Another Blue Line and a Great Black Fishday

Sunshine, solitude, lots of small, wild bows with the chance for an occasional lunker, another new stream (#128 for Rick - we need Tom to add up and report his total if he isn't too embarrassed how far behind he is - but then again, I have nine extra years on him...). Trash talk aside, it was about as perfect of a Black Fishday as you could get.

The plan was to avoid the Ford and check out a new blue line on the map, where rumor had it some trout could be found. With morning temperatures in the teens predicted in the Columbia Basin, we chose a late 8 am start when the sun was full up to give it a chance to warm up. After the obligatory #8 at McDs, we were on our way. It was a balmy 24°F when we left, then as we approached our destination, a few fog banks appeared, and the temp dropped to 18°F. Memories of Black Friday on the Touchet two years ago, but by the time we arrived at our destination, the sun was shining through the mist, making the 18°F seem a little warmer. 

"Prime" trout water; doesn't look like much, but any water full of trout is prime to us!

Looking down from the bridge, we immediately spotted a few small trout, then more and more. Just upstream a school of thirty or so small rainbows could be seen, and fish were actually rising with the temp at 18°F! It was going to be a good day! I tried my hand at catching one off the bridge, but that would have to wait for Tom at the end of the day. Dropping into the stream, Tom fished below, I fished above. Trying small nymphs first, we each caught a couple small, pretty rainbows, but soon switched to stripping small buggers after Tom caught one about 16" on a black conehead bugger.

First rainbow from Stream 128 for Rick

I found a few more willing fish upstream, but they were easily spooked in the shallow, small water. I turned around and headed down to catch up with Tom, and quickly found the technique to avoid spooking the fish was to swing the bugger straight downstream. Hard to hook them, maybe one hookup for every three or four strikes, but we still caught multiple dozens of fish, Yep, it was a good day. Walking down by some still, deep water I saw a number of large fish, 16" to probably more than 20" in with a school of smaller ones. Stripping the bugger through them, I could only get interest from one little guy. But that would change when coming back up with Tom later....

I finally caught up with Tom, and we worked our way down, side by side, catching fish after fish after fish. In every run there were schools of dozens that would dart every which way as we waded through.

The rare solitary fish in this stream; we saw them in schools of dozens in every run

At one deeper hole, we surprisingly found no love for the buggers. Tom walked right up to the top of the hole, and saw a school of forty or fifty sitting right there below him in plain sight. In a brilliant moment of inspiration that can only be attributed to instinct, since Tom has only fly-fished since he could stand on two feet, he brought out the San Juan worm fly and began to dip fish like the primal bait-chucker (minus the styrofoam cup of worms, of course). And immediately, he had a fish. Then another. And another. After about six in a row, I got out the camera to catch this new and effective fly-fishing technique on camera - stand in plain sight of the fish, drop a worm-like fly in front of them, watch them eat it, then pull them in. 

Mostly small, he did entice one of the larger fish in the school to take his worm, I mean, fly...

Tom and a nice-sized rainbow

We continued fishing until the sun became low over the steep banks of the stream. Several hours of fishing, and we had only covered a little more than 1/2-mile of stream. And we had another access point to check out on this day of exploration.

I love finding trout in unique, out of the way places

On the walk back, we dropped into the stream to see if we could entice one of the big boys I had seen to give us a fight. I tried drifting a bead through the run, while Tom returned to the worm. No love for the bead, but Tom saw one of the big ones spook as we approached and head under the grass right at his feet. He dipped the San Juan Worm into the water, and watched as the monstrous fish approached the fly, opened its mouth, and sucked it in. He set the hook and the beast took off upstream, took his line into some floating tumbleweeds, and came unhooked. How to experience both exquisite joy and pain at the same time!

Back at the truck, Tom caught his obligatory fish off the bridge, and we were on our way to check out access at another point on our way home. As the road turned from paved to gravel to dirt, we were not met by any "No Trespassing" signs, and ended up on a bluff above the now larger stream. The sun was nearly to the horizon, and Tom had taken his waders off earlier, so we debated if we should check it out now, or another time. Well, we were here, and I was still ready to fish, so I found a path down to make a few swings while Tom watched from the bluff above. First hole, a good tug after a few swings, then the next cast, this nice fat rainbow.

A good little rainbow - note Tom on the bluff above

A little further down, a good, solid two pulls on the swing, but no hookup. That was a solid fish, but then nothing more. Tom was gracious enough to let me check out the likely run upstream. Not enough light to see how deep the water was, but it looked nice. Casting across and swinging/stripping the black bead-head bunny, I had a good hit, but again, no hookup. A few casts later, another, this time solidly hooked. As the fish jumped, even Tom from the distant bluff could see it was a good one. So as the sun was sinking below the horizon, I landed this fat, 18-inch rainbow, a fitting end to one of the best Black Fishdays ever!

A fat beast to end the day

I had visited this stream with Rob years ago when we first moved to the area, but couldn't remember for sure if we had caught fish in it, so it wasn't on my list of streams. Today definitely cleared that uncertainty up with an exclamation point. We will be back to visit this beauty again.

Lower Boise

Mel and some friends were running this weekend in the Nike Cross cross-country meet in Boise. Not because they are good, just because it would be fun. And fun is what I also found, since the meet was held at Eagle Island State Park, which splits the Boise River into a north and south section. My research found that although it may not be prime trout water, there can be nice trout in this section. No special regulations, and with limited public access and a large nearby population, it probably gets hit pretty hard, but hey, it is fishing, and every trip is an excuse to fish...

At the park entrance, the girls went straight and I turned right to a sportsman's access at the Eagle fish hatchery. Apparently, this is the hatchery that is working to restore the Snake River sockeye, quite successfully from what I have seen. It was a beautiful morning, empty parking lot, no wind, sun just coming above the trees. A short walk brought me to a smaller channel of several braids in the river. Fishing a psycho prince followed by a red copper john, in short order I found a small whitefish, followed quickly by about a 10-inch rainbow. Then nothing more.

Baby whitefish

Pretty little rainbow

Further upstream found a couple more nice runs, tried streamers, buggers, but nothing more. I heard the gun starting the girls' race, and made my way back to the starting point and fished another braid. Still nothing. So I packed things up and called Mel to see if they would be ready to go soon. She asked if it was OK if they wanted to stay longer to watch a friend race later. I said no problem, there are two more access points I could check out. So off I went, downstream about 10 miles to another access point. Obviously heavily used, by fisherman and hunters, but no one there at the time. Satellite images on my phone directed me up to the head of an island in the braids, and I found a nice broad run, first fishing the bugger with a red copper john, then switching back to the psycho. Patiently working my way up, fishing from the bank to the middle of the current, I finally had a takedown as the indicator was nearly beside me in the waist deep water. A lively, 15-inch or so rainbow took the psycho, and after a brief fight, came unhooked as I was trying to get the net under it. Finding nothing more to the top of the run, I went upstream and crossed to fish down the other side. Working my way down the nice looking water, another takedown, this time a 15-inch whitefish on the copper john.

Nice-sized whitefish

By now, it was about time to meet the girls, so I made my way back to the car. Nothing spectacular about the fishing, but anytime you can find some fish in addition to solitude on a pretty stream, it is a great day!

I'm Thankful for the Ice Age Floods...

Sitting in a float tube in the middle of a lake, I realized that a large fraction of the nearby places we fish are a direct result of glacial Lake Missoula and its humongous floods - Nunya, Little Nunya, Lenore, Rocky Ford, Dusty, Homestead - all carved out by the Ice Age Floods that swept across Eastern Washington in the not-too-distant past. So in this month of thanksgiving, I am thankful for those floods, and of course, for Him whose creations provided the landscape to be molded by those floods and the fish to fill the streams and lakes left by them (there Tom, I even got the floods into the blog!). Which brings us to our outing today into another flood-carved area, the Drumheller Channels and the seep lakes.

The flood-carved channels and seep lakes

Joining again with our favorite chironomid fishing expert, Kirk Morris, we met Tom at the parking lot for the short hike to Quail Lake, a small, fly-fishing only lake hidden in the basalt cliffs and flood carved channels, like the 50 or so other lakes that dot this unique area. A short hike of less than ten minutes or so brought us to the fog-shrouded lake, and we quickly launched our tubes and made our way through the muddy shallows to deeper water.

Fog on Quail Lake

Trolling buggers on a sinking line, Rick and Kirk found a couple fish like the fat rainbow below and Tom had some short strikes, but no hookups. Nice fish that fought really well, but not a lot of them.

Rick's fat, feisty rainbow from Quail Lake

Kirk and a nice Quail rainbow

With a couple fish to hand in the far end of the lake, Kirk of course decided it was time to bring out the chironomids, and he started fishing under the bobber as the fog cleared and the sun warmed us. After some epic whiffs, he hooked and landed a nice one on a strike that barely moved his indicator.

Kirk and his chironomids

Hooked right where it is supposed to be...

Tom brought out the chironomids and also found a fat, feisty rainbow.

Fighting...

Landing...

Showing...

Although the fish were good-sized and healthy, they were too few and far between for our liking. And we had another lake or two we wanted to explore, So off we headed to North Windmill, a slightly larger lake with another short hike in. While stopping for a quick break at the facilities at Windmill Lake, fish were seen jumping just out from a nearby basalt wall, and by the time I got out of the outhouse, Tom was already there fishing. Kirk and I made our way over, and we found abundant, but small fish (7" to 10") that would take a stripped bugger on almost every cast, or with less frequency, a dead drifted chironomid. The day was passing into afternoon, and Kirk really wanted to check out North Windmill. The hike brought us to the outlet end of lake, where dramatic cliffs ringed the lake and separated it from the larger Windmill Lake by just a few tens of yards. We made our way down the steep slope to the lake and began kicking around trolling buggers again. In a change from the nearby Windmill, we found no action and saw no fish rising.

Tom and Kirk on North Windmill

Looking  up North Windmill

At the outlet, a small creek flowed through a cleft in the cliffs and dropped down a small waterfall into Windmill Lake. We pulled out and walked down to try Windmill at this point, and again found some willing, but smallish fish. Tom and Kirk returned back to North Windmill where Kirk hooked and fought one decent fish, but that was the only action there. I fished Windmill a little more without additional success, then decided to hike back by a different route to where we had first started at Windmill so I could enjoy the flood-carved scenery.

Pelican in a bay on Windmill on my walk back

Back at the Windmill parking area, Tom bid us farewell and headed back to Wenatchee. Kirk and I tried off the basalt wall again, with less success, but noted fish jumping all throughout the narrow lake. Into the tubes we went, slowly kicking down, then back up the narrow channel, stripping buggers and leeches, and finding lots of fish. Still not much size, most 8" to 12", I landed one that was maybe 13" or 14", and Kirk hooked a monster that turned out to be a little guy tail-snagged so he fought like a big guy. It was a perfect evening, a little drizzle, no wind, lots of fish, kicking, casting, stripping, and catching side-by-side while we talked. I had forgotten to change out of my sunglasses, so dusk came early and I could barely see for the last 45 minutes or so. Then it really did get dark. For the last 15 minutes kicking back to the car, I missed a half-dozen or more fish, and when I reeled in at the takeout, I found out why. My second fly was gone, and my bugger was tied up in knots and dragging backwards through the water. Lesson learned. Don't fish in the dark with sunglasses and no headlamp.

And the fish were still hitting it...

It was full dark and raining when we pulled out, but we had fish hitting all the way to the end. So we didn't find our dream lake full of monster trout just waiting to suck in any fly tossed their way. But we found a few nice fish, lots of little ones, saw some beautiful country, and shared some great company. All while fishing in the path left by the Ice Age floods. What's not to be thankful for?

In the Seeps with Tom and Rick

October 17, 2015

I stared at the tippet, lightly rippling in the slight breeze. Lightly rippling because there was no longer a fly attached. But that is a story for the end of the day...

The day started, as any good day fishing should, in the pre-dawn hours with two #8 meals from McDs with orange juice (one for Tom, one for me). Our eventual goal was a familiar seep lake we hadn't visited in some time, but on the way we visited a couple wasteway drains, hoping to find the water low at the end of the irrigation season. The first was still running high, but Tom managed to entice a small rainbow up to a swinging bugger, a new stream for him. He might make it to 100 one of the days. The next is somewhat like a spring creek, clear, cold, fairly stable flow. What isn't like the spring creek is that it runs mostly in a straight line at the bottom of a large ditch dug into the flat plain. Walls so steep it is hard to climb, a thread of a bank between the slope and the grass and rushes that line the edge of the drain. But there are fish here, and so we are here too. Tom for some unknown reason didn't have a psycho prince on. I did, and after I had four small rainbows to hand (stream #126), Tom put one on too, and promptly found his own fish. 

Nice little rainbow - Stream #126

You can't lose fishing a big ditch by a culvert

Moving up to another section, Tom spotted a larger fish from his vantage spot at the top of the bank and directed my cast right over the holding fish. First cast a little short, second cast just right, and the fish darted from the bottom to attack....my strike indicator! I saw the full back of maybe a 15" rainbow as it tried to swallow the indicator, ignoring both flies hanging underneath. That was all the action here, so on to our actual destination. 

The destination lake requires about a 3/4 mile hike in, carrying our float tubes. We have never caught large numbers here in recent years, but the fish that are caught are usually good sized. Lots of midges coming off, but no sign of fish. Tried chironomids off the basalt walls, nothing. With it getting warm, we decided to kick around a little to see if we could find anything. Pulling black and green buggers/leeches, I kicked down to one end of the small lake and back, Tom trolled around the rock walls. Nothing. As we passed, Tom tangled the fly line, allowing his intermediate line to sink. Suddenly, fish on! A mad fight as he tried to get the tangle out of the fly line before the good-sized fish made a good run. A short time later, he had a nice 19" to 20" rainbow to hand.

Tom and his nice rainbow, skillfully caught.

A little more trolling found him a couple more strikes, one fought for a short time, but that was it. Out of the lake, we wanted to explore the inlet creek, having fished it years before, but not finding any fish. This time proved to be different. After hiking another 3/4 mile or so, we worked our way down to the creek. The small creek winding through a scabland channel creates a beautiful oasis in the sagebrush-covered landscape. A great-blue heron made way for us as we approached the creek. Stretches of slow meanders lined with cattails, occasionally narrowing to short stretches where it tumbles around and over basalt boulders, the small creek looks promising. It did our last visit also, but this time would prove different.

Beautiful little creek in a scabland canyon

Tom quickly found a few small Tiger trout, while I moved upstream to search for some of my own. After a number of misses, I eventually got this small Tiger hooked and to hand. Stream #127!

Small Tiger trout and Stream #127

Heading back downstream, I moved past Tom to the next stretch of moving water. The small stream, narrowed to barely five or six feet wide, dropped over some large boulders into a frothy pool of water at the head of a nice looking run. As I approached the top of the hole, I had to first make a token toss into the white water before moving a little closer to fish the inviting run below. Unhooking the bead-head olive leech from my rod, I casually tossed it into the bubbly water without pulling out any extra line. Instantly, the water exploded in a huge splash. Not having any slack line off the reel, the rod tip bent sharply down, then bounced right back up, leaving my 4x tippet dangling in the wind. It was over in less than a second, before I could even think about doing anything. Tom had just come down in time to see the whole thing happen. Now that was a fish I wish I could at least have fought for a moment. While I tied back on, Tom moved into position, made a cast downstream into the run, and promptly hooked a monster rainbow for this tiny stream, maybe 19" long. Fought it for a time, but lost it before we could get it to the net. And that was the end of the day. Making our way up out of the small canyon and back to our float tubes, we were marveled at the fish we had lost, while making plans for a return trip to see if we could find them again...  

Scabland Creeks

October 9, 2015 Somewhere East of the Cascades...

My Hanford Friday off led me to plan a trip with Kirk Morris to a couple creeks in the scablands - Nunya and Little Nunya. With the dry weather, Nunya was little and Little Nunya was almost non-existent. But despite the low water we were able to find a few fish.

Early morning arrival at Nunya found the water really low. Hoppers gone, fishing black buggers, me with indicator, Kirk just stripping. Kirk quickly found a nice rainbow.

Kirk and his first rainbow from Nunya

Shortly thereafter, Kirk had a large rainbow, in the range of 18" to 20" explode from under the grass, then dive back into the grass and promptly come unhooked. Things were looking good if the first few holes were like this. We each caught a few, all rainbows about 12" to 16", all on black buggers, all in the first few holes and then in the moving water above the first big stretch of slack water. 

Rick with a bow from water that is normally running

Kirk and a nice 16" rainbow

After that, nothing. No fish spooked, no strikes, and barely enough water to drift. Kirk had one follow at the dirt bank corner, but after that we were ready to leave. It is hoped that the browns have taken shelter in the slack water and under the banks. You can see how low it is from this picture looking down on the corner at the dirt bank.

The dirt bank corner, normally rushing water all the way across

Second stop was Little Nunya. There was so little water, that everywhere was like fishing the still water of a beaver pond. Fish were really spooky, but we were able to get a few. 

A typical Little Nunya rainbow

The real purpose of the adventure was to hike in further to check out the water upstream. Cross country through the sagebrush for about 1.5 miles brought us to the edge of the scabland channel. Looking down we could see water, but almost nothing flowing. Enough for fish to survive, but not enough to entice us to climb down and fish. We will come back another time when more water is flowing to enjoy more than the view. 

Beautiful view of the Little Nunya coulee

With that, our day was done, and we returned home before dark, much to the surprise of our wives. Just so they don't get used to that... 

Returning from Rexburg

The one good thing about dropping of your kid at Rexburg is the trip back. After getting Sarah unloaded and a little bit groceried-up, I headed west to Birch Creek, where the Milky Way filled the overhead sky as I put together my bed in the back of the RAV, and the sound of the creek lulled me to sleep through the slightly open window. I awoke as it was getting light and got things ready for a little fishing before I moved on. Birch Creek was the same as always - clear, fast, not much holding water, but willing fish to be found. I fished long enough to catch these nice little rainbows and a few others, typical of the fish here - 7" to 10" - on a double nymph. It is such a pretty little spot

Nice litte rainbow before the sun was up

A little nicer rainbow shortly thereafter

Enough of the little guys, on to the South Fork of the Boise, my first time to visit there. The first pullout I stopped at, I saw red salmon paired up in the run below (kokanee). So I put on the heavy stonefly and a sockeye bead, and promptly caught a 21" ---- whitefish. Shortly thereafter, a 19" ----- sucker. A couple more very feisty whitefish, then finally a decent sized rainbow, about 12". I kept the bead on and worked my way down the wide run, kind of like fishing the Kulik, except not so many fish and mostly whitefish and you aren't surrounded by grizzly bears. Heck, it was fun. The whitefish were aggressive and fought hard. As I cast into the shore behind a pair of red kokanee, there was an quick hit and a large silver flash, not yellow, that broke the 5x tippet on the strike. Dang! That was likely a rainbow. A short time later, I finally found a thick rainbow, 19" long, and got it into the net.

19" South Fork Boise rainbow

I found a couple more whitefish before moving down to another section, where the water ran fast and heavy. Fishing pocket water and a couple slots along the edge away from the main current, I found a number of other rainbows, up to 14", but that guy leaped from my hand right before I pushed the shutter button. Some on Turk's Tarantula, Size 10 or 12, some on a size 16 irresistible, some on a size 12 golden stone, even one on the psycho prince size 16. This place is a cool canyon, pretty stream, and definitely some nice fish. With a little more exploring, and bringing someone like Tom along who knows what they are doing, and I'm sure we could find more. Come in mid-September when the kokanee are in, and enjoy the poor man's Alaska, beading behind salmon.

A Good Morning

I (Rick) started a new job with an eight-nines schedule, which means I have every-other Friday off. Today was my first Friday off, and having just finished my hardwood floor install last week, I was due for a reward. And a nice reward it was.

Leaving town as the sun was coming up with the #8 meal from McDonalds in hand, I hoped to beat the high winds that were due later in the morning. At 8 am, I pulled up to one of my favorite pull-offs along the Touchet River, and was soon wet-wading in the cool water. Staring with a double psycho, I picked up some small guys, 4" to 7" long. The only fish of size I saw came up and hit the red thingambobber. So I switched to a dry, and continued to catch mostly small ones. Switching back and forth a few more times, I had a nice one about 12" come flying clean out of the water with the psycho as soon as it hit the water, losing the fly with its acrobatics. However, I finally settled on a small, parachute Adams, which was brought abundant action, but still mostly the little guys. Fun, but I was wondering where the bigger fish (relatively speaking) were.

Non-stop action on the dry for guys this size and smaller

After running the dry through one of the deeper holes below some big boulders, I switched to the #12 psycho, which I had avoided due to the shallower water earlier (the river is running about 28 cfs instead of the normal 50 or so summertime flow). Immediately, a couple fish. I think I wasn't getting down before. Just above this hole was a spot where an overgrown alder covers the whole river. I remember it because last October fishing with Kirk Morris, I made an awesome sidearm cast, dropped the fly all the way under the tree, and picked up a nice fish while he watched from below. Well, today, I was below and casting up into the last little bit of the tail out below the tree. First cast, immediate 10" fish. Second cast, the same. Third cast, ditto. The fly would barely start drifting before another 9" to 11" rainbow was on. Repeated at least a dozen and a half times on successive casts. Pretty awesome. Occasionally on the dry (small orange Stimulator Chew Toy), but mostly on the psycho.

The psycho right where it should be; I had nearly two dozen casts into the area below the tree
 in the background with fish on every cast before all the willing fish had sore lips

Approaching the bridge exit, the fish were fewer, but a number were found in each of the holes, again mixed on the dry and dropper. Three and a half hours passed seemingly in an instant, filled with images of slow rises, quick darts, and stream-clearing leaps, all focused on my tiny fly.

Yes, it was a good morning. 

Middle Provo

Last day in Utah gave me (Rick) a little time to join the daily crowd on the Middle Provo. This is a beautiful section of river, reconstructed a number of years ago from a diked channel to a natural meandering river channel. Fish populations responded favorably, and the river now has a population in the range of 3000 fish per mile. Lots of fish, but not necessarily easy to catch.

I found ten cars in the access parking lot, but since this provides access to a couple miles of stream, there would be plenty of room to find open water. I hiked downstream for 15 minutes before starting to find my way to the water. Fished a riffle with a few rising fish, but no takers on the dry or dropper. Then a nice bit of slow water next to the bank and willows. Nothing but a small one on the dropper. Then I moved down to a larger hole, and a short time after arriving, fish begin to rise, first here and there, then everywhere. All sizes, from 8" or so to 15" or more. I watched them come up and splash the surface, sometimes porpoising, to grab whatever they were eating. The ignored the dry for the most part, a couple clearly looking at it, but turning away. With no flies visible on the water, I switched to a small, cripple fly that floats in the film. I got a number of takers, or near takers at least. Not sure if I was just slow or if they never really took it in. I finally hooked a small one that got off, but after that, nothing but looks, not even splashes. I had mistakenly left one of my boxes at the condo, the one with most of my small dries and cripples. I did have another box with some, and tried most of the flies in the box to no avail, along with a number of droppers from midges to sow bugs to prince to pheasant tail. Nothing. They only wanted one thing, and I didn't have it. A bit of frustration, but also amazement watching how many fish were in this one run. After an hour or so, things slowed down to only an occasional rise.

Sitting down and taking a break, I called Sarah to ask about her first day of work, called Carlynn, and then noticed some caddis were out and about. I switched to double EHC in two different sizes, and over the next hour or so found several willing fish. They weren't keyed in on it, and there was not a crazy hatch that came on in the late evening hours, but I was able to bring a few more to hand. As dusk approached, I stopped at the first riffle I had fished early, and had numerous strikes, but the glare was bad and it was nearly impossible to follow the fly. At last, stopping at another small pocket I broke off the fly in a fish, and decided it was time to call it a day and meet the family for dinner. Another good day - the girls spent it shopping, I spent it fishing, a rather good arrangement if you ask me.

 

First brown to hand

Nice Middle Provo Brown

 

Fishing with Dover

Today, while all the rest of the family went to Lagoon, the amusement park in Farmington, Utah, I spent the day in one of my favorite amusement parks, the mountains of Utah. With the family gone all day, I had planned a full day of exploring some new water. On a whim Sunday, I had called my nephew-in-law Mike Dover, an occasional guest of this blog, and asked if he would be interested in spending the day with me. He was able to clear his schedule for Tuesday join me in my explorations.

 

I met Mike in Heber, and we first headed to the "Wild Strawberry", a section of tailwater below Strawberry Reservoir and Soldier Creek Dam. The upper section is hike-in from the base of the dam, while the lower section is reached by road from below. We chose to hike in. The trail follows the river closely in the narrow canyon, giving us a constant view of moss filled slack-water behind beaver dams and trout suspended in the clear water. We had committed to hike in at least 20 minutes before we started fishing to get away from the heaviest pressure, but made it only about 7 minutes before an actively feeding fish drew us to the river. A few minutes later, we continued along the trail, the trout having rejected all offerings we proffered. About 25 minutes in we started fishing in earnest in a section of moving water with mostly riffles and some pools around big rocks. No fish were visible, no rises to swarms of small flies on the water (PMDs?), no darting fish as we walked up through the stream. Fishing for about an hour, we saw only two fish, a riser that Mike cast to, and a nice fish that rose to my fly in the shallows next to the bank. This strawberry was tasting a little sour to us, so we hiked back out to try a different fruit at Currant Creek.

 

Currant Creek is a small, brushy stream, also a tailwater, that is noted for having a healthy population of good-sized brown trout. And today, that is what we found. A currant is normally a sour fruit, but for us today, it was as sweet as could be. Pulling into a likely looking access point, we found a small stream, maybe a little smaller than Nunya, with just a little color to the water. I had one about 10" flash under my fly in the first hole, but no takers. A few fish were seen rising in the run above, but again no takers on the dry (Turk's for me with a golden stone dropper, size 16). I found a corner hole up above this, and while Mike was changing to double nymph, I had a fat 11" brown grab the dropper for our first fish of the day.

First brown from Currant Creek

Tossing the fly back into the foamy eddy on the far side, another 11" brown exploded on the dry. Things were looking up. After another couple of small fish, we came to a large beaver dam with fish actively rising throughout. I promptly caught another 11" brown, then Mike and I had a double. I think we caught and/or missed a few more before the fish were spooked. Working my way up to the even larger dam upstream, I was waiting for Mike to tie on and come up the other side for first cast into the fresh water. While waiting, I tossed a fly towards a small stream of water coming in from the side just below the dam. The fly hit the water, a 14" or so trout darted out and grabbed the fly, I did the surprise set, and the fish was last seen twirling in the water below the dam trying to get the fly I had broken off out of its mouth. Mike made it up to the dam, and we again found a couple similarly sized fish and missed a few more. With no reasonable way around this large dam, we headed back to the car, having had enough success to want to explore further upstream. That was a good choice.

 

A few miles upriver, we found the water clear and a stretch of flowing water free from beaver dams. Some rising fish in the first couple holes, but no takers. Then, the fun started. I had run my dry/dropper through the deeper water of a likely run. Nothing. On a whim I tossed into the shallows straight above me. Immediately the dropper snagged on the rocks. Then the snag started moving and rolling and jumping. The 15" snag below came to hand.

 



Nice brown from the shallows

 

Mike, who had been retying flies after breaking off in the willows (a recurring theme on this stream), then came up to give it a try. I pointed out some sticks on the far side where my upstream casting had ended, and he tossed his fly up above them. As the dry drifted by the sticks, we saw a golden shape drift out, turn, and grab his dropper. The fish took off upstream, giving quite the fight before coming to the net, another fat 15" brown (I think Mike sets his drag more like Tom, so that he can feel like small fish are bigger than they are).

Mike and another nice brown

A solid 15 inches

From here on we saw at least one fish in every hole, although most were either missed, didn't quite take, or broke off. The fish in the shallows was no fluke. Pushing through a brushy section, a looked down and saw about a 15" brown sitting next to the bank in water no more than six inches deep. I had one about 18", again casting to the shallows at the side of a hole, that moved slowly up to the dry, sucked it in, and upon my giving the perfect set (no surprise set this time), the line parted at a weak point in the 3x section of tippet halfway up the leader. Aargh! Further upstream, I had seen one about 18" to 20" feeding in a pretty run, and let Mike have the chance to cast to this one as I had just missed a similarly sized one in the bottom of the hole. Mike drifted the fly over, a couple times, then was staring at his boots or something and looked up just in time to see the fly get spit out by the monster. This happened a few more times throughout the day - it was kind of like fishing with Rob!

As the dark clouds and thunder that had been hanging around us all day started to open up, I found one more nice brown, again from the shallows at the side of the hole. Mike was trying to entice one of the risers above him to take, when a very near crack of thunder through the deluge of large drops finally drove us from the river. On the drive home, we both marveled at the large fish we had caught and missed, and declared with certainty that we would be back here again.

Last fish of the day

First Fish on a Fly

Not much time for fishing today, as many in the family hiked to Ruth Lake in the Uintah mountains. Beautiful hike, but I had to drive by a lot of lovely water to get to the trailhead. After the hike, I got together with my brother-in-law, Aaron Wickley, who had flown in from San Diego the night before and really wanted to do some fishing. We first checked out a small creek in a section right next to the main highway. Here Aaron picked up his first fish ever on a fly!

Special guest Aaron Wickley and his first fish on the fly

However, most of the fish were small and there weren't a lot of them, so we decided to head back to my Saturday location to pick up some numbers now that he knew the basics. But it was not to be. As we started walking to the creek from the pullout, the rain started to fall. Then the bolts started to fall. Back into the car we waited, but the storm was slow moving and we eventually gave up and headed down the valley...to where I remembered seeing what could have been a beaver pond next to the road where a side canyon came in.

I have learned that there doesn't have to be much water for there to be trout, especially when beaver ponds are involved. That again proved to be the case. The small creek no more than a couple feet wide and shrouded completely in willows had been dammed by the busy mammals in a couple of places right next to the road. Pushing through willows and grass from near where the culvert went under the road (we know that culverts are most often a good omen for fishing!) we came out on a small dam and pond, just a short cast from the dam to the far end. There were a few fish rising and I could see some cruising. I guided Aaron on some casting, he got his fly out into the middle, and promptly hooked about an 11" or 12" trout, that swam right towards him. With all the slack in the line, he thought he lost it, but got the line tight again and fought it for a bit longer before it came unhooked. But he had a great thrill.

Sadly for Aaron, but good for me, his line got totally tangled with all the fun he had, so being the good guide I am, I promptly cast out and caught a couple fish while he untangled his line (I learned my guiding skills from Tom). We got Aaron back in the water, and while he was trying to get another rise (I think he did miss one or two), I eyed a good sized fish that was nosed up to a little inlet of water coming from the upstream dam at the far end of the pond. It was too far for Aaron to reach with his newbie casting skills, and approaching more closely would likely spook the fish. So I took my renegade (I had changed when the fish in this pond looked at my Turk's dry but didn't hit) and laid it out about a foot behind the trout. I watched it turn, gave a couple short strips to the line, watched the mouth open, the mouth close, then lightly set the hook. Perfectly done! After a short fight, this nice 11" rainbow was brought to hand.

Beautiful trout from the beaver pond

We weren't quite done, yet. Carefully creeping up on the inlet stream, I directed Aaron to cast into the moving water about 15 feet upstream where it spilled over the upstream dam. I was in the water downstream, Aaron was up on the bank. First cast was short, the second he dropped right in the current. As it floated down towards us, we both watched an 11" fish rise slowly to his dry and suck it in. He lifted at just the right moment and had the fish. Aaron's turn for a perfectly executed catch. Sadly, no picture as he tried to lift the flopping fish up to him with the 5x tippet, which promptly broke. That's OK. The memory will stick with him, as will the memory of this beautiful, hidden little pond by the side of the road.

The little pond with the nice fish

A Great Place for a Family Reunion...

July 4, 2015 Near Park City, Utah

We drove down last night for a reunion with all of Carlynn's family, renting a condo in Park City. I was looking forward to this. An informal reunion with lots of open time. And lots of open rivers. Nothing until the family barbeque tonight in Draper. I thought of the nearby Middle Provo and its 3,000 fish per mile. But with it being July 4, there would likely be almost that many fisherman per mile. I decided to head further up into the mountains to check out some small water, where I had seen numerous beaver ponds on Google Earth. And perhaps fewer people.

 

As I drove up the valley, every turnout with accessible water nearby had a car or two. It wasn't looking good. Then, magically, as I reached the National Forest boundary up one of the forks, there were no more people. Several turnouts were passed without a car, and the by now creek-sized stream was sometimes visible in thicket of willows filling the narrow valley bottom. I pulled off one to see if there was a reasonable way down to the creek. Here is what I saw - now the day was looking good.

View of the creek from the pull-out

First hole, I immediately raised a little cutt as I dropped the fly on the other side of a log and watched the fish slowly rise to the dry and suck it in. Then I was into the stream and started up. Initially I caught just a few, one here, one there. Lots of willows on the side, overhanging, but it was open enough to fish in most places.

Nice little run...

With a nice little cutthroats

The creek split here because of multiple outlets from a beaver dam just upstream. Which led to another, and another, and another. Some dams were large with the pool filling most of the bottom of the valley, others were small, just slowing the stream and creating a nice run with a little more depth. All were full of fish, and the stretches of moving water between them were at times incredible. In the little run pictured below, I caught about 20 from the sticks on the left up to the second rock. And more in the run up above until I reached the base of the next dam.

 

Little run between beaver dams

A nice brookie

There was a good bit of somewhat difficult willow-walking between ponds and always the concern about getting stuck in deep mud behind the dams. I found my way around/through each dam after greeting a number of willing fish. Most were beautiful cutthroats, 6" to 10" long. I turned one that might have gone 12". There were also brookies, which surprisingly tended to be larger than the cutts, mostly 8" to 10". Only one rainbow without any cutthroat colorings or markings. So it was a good day, catching three of the four trout species in about 1/4 mile of creek.

Nice cutthroat out of the shallow water below the beaver dam

Brook trout with a little size

Only rainbow of the day

I had started with the Turk's Tarantula, about size 10 or 12, and various droppers, but all action was on the dry, so the dropper came off. After a lot of chewing action from the trout, the legs fell off the Turk's. I had noticed a lot of lookers besides the abundant takers, so I switched to an Irresistible Wulff, size 14 I think. Great fishing became even greater. They really liked that thing, and the upright white hair wings made it easy to see. 

 

After 2 1/2 hours of bliss and dozens of fish, it was close to time to head back for the family barbecue. I came to the largest dam yet, about 5' high, with the pond filling the full bottom of the valley. Fish were rising throughout. Hmm, how long did it take me to drive here? Knowing me well, the heavens sent a little reminder that it was time to go, as a dark cloud approached with sounds of rolling thunder. Even I am not crazy enough to fish in a thunderstorm, so I made my way back to the road and headed back to the car, looking down with a smile on the maze of willows I had passed through, now knowing what was hidden therein. This little gem, which gave me solitude on the Fourth of July weekend, reminded me of the little streams we explored with my Dad when we were little. It will definitely deserve another visit.

Perfect memories