Wednesday, June 29, 2016

The pay off

Deep green dreams of summer...

The pay off from FRENZY on Vimeo.
This spring we have been spending a lot of time walking rivers and small streams totally unknown to us to find a river not crowded with people.
most of them turns out to be not as interesting as what they looks like on the map.
We gave this one a second chance and it was well payed off.
alexander - truth

Blue Halo Unicorns

What the word "gorgeous" was invented for...

Blue Halo Unicorns from Blue Halo on Vimeo.
Some people may think that Dolly Varden are undesirable, but we set out to find some of the largest most beautiful 'char' in existence. Breath taking views and gin clear water, we found what we were looking for, but it wasn't easy. Getting dropped off by bush plane to float miles of river in search of these beauties was an experience in and of itself.

Trout Lake Report: It Can Happen to Anyone

It can happen to anyone. Sure it's upsetting, but anxiety won't help the situation. It could have something to do with change in your life, launching at the south end for the first time since early May. But keep your confidence up; you know what you're doing: leisurely foreplay with Damselator and stimulator, then the muddler, some small dry flies, and even a long. slow troll with three different flies. It just didn't work this time. But don't worry; this is temporary. In the meantime, enjoy the love and intimacy of these special moments. In the long run, this can make your relationship stronger.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Trout Lake Report: We'll Always Have Paris

It's hot. A doe comes out in the heat of the day and browses in the shade of the trees at the edge of the yard, then ghosts through the sun back into the trees by the river.

It's a good evening for fishing. Out of curiosity you drive past Trout Lake to Brookie Lake. As you suspected, the weeds have taken over. The brookies will need to wait until later.

Back at Trout Lake you launch at the far north end. This is the way you like it: hot and still.

You begin with a Damselator.

As you work up the shoreline clouds begin to pile up in the west.

You turn the corner and drift along the reeds. A spot of magenta comes out of the sun and plunges into the lake, rises up again like a spark, and spins back onto the water.

It's a Western Sheep Moth, named from its tendency to be observed in pastures with sheep. It's common from the Rocky Mountains on west, and is day flying.

This one is a bit tattered--and wet--but after a few moments on your finger it lifts off and flutters high in the air and disappears over the shoreline trees.

You head on. It looks like the storm will pass by to the north.

You're getting some action with the damsel imitation. They're little but scrappy. One fish wraps around a clump of reeds too deep to reach. As you try to extricate it by pulling on the line the tippet snaps off. You have another Damselator and tie it on.

It's another evening to keep looking up and around at the ever-changing light show.

You work over the inlet. More scrappy little fish.

On down you lose a better fish, then snag the fly trying to go back for it. You kick in to retrieve it and peer across the driftwood fence at the burbling waters of the hidden haven of ducks and beaver.

You round a little point and begin working a half moon bay. It has been known to hold good fish.

You cast the Damselator in to the willows, let it sit, then strip it back ten feet or so. You raise the rod to lift the fly off the water for another cast just as a fish grabs it. Perfect timing.

It's a good fish, and it's a Brown. You get it into the net. You see that you just barely hooked it. The fish rolls in the net and the fly comes out. You try to situate the fish for a quick photo and it launches itself right out of the net and into the water. Bye bye, Brown.

Well, we'll always have Paris.

You switch to a newly tied muddler, olive version.

You kick back to the reeds for another pass over the shoreline you just covered.

You get a nice bump as you drift the fly behind you, but the fish won't commit.

Back at the inlet you manage to net a bigger Rainbow, and get photos of it.

The storm is far away now.

You try for that Brown again, but he's gone or not playing anymore. You kick around and enter the haven of ducks and beaver because it's also a good place to take a pee break.

There's the beaver house. It's as tall as you are. No wonder there are so many beaver around here.

You kick back out and head across the lake to the other side.

You drift the muddler behind you but there are no takers. The clouds drift away with the sun.

You work the shoreline. As always, you sort through the memories that each section of shoreline evokes. Long ago, when the boys were little, the three of you fished from the bank here.

This stretch is slow again this evening. It should pick up later in the summer. Right now, though, the only thing moving is a skunk.

Then, at dusk, trying to keep the bats from picking up the fly, you hook into another nice Brown. You know it's a Brown because you get it in close. But before you can reach for the net it comes off the hook.

A few moments later you catch a consolation prize. You would have preferred the Brown.

It's deep twilight now, and Jupiter is shining high in the southern sky. It's warm and still. You get to the takeout but kick on past it. You want it all to last just a little longer.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Trout Season

Trout Season from Sage Fly Fish on Vimeo.
Something about the landscape always tells you when trout are near… in places where water, earth, and insects come together to form ideal fish habitats. Creek, stream, or lake, classic trout waters speak to you in a language all their own…

Saturday, June 25, 2016

Trout Lake Report: Moving On

You're moving on from Drakes, just like the fish. You still launch at the channel, but this time you will work both sides of the channel and then head into the south end for a big loop of goodness.

The sun is bright and warm, but you have your jacket. There's a restless wind blowing, and you know how the summer has gone so far.

You fish a Damselator all up and down the channel. The usual suspects are not in the usual places.

You switch to a big muddler and bob with the wind into the south end. You haven't been here for a month.

You get one hit but can't get the hook into it.

You cross over, waking the muddler behind you. Nobody notices.

Clouds have drifted in to cover the sun. Thunder rolls in the distance. The wind cools down. You put on your jacket.

You see a nest in a leafless willow standing in the water. You go to investigate. It's inhabited. Looks like a Kingbird. I bet it's warm in there.

You don't intend to drive her from the nest, but as you're taking photos--with the zoom--the wind pushes you too close and she exits in alarm.

She doesn't go far, though, and she makes her displeasure known. Her mate comes over and joins in the shrill scolding.

You drift on in and reach up for a portrait of the youngsters. Looking good.

You kick away, and she immediately settles back into the nest.

On down the shoreline, the moment arrives. You finally get the fly over a fish ready to eat it. The fish dives into the weeds--the water is down and the weeds are up--but you winch it out and get it in the net. Appreciate it, fish. You're beautiful.

A little way farther along lightning strikes again. Another beautiful Brown. As with the first one, the fly is halfway down it's throat. These guys aren't messing around.

You work on around to the channel. The wind peppers you with rain drops now and then.

At the channel entrance you kick back across to John's Cove. You want to show that muddler to whoever may have recently moved into that address.

Somebody's home--you get some bumps--but it's apparently not a Brown.

You play until almost dark and kick in through the chilly wind. Maybe summer will come for real tomorrow.

It's late. The folks at the nearest campsite, snug in their huge RV, are probably just tuning into the Late Show.