Fly Tying: More Rocky Ford Dries

I continue to tie, thinking of those Rocky Ford Rainbows. I continue to think about those Rocky Ford Rainbows, so I tie. That happy vicious circle.

As always, these are the recipes of the flies pictured. They often represent variations on standard patterns. 

Bear's Paw

Hook: dry fly, 1X long, #14

Thread; black

Body: peacock herl

Hackle: Grizzly

I saw this on a local fly tying show that was originally aired in 2009.

This is a simple tie that appeals to me. Its close resemblance to the

Renegade and the Griffith's Gnat is obvious, but it has a charm of its own.

No one seems to know where the name came from, though there are

many Bear's Paw or Bear Paw lakes and creeks in the west, so it could

have been named for a place. I also discovered that Taylor Williams,

the man given credit for inventing the Renegade in Wyoming back in the 30's,

 had a nickname: "Beartracks." Maybe there's a connection.

Humpy

Hook: dry fly, #14

Thread: black

Tail: natural deer hair

Wing: natural deer hair, upright and divided

Underbody: working thread over wing butts

Shellback: wing hair drawn forward over body

Hackle: grizzly

Ah, Humpies. I hope someday to learn how to tie them. I consistently

get the shellback/wing hair too long or too short. It's too long on this

example. But I really like the pattern, so I'll keep trying. On this version

I wanted a black underbody. The standard fly is yellow, though green

and red are common variations. I also used grizzly hackle

alone. The standard fly uses grizzly and brown.

Callibaetis

Hook: dry fly, 1X long, #14

Thread: black

Tail: grizzly hackle fibers

Body: Adams gray dubbing

Rib: 5X monofilament

Wing: white antron yarn

Hackle: grizzly

I've seen a few callibaetis hatching on my last two trips to Rocky Ford.

They were few and far between, but consistent. Mostly they attracted no

attention as they floated and fluttered on the surface just over the trout's heads.

But I did see one trout finally have a go at one--and miss. This is a

simple pattern that has been a go to in recent years. It floats high, it's easy to see,

and it's durable. I've had the Rocky Ford fish compete with each other

to see who can get to this fly first, but you have to be there on the right day.

Rocky Ford Creek Report: Whoom

Finally a chance to get back to Rocky Ford. But things keep coming up to do before I can get away. Leave later than I wanted to. Get to creekside with maybe two and a half hours to fish. Got to make it count.

Trip is worth it, though. Much brighter and warmer down here in the southlands. And I'm fishing. Go right to work with the Callibaetis dries. Sort of Callibaetis. Maybe the word is Callibaetish. Get follows, bumps, swirls--no takes. The old story. Keep at it, though.

Except I do lose faith for a moment. Screw on an indicator and hang a nymph under it. Get one pull. Try a different nymph. No pulls. Go back to the Callibaetish. Same story. Bask in a brief outpouring of sunshine. Nice.

The mouse is burning a hole in my vest pocket. Finally, at dusk, I tie it on. Plop it out there. Get an immediate swirl, follow, swirl. Encouraging. Keep at it. More attention. Then I hook a fish--here we go.... No. It's off. Small. So far so good.

Now it's almost dark. I'm casting the mouse out and stripping it in briskly. Going for wet and panicked. The breeze picks up. I can barely see the mouse in the riffles. I give it a wake. I can follow the wake. I get a swirl....strip, strip, strip....another swirl....strip, strip, strip....WHOOM!

It's all happening at once: a hard yank, a heavy splash, a snap, line pelting my chest and whistling past my ears. Silence. Fish gone. Big fish gone. Something whacked me in the leg. The mouse? I feel my way to the end of the leader: the 4X tippet is gone. So is the mouse. Rest in peace, mouse.

I grab the first muddler I can feel on my fly patch and tie it on. Have to use precious time to get the headlamp. Flip the muddler out. Can't see it. Just strip and wait to feel something. A smaller explosion: a fish leaps rapidly downstream: one, two three--five jumps before I can turn him. It's not big, just pissed off. I get it in the net. It's a bloody mess. Don't think I did that. Mice? I tip the net. Fish slashes away into the night.

Tell your daddy, or your big brother. I'm tying up another mouse or two. Buying some extra-stout tippet material. Putting new batteries in the headlamp. Going to come back and stay awhile.

Fly Tying: Rocky Ford Fly Set

Got my callibaetis-like dries.

Got my mouse.

Now it's up to the fish.

Rocky Ford Creek Report: Un-Black Friday

It was an Un-Black Friday. After a relaxing Thanksgiving Day with family I was eager to get outside and fish.

On Thanksgiving Day the river was flowing free. On Friday morning it was iced over. Time to hit the road.

There were three people fishing near the parking area when I arrived at Rocky Ford Creek. I would see three more the rest of the day, all from a distance.

It was cold, but the sun was bright and the wind was mostly calm. I didn't feel the cold until the sun went down.

It was more of a Blue Friday: blue sky, blue water. The creek was up a little, limiting the shoreline access. I found a narrow spot to stand on. It felt a little like fishing from a diving board.

The fish were there, lined up and looking for something to strike their fancy.

I stripped a bead-head nymph, and drifted a few nymphs under an indicator. I got some bumps, but I also had a couple of fish come up and nose the indicator.

So I went dry, starting with a small muddler. The fish nosed it, and swirled under it, but they didn't grab it.

I went to an old, sparse Adams, maybe a #14. More swirls, and a brief hookup before the fly was soaked through.

I found a beautiful little #12 Callibaetis that I had tied up for the Henry's Fork. I tied it on. I gave it a drift, and after five feet a fish came up and ate it, no mistake. I missed it, feeling the grate of the hook against its jaw. I cast again, and after another five foot drift got another lunging take. This time I hooked up.

It felt good to have a fish on again. It fought hard, churning the shallows. I finally worked it in to the shoreline. I got down on my knees with the net, but I couldn't reach the fish. The tip top guide was frozen and I couldn't bring any more line in. So I grabbed the leader to slide the fish into the net--and it gave one more thrash and broke off. It was gone in the blink of an eye--and it took the fly with it.

The sun was down now and it was getting cold, dropping toward a forecast low of 15.

I tied on a #18 BWO, thinking I should probably have used it first. But the fish didn't like it as much as they had liked that Callibaetis. But after some patient casting to rises and wakes I managed another hookup. This time I got it in the net. Not the biggest that Rocky Ford Creek has to offer, but just what I was looking for, nonetheless.

I was feeling the bite of the cold, but I stayed longer than I thought I would, tempting the fish with a muddler again. They seemed to enjoy playing with the fly as much as I did, bumping it, chasing it, swirling under and around it, but never taking it.

I finally reeled in and walked back to the truck through the early dusk. Two cars pulled out before I got to the parking area. Another fisherman was putting things in his pickup when I got there. He wished me safe travels, I wished him the same, and he pulled out and was gone. I was the only one there.

I packed up and began the liesurely drive home under the un-black moon.

Trout Lake Report: The Final Trip of August

You go back to the channel. It's another windy day, and you trace the long shoreline into the south end throwing a muddler. You can't find any fish.

Halfway down you tie on a bead head Woolly Bugger and begin to troll your way across the lake.

Halfway across you get a strong take and net a fat Rainbow.

You switch to the muddler again and start down the other shoreline. You get an explosive hit but no hookup.

The wind dies away and a few fish are rising. You can see Callibaetis in the air. You tie on a Callibaetis dry and cast to rises. After awhile you get a take.

That's pretty much it. There are risers, but there's a long time between rises. You stick with the mayfly dry, and just at dusk you catch one more fish. It's not the worst day you've ever had, but you hope that the arrival of September will stir things up.

Trout Lake Report: An August Ritual Comes To An End

You've come to love the trips to the inlet. It has become an August ritual.

The water level continues way down, and the wind on this day is way up.

You share the north end with a pair of Ospreys, and a pair of Eagles that periodically try to run them off. As you're crossing the lake this bird passes over you, plunges into the lake right at the inlet, and rises with a good-sized trout in its talons. You wonder if it's a good sign.

But when you get there the fishing--your way of fishing--is slow.

The wind moderates and rises bloom here and there. Small trout. You catch more than enough on a Callibaetis dry.

The Ospreys seem to be outfishing you. Their fish seem to be bigger, too.

You find a bigger trout working in two feet of water. He isn't coming up very often, but when he does you can see his dorsal and tail flash in the evening light. He's not big, but he might go a foot. You go for him.

He resists your efforts for a long time. You keep catching little guys instead of him. Finally, you strip in the Callibaetis dry as seductively as you can, and he breaks. It's a lovely take, and a pretty little fish that feels like a trophy.

Very little happens after that--except for the activities of the Ospreys and the Eagles, and another raid by the Otter family.

You wonder if the days of the inlet are over, if the water is finally so low that the risk for bigger fish is finally too great.

You kick back to the truck thinking it's time to explore other areas of the lake. It's been a good run at the inlet. You'll miss it.