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Showing posts with the label Depuy's

Annual Report

This is the infamous year end summary, sort of along the lines of the Christmas card with the letter stuffed inside.  I'll omit the photo of the dogs with fake antlers.  Some of you may remember Gene Hill . He was a well known outdoor writer,  and, I'd wager that he's still popular with the wingshooting crowd.  He occasionally wrote a piece for the sporting magazines titled "The Annual Report". I'll credit him with the title of this piece and absolve him of any responsibility as regards the content that follows.
Well, let's see, I still fish with a camera slung over my shoulder, and rarely hike without it either. Admittedly, packing an SLR is a pain, but I still think it's worth the hassle.  When I look back over the year or years, I can pinpoint dates that an event occurred.  Aha, fish that day, bugs that one, a seventy degree March day and so on. So, I can plan out my annual fishing trapline based on my meager experience with hatches, water conditi…

Never Enough

Another winter season on the spring is coming to a close.  This would be an all day trip.  I wanted to squeeze as much out of the day as possible.  The day got off to a frosty start.  No messing around today, I decided to forego usual fire starting ritual and dressed outside. Did I say that it was chilly?  And, the temp continued dropping while I was rigging.  The old fingers were a bit frozen and clubby by the time that I was ready to go.  Now,  I'd packed a bunch of those instant warming packets for years.  Yesterday, I finally gave one a try. Tucked into my wader hand warmer pouch, my fingers were at least comfortably thawed by the time I reached my chosen fishing spot.



I waited a bit for the sun to creep down the west facing slopes and into the valley.  Once it did, it didn't take long for the morning to warm.  Midges would be the main item on the fish menu. Well, at least that was what I was serving.  A nice cutthroat came to the net right off the bat. Then a nice rainbo…

A Few Casts

Twenty-six inside the fisherman's hut when I arrived yesterday (it was seven on the pass and icy as hell).  So, a few sticks in the barrel stove were in order.  There was no need to hurry, it would be awhile before the sun burned off the frost and the bugs got going.  No matter, I was rigged and ready for the anticipated midges.  Blue wings?  Well we'd have to see.
I heard a vehicle pull up.  It was Satoshi Yamamoto. Angler, guide, and all around nice guy.  Our paths had crossed over the past few years but we'd never had a chance to visit much.  This morning we caught up a bit.  I won't rehash the conversation, but he has a great blog with lots of useful fishing info (http://leftyangler.blogspot.com).  His personal bio is quite interesting too. And, I was most pleased when Satoshi graciously allowed me to take a few photos of him fishing.



Once it warmed, the morning turned into a stunner.  No wind, fish rising.  Just pinch me.
I walked back to the hut and retrieved my…

March 30

That a size twenty-two hook can hold a fish is remarkable.  How does such a small hook stick to the corner of the fish's mouth or tip of its snout?  Even more remarkable is that 7X tippet can hold up against the frantic stop and go runs of a fish.  And then, perhaps the biggest miracle of all is being able to attach the barely visible leader to said fly.
Today would be heavenly.  Seventy degrees.  In March. And for once, the wind was not commensurate with the temperature.
Fish were dimpling.  But not taking on the surface.  Close though, a tail or back would show. Today, something small, suspended barely, would be the ticket.  



With a long leader, I need some sort of indicator fly to clue me in on the location of the main fly.  Something small, with a dab of fluorescence for a post works ok.  Sometimes the fish eat it too, but usually its the dropper that they take.





The morning was most productive.  Browns.  Rainbows.  A few cutthroats too.  Sometimes they like what you're se…

Pulse

Normally, the rise to magnum food forms is attended by a more violent effort , causing a more pronounced break in the surface, sending out concentric circles that expand in all directions.    Vincent C. Marinaro --- A Modern Dry-Fly Code

Does the sight of surface feeding trout quicken your pulse?  How about the dainty rise of a midging fish.  And what of the "toilet flush rise" or fish hurtling skyward like cruise missiles?

I fished the other day, started the day nymphing half-heartedly. But once I noticed some sporadic rises, the jig was up.  No more nymphing for me.  It was dry fly leader time.  Time for a midge cluster and midge pupa too.
I cast.  Cast again.  Threw in some slack.  A fish rose.  I snubbed it.
The process was repeated, several times.  Same results.
After educating these few fish, the pool got quiet.  At least I got a couple to eat.
It was time for an exploratory walk to look for heads.  I eventually found a few more risers. Patient sippers they were, thei…

Midge Morning

Get out early.  Beat the wind.  Fish midges.  That was the mantra yesterday.  I left home in the dark, driving eastward over the pass.  Outside of Livingston the temp was sixty-two.  A few miles to the south, forty-one.
I stopped along the Yellowstone and snapped a few photos before heading up to the creek. The morning sky was just starting to brighten.
I wondered...any midges this morning?
My question answered when I took a deep breath and sucked one in.  I wasn't the only one feeding on bugs.  Trout were rising too.
It was still calm when I waded into the creek.  Fish were rising actively.  I caught several right off. A few took a fuzzy CDC pattern that imitated a midge cluster.  I soon tired of trying to keep it afloat and switched to a nondescript midge pupa.  A few fish ate that too, then the action slowed, even though the fish continued to rise.





I moved downstream, found a few more rising fish and bided my time by trying to cast between gusts.  By now the fish had become qu…

Yesterday On The Creek

It's quite a change in venue, visiting the creek this time of year.  Especially when compared to the quiet starkness of winter that I'm accustomed to.  June.  Profusion. An explosion of life and color. Pastures green, trees and shrubs leaf and bloom.  Birds sing and chatter incessantly from the streamside vegetation.  A day on this, or any creek for that matter, is a spectacular experience.  And that is a woefully inadequate understatement.
In spite of verdancy, and the activity of myriad critters, one key element is lacking.  Insect life. The vaunted hatches that bring trout to the surface have yet to commence.  Other than a couple of wayward caddis, no bugs.  PMD's are allegedly still days to weeks off.  When they appear, so do the fisherman, expectant and hopeful.
So, in a day filled with hope, but lacking surface feeding trout, I nymphed.  Essentially the same gig as winter.  Dry dropper.  Beetle dropper (which I couldn't see worth a darn).  Finally, I resorted th…