Only the Intrepid

After a long night driving from LAX to Mammoth Lakes and getting only a few hours of sleep, Eric Laun and I were confronted on Wednesday morning by the scene above outside Eric's condo.  Undeterred, we readied our gear, made a quick stop at the Troutfitter fly shop for a fishing license, and steered for the Lower Owens River above Bishop, where the climate was decidedly better.  Within a matter of minutes of our arrival, both Eric and I  hooked a couple of brown trout.  As the day progressed our cumulative catch-and-release total moved well into the double digits, with our catch rate peaking during a hatch of blue-winged olives that stretched well into the afternoon.  The trout were feisty and the scenery was spectacular.  Here's a sample:

We were exhausted that evening, but after a good night's sleep we decided to tackle the Owens Gorge on Thursday.  Between the two of us we've fished the Gorge dozens of times and caught numerous trout on every occasion.  A robust trout population is the incentive for making a difficult descent into, and an even more difficult hike up and out of, the Gorge.  As you'll see in the video at the YouTube link below, our expectations were very high by the time we slid, stumbled and bushwhacked our way to the part of the river where we started casting.  But as you'll see in the second segment of the video, our expectations were dashed.  To our utter amazement, we saw ZERO trout in that part of the Gorge, and ultimately had to salvage the day by returning to the Lower Owens late in the afternoon.  Our probable mistake is that we elected to fish on the lower part of the Gorge.  We theorize that the fish in that stretch must have retreated to the Pleasant Valley Reservoir for the winter.  We're confident our luck would have been much improved if we had chosen to visit the upstream portions of the Gorge.  But we weren't about to make two hikes of such magnitude back-to-back.  Still, it was a pleasant day.  Our wives know we needed the exercise.  Here's the video link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAHxtnlaPbA

A blizzard moved into Mammoth Lakes Friday morning.  I felt almost certain we wouldn't be able to fish that day, but Eric recollected better than I did that the weather can be entirely different in Bishop than it is in Mammoth.  Sure enough, by the time Eric's SUV crawled down the slope past Crowley Lake deep into the Long Valley Caldera (the Owens River valley was once the scene of a massive volcano), the clouds were well above us and the temperature was in the upper 40s.  The thick snow and fierce winds at the higher elevations thwarted our original plan to visit Hot Creek or the Upper Owens River, so we navigated for the third time to the Lower Owens.  As soon as we donned our gear and walked to the river we discovered that the trout were thoroughly enjoying the deteriorating weather.  They were rising in every run and riffle.  We spent the next four hours hooking browns and rainbows on tiny mayfly patterns - both dries and nymphs.  Eric even caught one on a little rubber-legged Stimulator I tied last week, which was a surprise.   I was too busy fishing to take many pictures, but here's one of Eric with a firm grip on a rainbow trout that took off like a torpedo when Eric released it after I snapped this shot:

By late afternoon, rain and falling temperatures took their toll on us and we embarked for Los Angeles, bucking wind and rain the entire way.  Despite the seasonal challenges we faced, we had three great days of fly fishing in gorgeous country, and no regrets.  Only the most intrepid (or monumentally stupid) people do much fly fishing for trout during February in the United States, but you can count Eric and I among those people.

More About Flies

Here's why you should care about aquatic flies, even if you're not a fly fisherman.  The degree to which a body of fresh water supports strong populations of aquatic insects such as mayflies, caddisflies, stoneflies and dragonflies is generally an indication of the overall health of that body of water.  The presence of the insects correlates to the presence of nutrients and desirable types of aquatic vegetation that is only possible when the water is free of harmful chemicals and invasive foreign species introduced by careless people.  The absence of the insects generally correlates to unhealthy, unclean and intemperate conditions affecting the water.  The insects serve as direct sources of food for large fish, or for the smaller fish and other aquatic animals that larger fish eat.  They also feed birds and certain mammals. They are clear symbols of the overall quality of the ecosystems in which they reside, and everything in those ecosystems, ultimately including humans.  So next time you visit a park or other area in which there is a river or a pond, look around to see if there are insects flying, or perhaps floating on the surface of the water or perched in the bushes and grasses near the water.  If you see them, rejoice that they are there.

Sorry for the polemic, but I think it's important that we observe and appreciate the inherent worth of all living things and understand their place in the chain of life in which we humans are another of the links.  With that said, I turn my attention back to the particular insects - little mayflies - that are one of the principal foods of Sierra trout, especially early in the season.  As I discussed in my last blog, I'll be fishing for Sierra trout next week, so I've been tying flies for that purpose, including those pictured below.  The pictures show two versions of a fly - the Adams - that is one of the most ubiquitous fishing flies in existence.  The first version pictured below is tied with standing wings in imitation of a fully-formed "dun," or adult mayfly.  When the fly is cast, the hackle feather that is tied around the hook next to the wings extends down in the water like the legs of a mature dun.  Both of the flies below are tied on size 18 hooks - that is, they are very small, as are the actual mayflies we expect to see next week.

The Adams variant pictured below has a less prominent wing, and the hackle is tied around the wing post in a "parachute" style, which produces a fly that sits lower in the water and more closely resembles an emerging fly.   An emerging fly is one that is in the last stage of transformation from its underwater larval, or nymph, form into its adult, dun, form.  It has risen to the surface of the water and is still striving to unfold and dry its wings so that it can fly off the water before it is eaten by a fish.  In my experience, trout tend to prefer the parachute-style flies and other emerger patterns over the dun imitations, probably because trout know that emergers are more vulnerable than duns, and therefore easier targets.

These flies have gray bodies, unlike the blue-winged olives that are likely to be hatching in the Sierra this time of year.  But when tied very small, as these examples are, and because their shapes produce such strong impressions of real mayflies, they are usually as effective as other, more realistic flies I'll also use.  Very few fly patterns have accounted for as many trout caught as has the Adams.

Going to California

The old Led Zeppelin song "Going to California," has been steadily running through my head the past few days.  I'm leaving next Tuesday to visit old stomping grounds.  It will be a pleasant respite from winter to visit old friends in the L.A. area, but the primary goal of the trip is to join up with my friend Eric to fly fish in the Eastern Sierras.

At the moment the Sierras and surrounding areas are being pounded by heavy snow and rain.  But according to Weather.com, the Owens River valley between Mammoth Lakes and Bishop is due for a warm-up and some sunshine in the latter part of next week when Eric and I will be there.  So we're crossing our fingers.  Before the current storm moved in, the fishing reports from the Lower Owens River and Hot Creek were excellent.  I've had some good fishing days on those streams in the past, but last week the Mammoth fly shops were reporting catch rates as high as any I've ever experienced.  So from all indications, if the weather forecast for next week holds, the fly fishing could be "epic," as Eric likes to say.

In anticipation of this trip, I've been tying small flies.  Fly fishing in the winter in the U.S. usually involves presenting very small flies - imitations of midges and tiny mayflies, mostly - on long, light tippets.  We're hoping for strong hatches of little green mayflies called Blue Winged Olives (BWOs).  BWOs are one of the many common mayflies that fly fishers have graced with beautiful names.  Most of the flies I've been tying this week are characterized by their green olive-colored bodies and delicate wings (for the imitiations of adult and emerging flies) or subtle wingcases and tails (for imitations of the underwater nymph forms).  Here's an example of an effective imitation of an adult (dun) BWO:

The wings on this one are tied with cul-de-canard, which is an oily (therefore, naturally floating) feather from a duck's butt.  There are some odd materials in certain flies, but if they work, we use them - this fly will definitely work.  Hot Creek trout, get ready! 

"Going to California with an achin' in my heart."

Keys Trip - February 2011

My friends Bill and Eric and I had planned a trip to Laguna Madre in south Texas for early February, but our plans were foiled by the foul weather beleaguring 90% of the country.  After reviewing the forecast with the Texas outfitter, we elected to cancel at the last minute.  Kudos to Kingfisher Inn and its fishing guides for their flexibility - I still hope to visit them in the foreseeable future.  But it's a good thing we punted - the high temps on the days we were scheduled to fish were in the upper 40s and a north wind was howling, so a decision to venture out for redfish would have ranged somewhere between ridiculous and impossible.

Eric is fortunate to live in one of the small slices of the U.S. not usually subjected to the dismal February climate elsewhere.  Bill and I are not so lucky (or smart), and we were dying to find some sunshine and warmth, so we quickly redirected ourselves to the Florida Keys and were fortunate that our usual guide, Capt. Richard Keating, could make himself available.  On the morning of my departure, in the middle of a snow/sleet/freezing rain storm, I found myself unable to drive up the icy hill in front of my property.  I was desperate to tackle the longer and flatter route, and after a 1.5-hr. drive I found myself in the Philadelphia airport praying fervently that my flight would take off on time.  The flight did in fact leave the gate on time, but took off an hour late after we sat in line for de-icing.  Check out the pic above - what a dismal scene.  I was greatly relieved when I eventually stepped off the plane in Miami into bright sunshine and a temp of 76 degrees.  Bill's plane landed soon after mine and we were off to Marathon, with a pleasant stop for margaritas and fish sandwiches at Wahoos.

The good thing about fly-fishing in February in the Keys is that you may encounter a warm front and find that permit and tarpon are showing up on and near the flats in strong numbers for the first time in the year.  That's what happened to us.  The bad thing is that it's still early and a little cool for these prime sportfish to be completely eager to eat flies.  Permit especially are hard to catch on flies in the best of circumstances - the conditions in early February are challenging.  Bill and I were fortunate to get numerous good shots at both species and at a random school of bonefish, but for a variety of reasons we were never perfectly aligned to hook one our principal targets.  Several close calls produced plenty of heat palpitations and a few curses, and we bent our rods on some bluefish, ladyfish and pompano, so all was not lost.  We had a great time on the water and we were warm.  I shot some video but frankly, without a cameo by a large fish, the video isn't that exciting.  Still, if you're interested in what I look like these days, check out the following link:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3NnGkFdMYE&feature=BF&list=ULd2ggyDQOcgs&index=3.  And if you'd like to see some really exciting video from other recent jaunts to the Keys with Bill and Eric, fly-fishing for tarpon, check this one out:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3NnGkFdMYE.

Here's a suggestion for you if you're in the vicinity of Big Pine Key and you're hungry for a quality dinner:  the Square Grouper restaurant on Summerland Key.  Fantastic fresh seafood!

Happy Valentine's Day!

First Flies

I’ve always harbored reverence and fascination for beings that can fly - not for birds, so much, though I like them well enough - but mostly for the ethereal flyers: the angels, white witches and fairies of myth, and the insects that may have inspired the myths. I’ve not yet seen an angel, a witch or even a fairy, but I have seen the insects often enough. I remember a late spring morning on a little stream in western Virginia when I crept up to a familiar pool and witnessed the sudden materialization of a squadron of large mayflies suspended below shimmering wings, darting in and out of thin shafts of sunlight streaming through a canopy of leaves. I was enchanted and enthralled, as I have often been when encountering a hatch of aquatic insects. For several minutes I watched the mayflies’ graceful aerial ballet with pure admiration. To my profound surprise, a brook trout as bright as a box of emeralds and rubies suddenly shattered the mirrored surface of the pool, leaping a foot into the air in a glistening spray to nab one of the flies. It seemed as if these beings, predator and prey, were popping into my dimension from worlds unknown to man, and were just as quickly returning.

I don’t recall exactly when I first saw a mayfly, or was cognizant of what it was, but I must have been a boy growing up in Idaho and experiencing the wonders of the natural world of the Rocky Mountains in a way only a boy can. Whenever it was, it must have been a short time later that I learned there were men who made imitations of these insects and used them in an activity they called fly fishing. I immediately understood that fly fishing was something I wanted to do, and that I wanted to tie flies like those I had seen in the local sports shop. Unfortunately, I knew no one who actually used or tied fishing flies, and it must not have occurred to me that there might be books or other tools to help me. But that didn’t stop me from trying, for I was of an age undeterred by lack of experience or knowledge of a thing - it was enough that I could imagine doing it. And so I pilfered a few of my dad’s fishhooks and my mom’s most colorful spools of thread, and went to work on a little set of flies. Possessing none of the fly-tying gizmos that I am so familiar with today, such as a vise and a bobbin, I took the most straightforward approach, holding the bend of the hook in one hand and winding a strand of loose thread around the shaft with the other. Somewhere on these little abominations I attached feathers of sparrows or blue jays that I found in the yard where my cat devastated their original owners. I’m certain my creations would have horrified any real fly fisherman of the day, but I was proud to pinch them between my thumbs and forefingers and wave them around in the air as if they were models of fighter planes in an imagined dogfight.

I never actually used one of those flies, because I didn’t have a fly rod and had no idea how I might acquire or borrow one. But I have little doubt, knowing what I now know about fishing flies and the fish they are designed to entice, that I could have tossed one of my little creations into one of the innumerable “cricks” coursing from the nearby mountain slopes and it would have attracted more than a few of the ravenous and not-so-bright little rainbow trout teeming in those frothy runs. An average fly purchased in a modern fly shop costs about $2.50 today, but I would readily pay $100 for one of the flies I tied almost 50 years ago. Perhaps someday one will simply pop back into existence, if only for a few minutes, just long enough to bind itself to the end of a fine tippet and find the trout it was destined to catch.

Fly-fishing Travel is What This Blog is About

I've been fly-fishing actively for about two decades, and intermittently since I was a boy.  It's my passion - one that fits nicely with my propensity to travel and my love of nature.  I decided to start this blog as a way to chronicle my fishing adventures and stay in touch with friends, acquaintances and fellow fly-fisherpersons who are interested in what I'm doing.

After a thirty-year career in a "Big 4" accounting firm and a lot of hard work in major urban environments such as New York, Los Angeles, Philadelphia and San Francisco, I've retired and am free to pursue, with few restraints and the support of my wonderful wife, a lifestyle comprising dozens if not hundreds of fishing days each year, punctuated with time spent writing about my experiences.  Before I was a CPA, I was a writer, having earned both a B.A. and an M.A. in English with a creating writing emphasis.  Now it's back to the future for me - fishing and writing will finally be in the forefront.  I have no regrets and a lot left to look forward to.

In May of this year I'll depart on a 4-month journey to the corners of the continental United States - the Florida Keys, Southern California, Alaska and Maine - with many stops along the way to catch as many species of fish on flies as I possibly can.  My life has always been building up to this - a great spiritual journey across the land I love.  When people ask me where I'm from, I often answer "America."  Of course they are asking me what state or city I'm from, not what country, and I'm not trying to be cute with a vague answer.  The problem is that I don't know how to answer specifically because I've lived in so many places.  Both my father and I moved frequently in the interests of our careers, so I have lived for periods of one to seventeen years in Mississippi, Maryland, Ohio, Idaho, Oregon, Iowa (I covered the oft-confused I-O states thoroughly!), New York, California and Pennsylvania, and I've spent considerable numbers of months in vacation homes, schools and jobs in Nevada, Texas, Missouri, Virginia and Wyoming.  I've been in every state except Alaska at some point, and I'll correct that single omission this year.  I am indeed an American, and a citizen of the world.

Between now and May, I'll be fishing as much as I reasonably can, so I expect to make some occasional blog posts here before the major action begins.  If you're interested, stay tuned!