Drake Or Hex? Hex Or Drake?

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Couldn't rest. Went back to Dick Pobst and the Streamside Guide to Trout Stream Insects. The Hexagenia Limbata--aka the Hex--has unmarked wings and two tails.

The Brown Drake--Ephemera simulans--has blotched wings and three tails.

These are Brown Drakes, not Hexes.

Glad we could clear that up.

Fishing Report: My Little Orbit

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I couldn't get to the lake on Monday, so I spent some time at the tying desk. I was eager to get out yesterday and try my new creations. I was able to get there earlier than usual, so I was in the water by 2:30.

The weather is finally breaking hot. It was in the high 80's yesterday, with 90's on the way. And there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

There was a breeze blowing from the north. It's very nice to be able to say that I didn't wear a jacket, and that the cool breeze felt good on such a hot day. But I was thinking nymph and indicator so I headed across the lake to a sheltered area and set up along this sunny shoreline.

There were some little fish jumping out of the water right up on the willows, maybe taking damsels, so when I cast out one of my new nymphs I was expecting to catch one of them, if anything. I figured this was bonus time, time to play and experiment, and that the serious fishing would begin later.

I had a take right away, but missed him. Damn kids.

On the second take--looked just like the first--I was ready and came up on a fish. It started headshaking and I knew I was onto a nice fish. I was thinking Brown. It bore deep and bulldogged furiously, just like a Brown would. And it never jumped, as most of my Rainbows have.

When I got it up to where I could see it I still thought Brown, but when it came out of the stained water in a roll its sides flashed in the sun: Rainbow.

That was a nice beginning. I liked my new nymph. I tied it on a #12 hook, pretty well weighted with lead wire. The tail is pheasant tail tips, the body is peacock herl with a copper wire rib, the thorax is peacock herl with a shellback of the pheasant tail, and the legs are the shellback ends tied back and clipped fairly short.

Around here it's a generic fly. I found it on a BC web site, and it didn't even have a name; it was simply listed under "Indicator Nymphs." There is a whole raft of flies that use pheasant tail and peacock herl as the main ingredients, the Carey Special streamer being the most famous, I suppose. There's a nymph called the Halfback in the book Flies of the Northwest, that uses the same materials although the fly in the book was tied on a longer hook, and without a tail.

But, what's in a name? It worked.

I cast it out again, and soon had another take. Again, I was expecting a little fish, but as soon as the headshaking began I knew better. And again, I was thinking Brown. This time I was right.

All that in the first hour. I don't want to say that the pressure was off. I wouldn't want to think that I feel "pressured" to catch fish. Let's just say that my strong preference for catching fish had been amply satisfied.

So I tried another nymph for awhile--no hookups--and when I paddled around a bend and saw a little fish enthusiastically taking damsels, I tied on my Damsel in Distress and played with that for awhile. I still don't know if it works; I spooked that first fish with a bad cast.

So I put the generic nymph back on and liesurely paddled down the shoreline, heading in a southerly direction. I had several takes, but missed them. I think these were little fish; they were playing all along the shoreline.

When I passed the eagle I thanked him for letting me fish in his water.

I got down to a big bay that I haven't visited for a long time. It's usually crowded, so it must have fish in it, but today it was deserted. Here, in the shadow of the mountain, evening had already begun.

I was wanting to see whether this bay might have any Hex action going on. I also like it back here where you feel farthest away from everything--the campgrounds, the road--and where the air is scented with pine, you can hear the Canyon Wrens, and rocks tumble down the scree now and then and wake up the sleepy echoes.

I had another hookup and another fish.

By then it was break time, and I found a place where I could get in and get out. Beautiful, peaceful, but thick with mosquitoes.

A swarm of them followed me back out to open water where I paddled around and cast the nymph and indicator and waited to see what would happen.

I had just decided to troll around and had tied on a Carey Special (new; just tied it Monday) when way over by the south shore of the bay I started seeing what might have been the odd floating leaf here and there, but could have been Hexes. I didn't see any take off, though, with their helicopterish flight. But then I saw something fluttering in the water and paddled over to find this.

That changed my plans. I clipped off the Carey Special and tied on a Hex and cleared for action. The wind had died, and trout were getting active. But they were clearly on the midges and individual fish would plow by taking everything in reach. I put the Hex down in front of them, but they ignored it.

I stayed with the Hex, alternating between shoreline and open water, waiting for a real hatch, but it never came. Just a few individual flies.

The forerunners, I hope.

I stayed until dark, just in case something would happen, but the trout activity slowed down and stopped, and peace reigned over the lake. I tied the Carey Special back on by the light of my headlamp and started the long troll back. Over where the evening star used to shine a star rose over the mountains, and kept rising, getting brighter and brighter. It was the space station, or some other large space object, and it passed over the lake from west to east.

Down here, I completed my little orbit, listening to the Nighthawks and the bats, smelling a campfire, and thinking about a very good afternoon.

All in all, I'd rather be down here.

Dear Brothers: Just Thinkin'

I recently saw these photos on one of the blogs I visit regularly. They're from a trip to the Henry's Fork for the Green Drake hatch last month.
Made me think about our trip to the Fork coming up in September.
It was odd to see this stretch downstream from the viewing platform at Last Chance so green.
And this one made me think of our venture up Box Canyon so many years ago now.
And, of course, fun at Trouthunter.
So I looked again at these photos, compliments of Pete, of one of our trips. How long ago was this, anyway?
It was the trip we went to the Teton and fished for our dinner. You both caught yours. I didn't, though I'd caught a nice fish there the day before.

But you shared. Thanks.

So good to remember...

So good to anticipate. Meet you at the "X," or whatever else is there now.

Hex Hatch Imminent?

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I had been searching unsuccessfully for Brown Drakes before being gone for over a week. I haven't seen any since getting back, either. That has been frustrating because last year they had begun hatching in mid-June.

The good news, though, is that, according to Westfly/Washington, this is the month. Maybe I haven't missed it after all.

Now, I've been calling these giant mayflies Brown Drakes, based on the Orvis Streamside Guide by Dick Pobst. I've heard others use the same name for them. Westfly, however, says that Brown Drakes hatch on rivers, and that the "Big Yellow Mayfly" on lakes is the Hexagenia Limbata. OK, maybe I'll start calling them "Hexes."

Here's what Westfly says:

About Hexagenia Limbata
Among the largest of American mayflies, Hexagenia limbata inhabits some lakes and slow sections of a few rivers. Hatches usually start between May and early July, depending on the local climate; I've seen them hatch in May on the Oregon coast, mid-June in California, and July in the Cascade mountains. The hatch season can last anywhere from three weeks to two months.
Because the nymphs burrow into silty bottoms and only come out to feed at night, it makes no sense to fish a nymph imitation until the hatch season, and even then you need to restrain yourself until near dusk because the hatch doesn't start until the sun kisses the horizon.
An hour or two before the hatch starts, go to water that is less than ten-feet deep. Use a weighted fly or lead on the leader, and let the your nymph settle to the bottom. Pull it up two or three feet, pause, then let it settle back down; repeat this several times before casting again. Sometimes this takes a trout, but mostly it gives you something to do while you're waiting for the actual hatch.
Hatches begin just before sunset, so take a flashlight with you. When you see duns on the surface, forget the nymph and tie on a dry. Cripple imitations can be especially productive during the hatch. Occasionally impart some action to the fly; the naturals can be quite active.
Spinners are not important to anglers.

In an article on the same site, Scott Richmond writes:

July is time for Hexagenias, the mayfly the size of a Cadillac.

Hexagenias are persnickety bugs. They only live in a few stillwaters or slow-moving rivers, and if the weather isn't to their liking they just figure the hell with it and don't emerge in significant numbers. A cold spring and June can delay the hatch--maybe even put it off for the entire season. So before you pack up your hopes and your tackle, make a few phone calls to fly shops and resorts; find out if the bugs are really hatching this year.

Emphasis mine. I prefer to think that the hatch has merely been delayed, and that the sublime joys of catching big trout on big dries is still ahead, even imminent.

That part about the hatch being put off for the entire season? I'll just pretend I didn't see that.

Fishing Report: Felt Like I Was Really Fishing

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I went back to Trout Lake the evening after things were so quiet. Quiet, that is, except for little tiny trout, of which there seems to be a multitude this season. The gentleman whom I had met a year ago said this year that his friend, a biologist, feels the DNR overdid it with fingerlings in the Spring stocking. I agree, but I also hope that bodes well for the future.

This time there was a strong wind blowing, but it was from the south, so it was at least warm. I decided to test some things I'd heard about such conditions. So I went in on the north end and paddled over in the float tube to the farthest shore where the waves were slapping against the willows at the base of the dike.

The theory is that fish will congregate here on the windward shore to pick off food items carried there by the wind and waves. I've also heard that fish will position themselves to face into the waves just as fish will face into the current in rivers and streams. The recommendation is to cast quartering across the waves to present a fly broadside to the waiting fish.

So that's what I did. I chose a black Muddler, a fly I have caught fish on here before. It has a black marabou tail, a silver tinsel body, an underwing of peacock herl, and a black deer hair head and collar. And it's big, too big for the babies.

The nice thing about casting and stripping is it gives you something to do. I experimented with different retrieves and settled on an erratic retrieve when this nice Rainbow came up and slammed the fly just after I had started to strip it again after letting it sit for a beat.

I soon hooked another one, but it leaped four feet in the air when it felt the hook and came off. Then, a couple of casts later, another one came up and took the fly. These are wonderful takes, as the fish seem to come straight up and hit the fly hard, with a big splash and boil.

I drifted over to the west side and paddled against the wind down along the shoreline, still casting and stripping.

I got more hits, but no hookups. I think they were smaller fish. I tried towing the fly on a long line--surface trolling, if you will--and got a big heart-stopping swirl, but he struck short.

I was enjoying every minute of it.

As the sun began to set I wended my way down a channel for a break, and to put on my jacket. The lake has dropped a few feet, so I found a place where I could stand and stretch much closer to the main lake than on previous trips.

I went back out and rounded a point, and was in new water. The wind sat down and a few fish, mostly little ones, it looked like, began to rise. I changed my waterlogged Muddler for a dry one--same pattern--and stayed with it. I got more near misses, and then, in quick succession, I had two hookups. They weren't huge, but they were nice fish. I was sure that both were firmly hooked, but both came off just at the float tube. I checked the hook; it seemed nice and sharp. One of those things that make you feel you can hardly wait to get back and get another shot at them.

Dusk settled in and I tied on a black beadhead leech and trolled back to the van. I got one bump, if you don't count the bats bumping the line on the surface.

That was OK. I was satisfied. It had finally felt like I was really fishing.

Fishing Report: Shhhhhhhhhhh!

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Play more quietly all you flippy little baby trout...

Mommy and Daddy are sleeping.

Fishing Report: Aedan

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I'm home again after a wonderful trip to Indiana. I got to see three daughters and, of course, my two grandsons, Aedan and Liam.

Liam just turned one and is too little for fishing. We'll let him get walking down first. (He's close!) But Aedan, who just turned four, was ready to go. We went back to the pond in their development where Aedan and I fished last year.
He has two rods now. He used his new Toy Story rig and let me use the Spiderman rig I gave him last year.
I got him a pack of soft baits with jig heads and a spinner, as well as the mandatory foam spiders. He thoroughly explored all the options before choosing a bait. Then we were ready to rock and roll.
This pond is full of little Bluegill, and we got lots of hits and follows, but no hookups. But we were digging it.
Aedan soon decided it was time to go to McDonald's, the next stop on our evening's agenda. Fishing is fun, but a man's got to eat. So I picked up his rod and made a few more casts for him. He had already told me twice that I could only cast "one more time!" when I finally hooked a fish.
He held the rod for a picture. Maybe he'll remember it that he caught the fish. I hope so.
He didn't want to hold the fish, though, but he did want to touch it--with one finger.
Then--finally--we headed to McDonald's for a well-earned meal. And some climbing in the play area.
And some foosball.
We topped it all off with dessert at the DQ.
It doesn't get much better than that. Thanks for a great time, Aedan.