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.

Beating the Heat

Having finished a number of home repairs on my Friday off, and with the upcoming heat wave and the prospect of streams getting too hot to responsibly fish, I decided to make a quick early morning trip back to my local stream. Very early to beat the heat and to have the river to myself for a while on a weekend morning. Started fishing at 5:45 am with the sun still low in the sky. Unusually warm for an early morning, but the water was refreshingly cool. Started lower than my normal starting place to see some new water and found some nice runs. Double psycho prince, size 12 and 16. Had a couple doubles on briefly. About half in the 9 to 12" range. Sixty fish to hand by the time I got to my normal starting place at about 8:15 am. After that, it was dead, only five more fish. Clearly another early riser had jumped in at my normal starting place. I was off the river by 9 am, home before 11 am. My wife barely knew I'd been gone. That's a great way to spend a summer, Saturday morning.

Beaver Bump

I was looking through my old photos and realized it had been 10 years since I'd been fishing with Sarah, one of my daughters who had been a frequent companion in her younger years. So I invited her to join me for an evening on the local stream I had visited two weeks ago.

The water was quite a bit lower and the fish fewer and smaller (I think it likely this stretch was fished earlier in the day), but we still found enough to keep us entertained, with a few up to 12 inches.

Sarah soon recovered her fishing skills and was matching me fish for fish. 

A wonderful section of stream to fish, wide open, easy wading, no grass or trees like The Creek. Nothing to impede fishing except....a beaver? 

Sarah and I were fishing up a fast, shin deep riffle, side by side with her a little behind me when she said something about a rock or log I dislodged rolling downstream and hitting her leg. Then the log made a sound and started moving upstream. I looked to my left and a large, flat, brown shape came into my field of view, somewhat blurred by the waves on the surface of the water. My first thought was "Can a bullhead get that big?" followed by "Are there carp in this stream now?" but it was bigger than either of those could be. The identity of the "log" became clear as it slowly moved past me, not more than a foot from my leg, and its broad, flat tail came into view. Sarah had been bumped by a beaver, drifting downstream with the current. It moved up past me, slowly turned, and continued drifting downstream, never coming to the surface in our sight. 

After that excitement, we caught a few more and headed back to our starting point. The sun was not quite set, and being near the solstice, of course I had to fish until dark. I walked downstream to check out a couple new holes that had developed with the changes to the river over the winter while Sarah, content with her fishing experience for the day, waited in the car. It was a good choice for me. A couple nice new holes and water that clearly had not been fished earlier. I found two to three dozen in the short time before dark with quite a few in the 12 inch range. A great finish to a solstice celebration with a great fishing companion.