2012 FLY OF THE YEAR

Yep, still some unfinished business from a wonderful 2012 season at Trout Lake. I had such a crazy busy fall and winter that I never got around to announcing the Fly of the Year.

I fish the lake on a regular basis, and will use a lot of different flies and techniques over the course of a season. I have been fortunate to catch fish with all of them. But I have a clear and overwhelming preference for dry flies and surface takes, so I tend to go dry most of the time. And in 2012 two flies rose to the top as consistent producers of what the fishing magazines call "heart-stopping top-water action." Those two flies are co-winners of the 2012 Fly of the Year.

2012 FLIES OF THE YEAR

Muddler Minnow

Damselator

Muddler Minnow

What a tremendous fly. I tied them in a variety of sizes and colors, and used them from early spring until late fall. I greased them and waked them on top, and I let them drown and stripped them just under the surface. I took fish on a dead drift on a dead calm, and I took fish stripping them through wind-blown whitecaps. I most consistently caught fish along the bank--throughout the season--but I also found fish out in open water. I caught little fish not much bigger than the fly, and prodigious great fish. I caught Rainbows and I caught Browns. When I needed a fish, I worked a big fat muddler--and I got one.

Enduring memory: Working the weedbeds along a wind-sheltered bank. Catching fish on the strip. On a whim you cast out into open water where the wind is pushing rollers out of the channel. The muddler sits up pretty as you please riding the swells. You let it sit. You aren't sure you're seeing what you're seeing when a big head and back come up and the muddler is gone. You fumble and raise the rod, the fish--a big fish, a Rainbow--dives, runs and comes up like a rocket. He hangs in the air and you can count every one of his twenty-plus inches. He hits like a sluice log, you raise the rod...on nothing. Just the swells, rolling, rolling....

The Damselator. 

Every summer, out come the damselflies, by the thousands. Finally, in 2012, after years of trial and error, out came the Damselator. I finally got it right, and, from July through October, wherever fish were on damsels they were all over the Damselator. A dead drift was effective, a twitch was killer. Rainbows, Browns, they all wanted that taste of blue.

Enduring memory: A quiet afternoon. Sun lights up a lone Rainbow finning lazily in four feet of water along the reedline. You drop a little muddler down in front of him. He ignores it, keeps going out of sight. In a minute you see him coming back. You tie on the Damselator as quick as you can, but the fish is past you before you're ready for a cast. You cast it out behind him. You aren't sure he even saw it. Then you watch as he makes a big circle, comes up behind the Damselator and calmly sucks it in. Yum.

FLY OF THE YEAR RUNNER UP

Brown Drake

I've got to say something about the Brown Drake, commonly known as the Hex. 2012 was a good year for the hatch, and for over two weeks the evening air along the Hex Banks was thick with gyres of giant mayflies. The fish got crazy on them, hyper and skittish, running here, there, and everywhere. They'd slash at the fly so hard half the time they'd miss. And if you pricked them at all they were gone. But if they hit, and you hooked them, you'd better hang on tight. More than one "small" fish broke me off.

Enduring memory:  You cast to a rise. Nothing happens. You wait. You wait some more. You twitch the fly. Nothing. Just when you've decided to recast, WHAM! a hyper fish comes out of nowhere and slams the fly. Making you jump. Again.

Let the Mountains Move You

Thanks to Chi Wulff for finding this. It takes some time to load, but it's worth the wait.

Mountains in Motion: The Canadian Rockies from The Upthink Lab on Vimeo.

Dude, Check This Out: Chicago Blues, Butterfield Style

My intro to Chicago blues. A 1965 release. Paul Butterfield, vocals and harp; Mike Bloomfield and Elvin Bishop, guitars; Mark Naftalin, organ; Jerome Arnold, bass; and Sam Lay, drums. Arnold and Lay were hired away from Howlin' Wolf. Considered in the top 500 albums of all time, and in the top 50 blues albums of all time. Laid the groundwork for the British blues-rock movement of the late 60's and 70's. Think Cream and Zeppelin, just to name two.

Put on some blues while you're tying. Guaranteed to get your mojo working.

Their signature tune, written by Nick Gravenites.

A classic by Muddy Waters, lead vocal by drummer Sam Lay.

Willie Dixon wants you to mellow down easy.

Montana Fly Fishing Magazine, February - March 2013

Almost let this one get by me. Try it, you'll like it: Montana Fly Fishing Magazine.

Hibernation Is Over

A week gets away from you, and when you go out and take a close look you realize the big change is well and truly underway. Expanding patches of ground lay bare to the sky for the first time in months, the mountain is shaking off its covers, corn snow glints wetly in the warm sun, bank-side willows light up, red-winged blackbirds and robins lay down a soundtrack, the river runs deep and fast, and the future is plain to see. Time to wake up.

Dude, Check This Out: REO

The last time I posted some "fish" music I got a cryptic comment from Tom: "REO Speedwagon ... tuna fish." Tonight I finally dug it up again. These are still my favorite tracks. I remember they could get you a long way on down the road. Thanks for the hazy memories, Tom.

"Paradise" by Louis Jenkins

January finally drags into February and one fumbles with

numb fingers at the ordinary knots and hooks of life. People

are irritable, difficult. Some days you want to stay in bed

with the covers over your head and dream of paradise. A

place where the warm sea washes the white sand. There

are a few palm trees on the higher ground, many brightly

colored fish in the lagoon, waves breaking on the reef

farther out. No one in sight. Occasionally an incredibly

large, split-second shark darkens the clear water. Sea birds

ride the wind currents, albatross, kittiwake,...and pass

on. Day after day, sea wind and perfect sky....You make a 

big heap of driftwood on the beach.

"Paradise" by Louis Jenkins, from Just Above Water.

A Preview of Coming Attractions

On Tuesday, as I packed up for another trip to Rocky Ford Creek, the first red-winged blackbirds of Spring were serenading the morning. It was a new day at the creek, overcast with a chilly breeze.

The bead head that had worked so well on the last trip was getting no looks. Funny, I had tied up a few more versions using the same secret ingredients: red thread, black marabou, and peacock herl. The new flies got no looks either.

I may have found the new secret fly when this fish took a red marabou bead head micro leech. But it was the last one I had, and he took it with him when he twisted out of my hand into the water as I lifted him out of the net.

I got to do a lot of field testing of a variety of flies. I even tried a little stimulator, to no effect. The sun broke through as I whiled away the afternoon.

This little guy liked a pheasant tail nymph under an indicator, but he was the only one.

Rocky Ford has a no-wading regulation, so this time I had brought one of the essentials for bank fishing. It was pleasant to sit back and take a break a couple of times, and think about what to try next.

I never found the sure-fire fly. But as the sun sank, so did the breeze. There are always random fish jumping and rolling here and there. But now a few started rising to something I couldn't see.

I tied on a little Griffith's gnat, cast it out, and got a lovely sipping take. I hooked him, the first hookup on a dry this year. For a few shining moments I had a flying rainbow on the end of my line. He didn't break me off, he just jumped off the hook.

That put them down. The sun sank out of sight, the breeze picked up again, and the temperature started to drop. I packed up my chair and packed it in.

Sure would have been nice to get that one in the net. But no, that was just a teaser, a preview of coming attractions.

Can't wait to see the movie.

Reconsidering My Dislike of Ice Fishing

Photo thanks to the charming quirkiness of Fly Fishing In Yellowstone National Park

Flymage, #17 - February 2013

Go to some cool places without ever leaving home. The new Flymage is here.

Rock Chuck Day

Punxsutawney Phil

The news is in. From the Washington Post website:

At 7:25 a.m.Saturday, amidst overcast skies, and frigid temperatures hovering around 8 degrees, Groundhog Phil failed to see his shadow in the small town of Punxsutawney, Pa.

According to folklore, no shadow for Phil means “there will be an early spring.” Had Phil seen his shadow, it would have meant six more weeks of winter.

Oh boy. Here, we had a few of what the weather service calls "sun breaks" during the day, but it was mostly cloudy. So, if any Yellowbelly Marmot (Rock Chuck) was out (we don't have ground hogs here) it was fifty-fifty whether it saw its shadow.

I guess we'll just see what comes. My guess is that's exactly what the marmots will be doing.

February Starts With a Bang

I didn't get up extra early on Friday, but I got up with nothing to do but drive to Rocky Ford Creek. And fish. I was on the road by mid-morning. By the time I was close I had left the fog behind and was leaving the snow zone.

The sun shone pale, but warm for February. There was not a trace of ice anywhere on the creek.

I haven't used my 4 wt in three months. When I put it away on October 31st there was a raggedy little beadhead micro leech in the hook keeper. I took a look at it and, what the hell, cast it out. I worked it 

out gradually, giving it a very slow, steady retrieve as it drifted in the barely perceptible current.

And bang. Welcome, trout. It's been too long.

So I tried a couple of other beadheads. I tied on this number and got some bumps. A fish was following right up to the shallows, but was afraid to commit. I went back at him, got another little tug, and hooked him. He felt good, but came loose. I reeled in figuring I just hadn't hooked him securely. But maybe I had. He snapped the hook.

I went back to the micro leech.

And bang. I got one photo before he flipped out of the net and was gone.

I leisurely picked through my nymph boxes, trying this and that. I even got out a bobber and relaxed for awhile letting it do all the work. But it didn't work. So, as the sun sank toward the horizon, I went back to my new favorite fly.

I quartered it upstream and started the slow retrieve.

And bang. The best fish of the day. Thank you, fish. Thank you, raggedy little micro leech.

I walked out through the cattails and headed back to the parking area. I took a detour out onto the boardwalk by the hatchery for one last shot of the creek.

I was the last one to leave.

All the way home I alternated between feeling real good and wishing I'd tried at least something on top.

That will just have to wait for the next time.