Fly Tying: Meat and Potatoes

Meat

Potatoes

Trout Lake Report: I Love These Guys

It was time once again to say goodbye to September on the lake. I will miss the golden afternoons and calm, cool evenings.

The fish were taking advantage of a heavy midge hatch. Several were rising in the weed mats up against the shoreline.

I laid a new orange-bodied muddler in there. A fish stopped what he was doing and came right over and sucked it in. Another brown. I love these guys.

I revived him in the net. As though he needed much reviving. The instant he realized he had a clear shot into deep water he exploded out of there. I love these guys.

I worked lazily down the shoreline heading to the back bay under the mountain.

I cast to a few rises, but they must have been rainbows. They went down until I was past.

The shoreline keeps changing. A big pine went down in the fire. Next year with the high water it will be prime fish-producing structure. Now it reminds me of a Japanese print.

This is the time of year that inspires reminiscing. As I passed the reeds, now high and dry, I fondly remembered when they have been the haunt of big, hungry fish cruising for Brown Drakes. I felt the pang of loss again as I looked at the willows in which one of the biggest trout I ever hooked broke himself off and was gone.

I let the fly drift behind me as I made a beeline for the far shore. One rainbow decided it couldn't resist that orange thing getting away.

Down at the end I searched for rises and continued to reminisce. I have taken some good fish out from under that big log in seasons past. This was one of my daughter Lidia's favorite spots when she was still fishing with me.

I cast the muddler out into open water where a few fish were coming up now and then. Nobody wanted it out here. The rises died down, and soon were few and far between. I saw more and more caddis mixed in with the midges, so I clipped the muddler off, tied on some 5X and finished it off with a little caddis dry. I figured I'd have to wait to find something to cast it to.

But no sooner had I greased it and flipped it out and turned around to get the lay of the water than a couple of risers came up nearby at the same time and started coming my way. These fish were eating with relish, sipping multiple bugs at a time. I knew there was a good chance they'd disappear as quickly as they had appeared.

I just had time for one quick cast. The fly landed two feet from the lead fish--and he snapped it up. No sip, this. It made a loud clop!, like a dog catching a doggie treat in midair. I was as surprised as he was to find him solidly hooked.

He did not want to be caught, and I had to remind myself that I was bringing him in on 5X instead of 4X, but I weathered some runs and a few lunges and got him into the net. What a fish.

That jaw deserved two photos.

I let him go and sat back and again started reminiscing. This time, though, it was about what had just happened. I savored the moment. It will be one of those moments, like all the others tucked away in my memory, that define this place for all time. And once again it was an awesome brown that made the moment.

I love these guys.

Trout Lake Report: Troutlings From the North

Word goes out that for the first time since July 19 no fire evacuation levels are in place anywhere in the county. You celebrate by going to the lake. The briefest wisp of smoke greets you as you wind down to Fish Lake and on to Trout Lake.

You have a plan: to see how the far north end is faring. Water levels are way down all around the lake, but the low levels are especially evident here. It's as though a great hand has picked up the north end and tilted the whole lake so that the water has run down to the south end.

You tied up a retro Muddler Minnow especially for the occasion.

You want to get as close to the inlet as you can, It turns out that's not very close. The depth over a great swath of the west side of the lake is barely enough to float the tube. Later, a great blue heron will come in for a landing, and you'll see that the water is barely over its ankles. But that's later. Now, you head for what looks like floatable water and get in way not over your head before you realize it. You crawl back to deep water through the mud like evolution in reverse.

Once you can let your legs hang and begin to kick you cast the muddler out and drag it over the weeds behind you. A shiny little piece of life attaches itself to you. It's precocious and knows just what to do. You have to dredge it out of the weeds.

You kick back across to the eastern shoreline. It's deeper here, and you haven't worked it with a muddler in a long while.

Hits. Little tiny hits. And misses. One out of five of the diminutive troutlings manage to mouth the fly and get hooked.

You switch to a smaller hopper fly. It doesn't seem to improve the catch ratio.

You stray out from the shoreline and begin to work the open water between expansive weed mats. You look back at the bleached logs, now high and dry, that were formerly the haunts of big fish. You think they must have settled into the deeper water to the south.

The evening deepens. Your internal clock says there should still be plenty of daylight left. The sun, however, goes ahead and sets at 7:04,

In the September dusk you tie on a lighter tippet and affix a griffith's gnat. There are a few little fish rising excitedly, and you get some flippy hits but no hookups. Then they fade away. You've just tied on a caddis dry when you see one more fish still busy. You drop the fly in, give it a twitch, and get a good take. It's a slightly bigger version of the troutlings.

That's a good way to finish on the far north end. You're feeling the pull of the tilt toward the south end, too. That's where you'll be the next time.

Early Lake Report: April Bait-and-Switch

On a recent day the weather was sunny and pushing 70 degrees by noon. It was an obvious decision to hit the lake when I could get away. By the time I could get away, though, late in the afternoon, we had experienced an April Bait-and Switch: clouds had rolled in, the wind had picked up, rain showers were raking over the hills, and the temperature had dropped 20 degrees.

I went anyway, and took my chances. I layered up and went out to say Hi to the geese high on their perches.

The fish were still down and a little too picky for stockers. I pulled up a few on trolled buggers and nymphs. They all looked a little like this. Not as inspiring as I could wish.

The weather decided to pull another bait-and-switch. The sun broke through briefly, the wind dropped a little--and caddis began popping all over this end of the lake.

It was one of the bigger hatches I've seen around here, ever, so I was hopeful that it might provoke a predatory response in the fish. It might have, but it wasn't on top. So I clipped off the caddis dry I had tied on in my misplaced optimism, and replaced it with a caddis nymph. I resumed trolling and was rewarded with the best fish yet out of these waters this Spring. I had to wonder if it was a holdover.

The sun kept peeking out of the scudding clouds, and I was almost ready to take my jacket off. Not really; this is April we're talking about. The wind had picked up again and the temperature continued to slide.

I stuck it out and stuck a few more fish, though of the uninspiring type again. Still, there is something entertaining about going through your fly boxes and pulling out the least likely flies and throwing them out there just to see what will happen.

After awhile even that gets old, so when the sun dipped out of the clouds and slid behind the mountains I packed it in.

As I kicked toward shore I saw the Loon again. This time it was with its mate. That's good to see. Loons are endangered here. I tried to send them a telepathic invitation to join me at Trout Lake. It won't be long now. Just 13 more days....