Beaverhead National Forest: Poking Around

Heavy duty guide schedule of the past couple weeks so tired the ol' boy all desire to rant was put on temporary hold...lucky you, eh? But of course we did muster up enough gumption to take advantage of a couple days off, do a little poking about in Canyon Creek--a place we haven't visited in several years. Carved by the lively, gin clear crick, towering limestone (and other rock we have yet to ID) cliffs, soaring golden eagles and the very real opportunity to glimpse all sorts of wildlife, including the resident goat herd (alas no goats this time) the awesome canyon itself is reason enough to go but...

Canyon Creek Charcoal Kilns

 

...the presence of these 23 (several restored) charcoal kilns makes it unique--one of a kind so far as I know.  The kilns turned wood into charcoal to fire the smelter at Glendale five miles east of here. Between 1894 and 1900 the smelter produced more than $20,000,000 from silver and lead ore mined in the surrounding Hecla Mining District—among the most productive in the state.

 A few miles further upstream the public road ends at this gate offering up a pretty nifty view of the still (mid-July) snow-splashed peaks of the East Pioneer Range. The ranch, by the way, is part of the Merewether Ranch which is currently in foreclosure so I assume CCGR is also? At any rate this day the place was abandoned. The nearby USFS campground is also closed at the moment to remove mountain pine beatle killed trees.

Gale could not resist (who could blame her?) tempting the crick's colorful brookies to sample her favorite Orange Stimi--obviously a ploy worked to perfection.

Fly Fishing: Highlights...Part 6

Man, what my trusty ol' Water Skeeter might a done for our luck way back when...

A brief stint in the Adirondacks led to an Associate Degree in Forestry and Land Surveying, more importantly led to a sort of advanced degree in the art of casting flies to pond dwelling brookies; prior the only fly fishing I knew (maybe even thought existed) was in moving water. Now separated from the so-called "blue line" which defined trout pond rich 2-million acre Adirondack Park by the Oswegatchie River. At first I didn't know much about the Park but the river was like an old friend, thanks to Ray Bergman's magnum opus, "Trout," which much to mother's dismay, had by then, for me, replaced the "Holy Bible." 

As luck would have it roomy, Larry, and next door neighbor, Lem, did know and, better still, were willing to share not only necessary tactics but lead the way to all their secret spots.

Some ponds were fishable from the bank. But most were better fished off shore--from a canoe or boat would have been ideal but due to severe time restraints--you know attending classes and mandatory study halls 6 days a week--we were forced to travel light and fast. So we built rafts--crude log affairs nailed and/or roped together--and took turns poling as best we could.

Rules of the game were simple--catch a trout, you were then expected to pole like hell to the bank, next guy's turn. OK, not so pretty but we did catch trout. The downside, if you could call it that, was the ponds all had a legendary past of routinely giving up brookies measured in pounds not inches. By the early 60s acid rain had not yet totally devastated the once great fishery but had begun to take its terrible toll. So while all of us dreamed catching monsters the reality size-wise anyway didn't quite measure up...Oh well, who needs big ol' slimy brookies anyway...  

Fly Fishing: Highlights...Part 2

The wonder rod now shattered my fly fishing career was put on temporary hold. There weren't any extra fly rods laying around the house, worse no fly rod money at least none the OM was willing to part so...Swearing me to secrecy (like don't tell Mom) he vowed to play the punch boards overtime, "though I wouldn't hold yer breath." I didn't. Nothing left I finished the season chucking bait. Not what I had in mind but as the OM so succinctly put it. "Quit yer damn whinin', in the real world ya gotta play the hand dealt ya." End of discussion.

By the time I saved enough from my paper route to buy my own it was fall and in our family we fished spring and summer, hunted in the fall and winter...well mostly the men drank and told lies, me, I played basketball and dreamed spring.

As spring approached once again I started saving up for a new fly rod. Trout season opened April 15 but our routine was to fish bait early on until the cricks dropped then switch to flies. But then in early April, a surprise. The OM came home from work one day said, "C'mon boy, there's somethin' down at Dewey's you need to see."

 On the counter lay a long, narrow box, with OM's name scrawled on the package. And since it was so out of character and I found it hard to believe, still I knew right away--a new rod. The box also contained a reel, fly line and as we went out the door Dewey slipped me a small plastic fly box containing a dozen flies, a leader and a spool of tippet. "Good luck son, I hope ya like it."

By today's standards the rod was a real clunker but compared to the "wonder pole" it cast like a dream. It was much later I learned the reel, a cheap knock-off of the popular Pfluger Medalist--one of the best fly reels ever by the way--and the line (HCH) matched the rod perfectly. All of which contributed big time to my ability to get the fly to go where I aimed and land properly at least some of the time.

But what really got me going the right direction were a few chance encounters with guys I suspected even back then but now know for to be experts. Stay tuned...

Fly Fishing: Skinny Big Hole Trout...

...for whatever reasons have been the norm (for browns and rainbows) all season long rather than the usual exceptions. The brown above is your typical early spring winter-starved version but...A couple days ago fishing the Slough Channel with our PA pals, Paul and Gretchen, we netted several, mostly browns and a rainbow or two, just as skinny. The why of this is more than I know? Theories being bandied about by local guides and experts range from "a somewhat skinny spruce moth hatch" to "not many hoppers" to "fighting all that high water" and probably a lot more I haven't heard yet. Well, maybe? Me? Like I said don't pretend to know and it could very well be just an old man's wild imagination but...time after time this season I recall muttering the same tired tune as I slipped the hook from a client's trout...pretty fish, really colored up nice but (more as an aside to self) a bit too skinny to my way of thinkin'! Hopefully before winter sets in the Big Hole will serve up whatever's needed to put some weight on, though at this stage I sure don't know what the hell that might...Better still all this really is just an old man's wild idea and all systems up there really are good to go...

Fly Fishing A Favorite Highland Stream

Ever since returning home from the NOWA conference in Seeley Lake (see previous posts) we haven't accomplished much other than moping around the house feeling sorry that we somehow just can't manage to shake the nasty coughs we both contracted...

A couple times we decided enough already and feeling bad just didn't cut it so we headed to the hills hoping to get over the mountain perhaps find the road into our favorite little crick open and maybe, just maybe, get up gumption enough to at least make a couple casts...didn't happen as each time we made it as far as the locked gate and that was that...

Yesterday same game plan but this time around no problem, road open and snow free all the way to the crick. Instead of the usual dry fly I rigged up a pair of soft hackles instead. The idea being what could be easier than swinging a pair of wets? In other words keep it simple stupid... The onslaught of warm weather of the past few days had the crick rolling pretty good, but thanks to a colony of busy beavers behind the dams the current was at least tolerable. With the dogs wild to get started and dancing about dangerously underfoot I pitched the pair into a foam pocket beside a nifty run. Second cast I felt a tug and next cast hooked a fat 10-inch brookie. 

Handing the rod off to Gale in no time flat she had the grayling pictured above flopping in the shallows. After the requisite photo shoot it was again my turn. Several drifts later another fat, though somewhat smaller brookie. And so it went. Given our weakened conditions over the next few hours we didn't cover much water and we didn't set any catch records...But every so often one of us connected and really that was more than we wanted from the excursion in the first place. The dogs had a blast, so much so we expected Annie any minute to break a leg or worse...Kate spent so much time in the cold water she shivered such her teeth rattled nearly all the way home. Annie of course slept all the way...no surprise there, eh? 

Except for the single grayling and cuttbow I caught later all the rest were brookies...just in case you wondered.  

Montana Fishing Season Is Now Official

Opening Day in Montana essentially means you can now fish for trout in all those "other" cricks which aren't open year around. Traditionally the "season" opens third Saturday in May (couple days ago) and closes December 1. Lakes and at least large portions of most rivers are, for the most part, open year around. Be sure to check first though since there are numerous exceptions.

Anyway over the course of a typical fishing season I get to see and handle a lot of pretty wild trout. Big wild trout. Little wild trout and every size in between. Few however can top the rainbow Pennsylvania pal, Paul Antolosky fooled last fall. As I recall we guesstimated it an inch or two beyond 20 inches. Regardless the actual size, the best thing is he caught it on a size 24 BWO--psuedocloen for you nitpickers--dry. Doesn't get much better, eh?

Beaverhead Trout: Chunky Colorful Clark Canyon Cuttbow

Clark Canyon continues to give up some really handsome trout and this chunky colorful cuttbow appears to fit the description. Sort of a first for me since I can't ever recall catching a cuttbow in CCR although every now and then one shows up in the upper Beav. A pink-head black jig was the ticket yesterday fooling the cuttbow and several equally colorful and fat rainbows. Briefly I tried stripping a couple midge patterns and the usually reliable Sheep Creek but to no avail. All the trout ate the black jig hung 5 or 6 feet below a bobber. I changed top flies several times just because but the trout weren't interested.

Judging yesterday's crowd at the dam this spring's hot bite is far from secret. But since there are plenty of other mostly empty hotspots scattered about the lake makes you wonder what's so special about the dam area. Bigger trout? I doubt it but who knows maybe the crowd knows something I don't? Regardless I'll continue to seek out the empty spot, take the leavings so to speak. I'll take trout such as this one any day. And if there's not another soul around to show it off, well hell, such is life, eh? 

Beaverhead Trout Report...Sort Of

Amid a haze of swarming midges, surrounded by  loony loons in full courtship mode, at times wailing such even the irritating interstate truck noise is at least temporarily put on hold, no wonder I'm missing more than hooking up. But of course I wouldn't want it otherwise, like who needs a slimy old trout anyways. Actually yesterday afternoon hook-ups were hard to come by...at least for this ol' boy...

About to quit we ran into Bart Doig and Terry Throckmorton with clients in tow...given the client's grins I didn't need ask...but did anyway and both guides admitted to catchin some...In guide speak, at least with those two, that meant only one thing...Chuck you have indeed once again blown it...Terry later hinted a purple jig with a pink head might have worked better than the green and brown jigs I'd been fishing...He also hinted egg patterns were working pretty good all morning, although not so hot this afternoon...Since we didn't get to the lake until mid afternoon that little tidbit didn't hurt the ol' ego half so bad...Oh well, as someone once said fly ain't workin try sumpin else...sounds like sound advice to me, eh?

Beaverhead Trout Report

Saturday marked my first guide trip of the season. We floated the Beaverhead from Pipe Organ to Barretts. The day started off dark and dreary and a light drizzle. Rather  perfect actually and as expected Andrew and Rob were soon hooked up. Browns mostly with a couple small rainbows tossed in for good measure. Most were in the 10-12 inch range but both landed trout in the 15-16 inch range. One Rob got probably would have gone 17 but that's just a guess. It seemed to me like an unusually large number small trout in the river. An observation the Frontier guys totally agreed. Since the bigger browns seem to be in exceptional shape this spring the consensus was the apparent over-abundance of small trout could very well be just temporary...stay tuned.

We started with nymphs and for the most part stuck with them most of the day. Although we tossed a variety streamers below Grasshopper. Didn't do much for the overall body count but did induce a fair number of chases. But other than a few tugs not much came of that idea. For what it's worth a brown cone-head bugger drew the most looks. A size 16 tan soft hackle with a pink/orange head was far and away the star nymph. (I forget the name, sorry). A thin bwo hatch brought a couple tiddlers to the surface, not near consistent enough to even consider switching. There were a few caddis around but again nowhere near enough to get the trout fired up.

Last week I fished the lake twice with mixed results. The first day the lake was nearly dead calm and way too bright for my taste. Thus the fishing was sort of slow. A few tugs, a couple quick long range releases and just one solid hook up. A sizeable brown which I somehow managed to lose right at the beach. The second day was just the opposite, slight breeze, noticable chop, not too bright resulted in takes about every 15 minutes or so and a couple really fat rainbows (see above) on the beach. Obviously in full spawn mode Clark Canyon rainbows at this season are really something to behold...fat, fiesty, colorful and damn happy lookin to my way of thinkin... Small jigs worked best, especially a glitzy dark green job.

Fly Fishing's Best Kept Secret

The idyllic scene above was captured following a fine day fly fishing a favorite little freestone creek beside a well-traveled forest road about a hour's drive from our home in southwest Montana. The solitude was palpable (we did not see another angler all day although we did hear the occasional vehicle passing by), the fishing on a scale of 1:10 was at least a 9+ (many trout, all wild, most of decent size [10-13 inches or so]all on dry flies, can't beat it..right?).

Early in the morning we watched a cow elk and calf feeding a nearby meadow and later saw black bear sow with two tiny cubs--one cinnamon, one black--in tow. In addition over the course of the day was an almost endless wildlife parade--beaver, muskrat, mink, a hen merganser and a vertitble flock yougins, a golden eagle, a kingfisher or two, countless songbirds, pine squirrels and on the way home, more elk, mule deer and, of all things, a fisher cat scooting across the road. I don't know about you but this ol' boy hasn't seen many of those elusive critters in a long life of looking.

True all days spent flinging flies on little seldom fished waters are not so...ah, dare I say it, phenomenal but I can hardly recall one wasn't at least damn enjoyable.

Which begs the question why don't more folks do it? By far the vast majority resident and non-resident anglers instead flock to our many "blue ribbon" streams where truth be known the crowds are often such they rival flocks of sheep. One day last season I landed my drift boat at Melrose (Big Hole) and counted an astounding 60rigs IN the parking lot...the overflow parked on the road all the way from the entrance to the bridge!! Believe it or not I shot the above photo next day.

With a little research and map work you too can find your own "secret" trout spot...make that 10 or 100 secret trout spots. Actually in Montana there are countless dozens (100s, 1000s?) what a friend calls "jump cricks" that for all practical purposes go unfished year in year out.

As previously hinted solitude and wildlife viewing are high on our list while the fishing hot or cold puts us in bonus territory. But jump cricks are full of surprises, some are wall to wall willing easy to catch trout, where you bean counters in the audience can run up truly mind-boggling numbers; some hold trout of surprising size, especially considering the small stature of the crick itself. Trust me, an 18-inch trout tearing up a 10-foot wide crick...well hell, give it a try ya just might like it.

Obviously we do, and I could go on and on but by now I'm sure you get my drift so...

Spring Tease

March 1, 50 degrees, no wind to speak of and a brand spankin new fishin license in hand to boot, well hell I'm outta here...gone fishin that is. And wonders of wonders upon arriving at my predetermined spot not another angler in sight...how good is that? Well pretty damn good actually as 2nd or 3rd cast and I'm already hooked tight to what eventually turns out a fat ol' brown trout...not so long, maybe 16-inches but unlike the snaky lookin brown the Ruby gave up the other day this sucker is fat, maybe not high-summer fat but fat enough. Better still unlike his skinny, roll over play dead cousin this one is a real scrapper...

For the next half hour or so hits are fast and furious, alas actual hook-ups are not. Blame it on reactions too long allowed to lay dormant or more likely just another painful reminder Chuck my man you just ain't gettin no younger...blame it on whatever but I just can't seem to get a good hook-set to save my sorry butt.

But like most slumps this one finally ends but...But the trout, another fat brown, is indeed foul hooked--caught by the tail I have a helluva time hauling it close enough to net and then...and then I miss. When seconds later the hook pulls out I almost feel like cheering...really.

Now it is going on 4 p.m. and the shut down is like flipping switch. Not a single bite mind you in the next three runs...Time a call it quits.

Opening Day Late This Year

We arrived at the Silver Springs Fishing Access on the Ruby River shortly after noon. Despite the relatively balmy(for late February)43 degrees thanks to a north breeze and cloudy skies it seemed a whole chillier--especially so with just a skimpy worn ball cap covering a really bald cranium. Gale, however, was gracious enough to lend me a spare beanie and we deemed the minor crisis ended.

With piles of deer and moose droppings everywhere obviously the willow jungle guards the Ruby is a preferred hangout. Judging the muddy critter tracks the nearly constant sound of geese hronking, ringneck roosters crowing, ducks quacking and owls hooting a lot of other wildlife finds the living conditions to their liking as well.

Wildlife aside we came here to fish, or rather I came to fish, Gale mostly for the fresh air and the chance to shoot a few action fishing photos--key words action fishing photos--plural. Alas didn't quite happen.

I started out with what is normally a deadly go-to winter rig: size 16 orange/pink egg trailing a size 20 midge (Zebra, string,brassie),mostly the midge is no never mind since enough trout to satisfy my by now well-watered expectations usually whack the egg. Not today. So I began cycling: worm/same midge; worm/different midge; more weight/less weight; deeper drop/less deep drop; and so forth.

Three hours or so later still fishless--just one quick tug all afternoon and that on about the second or third drift--I thought to try a bugger a time or two and for better or worse call it good but...No buggers in the two small fly boxes stuffed inside my wader pockets. But there were couple soft hackles, one a size 10 peacock/sage hen hackle and a size 18 red ass...

Starting in at the top of fast run ended in a wide still pool, I swung the pair down and across several times covering the faster water and allowing the flies to hang in the soft water below for several seconds before slowly stripping them back, picking up and recasting. Six or so drifts with the same dismal results I thought one last cast and we're outta here.

Stripping the tandem ever so slowly just as I was about to end it--BAM!--moments later Gale shot the above photo: a handsome though really skinny, really cold (judging the lack of fight) 14-15-inch brown.

Revved why not try a few more swings--right? Alas, first cast, half-way down the flies hung up--too deep to wade naturally I broke them off and called it good to go. Not exactly the sort of opening (I usually get out once or twice in January and come February sometimes several times a week but for reasons escape me not this time around)hoped for, but as Gale put it--sure beats heck out what we've been doin'...I'll drink to that.

Flies...

...dries,emergers, nymphs, midges, leeches, buggers, streamers,salmon, steelhead, eggs, flesh, trout, bass, pike,spey, saltwater, carp, shad and I'm not so naieve as to think these are it--but you must admit such a long is certainly a good start. How many styles and patterns are out there? Hell, I couldn't even begin to guess. In the mid-90s Charley Waterman made a stab and guessed at least 20,000 commercial patterns and probably double that number concoctions never made it much past the inventors' door. Right on or way off one thing sure in the 15 years since both numbers would have swollen exponentially as no season I know ever passes without boucoup new patterns hitting the streets. If I were to make a wild guess at updating Charley's commercial guesstimate...well, what?...30,000...40...OK, lets just say one hell of a bunch and get on with it...Really what's the point anyway since no mortal fly flinger can even begin to collect or, more to the point, tote 'em all to the crick anyway.

But that doesn't mean some of us can't try. A PA pal claims his "western trout" boxes hold somewhere in the neighborhood 4000 dozen...Yes, it's true, each summer he brings with "as near as I can figure" 48,000 flies give or take a few dozen of course. While I can't prove it one way or the other, having seen the collection up close and personal can't/won't argue either. And remember we're talkin' here only "western flies." I've never seen his "eastern trout" boxes and then too he also fishes saltwater and occasionally steelhead and salmon so...How many fly patterns in the TOTAL COLLECTION...Again I really can't say and no I ain't gonna ask... some things being...you know...just too personal to pry.

Oh, by the way, for what it's worth the above fly box represents my personal stillwater ( for trout living in lakes, ponds, etc.)fly collection in its entirety...admittedly pretty damn skimpy but what can I say.

Bugger-men KNOW... Do You?

Woolly Bugger

In 1967, seeking to imitate a hellgrammite (dobson fly larva) Pennsylvania fly-tier, Russell Blessing, added a marabou tail to a Woolly Worm; a simple act, but one quickly spawned a cult-following. A cult whose mantra, “when in doubt pitch a bugger,” caught on quickly and soon became gospel to fly flingers around the world. I personally know anglers so far gone their fly boxes contain little else. And make no mistake Buggers do catch fish and not just trout either. Bugger-men routinely catch a wide variety species including bass, pike, carp, steelhead and, well, the list is long and no doubt growing even as we speak.

Like the Adams and the PT nymph the variations are endless—bead-head Bugger, Crystal Bugger, cone-head Bugger, lead-eye Bugger, Electric Bugger and on and on. It seems every season a hot-new must-have model graces the catalogs and fills bins of the local fly-shops. Still, as new buggers come and go the idea any bugger works so long as its black lives on.

The best thing about buggers is you can hardly fish them wrong: dead-drift; down and across swing, wet-fly style; add a jigging motion to the retrieve; pitch it quartering or straight up; strip it fast, moderate or slow. The trick, if you can call it one, is to just keep it wet, since sooner or later any method works. Popular thinking dictates “buggers work best in low light, murky water, etc.” True to a point but since bugger fishing is after all fishing; probably a really bad idea is to bet the entire farm.

Like a Timex the PT Nymph Just Keeps on Tickin'

Pheasant-tail Nymph

Of hundreds of mayfly nymphs it seems the large majority are some shade of brown; little wonder then the PT nymph gets such high marks from both anglers and trout. Unlike the all-American Adams, an Englishman, Frank Sawyer, spawned the PT. In his 1958 book, ‘Nymphs and Trout’ Sawyer revealed its unique construction. Using fine copper wire instead of traditional thread and cock pheasant tail-fibers, he spun the two together and wound them on the hook forming the abdomen and thorax as well as the wing case—no legs. As fly patterns go about as quick and easy as it gets.

Apparently too easy, for in no time flat, American-tiers unveiled a new “improved” version. Same pheasant-tail abdomen and wing case but instead thread-wrapped, featuring wire-ribbing and legs (usually omitted in smaller sizes, say, sub-16), but the biggest change was a thorax concocted of peacock herl. Style aside, like the Adams dry, in no time flat the PT-nymph became standard fare in angler fly boxes anywhere trout swim.

While the Sawyer style is far from dead the American version is by far the most popular. But with flash-backs, half-backs, epoxy-backs, copper-versions, brass and tungsten bead-heads in gold, silver, copper and black—soft hackles and what not it sometimes takes a vivid imagination to impart a PT origin. And with new versions seeming to drop from the vice almost before the head cement dries on the last “latest greatest, recognition isn’t about to get easier anytime soon.