Home Waters: A Fly Fishing Life

Study in Black and White

2012-02-16T22:59:00.000-08:00

One more quick post before I go. I heard Robins chirping in the bare trees this evening. They know it's near. But one more light snow fell last night, transforming the dying winter landscape into a study in black and white.

I am moved even more by its stark beauty knowing that these scenes will soon be but memories of a season past.

Heading South

2012-02-16T19:57:00.000-08:00

It's time for my trip down to a Men's Retreat in Oregon. This is the little camp, nestled in old growth forest, where we'll hang out for the weekend. No drumming, or anything like that. Just a Lakota sweat, for those who choose, and lots of down time.

The first year I went was 2010 (all photos are from that trip) and I found time to explore the Coquille River. Just explore. No Steelhead that trip. But reports out of Oregon recently have been good; the rivers have been fishable, and fish are being caught, after everything was blown out just a couple of weeks ago.

So I'll take my gear and hope for the best. But this is what I found when I checked the weekend weather for the area.

Friday: Rain, mainly after 10am. High near 54. Light wind becoming south southwest between 12 and 15 mph. Winds could gust as high as 22 mph. Chance of precipitation is 100%.

Friday Night: Showers. Low around 40. Southwest wind between 11 and 13 mph, with gusts as high as 20 mph. Chance of precipitation is 100%.

Saturday: Showers. High near 47. West wind between 11 and 13 mph, with gusts as high as 20 mph. Chance of precipitation is 100%.

Saturday Night: Showers. Low around 37. West wind between 5 and 9 mph. Chance of precipitation is 80%.

Sunday: A 50 percent chance of rain. Mostly cloudy, with a high near 48.

Sunday Night: Rain likely. Mostly cloudy, with a low around 38. Chance of precipitation is 60%.

Washington's Birthday: A chance of rain. Mostly cloudy, with a high near 53.

I also found this severe weather advisory for the coast.

Severe Weather
South Central Oregon Coast, OR
...STRONG STORM MAY BRING HIGH SURF TO THE COAST THIS WEEKEND... DEEPENING LOW PRESSURE NEAR BRITISH COLUMBIA FRIDAY WILL SEND A COLD FRONT THROUGH THE AREA FRIDAY AFTERNOON AND EVENING. SEAS WILL INCREASE OVER THE COASTAL WATERS FRIDAY NIGHT PEAKING AROUND 20 TO 25 FEET SATURDAY THEN GRADUALLY SUBSIDING SATURDAY NIGHT. SEAS THIS HIGH MAY CAUSE SIGNIFICANT BREAKERS IN EXCESS OF 25 FEET IN THE SURF ZONE DURING THIS TIME FRAME...ALONG WITH HIGHER THAN NORMAL RUN UP ON THE BEACHES. THOSE PLANNING TO VISIT THE COAST THIS WEEKEND SHOULD BE PREPARED FOR HIGHER THAN NORMAL SURF CONDITIONS. BE SURE TO MONITOR THE LATEST NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE FORECASTS FOR ANY ADVISORIES OR WARNINGS.

Could be some spectacular ocean views. I won't be posting for a few days; but stay tuned.

Youth Sports Post: Brothers

2012-02-15T00:32:00.000-08:00

Jeremiah is playing AAU basketball. The season began months ago and lasts forever. Isaiah's JV season is over, so he's been going to AAU practices just for the heck of it.

When I picked them up this evening after practice I made the simple request that they pose together for a photo. Seemed like a good idea to me. But somehow they couldn't do it in front of their friends and fellow jocks. So this is the best I could do.

Click on photo to bring them to life.

Actually, I like it. I think it captures their essence.

The Weather

2012-02-15T00:13:00.000-08:00

We've had a real thaw around here in the past week. A string of days above freezing--most pushing 40, a couple pushing 50--have almost finished off the snow. The trend is to continue for the foreseeable future.

I remind myself of my Grandma Albright, long gone now. She was a letter writer, and every single letter began with a weather report. We used to chuckle about that. But that's what I remember now, and I remember it with fondness. She and my Grandpa, also long gone, were farmers in Iowa, and the weather was their life. When I think of them now, and that old farmhouse that I knew so well from childhood trips, I like to think of what the weather was like on those days they would head into town, or over to church; whether Grandma had to wear a sweater and scarf because there had been an early frost that September, or whether the fields and roadside ditches were dry and brown because of an August drought, or whether she couldn't get out for her club meeting because of a three day blizzard in early March, or how the roads must have shone the morning after an overnight July thunderstorm that left everything so fresh and cool.

The truth is, weather is our life, too. The case could be made that those of us who are outdoor types are more attuned to weather than inside types. That's true for farmers, but it's also true for fishermen, especially now as we watch for signs that winter has turned and the halcyon days of warm-weather fishing are approaching the far horizon, and will soon come into sight.

A friend of mine, an organic truck farmer, confessed the other day that he feels in his bones that we are "on the backside of winter." That means he's feeling restless these days. A whole season of green, growing things is stirring now in his soul. It's time to get his hands in the dirt again. I'll bet he's been setting things out in his little seedhouse already.

That's a wonderful place to visit on a chilly early Spring day. It's crowded with trays of tiny green seedlings of a wide variety of flowers and vegetables, and you can almost hear them breathing their little plant breaths in the warm, humid atmosphere. When it's still cold and brown outside, those little green lives are living evidence that the earth will be reborn. You breathe in their fragrance and Spring takes root in the very heart of you.

I'm ready for Spring. And yes, it's about the fishing, but it's mostly about the weather. I enjoyed the winter weather; but it's time for a change. I've missed the varieties of weather that come only when the atmosphere heats up.

If you believe that we go to a better place after this life, I think my Grandma and Grandpa are there. Mark Twain famously said that the choice between Heaven and Hell depended on whether you wanted to go for the weather or the company. His comment reflects the assumption of his day, and probably ours, that in heaven the weather is infinitely perfect for eternity. In other words, bland. Well, I hope that wherever my Grandma is there is real weather, in all it's amazing, changeable variety. That would make her very happy.

V Day

2012-02-14T02:42:00.000-08:00

Ol' Cutty Himself...

2012-02-14T00:37:00.000-08:00

Ah, I was just remembering that great day last summer up on the mountain when I led Laura through the forest to that deep volcanic pool in the tumbling stream where, through sheer persistence, the artist's touch, and a fly she fashioned on a bent hairpin out of red berries and wolf fur she found snagged on a branch, she managed to fool Ol' Cutty himself, the legendary Monster of the Mountains...

Actually, it was her artist's touch, utilizing photoshop, of course, that put this monster in our hands. She sent this to me for my birthday. When she had us pose like this up on the mountain last summer she promised to do something cool with it. And she sure did.

I can't tell you how much I love this picture.

The irony--humorous, I hope, Laura--is that when we actually fished together last summer we didn't catch a thing. Not even a little tiny fish.

The great thing is that she had this photo emblazoned on a nice, big coffee mug, so I can see it everyday right on my desk next to me.

Nice work, Babe! I'll tell my new granddaughter that first story about her mother, with embellishments--at least until she's old enough to learn about photoshop.

Things Isaiah Makes

2012-02-13T23:56:00.000-08:00

Isaiah is athletic. He can make touchdowns. He can make baskets. He can make goals. He would like to be a professional athlete someday.

And Isaiah is a very good cook. He can make pasta. He can make marinated pork chops. And he can make cinnamon rolls. From scratch. He got home from soccer practice this evening and started in on a batch. He would also like to be a professional chef with his own restaurant some day.

We got a taste tonight, and let me tell you, he hit a homerun with these.

For Those Who Wear Fur Hats

2012-02-13T23:39:00.000-08:00

Just to help you keep perspective...

Norfork River Report: Thanks, John

2012-02-13T00:19:00.000-08:00

I'm lucky to have a fly fishing brother. John is his name. Though younger than I, he has been fly fishing longer than I have, and has been my teacher and mentor. He is also "in the business," so I have benefited from his connections and discounts more than once. So has he; he knows people. The following report is made possible by "my guy at Wapsi."

John lives in Maine, but a couple of weeks ago after some family business in Kansas (aging parents) he stopped off at the Norfork River in Arkansas. The Norfork is the North Fork of the White River, famed for its big tailwater trout. He sent me these photos and an emailed report. I certainly didn't get his permission to post them, but then that was implicit in my request. At least that's what my attorney says regarding a possible intellectual property lawsuit. And, as any judge would uphold, we're all one big happy family here, so these are for you, too.

Thanks, John. I'm jealous.

arkansas was great. did fish tuesday afternoon and most of the day wednesday. tues was beautiful and pleasant; wed was 40, windy, and rainy, and i was pretty much bone-chilled the whole time. but there are lots of fish in that river. pretty much used strike indicator and scud/swobugs the whole time, although did entice a few (missed) takes with little emergers in the film. best fish was female pushing 19-20" and ripe full of eggs, many of which she squirted into my net. so, plunked her quickly and unceremoniously back into the water without attempts at photo. most fish were 14-16" range, with couple in 17-18" range. caught browns, mostly rainbows, and one cutthroat. I did try to take some pictures. they suck, but i'll try to send along what i can at some point.

the key to that whole endeavor is that my guy at Wapsi gave me access to prime section of river via his private land, and on wednesday told me where to fish right up at the Norfork Dam since the rest of the river was pretty muddy from all the rain during the night. i'd have struck out completely otherwise, i think.

It's Good To Be Alive

2012-02-11T03:05:00.000-08:00

Friday was my birthday, so I gave myself the present of a road trip to Rocky Ford Creek. Yes, I was also hoping to get one of those big, fat, spring creek Rainbows, but that was not to be. I sure enjoyed what I got, though. That is, most of it.

It was in the high 30's, foggy, and rainy when I left home.

An hour and a half down the road I stopped at one of the amazing landmarks in this amazing state: Dry Falls.

Here, for your edification, is the story of Dry Falls.

I enjoyed being there on my birthday. I'm not that old, but standing there at the site of that ancient cataclysm thinking about geologic time I felt positively young.

A short way on down the road I drove out of the rain and noticed that there was precious little snow left on the ground. This is the Grand Coulee Country, the true semi-arid desert region of eastern Washington, and it's much drier than the valley I live in.

A little over two hours from home I parked, climbed out of the truck, and discovered that the temperature had changed too. It felt almost balmy, though the wind, as is its wont, was whipping down the coulee.

I rigged up and started my hike down this access road. The creek is down there running between the sage flat and the cattail marsh. It's an invigorating little hike. I had passed up the popular stretch of the creek, over by the hatchery with the big parking lot that is often fairly full, and came on south to this, the back door of the creek.

Here the creek flows into a small impoundment. I have had good days here fishing just where the fast current fans out into the wider, deeper flow.

I waded across to the scene of former glories and discovered significant sedimentation where there had been clear water and clean rocks before. Now the rocks were buried under a foot of mud. I made a few half-hearted casts and wandered down through the cattail marsh on the far bank looking unsuccessfully for footing solid enough to get close to open water. By then I had begun to wonder if there were any fish left in this stretch.

Then, as I crossed the catwalk over the spillway, I saw the first trout breach. Not jump, not wake, not porpoise, not rise--breach like a whale: lunge half out of the water, splash back in, and then do it again a few more times. For the next hour or so trout were breaching here and there all over the impoundment.

Big trout. Trout that make you start looking for the earliest opportunity to get back here again.

I found a couple of places on the near bank where I could wade out past the cattails. I fished. I tried a midge dry--the Lady McConnell I just tied up; I tried a muddler; and I tried scuds and micro-leeches and nymphs under an indicator. It was good fishing, if not good catching, and I was totally engrossed.

Then something buzzed through the cattails and hit the water with a loud pop no more than six feet from me. It sounded to me at first like a firecracker. I hadn't heard a shot. But then I heard one as a second bullet popped into the water a little farther away. It sounded like someone with a pistol on the road I had hiked down. I yelled, but the shooting went on, now concentrated on the coots feeding up at the end of the impoundment. While they flew off in alarm I reeled in as fast as I could and climbed onto the bank in plain sight. The shots had stopped, and I saw someone with a rifle way up on the ridge beyond the road. That has to be a good 300 or 400 yards away. He was turning and walking away. I think I saw him look back at me before he went out of sight.

Lots of things go through your mind when you're in the line of fire. The big question was whether I was being harassed by someone--in which case they would be trying to get close but still miss me; or whether some idiot didn't even know I was there--in which case there was a good chance that someone was going to accidentally shoot me, maybe without even knowing it. I wasn't afraid--I didn't "hit the dirt" in the water. But now I wonder why I didn't. At the time it never occurred to me that I might actually get shot. Instead of being afraid I was angry. I just wanted to confront the shooter, both so he'd know I was there, and so he'd know how stupid he had been.

Well, it turned out OK. I hope that guy has done some thinking and has resolved to be much more careful about his field of fire in the future. For my part, I reflected on the way home that on my birthday I could be grateful both for the year past and for this next year that I still get to live through.

One other thing: getting shot at ruins the fishing. It really messes up your concentration. I found myself glancing back at the ridge top every few minutes.

By then the daylight was beginning to wane, and a big, noisy flock of Red winged Blackbirds settled into the cattails. That's one of the earliest returns I can remember. Spring can't be too far behind.

I stayed a little while longer stripping that Bugmeister--who knows? it might have worked-- then hiked out while the cars down on the highway were turning on their headlights. The hike back up the hill was even more invigorating than the hike down. All the way up I thought about the day and its many pleasures and wonders.

And the whole time I was thinking, "It's good to be alive!"

Teton Love

2012-02-09T16:48:00.000-08:00

Five minutes ago...

Keep Looking Up

2012-02-09T13:18:00.000-08:00

From EarthSky.

Tonight, the moon, Mars and the constellation Leo the Lion are seen together over the eastern horizon about three hours after sunset. However, Leo’s stars rise four minutes earlier each day, or two hours earlier with each passing month. Sometime in March, watch for Leo to light up the eastern sky as soon as darkness falls – a sure sign that spring is about to return to the Northern Hemisphere. Read the full article.

Wild Zone

2012-02-09T12:30:00.000-08:00

Wild Sol Duc Chrome (Moldy Chum)

Good news for wild Steelhead in Washington State. Check out the story over on Moldy Chum.

"February Ground," by Marge Piercy

2012-02-09T11:59:00.000-08:00

(For Erin Block.)

Three feet of snow in twenty-four hours

on top of seven inches. Not really

credible here. On the fourth day

we found the car under a six

foot drift and dug it out.

At first we could not open doors.

The post office shut for two days.

Our road had vanished into a field.

We felt the sky had finally

fallen and drowned us.

Six weeks: now patches of ground

emerge from white fortresses.

How beautiful is the dirt

I took for granted. Extraordinary

the wild green of grass islands.

Having the world snatched

from us makes us grateful even

for fence posts, for wheelbarrow

rising, for the stalwart spears

of daffodil uncovered.

Everything revealed is magical,

splendid in its ordinary shining.

The sun gives birth to rosebushes,

the myrtle, a snow shovel fallen,

overcome on the field of battle.

"February ground" by Marge Piercy, from The Crooked Inheritance. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2006.

The Season Begins: Fly Tying Phase

2012-02-07T23:49:00.000-08:00

I find myself thinking less these days about fly tying just for fun, and more about tying up something that the trout this summer will fall all over themselves trying to get at. In that sense the season has begun, as I begin to plan and research with the lake firmly in mind; and, most importantly, as I visualize being on the lake throwing these flies to those trout.

Both of these flies show promise. I saw them tied on two separate local fly tying shows on TV, and in both cases a little bell went off in my head. They've been around for awhile, but I had never tied them, or fished them.

Now I've tied them, and I can't wait to fish them.

The Bugmeister. Developed by John Perry, a Montana guide. (At least that's who Orvis credits for the fly.) A classic attractor pattern that can be adapted to imitate anything from skwala to stoneflies to hoppers. I found three very different versions of this fly in one quick check on the internet. The common denominators are the deer hair tail and wing and the wingpost and parachute hackle. This version is pretty simple, but the trout at the lake have simple tastes. This could be the Carpet Caddis of 2012.

The Lady McConnell. Originated in 1979 by Brian Chan, British Columbia chironimid guru, and named after McConnell Lake near Kamloops, where it was first tested. This is a lake fly, designed to imitate an almost fully emerged adult midge. Seems to me there might be, oh, about a million times next summer on the lake when this could be the right fly to try.

Now back to that exhausting research.

Things That Glow

2012-02-07T01:20:00.000-08:00

Tonight's full moon. When it rose it was 99% full, but it was soon at 100%.

Jeremiah's new lava lamp. Over several months, each time he and a friend went bowling

they shot baskets in the arcade until he had saved up 2,000 tickets.

He's very proud of it.

A spider who lived on the pump at the forest service campground

up on the mountain where the Redbands live.

The dorsal, in the evening sun, of one of the Rainbows at the lake this past summer.

A rough chunk of amethyst, the February birthstone,

February being the month of my birth.

My daughter Laura, expecting her first baby in April.

We've known for some time, but we're getting more excited by the day.

It will be my third grandchild--and my first granddaughter!

february flymage

2012-02-06T19:03:00.000-08:00

You'll like flymage.

"311," by Emily Dickinson

2012-02-06T01:00:00.000-08:00

Itsifts from Leaden Sieves —
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road —

Itmakes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain —
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again —

Itreaches to the Fence —
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces —
It deals Celestial Veil

ToStump, and Stack — and Stem —
A Summer’s empty Room —
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them —

ItRuffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen —
Then stills its Artisans — like Ghosts —
Denying they have been —

A Cautionary Tale

2012-02-04T11:26:00.000-08:00

I had the misfortune to have my email hacked last week. All of my contacts--work, family, friends--received emails from me assuring them that I had the secret to instant wealth.

Those who knew me well figured out right away that it wasn't from me. They knew I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to achieve instant wealth.

As a result of the hack my account was "cleared" and I was required to jump through many hoops in an effort to reestablish my identity, reset my password, and reclaim my account. Unfortunately, the many hoops led to many dead ends. I finally gave up and opened a new account with a different email provider.

All well and good, except that it has required me to rebuild my contact list from the ground up. That's not impossible, but it is certainly a pain.

So here's a simple recommendation: print out or save a copy of your contact list on a regular basis. Seems so simple. I will do it now. Wish I had done it before. (I bet all of you have always done that, and I'm the only poor sod who didn't.)

It goes to show that technology, too, is shifting sand. And it's good to be reminded that the things that provide the solid rock on which we stand--the people we love and the natural world--don't need to be plugged in, and don't depend on "servers" or "providers." They are by their nature servers and providers.

It makes all these idealized images of snowy retreats very attractive. I figure not one of them has internet access. Nice.

Woodchuck Day

2012-02-02T22:28:00.000-08:00

(From A Field Guide to the Mammals, Burt & Grossenheider:)

WOODCHUCK Marmota monax
(Ground Hog, Marmot)
Recognition: Head and body 16-20 inches; tail 4-7 inches;wt. 5-10 lb.
This heavy-bodied, short-legged, yellowish-brown to brown animal is best known in the eastern part of its range. Belly paler than the back; hairs on body have a slightly frosted appearance; feet dark brown or black; no white except around nose. Skull has 22 teeth. There are eight mammae.
Similar species: (1) Hoary Marmot -- black and white on head and shoulders. (2) Arctic Ground Squirrel -- smaller; feet not black.
Habitat: Open woods, brushy and rocky ravines.
Habits: Diurnal for most part; may wander at night in early spring. Feeds on tender, succulent plants. Dens in extensive burrow with two or more openings; may be 4-5 ft. deep and 25-30 ft. long; known to have excavated dirt at 1 opening, others dug from below, concealed. Hibernates Oct.-Feb. Home range, 40-160 acres. Voice a shrill whistle. Lives 4-5 years. Mates in March or April; breeds at 1 year.
Young: Born April-May; 2-6; gestation period 31-32 days; 1 litter a year. Naked; blind.
Economic status: In an agricultural area the Woodchuck can do considerable damage to crops; in other areas it is probably beneficial, since its burrows are refuges and homes for many other mammals -- game and furbearers.
February 2, 2012: Saw its shadow.

February Thaw

2012-02-01T01:22:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's a defense mechanism, or a sign that by this time Winter has most certainly unhinged me, but I consider February to be the first month of Spring. If you look around and notice what's happening each day, and day by day, you might agree with me.

This is the month that the changes begun by the Solstice reach a momentum that can't be stopped, a critical mass that slowly but surely brings Winter to its knees.

So Happy February! In honor of the month I tied up this fly, which I am calling "February Thaw."

Yes, this is the beginning of the end, and every fly we tie brings us closer to the day when we can finally once again cast them into the trout's lair.

Go East, Young Man

2012-01-31T20:43:00.000-08:00

Right after I first moved to Washington a man was telling me a story about someone from Minnesota. Another person interrupted. "No, they're from Montana." "Well, OK." the man said impatiently. "Somewhere back east."

It's lovely to live where Montana is "back east." And this video of Montana fishing is lovely, too, a tonic for the winter-worn soul.

Montana Wild Fish Reel 2011 from Montana Wild on Vimeo.

The Prettiest Thing Some Fish Has Ever Seen

2012-01-31T03:22:00.000-08:00

With all the great streamer ties out there these days, I should just quit. Or spring for some of the correct materials. But I can't quit--I was kidding about that; and I'll get the materials the way I always have--in dribs and drabs.

Meanwhile, I tied up something while actually following a traditional recipe, more or less. It's the Royal Coachman Bucktail, but I need to add "Variant" to that name. I used red hackle fibers for the tail, and an underwing of green bucktail. And the brown hackle should perhaps be more sparse.

But, I had a good time tying it. And I'll probably find a fish somewhere, some day, that will think this is the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

Eat Sleep Fish

2012-01-30T12:41:00.000-08:00

I missed this the first time around. This is Issue Two of an online magazine out of the UK. Good stuff. Check it out here.

A Look in the Archives: "The Fly Fisher's Guide," 1816

2012-01-27T21:29:00.000-08:00

Here is another wonderful book from the distant past. I suspect there was fly fishing somewhere in the new United States in 1816--just a little more than a decade after Lewis and Clark's journey of discovery--but it was flourishing in the old country of England. George C. Bainbridge was one of the experts of the day gathering his followers.

They certainly knew a good fish then, and the artists of the time were gifted in celebrating their beauty. (I'll turn the book sideways for you.) This reminds me of the Rubenesque renderings of women from that and earlier eras.

(For comparison, here's one of Peter Paul Rubens' paintings circa 1626-28, "Hermit and Sleeping Angelica." Somehow this seems right at home on a fly fishing blog. SOTM? {That's "Slab of the Month," one of the regular features on Moldy Chum.})

Back to the book, George knew a thing or two about flies. Sylvester Nemes includes George C. Bainbridge, along with many others, in his 2004 book Two Centuries of Soft-Hackled Flies. Sylvester giving credit where credit is due.

What I really like about this book is that it's printed on one side of the page only. One of the early owners of this copy--I like to think the man who first bought it with the same anticipation and eagerness to learn as I have felt--filled the empty pages, sometimes spilling over onto the color plates, with voluminous notes on every scrap of information on every fishing topic that he could find.

Notice the specifications for a landing net--homemade, as so much equipment was then: a five foot handle with "a double spike one strong flat pointed blade other a crook sharpened inside like a fish hook for cutting bough." Great idea.

Makes me yearn, on this cold January night, for a trip to a secret summer stream off the beaten path. I think he felt the same yearning, this brother of the angle, and I hope he satisfied it many times over.

Things I Love About This Planet: Aurora Borealis and Aurora Australis

2012-01-27T16:43:00.000-08:00

Aurora Australis captured by NASA's IMAGE satellite

and overlaid onto the famous "Blue Marble" image. NASA photograph.

For you aurora lovers, I found this site with spectacular photos of both the Northern and Southern Lights. Let us not forget that we are enveloped in beauty.

Things I Love About This Planet: Aurora Borealis

2012-01-25T16:53:00.000-08:00

A solar flare on Sunday caused a radiation storm which hit the earth on Tuesday morning lighting up the Aurora Borealis. We sometimes see the Northern Lights here, usually a whitish glow that swirls slowly and sometimes sends up rays of light, though some old timers have seen curtains of color. I hope to one day. This display was confined mainly to high northern latitudes.

Shetland, Great Britain

Donegal, Ireland

Fairbanks, Alaska

Eagle River, Alaska

Snow Is Falling Again

2012-01-24T21:20:00.000-08:00

Snow is falling again, the fourth snowfall we've had over the last week. None have been heavy, but we must have 6 inches on the ground already with more still coming down. There is much more in the mountains. Good to see that Winter has finally worked out its issues and decided to go work.

Along with the rest of the West, we are behind on the snowpack so far. But there is reason to hope for a good year.

There is also the promise of good flows and water levels in our lakes and rivers this Summer, with the resulting good fishing. I've also been thinking about the local river and wondering what affect last week's Pineapple Express Pacific Storm would have on the Steelhead. Coastal rivers in Oregon are blown out, according to the The Caddis Fly. The local river is still choked with ice. But I've been anticipating the first opportunity to get on the river again, looking forward to February and March and their usually rapidly improving conditions and numbers of fish. In fact, you might say in some ways I was depending on it.

The word is out, though, that Washington rivers will close to Steelheading on February 1 because of low numbers of returning wild fish. (I read it first in Blood Knot.) I'll have to decide what to do about that. As will we all.

Even though I have not yet caught a wild Steelhead out of this river in my own backyard, I believe there is always the chance. I've fly fished enough to know that the realm of possibilities is very large indeed, and miracles do happen. That has always been a part of the anticipation as I have fished, and as I've worked a hooked fish in close enough to get a look at. I will continue to anticipate, and dream, two things that no one can close the season on.

I will be in Oregon in the middle of February. Again according to The Caddis Fly, there are so many Steelhead they're overflowing the rivers. Dig this, in a photo posted tonight:

My trip in February is not a "fishing trip," but I wouldn't be surprised if some fishing happened. But, for now, it looks like this little hatchery fish may be the last--and only--Washington State Steelhead for me this Winter. And I'm grateful for it.

Meanwhile, the snow is still falling, gently but with determination. And of course there's more to a good snowfall than the replenishment of the water table and the promise of good fishing. This one tonight is the kind that makes you glad for the respite of deep Winter. It awakens those ancient archetypal instincts of us cave dwellers to hole up and make a big fire. The temperature is just at freezing, and there is just enough breeze to make the flakes dance in the light from the windows. It makes the fire in the stove glow even warmer and cheerier, so that it's a pleasure to settle in for a long Winter's evening.

Which is exactly what I'm doing.

Blood Knot Magazine: Blogger Issue

2012-01-24T14:29:00.000-08:00

Check out the Blood Knot Magazine: Second Annual Blogger Issue. Always a good read.

Interestingly, their marketing strategy now emphasizes the fact that the magazine is free.

"You Gotta Leave Some In Your Cup..."

2012-01-24T00:10:00.000-08:00

A great post over at Sipping Emergers for anyone who aspires to be John Gierach, or who thinks their camp coffee is the best ever.

Brian O'Keefe Weighs In

2012-01-23T03:15:00.000-08:00

I was surprised to receive a comment from Brian O'Keefe on my recent post, Some Things You can't Put a Price Tag On. He and Todd Moen produce Catch Magazine. O'Keefe's comment deserves attention, so here it is. (It's also in the comments section of the post, if you want to weigh in, too.)

Hi Guys.

Hope you don't mind if I chime in about a couple things. Todd Moen and I produce Catch Magazine in Sisters, Oregon. We are locals and local anglers, in a big way, but Catch Magazine is not a local magazine, or a regional magazine, we are a global magazine. Just like most skiing, scuba, sailing, food and news magazines. The Internet knows no bounds, so it opens up the world quite easily. And, we are a photography/video magazine with fly fishing content. As you know, we are not a How To magazine, although we do give some photo tips.

Our essays and videos are really not about fancy, expensive trips. Our readers are from 148 countries so what might seem like a fancy destination to one person, is actually another person's backyard. Tarpon and bonefish to many is the local catch and they dream of catching a steelhead or going on a pack trip into an alpine lake setting. Our contributors are from Scotland, Finland, NZ, Croatia, etc, and as a photography magazine first, we show a variety of photos/videos with the photo/video quality being the key element.

I get all the paper magazines and they are great. I see a lot of regional publications and blogs that fill an important niche. Fly tying especially has come a long ways thanks to local blogs. And, about charging 12 bucks for a year/6 issues. In a nutshell, we just have to. There is no way around it. Many other on line magazines are part of a larger organization. We are just two guys who work 60 hour weeks and split $5 footlongs from Subway. As a global publication, our advertisers need a global brand. There are not that many and hats off to Scientific Angler, Simms, Winston and others for helping out. However, all these companies are trying their hardest to make ends meet. They have lost a large segment of the their retail base and the economy has all of us thinking twice about new equipment. They can not be expected to absorb the burden of every paper magazine, every on-line magazine, the film makers, the film tours, sport shows, trade shows, etc.

That is just in North America, they also have marketing resources in Europe, Asia, NZ, etc. To maintain and improve the Catch Magazine experience, we are going to share that burden with the end user. It is really just like buying a spool of fluorocarbon or regular mono. If you want fluoro, then you buy it. If you don't, you don't. Todd and I would like to keep Catch free, but it is very expensive to do what we do. If you have noticed, the back pages are dedicated to many non-profits organizations who benefit greatly from the 100,000 plus people who see their logos and click the links. Sorry for the long post, but this is about as short as I can make it.

Brian O'Keefe.

I found this helpful and persuasive, so I want to state a couple of things.

1. Since I'm not running for president I can say I've changed my mind about one thing: Catch Magazine is not elitist, as I implied in my post. I admitted when I wrote it that I was filtering my thoughts through one of my own cultural biases, but O'Keefe's description of the two of them working out of Sisters, Oregon to make this thing go, and his explanation of their mission and global readership, convinces me that I was wrong. It's actually impressive as hell that they've been able to achieve what they have. Kudos.

2. I understand much better now the need to charge $12 to keep the product coming, a product that maintains a high standard of excellence. I hope it works for them.

That still leaves some concerns.

O'Keefe acknowledges the economic pressures affecting the fly fishing industry these days, which in turn has led Catch Magazine to the conclusion that they have no choice but to charge the end user. The problem, as I suspect they well know, is that the end users they are seeking to appeal to are the same end users who are that "large segment of...retail base" that their advertisers have lost.

So how do you expand the base, instead of just trying to spread the current limited retail dollars around in different combinations? I know. I'm not the first one to ask that question. But I have some thoughts on the subject.

There seem to be two main ways to expand the base: bring new people into the sport, or win back that "large segment of the retail base" that has been lost. I put myself squarely in that second category. I suspect I'm fairly typical of a large portion of those lost souls, so if you'll allow me, I'd like to point out some things about us.

First, we're frugal. That has something to do with the economic downturn. We simply don't have the ready cash that we used to. But there's another more important factor at work here. We're not novices anymore. We've lost our innocence. We are much more discerning than we used to be about what's offered out there. We have learned that actually we don't absolutely have to have the many products and services that are pitched to us as essential to our success and well being and manhood. Most of us not only can't afford the latest high modulus titanium wonder rod, we don't need it. When we need new equipment--the essentials: waders, boots, rods, reels, lines, fly tying vise and materials--we can usually scrape up the cash to get it. But we aren't looking for bells and whistles. We're looking for good, moderately-priced equipment that will do what it's supposed to and last a good long time.

Second, we're independent and self-sufficient. I was on the Grande Ronde a few years ago early in September. It was me and one other guy. I was out in a run when he came along and sat down and watched me for awhile. It wasn't long before he was crtiqueing my casting. He explained to me that I really needed to be using a double haul, and that he would be glad to teach me how to do it. I explained to him that I knew how to do a double haul, but I chose not to do a double haul at the moment. I suppose he was trying to be helpful, but he was a pain in the ass. He left and I hooked four fish out of that run and landed two. Without a double haul. In the same way, we don't need an "industry" to tell us how and where to fish. We need basic equipment and services that help us along as we figure it out for ourselves.

So where do we usually find that? On the internet. Ask Singlebarbed if you can find good equipment, and fly tying materials, on the internet. He has done some posts that are textbooks on the subject. Do a search on any subject from fly tying to fishing knots to product reviews to double hauls and you'll find a wealth of information out there. For free. It comes from people like us, so it may not be the last word on a subject, and it may not even be right. But, to use an important term that Herringbone often lifts up in his comments, it's authentic. It's all part of an on-going global conversation, and we can sort it out for ourselves, take what we need or what fits us, and continue on the journey to enlightenment.

The same can be said for online media. What's nice about online magazines is that they consolidate edifying content in a convenient format. But there is plenty of content out there--photos and videos--flying around on their own. Most of it is made by people who simply love to fish, and love posting their own photos and videos of the places and the flies and the fish--and their vehicles, and lunches, and dogs--that are special to them. They may not be technically brilliant; but when all is said and done that doesn't matter. Their appeal is in their authenticity and artless innocence. And, they aren't trying to sell anything, except maybe the notion that they find fly fishing a hell of a lot of fun.

This, too, is a global phenomenon. We like that. We aren't isolationists. We aren't jingoists who believe that the good old USA is the only country with decent fly fishing. We love seeing people in other countries fishing their home waters. Or coming here to fish our waters. Some of the most entertaining videos I've ever seen were on a Japanese website documenting a trip to the Henry's Fork.

So the problem for Catch Magazine is how to stake out a portion of that global fly fishing media cloud, and then sell it. That's a daunting task. It could be argued, perhaps, that their success depends on staying connected to the global grass roots fly fishing movement, even while a price tag sets them apart from so much of it.

But I have a different take after reading and considering O'Keefe's points. Maybe what can save them from becoming just another piece of a fly fishing industry that is losing large segments of its retail base is if some of us fly fishers donate $12 to their cause. And stay in touch in a way that can help them stay in touch as they negotiate the difficult maze of global business interests. And a fly fishing industry in which a large portion of retailers have forgotten how to serve their base, and seem intent only on coming up with "innovations" to justify their own existence.

So check out the latest issue of Catch Magazine. You may see your way clear to be one of those who will be donating to keep it going.

I just might make a donation myself.

Fire and Ice

2012-01-21T22:57:00.000-08:00

Sundown at the Ranch

2012-01-21T22:54:00.000-08:00

Would You Let This Dog in the House?

2012-01-20T01:08:00.000-08:00

This is Rocky. He's a big lug of a dog. Kim loves him. I have a strained relationship with him, going back to his puppy days when he started eating my things. Rare books, fly tying materials, boots, jackets, furniture... Of course I tried to prevent it. But he always found a way. A trait he has continued to this day. Now he eats road kill, trash bags--full, firewood, and anything--shoes and socks, T shirts, water bottles, mail--that anyone inadvertently leaves outside for a second. Yes, we try to prevent it--let me count the ways--but he always finds a way. Some might say he's smart. I might say he's too dumb to learn better.

Did I mention the digging?

So yesterday here he is at my window. It's 5 degrees outside and dropping, the wind is howling, and snow is flying. There's a nice warm fire going inside. So would you let him in?

He's half Husky. He's slept outside all winter. He has a nice thick coat. He can get into the shed if he wants to where it's out of the wind, and there's even a nice doghouse for him. But he sleeps out beside the back door on a pad, curled up in a ball with his nose tucked under his tail. He gets up and howls at coyotes. He gets up and barks at deer. He gets up and barks at ghosts. He gets up and wanders off in the middle of the night to who knows where. He gets up when I go out to look at the sky and to get the last load of wood, and he wants to play.

So, would you let this dog in the house?

Don't be a sucker. He's not cold. He's just bored. He knows the boys are home from school. He wants to be where the action is. He knows the cats are inside. He wants to play with the cats. He loves to play with the cats. They hate it. He wants to eat their food. He wants to eat our food. He just...wants.

Kim did let him inside for awhile. Thanks a lot, Kim, said the cats. I was thinking it, as usual. She closes the cats in the bathroom when the dog is in the house. She puts the cat food up high where even he can't reach it. Then she tries to get him to lie down. He runs around, or snoops around, or stands on his hind legs at the kitchen counter. Kim keeps hopping up from the computer to head him off. Lie down, Rocky! she says. Over and over. Sometimes he does. Most times he just looks at her. With a happy smile on his face.

Finally last night she put him outside again. He ran around in the snow. He dragged his tattered deer skin around in the snow. He was on coyote patrol until late. He did end up sleeping in the shed. It was the coldest night of the winter so far. But not in the dog house. But in the shed, out of the wind, curled up on an old armchair that needs to go to the dump. I'm not stupid, Rocky says.

Tonight it's not so cold; only 10 degrees. So he's back out on his pad outside the back door. At least he was awhile ago. He may be on patrol again. A dog's work is never done.

Some Things You can't Put a Price Tag On

2012-01-19T02:03:00.000-08:00

Tom Chandler over at The Trout Underground makes note of a broad hint in the new Catch ezine that it will soon go from free to a paid subscription basis. It will cost you twelve bucks a year (six issues) to go online and look at all those pretty pictures of places you can't afford to go.

Or is that just me?

I guess there are two issues here. No, three. The first is my own cultural bias--I admit it--against anything that smacks of elitism. I wish the fly fishing world was immune to it, but it sure ain't. Catch seems to me to be appealing to the moneyed crowd for whom exotic destinations and high-end equipment serve as just one more status symbol. It's a kind of country club mentality that puts me off. Big time.

But, maybe that's just fine for some people. I wouldn't want to be accused of "the politics of envy" or anything like that. And that gets us to the second issue. I don't envy that approach to the sport I love. I simply have a different set of values when it comes to why I love it. It starts with the natural world and the fish that live in it. It ends with people like you and me who hear the call of that world and want to be out in it fishing. The experiences we have and the equipment we gather along the way have nothing to do with status. The fishing is what matters; the equipment is simply a means to that end.

Neither are the places we fish chosen for their status quotient. Most of us fish most of the time close to home. We search out our home waters and we learn as much as we can about them and their fish. We immerse ourselves in that world. It becomes a constant in our lives, experienced on an intimate level, face to face and hands on, rather than through the intermediaries of travel agents, lodge owners, and guides.

When we are on an intimate basis with the world of our home waters we quickly learn that we cannot impose our will on it. Rather, we need to be open to what that world can teach us. The more we learn from that world, not just about that world, the more we learn how to connect to it. And one of the most powerful connections is when everything comes together and we catch a fish. And then let it go again.

Along with that learning comes a deep appreciation--even a love--of the natural world and the cycles within cycles within cycles that make up the miraculously intricate Cycle of Life upon which all things depend. Including us, we suddenly see. That changes us. We learn that we are just one part of that great cycle. And we seek more and more not to intrude on it, or exploit it, but to fit into it. For many of us the deepest satisfaction we find on the water is that sense of belonging, of having found the place in all the universe where we fit.

You can find that on Christmas Island, perhaps, but it's important to know that you can find it right at home. And my guess is that if you haven't found it on your home waters you won't find it anywhere.

Finally, when you have found your place--and your self--in the world of fish and their waters, you want to do everything you can to nurture, sustain, and protect that world. It becomes sacred, as life itself is sacred.

That gets us to the third issue. Can Catch magazine charge for its photos and for the view of fly fishing it is promoting? Sure. Go for it. If you believe fly fishing is a commodity that can be sold for a profit, then have at it. There are many who think that if you can't pay for something it isn't worth anything, and that the more you pay for something the more worth it has. I'm sure they'll snap it up.

I won't be getting a subscription myself, though. Instead I'll continue to visit the websites and blogs--and ezines--of those people who love fly fishing for what it is, and want to celebrate it out of the sheer joy of it, and who love to connect with anyone anywhere who loves it, too. There is plenty of that bubbling up all over the place.

Like, for instance, this one:

This is Southern Culture on the Fly. Read the editor's column in which he exclaims that it would be nice to see photos in a magazine of a place where he could actually go and fish. Amen, brother! And notice the price on the lower right hand corner of the cover. Yes, yes, yes! They get it.

There are some things worth far too much to put a price tag on.

Snow Squall

2012-01-17T03:37:00.000-08:00

We had a snow squall the other day. It dropped about an inch before it blew away.

It inspired me to think about streamers. It turns out I'm not the only one inspired by winter weather. Brk Trt over at Small Stream Reflections tied up a beautiful streamer inspired by shelf ice. And Streamers 365 posted a gorgeous streamer inspired by an ice storm, complete with representations of power lines and broken branches.

I'm humbled by the skill of those tiers. But I went ahead anyway and tied up one of my own, the Snow Squall.

We have some more winter weather heading our way. Meanwhile, the recent cold snap has iced up the river. Looks like I'll get some more inspiration and some time to hone my skills.

DETAILS

TodayJan 17

Wed18

Thu19

Fri20

Sat21


Snow Shower	Snow Shower	Snow Shower	Rain / Snow Showers	Snow Shower
25°FHigh	16°High	31°High	40°High	37°High
9°Low	14°Low	30°Low	32°Low	24°Low
Chance of Snow: 50%	Chance of Snow: 70%	Chance of Snow: 60%	Chance of Rain: 30%	Chance of Snow: 50%

"Fire and Ice," by Robert Frost

2012-01-12T16:21:00.000-08:00

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if I had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Dreaming in Color

2012-01-11T17:44:00.000-08:00

I recently found this painting by Rod Crossman. Lovely, and evocative, too. Let there be Browns...

Dreaming in Black and White

2012-01-11T00:02:00.000-08:00

In what tends to be a black and white time of the year, these photos have been especially evocative to me of a season and its trout that I sorely miss.

River Report: I Get Lucky

2012-01-09T18:10:00.000-08:00

I headed straight to The Glide on this drab afternoon, thinking about those tugs last Friday. I had been thinking about them frequently over the weekend. I stayed with the same fly, but this time I added a sink tip.

At about the same place I had gotten those tugs, I hooked up. Same fish? I think it's a good bet.

The fish took as I started to strip in after the dangle. It pulled, but it didn't fight at first. I was expecting a Whitefish until that first big swirl when I saw that flash of red that lit up the day.

It wasn't big, but it acquitted itself well, making long lunging runs as it did its best to get to the other side of the river.

I took another pass through The Glide, but that was it for today.

But, boy, it sure felt good.

Remember the Past: Crazy Horse

2012-01-08T21:18:00.000-08:00

Overlooking Little Big Horn Battlefield. 2011

On this date in 1877, Lakota Sioux warrior Crazy Horse fought his last battle against the United States Army, half a year after the Battle of Little Big Horn in June 1876. The battle took place at Wolf Mountain in Montana against General Miles' army; Crazy Horse and his band had engaged the army throughout the fall and winter. By January, they were weakened and hungry. In May, Crazy Horse led his remaining people to Fort Robinson and formally surrendered. (From The Writer's Almanac.)

Portrait of Chief Crazy HorseThe Strange Man of the Oglala

"I thought of things that had happened the last days, seasons and summers. I began to see that all things were strung together like beads of a necklace, one after another, from this day back and this day forward they went on forever, the hunt, the warpath, the teaching by Hump and my father and the wounding of Conquering Bear.

I thought of other beads: The songs of my mother as we laughed together when I was a child, the songs I sang to Little Mouse as I brushed away the mosquitoes and gnats from her face as she lay in her cradleboard. And how I told her stories until she fell to sleep. I saw the face of Little Mouse as she is now, with her long eyelashes flickering up and down over her smiling, bright black eyes. It was as if I had returned to mother earth from another world and she wanted to hold me to her bosom and whisper in my ear."

-Crazy Horse-

"There was never a photograph taken or a likeness made from first hand witness of Crazy Horse," so said Mari Sandoz in the biography, Crazy Horse, the Strange Man of the Oglala.

Her book was published in 1942. At the time there was little reason to doubt her words. From eyewitness descriptions, we know that Crazy Horse was five feet, eight inches tall, lithe and sinewy, with a lean face and a thin, sharp nose. His countenance was of quiet dignity, but morose, dogged, tenacious and melancholy. It was said that he always wore a white buckskin shirt and dark blue leggins, with two feathers hanging loose in his hair and his long braids wrapped in beaver fur almost the color of his hair.

He was known throughout his life as "the light-skinned warrior," In his youth he was called "Curly" for his light, loose hair, the "color of a young prairie chick." In The Killing of Chief Crazy Horse (1976, A.H. Clark Co. of Glendale, California) is a reproduction of an alleged portrait of Crazy Horse. The book was a collaborative effort of Robert A. Clark of Spokane, Washington, and Carroll Friswold. The portrait was first published by J.W. Vaughn in With Crook at the Rosebud (Stackpole, 1956).

There is a striking correlation between the eyewitness description of Crazy Horse and the man in the portrait. The original portrait is a quarter tintype, 2.5 x 3.5 inches (one of four images on a tintype plate) taken in the summer of 1877 at Fort Robinson in Crazy Horse's 35th, and last, year. Its first owner was Baptiste (Little Bat) Garnier. When Little Bat was murdered in 1900, the tintype went to his wife, a cousin of Crazy Horse. After her death, it went to her daughter, Ellen Howard, from whom Fred Hackett acquired it. Hackett and Vaught published it in 1956. Later, Friswold obtained the tintype from Hackett with a letter from Ellen Howard attesting to the authenticity of the tintype.

The image shown here was taken directly from the tintype, which was scanned at high resolution and retouched to remove chips and scratches without changing content by Scott Burgan or Sheridan, Wyoming.

LOOKING AT THE TINTYPE

Tintypes are positive prints and are laterally reversed when viewed directly (as one sees oneself in a mirror). In the linked enlargement the image has been laterally flipped to present it in the more familiar orientation.

The Face Wound
There are those that claim this tintype is not of Crazy Horse on the basis that there is no obvious scar on the face of the subject. It is known that No Water shot Crazy Horse in the face because his wife, Black Buffalo Robe Woman, rode off with Crazy Horse.

Far too much has been made of this scar on the assumption that it disfigured the face of Crazy Horse. This is not a valid argument. In a letter to Will G. Robinson (Secretary of the South Dakota State Historical Society) on October 19, 1947; Mari Sandoz, in response his inquiry, stated that the revolver used by No Water to shoot Crazy Horse was a small caliber that could be hidden in the palm of the hand. He borrowed it from Bad Heart Bull and, unbeknownst to No Water, the powder charge was about a half load, to save precious gunpowder. It had been loaded to hunt rabbits and other small animals. The bullet made a small wound near the left nostril, traveled along the upper jawbone above the roots of the teeth and exited out the cheek.

In time this left a slight ridge and, according to eye witnesses, "...giving that side of Crazy Horse's face a slightly haughty cast---striking, considering the mildness and gentleness of his face." Here we need to inspect the picture carefully. Consideration should be given to the age of the wound. (The picture was taken in 1877, over ten years after the shooting.) In the picture it can be seen that the left cheek is more distinct than the right with the skin whitened from an old scar from below the left nostril to the corner of the mouth. It can best be described that his face has "a slightly haughty cast," as stated in Sandoz's letter.

Noteworthy Considerations
A Pose of Peace: Photographs of Indians of the time show them in full battle dress, wearing a fierce look and holding their favorite weapon, a rifle, axe or knife. Not so in this picture, the subject is uniquely without a weapon of any sort and is holding a peace pipe and its tamp with a clutch of Red Willow branches in his left hand. To the Lakota the left hand holds spiritual values since it is closest to the heart. (When greeting a good friend they shake with the left hand.) The Lakota used the bark of the Red Willow (not tobacco) in the ceremonial smoke of a peace council.

A Chief's Blanket: He is holding a blanket over his left arm that is carefully draped for maximum presentation, the border resting on the floor. At the time of his surrender Crazy Horse's most prized possession was a red blanket, a chief's blanket. In agreeing to have his picture taken he would make sure that his blanket would be properly presented in the photograph. Mari Sandoz stated that Crazy Horse carried his red blanket folded over his arm as he walked (unwittingly) to the guardhouse, where he was bayoneted by Private Gentles.

Earrings: are common among the Lakota and each person had their own style, but most consisted of open rings or long chains, the person in the picture has short, shell earrings, consistent with those known to be worn by Crazy Horse as an outgrowth of his vision.

PROVENANCE

Little Bat was a good and trusted friend of Crazy Horse. It appears that Little Bat persuaded Crazy Horse to have his picture taken with the assurance that it would be kept secret while Crazy Horse still lived. Crazy Horse wasn't afraid of the "shadow catcher," as stated by many writers. He was fully aware of how cameras worked; he just didn't want his picture shown about. He had a lot of enemies, Indian and White, and anonymity was his best protection.

Through the dedicated efforts of Peter Abiuso, an amateur historical sleuth, the original tintype and Howard's letter were found in the effects of Carroll Friswold's estate. They were sold at auction by Butterfield Auctions of Los Angeles, California in December 2000 and later acquired by the Custer Battlefield Museum at Crow Agency, Montana where they are now available for public viewing.

Guardhouse at Fort Robinson where Crazy Horse was killed.

September, 1877

"The Snowshoe Hare," by Mary Oliver

2012-01-08T20:21:00.000-08:00

The fox

is so quiet—

he moves like a red rain—

even when his

shoulders tense and then

snuggle down for an instant

against the ground

and the perfect

gate of his teeth

slams shut

there is nothing

you can hear

but the cold creek moving

over the dark pebbles

and across the field

and into the rest of the world—

and even when you find

in the morning

the feathery

scuffs of fur

of the vanished

snowshoe hare

tangled

on the pale spires

of the broken flowers

of the lost summer—

fluttering a little

but only

like the lapping threads

of the wind itself—

there is still

nothing that you can hear

but the cold creek moving

over the old pebbles

and across the field and into

another year.

"The Snowshoe Hare" by Mary Oliver, from New & Selected Poems. © Beacon Press, 1992.

You Do It, I Do It, Bears Do It...Wolves Do It?

2012-01-07T20:35:00.000-08:00

Photos taken at Brooks Falls on the Brooks River above Naknek Lake in the Katmai National Monument, Alaska. (Via email; photos unattributed.)

River Report: Just a Kiss

2012-01-07T00:01:00.000-08:00

"Just a kiss." My dating days are long past, but I seem to remember hearing those words more than once. A kiss is nice, but I was always hoping for more.

As I was perusing blogs on Friday, I found the "Top Five Tips to Increase Winter Steelhead Success," posted by Zach over on the Idylwilde Marinated in Awesomeness Blog:

1. Go fishing more!

2. Try to spend more time on the river fishing and less time reading about winter steelhead on the internet!

3. Fish flies that you can effectively cast consistently all day long. If the fly is not landing in “the zone” on every cast, odds of catching FEWER winter steelhead increase dramatically.

4. Keep your fly in the water as much as possible. Happens naturally when you go fishing more often.

5. Stop reading this blog and go fishing!

So I stopped reading and went. I lost a fly long-lining the Bridge Run, then slogged upstream to The Glide. I covered it slowly and thoroughly as evening deepened into dusk.

Down at the end I got a kiss. Just a kiss. Something picked up the fly and gave it three or four tugs. Good tugs, Steelheady tugs. Then let go.

Hoping for more, I went right back. And again, and again. I worked that section over, making each cast count, varying the speed and depth of the fly as much as I could. Doing everything I could to get something more. But that was all I got. Just a kiss.

Maybe I'll get to Second Base on the next date. Or, who knows? I might get lucky.

OSPREY

2012-01-06T13:36:00.000-08:00

Take a deep breath before you watch this. It will still leave you breathless.

Getting Through the Winter: Bibliotherapy

2012-01-05T01:25:00.000-08:00

I feel all at loose ends. This is the time, deep into winter, holidays over, that I really miss the cleansing and renewal that come with fishing on a regular basis. The river has been iced up pretty good for the last few weeks, though a recent warm spell has opened things up. On my way to work today I saw two guys in a boat working a run. So there's a chance I could get there soon and see what's up. (Word on the street is that there isn't much up at the moment.)

I also have this idea that I could hop in the truck some morning and run down to Rocky Ford Creek, a spring creek open all year. I've caught some very nice fish out of there, but it has been three years at least since the last time I plied those waters. It has strong appeal right now. I appreciate fishing a river right in my own back yard, but, then again--it's in my own back yard. Rocky Ford would be a day away out in the middle of nowhere--and the Rainbows are there, and they're big.

I just have to find that window of opportunity. It seems harder to do in the winter when regular fishing trips aren't built into the weekly routine.

Meanwhile, there are distractions and vicarious experience. For me, at this time of year, that means books. Yesterday the boys and I crossed the pass to Spokane. On the way back we stopped at a little surplus/thrift store in Chewelah. It's one of those fun places that has all kinds of military surplus stuff (some great packs that I didn't get), old fishing rods and reels (no fly rods or reels yesterday), used knives of every description, and everything else under the sun. Including books.

I was disappointed at first, but then I found this lying flat on the shelf under a couple of other books.

I don't own any books by Schwiebert, so, at a buck and a half, I couldn't pass it up. This is the first of a series of paperbacks designed to make the material in Trout, his three-volume magnus opus, more accessible to the masses. I started it today, and for a big man who wore funny hats and knew everything there is to know about trout and fishing for trout, he is a surprisingly lyrical writer.

Ernest Schwiebert on the Henry's Fork during a blizzard hatch of caddis, 197?.

From Spring Creeks, by Mike Lawson.

This is the second paragraph of the first chapter, The Ancient Art of the Wet Fly:

"The wet-fly was common on the Michigan rivers in those days. It was the method for teaching a boy about trout, and it is still perhaps the best manner in which to start fly fishing. It was my introduction to trout water and trout problems. There were strangely peaceful tree-frog summers in those first years of the Second World War, with twilight whippoorwills and swamp-peepers. Those summers were spent on the beautiful, smooth-flowing rivers of lower Michigan, thousands of miles from the fighting. Both their swift gravel-bottom riffles, and the shy trout lying in their tangled deadfalls, first taught me about the wet-fly method."

Makes me want to tie up some wets to take to Rocky Ford.

I'm going to enjoy reading this book, and I expect I'll learn a thing or two. And each time I can open its pages it will be an armchair trip into the world of trout and trout fishing. (Don't worry, I'll fit it in with my reading of Moby Dick--and Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove trilogy, and a few books from Patrick O'Bryan's Aubrey/Maturin series.)

That will keep me going between fishing trips and until the long winter finally breaks into a peaceful tree-frog summer.

Step Into the Stream

2012-01-04T16:38:00.000-08:00

If you haven't found this already, here's a heads up for

a new site from Darren MacEachern bringing a streamer a day throughout the year. They have been amazing so far.

Check it out here: Streamers365.

Happy Birthday, Herman

2012-01-03T01:04:00.000-08:00

Today is the birthday of Herman Melville, author of the 822-page whaling epic Moby-Dick; or, The Whale. Though born into a well-to-do merchant's family in New York City, Melville was restless. He loved the sea, and as soon as he was old enough he sailed across the Atlantic as a cabin boy. When he was 21, his wanderlust still not satisfied, he took a berth on the Acushnet, a whaling ship bound for the South Seas. It was on that voyage that he learned the finer points of whaling, and first heard the tales of a legendary white whale, of extraordinary size and cunning, that had never been captured, and that had sent many good ships and men to the bottom of the sea.

When he returned to the States, he married and settled on a farm in Massachusetts. It was there he began to write. He published several books about his adventures in the South Seas, and these were generally well-received. He also began work on Moby-Dick.

Moby-Dick was published in 1851, to mixed reviews. Critics, perhaps expecting another "travel book," didn't seem to know what to do with a densely detailed, deeply philosophical, and daringly experimental masterpiece. The initial American printing of 3,000 copies was never sold out in his lifetime, and he made a total of $556.37 from the book.

Critical opinion turned against him, and later works were savaged. One reviewer in the New York Day Book, in a piece headlined "Herman Melville Crazy," wrote: "A critical friend, who read Melville's last book, 'Ambiguities," between two steamboat accidents, told us that it appeared to be composed of the ravings and reveries of a madman. We were somewhat startled at the remark, but still more at learning, a few days after, that Melville was really supposed to be deranged, and that his friends were taking measures to place him under treatment. We hope one of the earliest precautions will be to keep him stringently secluded from pen and ink."

Melville continued to write, pursuing the white whale of his art, but, unable to make a living as a writer, he also took a job as a customs inspector in New York City.

At his death in 1891 at age 72, Melville had no idea that he would later be considered one of the first modernist writers and one of the great American authors. Nor did he know that Moby-Dick; or, The Whale would come to be considered by many the Great American Novel.

Maybe you've read it. If you haven't, I recommend it. I haven't dipped into it for years, since my days as an undergraduate English Major. But this seems to be a good time of year to spend some time with one of the greatest fishing epics of all time.

At its heart, it's a rip-roaring adventure yarn. Still, it's not easy to wade through; but flyfishers with miles of wading under their belts already know that sometimes the best fishing requires the most rigorous and risky wading. It's deep in spots, and there are eddies and backwaters that seem to suck you down; but there are the swift-flowing sections and deep pools where you can expect a sudden pull of recognition, and a long and satisfying struggle to land a deeper understanding of life and self.

At the least, if you fish you need to know Captain Ahab. It's the obsession of Ahab that drives the book. He lost a leg to the White Whale, and is now maniacal in his obsession to wreak revenge on the devil fish. He ends up hanging by his neck from the rope of his own harpoon embedded in the great whale, and Moby Dick sounds, dragging him to his death in the green depths. (After which Moby comes back up and destroys the whaling ship, the Pequod, and every member of the crew except one, Ishmael, who survives--by floating on a coffin--to tell the story.)

Of Ahab's obsession, Melville writes: "The White Whale swam before him as the monomaniac incarnation of all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them, till they are left living on with half a heart and half a lung. That intangible malignity which has been from the beginning; to whose dominion even the modern Christians ascribe one-half of the worlds; which the ancient Ophites of the east reverenced in their statue devil; -- Ahab did not fall down and worship it like them; but deliriously transferring its idea to the abhorred white whale, he pitted himself, all mutilated, against it. All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in Moby Dick. He piled upon the whale's white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart's shell upon it."

—Moby-Dick, Ch. 41

I wouldn't say I'm as obsessed as Ahab. You probably aren't either. But this may yet be a cautionary tale for fanatical fly fishers. I feel a stirring inside when I read: "...all those malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them..." I could name a few of those agencies, I think, and the Agencies that seem to embody those agencies. I strongly suspect that one of the reasons I fish is to get away from those agencies.

But maybe we all need to do a little soul-searching. There may be a fine line between the simple pleasure we get from fooling a trout and that darker feeling that we need to catch fish in order to be fulfilled in some way. When the lake or stream ceases to be a refuge from the battle with malicious agencies, and instead becomes the battleground, we have crossed the line.

It's possible that some of the trends in our sport--headhunting, where one seeks out the biggest or "meanest" adversary to vanquish; or fantasy fishing, where one pays a steep fee to catch big fish in an artificially managed environment whether you have any skill, or experience, or appreciation at all--are signs that Old Ahab still lives in the hearts of men.

It's when the fish we seek become to us something other than what they are, when we project onto them something that comes out of our own brokenness, or emptiness, or hubris, or monomania, that Ahab has his revenge.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2011-12-31T20:21:00.000-08:00

Thanks for being a part of this blog in 2011.

Here's wishing you all the best in 2012.

What I Got for Christmas

2011-12-31T19:40:00.000-08:00

I remember when one of the first assignments we were given in school after Christmas vacation was to write a theme on what we got for Christmas. I haven't done that for awhile, but in the spirit of Ralphie in Christmas Story, writing the masterpiece on what he wanted for Christmas (a Red Ryder BB Gun), here's my theme.

WHAT I GOT FOR CHRISTMAS

I didn't get a lot of cool things, like some people I know, because we are "saving" our "money" for more "important things" like banks and credit card companies and gas and food, and because we have teenagers.

But what I did get was pretty cool anyway. Like this travel mug from my Sister-in-law who still lives in Chicago. She knows I like coffee--a lot--and she also knows that I still like the Chicago Bears (that's a football team) even though I've managed to break some other bad habits I picked up in Chicago.

One of the coolest presents was a new camera that I've been wanting and asking and begging for for a long, long time, even though it wasn't a present that was under the tree and I got to open it on Christmas. Instead I got to pick it out online and then wait for it to come in a delivery truck, and I had to make sure the dog wouldn't find it before I did because he likes to EAT PACKAGES. But I got it before he did, and it's really cool.

I also like fly fishing--a lot--but I didn't get anything like a new rod, or new waders, or new stuff for when I tie flies, or anything like that because people know by now that I like to pick out my own stuff and they always get me stuff that they think I would like but I really don't. But this camera is like a fly fishing present because I will take it with me all the time and take pictures of lakes and rivers and birds and trout and lots of really cool stuff. So I'm really happy.

And it's also like a present for my boys, too, because they like to watch videos of themselves playing sports, or maybe fishing sometimes, and this takes REALLY COOL videos. So they're happy, too, but not as happy as me.

Then I got one more present that I didn't have to order or unwrap, but it was a really cool surprise, and like something someone just sent me because they knew I would like it a lot, and I did. I was walking out to the woodshed to get some wood on Christmas night and an owl flew up RIGHT OVER MY HEAD. It was dark, but there was some light from the house so I could see the wings and the shape. It almost stopped right over me, so I could see it real good, then it flew away. But then it came back and flew over again, and then it did it again. And the whole time it was really quiet outside and even though it was flapping its wings I DID'NT HEAR ANYTHING. That's one of the really cool things about owls, they can fly in the dark without making any noise with their wings at all.

That was really cool. I didn't have my new camera, or my old one, so I looked this picture up online. But that's what I saw, except not so bright. That was a really cool present, or like a present.

So that's what I got for Christmas and even though it's not as much as some people I know might have got, or like the people on TV who get cars for Christmas, I thought what I got was really cool.

The Tetons: Year in Review

2011-12-30T07:44:00.000-08:00

Who knew there was a Grand Tetons Year in Review? But here it is, thanks to Tetoncam, over 20,000 images of the Grand Tetons on one page, fully zoomable and scrollable:

CLICK HERE

If you love the Tetons like I do, you'll have yourself a little fun.

Still Need to Get Away?

2011-12-29T11:57:00.000-08:00

Take a trip via the The Patagonia Journal. Some nice stuff.

"After Solstice," by Jim Yaussy Albright

2011-12-29T01:11:00.000-08:00

After solstice, winter days just beginning to stretch
longer.
A frozen lake under overcast skies. The invisible sun
pours light through the clouds. They gleam.
Beneath the ice and thin layer of snow
light seems to beam from lustrous depths. The lake is
luminous.
The world shines. Two small figures,
dark against the glow,
skim over the ice, arms swinging.
They're skating, skating on
light.

"Father's Voice," by William Stafford

2011-12-29T00:02:00.000-08:00

"No need to get home early;
the car can see in the dark."
       He wanted me to be rich
       the only way we could,
       easy with what we had.

And always that was his gift,
given for me ever since,
       easy gift, a wind
       that keeps on blowing for flowers
       or birds wherever I look.

World, I am your slow guest,
one of the common things
       that move in the sun and have
       close, reliable friends
       in the earth, in the air, in the rock.

Need to Get Away?

2011-12-28T16:20:00.000-08:00

the tight line. Worth a look on a chilly winter's afternoon.

Perfectly Decorated

2011-12-28T15:55:00.000-08:00

Had to share this gorgeous photo from Small Stream Reflections. It's winter, the hard time, but there are jewels hidden in the grim landscape.

Of all the decorations I have seen over the holidays, this brookie takes the prize.

It's Winter, the Hard Time

2011-12-28T01:45:00.000-08:00

What our dog brought us for Christmas...

No, he didn't kill it. He's not smart enough to do that. Either the weather or coyotes did the deed. Or, most likely, a motorized vehicle. The dog just happened on exactly the kind of thing he loves to bring home with him.

To share with us.

Actually, I do plan to keep the antlers. I have this notion of a knife with an antler handle. That could be dangerous--you could accidentally stab yourself with either end. But all good ideas carry a certain degree of risk.

So thanks, dog. You shouldn't have.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

2011-12-25T23:07:00.000-08:00

This year especially, it seemed, life was too busy, funds were too stretched, time was too short, and loose ends were too loose. Yet, by some mysterious seasonal alchemy, when the day arrived, Christmas--in all its warmth and glory--arrived with it.

The day may soon be over; ah, but let the season last!

SEASON'S GREETINGS!

2011-12-23T22:34:00.000-08:00

May the Light shine, and the angels sing, for you and yours.

"December"

Gary Johnson

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye

Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,

And also the partridge in a pear tree

And the golden rings and the turtle doves.

In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue

Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,

Enduring the cold and also the flu,

Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.

Not much triumph going on here—and yet

There is much we do not understand.

And my hopes and fears are met

In this small singer holding onto my hand.

Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark

And are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.

Winter Solstice: Look to the Light; Incubate the Hope

2011-12-21T21:30:00.000-08:00

It has come at last: the Winter Solstice. After today, the shortest day of the year--we could say the darkest, the light begins to return as the sun grinds to a halt on its southern transit away from us and begins its journey back to us. After this the days get longer and longer, and warmer and warmer. This is the beginning of those long summer evenings on the water.

Sunlight on Earth, on the day of the winter solstice.

Notice that the northern polar region of Earth is in 24-hour darkness,

while the southern polar region is in 24-hour daylight.

(From EarthSky)

I came across a poem years ago that I cannot find today, but I remember its central image, that it is the very friction of that cosmic change of direction that produces the heat and light of the coming days. In our own lives we know in our bones, we have taken in the hard-earned lesson, that light--enlightenment--comes only through friction, as old ways of thinking and old ways of living grind up against new revelation.

This, then, is the day for new beginnings, for shifting our own direction, for recommitting to the light, however you define that in your life.

As for me, I take inspiration from this poem:

In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.

He was in the beginning with God.

All things came into being through him,

and without him not one thing came into being.

What has come into being in him is life,

and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness did not overcome it.

(John 1:1-5)

And also from this one. This is a translation of a haiku by Seibi written in 1816:

spring in winter

a ray of light strikes

a clutch of eggs

He knew the miracle: there can be spring in winter. The miracle happens--the epiphany strikes us--when a ray of light reveals the presence of life-yet-to-be. It takes looking--it takes seeing--to find the miracle; and, even after we find it, it is fragile, tenuous, at first. We, like the light itself, need to enfold it in our own protective warmth, thus becoming a part of it. And before long, what we thought was fragile will come into its own with the power of the sun. Life will not be denied: birth will come, and life will endure.

So, as I post this at the exact time of the solstice, I extend this Solstice wish: that we may all look to the light, incubate the hope, and fish long in the coming days.

TROUT FLY OF THE YEAR AWARDS, 2011

2011-12-20T00:24:00.000-08:00

One of the pleasures of putting up a Christmas tree each year is hanging up those ornaments that were handmade by our kids. Some have been with us for a long time, some are a little more recent. Jeremiah has one from grade school made with a small paper plate with his school picture pasted in the middle of it. Around it is a festive border of pasted-on pretzels. One of the pretzels is broken. I always thought it was simply a casualty of the yearly unpacking and repacking, but Jeremiah told me that he got hungry one year and took a bite.

You can't buy that in a store.

For me, every fly I tie is like that. I have some that have survived many seasons of fishing, some that I just tied and fished a month ago. But old or new, each fly I tie is something personal, and I can look at one and remember when that tail got chewed off, or exactly where I was and what fish I was trying to fool when I clipped the tail off and trimmed the hackle back to make a mayfly look like an ant.

Every once in awhile it's time to clear the fly patch on my vest, and it's a little like undecorating a Christmas tree as I take off each fly, ponder the memories that come with it, and carefully put it away.

Flies are a special part of our sport, because of their beauty, and because of all the pleasure and personal satisfaction that comes from their creation--and from just holding them in your hand. But much more than that, flies are the sport. That's why we call it fly fishing, after all. Rods and reels and slick new lines are nice, but they exist only as an efficient means of getting the fly to the trout.

And, in the final analysis, that's what it's all about. When we tie on that fly and cast it out, it becomes the key that unlocks the gate and allows us to enter the magical world of the trout; and when that fly and a trout converge in a flash of energy, they become the flint and steel that strike the sparks that keeps the fire going that burns in us for these creatures and their beautiful world.

So it's with great pleasure that I honor and celebrate the flies that made this season at the lake one of the best ever.

TROUT FLY OF THE YEAR

The Carpet Caddis

The Carpet Caddis was First Runner Up last year, but this year it blew away the competition. It was the first dry fly I tied on way back on the first day of the season, and it didn't disappoint, taking the first Rainbow on a dry. Throughout the rest of the season, it was the go-to fly in almost any situation. I had my best days ever on the lake stripping this fly around weed beds. It was killer when dropped right up against the shoreline, or when stripped over shallow flats, or off of drop offs, or over deep water. And there was many an evening, as the midges swarmed over the still water, that rising trout would slam it as soon as it settled on the water.

I first saw this fly on TV as Don Freschi used it to catch big Rainbows on the Columbia in B.C. He named it "Carpet Caddis" because antron yarn is its main ingredient. His version is tied on a shortshank hook, I believe. I've had better luck with a #12 2X streamer hook.

RECIPE

Hook: #12 curved shank 2X streamer hook

Thread: Black

Tail: Olive Antron yarn with a few strands of copper Krystal Flash

Body: Olive dubbing, or Antron yarn, wrapped

Rib: copper Krystal Flash

Underwing: Copper Krystal Flash

Overwing: Olive Antron yarn

Thorax: tan or orange dubbing

Hackle: Brown saddle, oversized

FIRST RUNNER UP

The Muddler

The classic Muddler, in several variations, was the fly I went to when my go-to fly wasn't working, or slowed down. I found it very effective plowed through the waves behind me, or stripped back from the shore through the breakers, on very windy days. I also found that a big, juicy Muddler towed behind me on the still surface after it was too dark to see a fly would elicit big hits from better-than-average fish.

It was also a Muddler--the very one pictured above--that got me into fish on my first trip to famed Chopaka Lake. In the middle of the day when others were trolling deep, I tied on this pattern and caught more than enough fish to keep me busy by casting along a reed line and stripping it in.

RECIPE

Hook: Streamer hook, any size

Thread: Black

Tail: Black Marabou; a few strands of Krystal Flash

Body: Tinsel, silver or gold

(or black dubbing with silver or gold tinsel rib)

Underwing: Krystal Flash and white Marabou

Overwing: Black Marabou

Head and Collar: Deer hair, stacked and clipped

SECOND RUNNER UP
The Bead Head Carpet Leech

The Bead Head Carpet Leech (if I have to come up with a name for it, that's as good as any) was the fly I consistently went to when it was time to troll. I always troll when moving from one location to another, or when the fish go down and won't come to dries anymore, or when I simply feel like a relaxing paddle around the lake. In the past, a black Bead Head Leech was a guaranteed fish-getter, but when I wasn't having any luck with that this year I came up with this fly. Yes, it was definitely inspired by the Carpet Caddis. And it worked just as well.

RECIPE

Bead: Gold

Hook: #12 2X streamer hook

Thread: black

Tail: Antron yarn

Body: olive dubbing, or Antron yarn

Rib: black Krystal Flash

Wing: Antron yarn

Thorax: black Krystal Flash wound around thread

THIRD RUNNER UP

Black Ant

The Black Ant didn't catch as many fish as the other flies, but it afforded me with one of the most enjoyable interludes in the season. After observing an ant fall one day, I went home and tied up a few of these, and for the next two weeks trout would eagerly take them during the evening rise. This fly encapsulates the great cycle of pleasure for a fly fisherman: from observation to imitation to fish in the net.

RECIPE

Hook: #14 dry fly hook

Thread: black

Body: black wool dubbing in ant shape

Wing: white or amber Antron yarn, sparse,

tied in between abdomen and thorax

Hackle: Grizzly, tied in between abdomen and thorax

PEOPLE'S CHOICE AWARD

The Black and Brown Stimulator

I love The Black and Brown Stimulator. I tied this particular fly two years ago, caught the biggest Brown of my life on it last year, and it still catches fish when no other fly will. It's a little fly that gives big results. I didn't use it as much as the Carpet Caddis this year, but when I did tie it on it produced.

It further captured my heart this season on a Father's Day trip when the Carpet Caddis--and any other fly--was getting no attention. I tied on the Black and Brown and caught three large and lovely Browns in the same bank side hole. I have caught Rainbows on it, but it seems to have a special attraction to Browns. And to me. I love this fly.

RECIPE

Hook: #12 dry fly hook

Thread: black

Tail: Black deer hair

Body: Orange dubbing

Body hackle: Dun, palmered

Wing: Black deer hair

Hackle: Brown saddle

HONORABLE MENTION

Scud

The humble Scud is a fly I have neglected in the past. I tried to remedy that this Spring by tying up a few and fishing them persistently. It paid off. For several weeks in the chilly waters of the lake I caught fish consistently. There is no better way to spend a Spring afternoon than watching your indicator dip under the glinting surface telling you that yet another hungry Rainbow has taken your fly.

RECIPE

Hook: #14 wet fly or scud hook

Thread: Olive

Body: Olive flash dubbing, picked out

Shellback: plastic bag cut to shape

Rib: copper Krystal Flash

Tail and Antennae: Dun hackle fibers

VERY HONORABLE MENTION

The Good Old Red Head Stimulator

I don't have a close up photo of this fly except the one above. I tied this many years ago. It has caught lots of fish for me, and this Fall I luckily stumbled onto it as I was tackling the interesting challenge of fishing the pocket water between heavy weed beds and the shoreline. I had broken off my last Carpet Caddis and so went for this old standby. I don't know if it was the red head, or what, but when there was a fish in those pockets it slammed this fly. This Brown was one of the best of the many it took.

Sadly, I broke off this fly, too, maybe in a bigger fish than that Brown. It's gone forever. But I will be tying up little clones of it before next season.

WORST HOOKUP OF THE YEAR

Why does this Brown trout look very surprised?

The Worst Hookup of the Year. Ouch.

Here's to the flies--and the fish--of 2012.

"Shoveling Snow,"by Kirsten Dierking

2011-12-15T22:16:00.000-08:00

If day after day I was caught inside
this muffle and hush

I would notice how birches
move with a lovely hum of spirits,

how falling snow is a privacy
warm as the space for sleeping,

how radiant snow is a dream
like leaving behind the body

and rising into that luminous place
where sometimes you meet

the people you've lost. How
silver branches scrawl their names

in tangled script against the white.
How the curves and cheekbones

of all my loved ones appear
in the polished marble of drifts.

Hot Work

2011-12-14T16:32:00.000-08:00

Some amazing photos from a sampling of fires in the 2011 fire season. These are from a friend's son who started out as a hotshot and now supervises crews and strategies on fire sites all over the West.

Time to Make Your Henry's Fork Plans

2011-12-14T16:14:00.000-08:00

A very positive Henry's Fork forecast for 2012 from Henry's Fork Lodge.

You've got all winter to dream about and construct your plan, and maybe much of the summer, too, if you take this to heart:

•The other end of the season, fall, delivers some of the most interesting and consistent fishing of the year. I expect more of the same next year. Angler traffic is at a low and wind is less of an issue the later you come. My advice has always been that if you’re coming in September or October, the later the better. The weather and water are cooler, the bugs are smaller, but conditions are more stable in October than September. The fish are on their pre-winter feeding binge and dense hatches of midges and small mayflies bring them rising to the top in good numbers. If small bugs aren’t your game, use big flies like streamers and go for big fish.

Of course, this is the Lodge, a place I'll never set foot in, and they may just be trying to drum up more high end business from the 1% who can afford their prices, and who would be warm and dry on those cold October nights in their plush rooms.

I love fall fishing at the Fork; we've had some of our most memorable trips in that beautiful, elky time of year. But I'll be just down the road at Riverside Campground, sleeping in a tent, and having a blast.

Looking Good, Moon!

2011-12-14T15:37:00.000-08:00

Like billions and billions of humanoids who preceded me on this planet, I love the moon. I like knowing that the moon I gaze at is the same one they gazed at. For all of us, the moon has always been a faithful companion, shining down on everyone, whether we deserve it or not, and lighting up both our happiest times, and the dark nights of our souls.

For me and many fly fishermen, the moon has also been a welcome fishing partner, extending time on the water, and transforming our lakes and rivers into magical places.

The moon rose full over the eastern ridge last Friday evening (it was around 4:40 in the afternoon, for Pete's sake) and I took this shot thinking of a series of moon shots culminating in the total eclipse early Saturday morning.

But when I went out a little later I found that the moon had slipped behind the cloud cover where it would stay for the next 48 hours. I did say the moon is faithful--and it was up and shining away--but, like us, it is sometimes influenced by circumstances beyond its control.

So I got my usual beauty sleep Friday night and didn't get up at 4:45 AM to see the beginning of the eclipse.

Fortunately, Joseph Brimacombe, of Cairns, Australia, did get up and captured an impressive image of the eclipse in all its glory.

Looking good, Moon!

This is from The Universe Today. (And, for all you science geeks out there, here's a link to the site I found it on, billed as "the place to find science and engineering on the web.")

Photographer Joseph Brimacombe created this stunning image of a ruddy Moon made during the total lunar eclipse of December 10, 2011. Images taken during the penumbral and total phases of the eclipse were combined to create a full-face image of the Moon in color. Beautiful!

The red tint of the Moon during an eclipse is caused by sunlight passing through Earth’s atmosphere, in effect projecting the colors of all the world’s sunsets onto the Moon’s near face. The vibrancy and particular hue seen depends on the clarity of the Earth’s atmosphere at the time of the eclipse.

Joseph’s location in Cairns, Australia allowed for great viewing of the eclipse in totality, whereas many areas of North and South America and Europe missed the full eclipse event.