Backcountry Boys

Brian began 17th grade this week (first year of dental school at the University of Washington in Seattle) so he and two of his brothers-in-law, Hollis and Brad, planned a backpacking trip into the backcountry with me for some cooler temps, great scenery, and the opportunity of fish. We were successful on all counts. Leaving Wenatchee, where high temps have been hovering between 99-115 degress for the last few weeks, we were happy to feel the temperatures moderating as we made our way into the Cascade Mountains and higher elevation. After making our way to Maverick Saddle, we began hiking the upper Mad River trail. When we got about six miles in, we came to a meadow area near the backcountry guard station and took a break for lunch and a little stream exercise.

Brad told me he'd seen a nice fish, but it wasn't interested in the fly he was passing overhead and I should try my Renegade. I measured out the line, made one false cast, and laid it where I anticipated the fish I could see would have it in view. He slowly edged his nose upward into the current and drifted with the fly, sipping it in when he reached the surface. Hookset followed by a brief struggle and he came to hand for a quick photo and thank-you, then release back into his cool water home.

Several more cutthroats were anxious for the fly in this stretch and after a time, we decided we had to get on our way to make it to Mad Lake, our final destination for the day and see if fish were willing there. They were. Brian landed a beautifully colored cutthroat and Hollis and Brad found some as well.

Day two we hiked to Klone Peak lookout and then on to Two Little Lakes and Tommy Creek. It was a beautiful day and Glacier Peak was reigning over the backcountry in the distance.

Brian and I caught a couple little ones in Tommy Creek, but they were smaller and less willing than we had seen with Hollis and Brad in the lake above so we returned to the lake to see if we could repeat their success. Alas, we must have had "stink" on our lines because while Hollis and Brad continued to catch them, Brian and I struggled. Hollis caught a nice cutthroat, probably larger than mine, so I offered to take a photo of him and the fish. I don't think he's done the "fish photo" thing too much so simply grabbed the line a foot above the fly. Of course the fish was wriggling and spinning and it looked more like a piscene drill bit than a photo pose so I, of course, waited for him to get the fish under control. Seeing that this appeared unlikely to happen without some coaching, I suggested he grab the fly and use it to get the fish in a better orientation for photos. Hollis did so, I got the lighting angle right, and just as I touched the shutter and before it could activate, the fish wriggled off the fly and dropped into the lake and swam away unharmed. So below, you see a photo of Hollis smiling holding on to the fly and the "phantom fish" that didn't quite appear in the photo.

I did manage to get a photo of Hollis with a fish back at Mad Lake, but there is absolutely no photographic evidence or proof that he caught a fish larger than mine. Brad caught his share as well.

Melinda chose me and American Fork Creek

I had one more day to fish before heading for home, and had lots of options. Melinda had talked about fishing with me Friday morning before I left, but she got an invite from friends to climb Timp. And guess what? She chose her dad and fishing over friends and Timp. I felt very important!

We arose early and headed for American Fork Creek, a small stream that Rob has fished several times, but that I had yet to visit. I figured it would be good to pick a small stream near to her home that she might be able to return again on her own. The stretch below Tibble Fork dam where Rob normally fishes was killed off by an inadvertent release of toxic mine sludge from the dam a few years ago, so we decided to head above the reservoir, which Rob had described as a "rough road". Uh, yeah, really rocky, loose, sharp rocks, and some big potholes. I was going slow and worrying about my new tires until I passed a group at a pullout where one of the parked cars was a low-to-the-ground BMW. OK, maybe I'm a bit cautious on rough roads...

We continued on and found an open pull out next to the small stream tumbling through the woods. Beautiful pocket water, a good place to practice roll casts, bow and arrow casts, dangling, and straight up and down casts, all the essentials of small, woody streams. We quickly found fish, small browns, in most holes of any size.

Her first brown trout!

Uh, it's getting away Melinda, but that sure is a nice pose and smile...

After a couple hours in the small stream with quite a few browns to the fly, we headed home with a stop in the larger stream below the reservoir. Didn't see many fish, and the two we caught were rainbows. I imagine it might take a while for the browns to wash down and repopulate.

Mel was very patient with me, putting up with my at times contradictory instructions (I don't know how my fly gets out there sometimes, it just does, so I'll often say to try one thing, then something different when that doesn't work). Fishing the indicator made casting different, but she was able to pull a rainbow out before we left. So this week she not only completed her Utah Cutthroat Slam, she also got a slam of the the four major trout species - brook, brown, cutthroat, rainbow.

We'll hope she finds time to find her way to some of these small streams on her own to further hone her newly rediscovered skills! Happy fishing!

Return to Currant Creek

Thursday was my day to fish with my nephew-in-law, Mike Dover and his son Ethan, who has recently decided that fly-fishing is a pretty cool thing to do. We headed to Currant Creek below the reservoir where a few years ago we found some outstanding browns. We left early and arrived before the sun was above the hills, parking near where we had fished a few years ago. Heading to the stream, we found - dam! No, not a curse word (although it became one that morning). Currant Creek is noted for having many beaver dams, and sure enough, busy beavers had converted the running section we fished a few years ago into a series of beaver dams. We spent a couple hours thrashing through willow thickets and deep mud, but found no willing fish. The only fish I saw was a monster that followed my fly at a distance in a deeper section of one of the dams. Regrouping, we decided to head up to a section known as the narrows, where the creek tumbles through a brief narrow canyon.

I headed down to fish a beautiful looking run downstream while Mike headed for a beaver dam where a nice fish had just risen. While I was downstream, Mike found a couple on an elk-hair caddis.

I think this was the fish from the beaver pond

Downstream, I had no luck on the dry hopper or dropper despite the lovely looking run. There had to be a fish there! Tried a couple other flies with no luck. Then I turned over a rock and saw a bunch of very small, gray larvae. Which got me thinking (that's a change!). This was a tailwater, and past experience from the Provo River below Deer Creek was that a very small midge larva was often the ticket. So I put on a size 12 psycho caddis (I also found bright green caddis larva) with a size 20 gray midge as a trailer. First cast was rewarded with a nice sized flash and a takedown of the indicator, but the set came up empty. That often happens seems to happen with a size 20 fly. After spoiling the lower section of the run unhooking the fly from some branches, I quickly found another fish in the upper half of the run, on the size 20. Things were beginning to look up.

Mike was still working the beaver dam, Ethan was sidelined as the water was just a little too cold for him wet wading (he has a little less natural insulation than Mike or I do). I moved upstream to find some moving water. Passing a shallow riffle, I found a short deeper run by a grassy bank. First cast, a couple flashes, takedown, miss. Second cast, a flash, another miss. Third cast, takedown, solid set and a nice brown to hand, on the size 20.

Moving to the right hand branch of the stream split, I flipped the flies into a nice pool and immediately had another small brown, on the size 20. I called Mike up, and we rigged both their rods with similar flies from my box of midges I bought for my visit to the Provo several years ago when my daughter was married (read about it here). I directed Mike to have Ethan, who had been having a tough day (ice cold water, bushwacking through fishless beaver dams), toss the fly into the nice hole where I had just pulled out the small brown. Ethan did as directed, and immediately hooked and landed a much nicer brown. Yup, size 20 gray midge was definitely the fly of the day. We continued to fish up, finding enough fish to keep us happy. Ethan found the biggest fish of the day in a small run below a beaver dam.

The big fish of the day; he could have made it look huge with a proper long-arm...

I followed him and found another, smaller brown in the same run. I told Ethan it was rather rude to take the biggest fish and leave the smaller one for me, especially since he was using my fly and I had left the bigger one for him down below. He just grinned more thinking about his big fish.

Action stills

I found quite a few more smaller browns, a couple on the psycho, but pretty much all on the size 20 gray midge. A great day fishing with Mike and Ethan, started slow, but we were able to figure it out and come up with a couple nice fish for Ethan. And I know what fly I will have in my box the next time I visit Currant Creek... 

A day to myself on Diamond Fork

Today was the day in my week for solo fishing. I arose reasonably early and headed to Diamond Fork armed with great intel from Mike Dover, who has been fishing there several times a week this year. He said he's been consistently finding nice cutts and smallish browns. 

On the water about 9 am, I quickly missed a nice cut in a side channel, but then saw no other fish in the next couple of holes. I was beginning to have doubts after floating my fly above a beautiful drop off near a small logjam with nary a looker, but the doubts were quickly dispelled after six nice cutts in succession rose to my fly in a large eddy against the far bank. Beautiful Bonneville cutts, a joy to watch in the clear water, slowly rising to take the Morrish hopper. 

From that point on, the action was consistent, though frustrating at times. For every fish that took the fly, there were four or five that would slowly rise, follow it downstream with their nose right on it, then they'd turn away. And if the did take it, they were facing downstream, making the hookset very difficult since I was fishing upstream. Maybe the fish are just getting tired of the Morrish hopper after Mike's frequent trips. Or maybe I could have used one size smaller on the fly, since the natural hoppers in the grass were pretty small. But it's hard to complain when you have complete solitude on a long stretch of a beautiful, clear stream full of fish. 

No cutts were found in the riffles, all in the deeper runs. Then about halfway through my day I started picking up fat little browns in the riffles and pockets, all cookie cutter 10 to 11 inches and stout. These guys hit the hopper much more aggressively.

The occasional cutt would still show up, but browns were the norm for the afternoon. About 13 inches was the biggest to hand, popped the hook out of a couple that would have run 16 inches or so, and had a 20-plus inch monster nose up to my hopper in full broadside view before turning away. When I described the location to Mike, he said in the same hole last year he had hooked and lost a huge fish. Could be the same one. Showed no interest when I tried running a bugger or streamer through the hole. Maybe Mike can get him one of these days. 

Arriving at a bridge around 15:30, I could have continued for several more hours, but I'd received a call that my car was ready to pick up from the shop, and with the easy out from the stream, decided to call it a day (the alternator on my car died yesterday when Mel and I stopped in Heber for dinner, luckily not in the remote mountains where we had been earlier in the day). Pretty much a perfect day!

Cutthroat Slam for Melinda

Tuesday was the day for Melinda to finish her cutthroat slam. I had a number of options lined up to find her a Bonneville and a Colorado River cutthroat. But fishing is never certain, and so it was today. We started at some beaver ponds off the South Fork of the Provo River. I've consistently caught fish in these, and the last visit there were three ponds full of Bonneville cutts that were pretty easily caught. I figured this was a quick, slam dunk for Melinda. However, the fish had other plans. There were a few rising in the first pond, but Mel's casts were a bit slappy and quickly drove them back in the willows. The other two ponds were mostly silted in and no fish were seen. But we did get some good casting practice in a beautiful location.

The South Fork of the Provo was the backup plan, having yielded many cutts in past years, but we didn't see a fish through a nice stretch of water. Things were looking grim for the slam. We decided to head for the Upper West Fork of the Duchense to try to find a Colorado River cutt and maybe try Diamond Fork tributaries later in the week for the Bonneville. But while driving along the tiny Mill Hollow Creek, a tributary of the S Fork Provo known for having brook trout, I spied a beaver dam just off the road, and thought perhaps there might also be the odd cutthroat. So I turned around and pulled off the road. Melinda was tired (i.e., discouraged) and wanted to stay in the car, so I told her I'd go check it out. I approached the 4-ft high dam and flipped my renegade into the small pool above. It immediately disappeared and I pulled out a six-inch Bonneville cutt. I returned to let Mel know what I'd found, and she literally jumped into her waders and was ready to go with rod in hand.

We carefully approached the dam and Mel flipped her renegade into the calm water behind the dam. It quickly disappeared and Mel lifted what appeared to be another cutthroat out of the water. But before I could get the net under it, the fish shook itself free and dropped back into the pond. No picture, no slam. Dang. Out goes the fly again (this was a tiny pond and Mel's casts were much improved) and here comes another fish, this time a brook trout. Then again, and again, and again. I think about five brookies in a row. 

Beautiful fish, but it's not the brook trout slam

Another cast and another fish, this time, more silvery in color. A quick lift into the net and we confirmed the catch of a small Bonneville cutt! We were back on track, only the Colorado River cutt left to go. 

With the Bonneville cutthroat to hand, Mel graciously allowed me to cast, and I promptly landed a nice brookie. Why stop when there are still fish biting? Mel cast to the right, partly across the grass at the edge of the pond, and what I thought was a snag on the grass jumped clean out of the water, a 12 or 13-inch cutthroat that spit the hook back at her. We finally ran out of willing fish in the small pond and got back in the car with big smiles to try to find the last cutt for the slam.

As we reached the top of the mountains and turned towards the West Fork of the Duchense, the road turned rough and rocky. Although it was probably doable in the RAV, we'd have to go several miles at a very slow pace and would be rather isolated on what appears to be an infrequently travelled road if anything were to happen, so we turned around and headed for the Colorado River cutthroat backup plan, the small tributaries of Currant Creek reservoir.

We pulled off where Currant Creek crosses the road, and just up from the road found a very small beaver dam that created a small backup of still water in the stream channel. Mel hooked the willows behind her several times before the fly finally made it to the water, where we watched a small fish take the fly and quickly spit it before she could set the hook. A few more casts, a few more hits, then finally one stayed on the hook and she was able to lift a small Colorado River cutthroat to where I could get the net under it. Slam complete!

We fished up a little more, caught a few, missed others, and finally called it a day. A tired, but happy smile was on Melinda's face as she fell asleep on the drive back home.

A Gift for Grandpa

I stayed in Utah for the week after my mom's 90th birthday bash with nothing on my schedule but fishing. Monday was daddy/daughter day with Jessica and Melinda accompanying me to the upper Logan river in search of the Bear River cutthroat. This week we were hoping to finish the cutthroat slam that Melinda started in 2018, having caught only the Yellowstone cutt.

What a good looking group of fishermen (fishers?)

Another goal of the trip was for the girls to better learn to fish independently as I probably helped them too much when they were younger. They want to be able to do this on their own when I'm not with them, and they quickly showed that we don't have to worry too much about that. We went in at the first pullout above the bridge in Franklin Basin and both girls immediately hooked fish.

Halfway to the slam!

Her first fish got off before the picture, this was a later one

The girls were kind enough to allow me to take an occasional turn.

Fish were somewhat scattered, not as many as we usually find later in the year (being two days after this area opens for the year, it could have been hit pretty hard the previous two days). Girls fished the renegade. I got a couple on the hopper. As is normal for this stream, we spent plenty of time in the streamside brush, which luckily can usually be bent down to where the fly can be reached.

On the way out, stopped at Temple Fork and saw only one fish hiking up a little from the trailhead. Below the parking area, I found several browns and cutts along the road (hopper and renegade) while the girls rested in the car. Then on to Logan for dinner and to Smithfield, where we visited grandpa's (my dad's) grave. Since we had kept a few fish for Jessica to eat, we decided to decorate his grave in a way we knew he would appreciate:

Just following the instructions on the gravestone...family, fishing, and fun

Wonderful day with wonderful girls. And half of Melinda's cutthroat slam complete.

Always kiss the fish and tell them thanks!

  

Finally Finishing the Utah Cutthroat Slam II...

Back in 2018, the Merrill boys and nephew-in-law Mike Dover fished together for a week pursuing the Utah Cutthroat Slam - catching the four Utah-native sub-species of cutthroat in their native waters. I (Rick) had completed the slam on a visit to Utah a few weeks previous, but fell short of completing a second slam with a miserable performance in trying to hook a Yellowstone cutthroat in the tiny creeks of the Raft River Mountains in NW Utah. (read about it here). Luckily, there is no time limit on completing the slam, so I could hope to complete the slam some time in the future.

Driving to Utah by myself for mom's 90th birthday party finally gave me the excuse to seek redemption. I left a day early after work and arrived to an isolated pullout at Onemile Creek well past midnight with the Milky Way bright overhead. After a few hours of restless sleep in the back of my RAV4, the sun rose through the haze of wildfire smoke. But was the red sky a portent of failure or redemption?

I tried the short section of Onemile below the road with no success, then walked in a ways to a section of Sawmill that appeared on the satellite images to be a little more open. There I quickly picked up a little Yellowstone cutthroat to complete my slam.

With the pressure off, I just enjoyed the rest of the morning. Much of the fishing was in "open" water like this, where you could stretch your rod out dangling the fly from a foot or so of line and hoping you could hook the fish with a little strip set.

Dip the fly on the dark water behind the branches to get the fish below

I was remarkably successful, finding five more in Sawmill, the largest a whopping 7 inches.

With time to spare, I made the short drive over to Johnson Creek to check out a different section than I fished with Melinda in 2018 on my successful first slam. I'm very glad I did, as I found another 8 or 9 bigger and more colorful cutts on the slightly larger, but still overgrown stream. 

Caught fish with the full repertoire of small, brushy stream techniques, including dangling, dipping, dragging, and bow and arrow, along with the occasional actual cast in the rare opening in the brush.

Spent five minutes trying to get a bow and arrow cast through some brush in front of this fish. Then another ten minutes trying to get it further up the pool where a bigger fish was holding, which I missed when it exploded on the fly when I finally got the fly where to where the fish could see it.

Redemption was reached. All in all a fun and fabulous morning. #everytripisanexcusetofish

Absolutely beautiful coloring on these fish

Tom Lives (and still fishes)

 I know we like to rag on Tom for his lack of posts to this blog.  I had the chance to fish with him Monday on the Yakima River and since we haven't heard from him in a while, I asked him for a quote to begin this post:

    "I like to fish," said Tom.

Rob tried "Portrait mode" on his new iPhone and liked the results

There you have it.  We've now heard from Tom.  However, today, he also let the fish speak for him as he pulled out his "fish whisperer" mode and despite us using nearly identical flies, (mine was a size 8 and his a size 10), and despite me being in the front of the boat and getting my fly over all the fish first, he still managed to have many more fish to the fly than did I.  So much for my "front ending" him.

We spent the morning fishing with Shan from Red's Flyshop.  He was great as always.  Skilled on the oars, told us where to put the flies, modifying as conditions warranted, dodging the flying fish when I set the hook just a wee bit too hard, gently and confidently netting our fish, and telling me to not cast back upstream when I missed a fish.  He even had cold drinks for us!  We always enjoy fishing with Shan and have fond memories of his courage and grace when he went to Alaska with the Merrill Boys in 2019.  

    See that adventure here:  Alaska Adventures with Shan

We put in in the upper canyon and were on the water and casting by 5:00am as it began to lighten up.  River flow was up and slight turbidity was present.  Air temps were in the mid-60's which felt absolutely wonderful compared to the blast furnace we've been experiencing in Wenatchee.  Fish were a bit scattered but were hitting the fly strangely for the first couple of hours, making hookset challenging for me.  That's my story and I'm sticking by it.  By the time the sun was up, they began to become more consistent and it was fun to watch them come up to the fly.  Sometimes it was disconcerting to watch them swim downstream following the fly and decide not to strike at the last minute.

Tom should have used "Portrait mode"
on Rob's new iPhone for a better photo

We were off the water around 10:00 and headed home with new memories of fish found and fish missed.  And a photo of Tom to prove that he still fishes, even though he may have some reticence to blog writing.