Simms loot. Rich Hohne has provided a Simms Wading Belt and Cap (about $60 of Simms goodness) to distribute to the lucky winner.

Add a comment below with the answers to these questions. All the answers can be found on the Simms site. If you trust that someone who has answered before you got the questions correct, go ahead and cut an paste their answers. Of course, I would expect that some the readers of this blog* would start off with a set of answers that were intentionally incorrect so as to disqualify as many folks as possible.

From the list of correct entries I will select, at random, a winner. You have until at least Wednesday night to enter though my ability to adjudicate this event in a timely fashion will be determined by work schedule, access to the intertubes and Zlaty** consumption. It may take a bit longer to get to the judging so no bitching if it does.

The Questions:

What is the name for Simm's footwear technology that promotes features and/or materials that are more resistant to "hitch-hiking" organisms?
What country was Cathy Lang fishing in when she caught the monster brown featured in the Catch of the Day?
How long is the warranty on Simms products due to workmanship or defect?
What are the three ways to buy products from the Simms website?
How many styles of waders does Simms sell? Is that number really unlucky?

Notes:
* I'm thinking of you, Kirk, though it could just as easily be Jonny. Or T.J. Or Mike. Or Marc. Damn, there are too many to list. Don't trust anyone.
** Zlatý Bažant, Official Slovak Beer of Sipping Emergers

Simms Headwaters Pro Waist Pack Review

2013-03-19T07:23:00.001-04:00

Like many fly anglers, I'm a gear junkie. There's nothing that gets my juices flowing like walking into a fly shop or opening the latest catalog and perusing the baubles. There is so much stuff I don't need that I must buy.

One area where I am weakest are vests. Well, not just vests, but waist packs, chest packs, traditional vests, modern vests, and sling packs. On one trip to Pennsylvania a few years ago I couldn't decide between two vests so I bought both. Somewhere out there is the perfect pack. I don't yet own it.

Currently I'm partial to the sling pack designs. I own two; one of which I'm quite fond.

Simms Headwaters Pro Waist Pack, $99

Last fall, Simms sent me a waist pack (Headwaters Pro Waist Pack, $99) as part of the loot from last summer's Yellowstone Blogger Tour. I had tried a competitor's waist pack a few years ago. It did the job of storing the gear but I found that being at my waist it spent a fair amount of time slightly submerged when I was wading larger rivers. So, it was with a fair amount of trepidation that I tried this new waist pack. I've fished it pretty steady through the fall and winter and I've gotten a sense for its worth.

Waist pack configuration leaves little to the imagination. Basically, they're belts with pouches. The Simms pack has three compartments with two side pockets. The outermost pocket came with a large fly patch so it could be used as an ersatz fly box. I learned long ago to stay away from these fly manglers (Fishpond was fond of these on their vests) so out came the fly patch, in went a fly box.

The Middle Pocket: Gadget Holder

The innermost main compartment is where all the big boxes, cigar case, flask, powerbars, camera, first aid kit, etc. go. It's about as voluminous as one would expect and I've yet to want for room. It also includes a couple of mesh internal pockets that allow for some organization.

The middle pocket is the gadget holder. This slim pocket has a couple of mesh internal pockets as well as two bottle holders so you can leash your floatant and desiccant. It does beat having to dig around in the bottom of the pocket for stuff you use often. I do wish that the holders were more rigid. It's difficult to "reholster" bottles one handed though it can be done.

Stuff I liked about the Simms Headwaters Pro Waist Pack

A couple of things strike me right off the bat. First, a very clean design. There are few places for a fly line to catch on. I'm always getting my line caught on one thing or another and with this pack it seems to happens less often. I've noticed that cleaner designs are becoming part of most manufacturer's lines but Simms seems to have this down well.

Shoulder Strap: Great function,
but it needs a connector for a net

Next, there's a shoulder strap. A first I couldn't discern it's purpose. But after using the pack I realized that the purpose of the strap is to keep the pack at a specific elevation on your waist. No worries about it slipping down and getting wet and if you want it to ride high all you do is shorten the strap.

Stuff I didn't like about the Simms Heawaters Pro Waist Pack
The problem with most waist packs is being able to easily see into the depths. This pack also suffers from that. The pack is soft so the larger section seems to collapse at just the wrong angle to make peering into it difficult. I find i have to reach down and pull it up to see in properly. This is partially due to my middle aged body topography but i would appreciate a slighly more rigid design that held its shape.

The large main compartment could hold a water bottle but I prefer mine on the outside. A water bottle holder would be a good addition. I've ended up clipping mine on with a small carabiner.

The should strap just begs for a loop from which to hang a net. Again, a small carabiner has done the trick but it seems like an obvious miss.

Yet to be tested
The belt portion of the waist pack is well constructed. It's got a mesh back and a rigid foam lattice that seems like it would provide good ventilation during hot weather. I've only used the pack with waders and only during cooler weather but it does appear to be design that could be beneficial during the waderless summer months.

Overall Impression
If you're a waist pack person this is a good one. Yes, if you wade deep it's going to get soggy though the shoulder strap helps to prevent this. Perhaps the greatest testament to the design is that I haven't run back to my sling pack yet. I think I've become enamored by the additional capacity a waist pack provides.

Free Stuff
In the next day or so (I'm traveling on business so time for posting is rare) I'll post a Simms scavenger hunt. Rich Hohne of Simms has provided a Simms Wading Belt and Cap as a bit of loot to distribute. Hopefully tomorrow. Maybe Thursday.

One more day

2013-03-15T06:58:00.001-04:00

Learning to Fly

2013-03-08T09:42:00.001-05:00

Before you read on, head over to the Unaccomplished Angler and send him your hat photo. He's got the best prizes I've ever seen in a blog contest. I've had hats with mojo in the past but I've lost them all. There's one that would have fit right in with the contest but sadly someone walked off with it......

I started fly fishing eight years ago. My buddy Ross thought I needed a hobby other than work^[1] and so he dragged me up to Manchester, Vermont for three days of Orvis indoctrination. I fell hard for this new thing, just ask Ann. Heck, the fact that I'm writing this stuff here says something about my passion for this sport.^[2]

After the school I fished a bit on my own. It took a month or so for me to land my first trout on a fly. That spring I hired a guide to give me some nymphing instruction. And then I attended my first TU meeting and fished with some very talented anglers who helped me run up the learning curve.

If you're not able to do all that, you're left with figuring it out on your own. Fortunately, there are some professionally-crafted, free online resources to help new anglers through the process.

The benchmark is the Orvis Fly Fishing Learning Center. It's hard to compete against Orvis in this space. First, they got the talent (e.g Rosenbauer, Kutzer, etc). Second, they've got the resources to do some pretty slick video and animations. Finally, they've got ~~Rosenbauer~~ years of experience running a fly fishing school. Their knowledge about how to teach is deep. Plus they integrate the hundreds of podcasts that Tom has done over the years. Again, lots of knowledge upon which to draw.

Redington has a site called New to Fly? It doesn't have the depth of content that the Orvis site has but it covers the basics well. The lessons are more demonstrations than lessons. They show the things but don't explain the "why" behind it. For example, the Overhead Cast Lesson doesn't explain the dynamics of the cast -- rod loading, etc -- but simply shows the actions. For some this might actually be better; less confusing technical stuff. For me, I like knowing why. It helps me better understand what I'm doing. That said, it's got lots of content to cover the breadth of knowledge required to get up and running.

Cabelas also has a learning site called Cabelas Fly Fishing University. It too covers that landscape of things you need to know to fly fish. However, for a large company this offering is weak. There's no video that I could find. A majority of the offerings are text only and are broken down into such small chunks of information that I had difficulty putting them in context. Also, the look and feel of the website reminds me of learning sites from work and that's the last thing I'd like to be thinking about when learning about a hobby. Finally, it seems like they've taken the content out of a book but not a very good one. If you want to learn from a book, I think there are better ones out there.

While websites help I've found that the best ways to learn are to actually fish with people who know what they're doing. Just watching a good angler cast helps you add to your repertoire. Also, lots of fly shops hold clinics that let you get free instruction and tuning. Finally, hiring a guide can be the single best way of improving your technique. Just make sure you ask around for recommendations. There are some guides out there who know as much about education as Cabelas does.

Notes
[1] I thought doing hand crafted emails for work was a hobby. Who knew?
[2] Not to mention my desire to hear myself talk (or write, in this case)