Happy Opening Day 2017

Wandering upstream along the Touchet in Lewis and Clark State Park , I happened upon a gap in the brush revealing a deep pool with an enormous submerged tree. A swift current slowed just above it, creating a seam in the water and then a tranquil piece of water.

If ever there was ideal water for a trout to hold, this was it. Yet, I've never caught a single fish in this stretch of the Touchet. Not even a bite. So I wasn't optimistic.

Nevertheless I paused to survey the prospects of making a cast in such a precarious, confined spot. To begin, the bank was higher than I like. And the brush was smothering. As I looked up to my right at the branches, I heard a considerable splash in the water. Ha, there are fish here. I decided that if I held my rod high and did a backcast I could get the stimulator with a prince nymph dropper into the right piece of water.

On the first cast, the white stimulator contrasted beautifully with the deep blue water as it floated gently downstream. Nothing. I must have been just short. I would need to get more line out and let it slip beneath the overhanging branches of a large tree.

False cast, false cast and there. The fly was headed just where I wanted it.

Suddenly, from the depths, I saw the flash of a broad trout side as it attacked the stimulator with such gusto that it bent my new 3-weight Helios to the breaking point. I set the hook and watched what looked to me to be an 18-20" rainbow plunge deeper and head for the current. The rod felt heavy as I got the fish on the reel and turned it away from the fast water. This was no dummy. The rainbow then made for the submerged tree as a I grunted and reeled with haste in hopes of getting him back up and away from harm's way.

Unfortunately, the combination of my inexperience at landing large fish like this in tight spots, and being a little under-powered with the 3-weight led to the trout spitting the fly right back at me -- like a slingshot.

"Thanks for playing," the trout seemed to say.

"Happy opening day," I replied, thrilled for the experience.

This year I returned to the same spots I chronicled five years ago. After watching my son's Walla Walla Sweets win their Opening Night against the Wenatchee Applesox the night before, I rose just before daybreak at 5 am to celebrate my own Opening Day on Washington's wonderful trout rivers.

I named this one Dayton

I drove straight to Dayton as the sun rose above the gorgeous Walla Walla hills. There are spots right in town that I had held trout back in 2012 when I fished a rainy and blustery opening day. And sure enough, those spots still hold trout, though they seemed smaller this year. I did manage to get a couple of nice 12" rainbows near the bridge. And in all, I probably caught a dozen 'bows.

Earlier in the week my friends J.C. Biaggi and Jeff Cirillo caught some smallmouth bass on the Walla Walla River.

So the summer is starting well.

A Disptach from Alaska

What follows is a terrific bit of writing from Mark Koide, the hero of my Ruby Springs post last year. Let's book the next trip! 

by Mark Koide

Since Greg appears to have taken a hiatus, I wanted to share a fish story, one that all dads and sons who fish together will appreciate.  The backstory is that a long time ago I had a co worker who was a hardcore flyfisherman.  He let it influence his choice of college and even where he lives - on the tailwaters in Westport CT.  The consequence of this was his son, now entering his senior year, took his avocation to a much higher level.  He attends Colorado College, a short drive to the South Platte Dream Stream, majors in marine biology and spends his summers making a buck teaching flyfishing and this summer guiding in Alaska.  I remember Max as a 10 year old catching browns to 20 inches and largemouths to 5 lbs in his backyard.

His father Ted and I parted professional ways almost 20 years ago, but have been able to maintain a semiannual fishing schedule.  This usually involves hooky from work and family since we both now have multiple teen to early 20ish kids and wives who are working and working at home.  Our fishing trips have been, therefore, of the "next wednesday might work, you in?".  Location and fishing conditions are secondary to the demands of our work and family schedules.  So we have done the best that we could in this part of the country (I live in Northern NJ) on very short windows of opportunity --  Farmington, Housatonic, Upper Delaware, and of course stripers and blues up and down the coast. 

Last year there was  a distinct shift in schedule.   Both Ted and I have reached the place where we have a bit of flexibility at work and the kids are in college with its narrow required windows and high school events where we are often decidedly not required.   So when the email or text comes across, they are now more like  “can you meet me in Bozeman, MT in 4 weeks for three days”.  Got that one from Greg last year and he chronicled our adventure here.  

Greg’s text was followed last fall by “Max and his friends’ are ok with us joining them on the South Platte in late October.”  There was the undertone of serious fishermen were inviting a dad and a friend who had better be competent in the invitation.   While I am no match for Ted and Ted is now well shy of Max and his friends abilities, we held up our end and had a remarkable experience.   One that at some point should be written up because it involved a small pool that turned up browns to 26” and rainbows to 20” on an hourly basis.  But that isn’t this story. 

This story starts with the recognition on the South Platte that Max and his friends at Colorado College have transcended from competent to gifted  with the best of all complementary traits patience.  So when the text came in May “Max is guiding in Alaska on Lake Creek for the summer”,  I immediately texted back two letters “IN”.  This was in itself remarkable because for almost 15 years, I have been stuck at 49 as the number of states that I have travelled through.   Too many years on the road for work and a childhood spent driving to visit our relatives on the West Coast and Southwest  had left me one state short.    Only the prior week, I had convinced my family that we should lock down our vacation plans to go off the grid in late August with a once in a lifetime trip to Alaska’s Denali and Kenai Fjord National Parks.   Now in my 53^rd year, I would be hitting the state twice.

PHOTO: A preview of what's to come.

To make the trip even more attractive, Ted and I were on a family rate at the lodge which meant a significant discount filling a vacant cabin.  Ted and I were to rendezvous in Anchorage on a Sunday night and fly out ion Rust’s charter plane service n the morning.  Both of us were on airline points and food at the Mountain Wilderness Lodge was all included.  Max would be our guide. 

Travel warning:  Getting to Anchorage from the East Coast on American Airlines points is a alarmingly risky proposition.   Six hours late with additional stops in Denver and Seattle (my original route was EWR to DFW to Anchorage) and a change to Alaska Air for the last leg, I made it to our room.  There I learned that Ted had only just arrived beating me by 2 hours despite having a six hour start on me.  For those quick at math it means he was 10 hours late.  It was now 3am in Anchorage and we had 5 hours to sleep before we needed to catch the bus to Rust’s.

A final thought before I continue,  my experience in flyfishing like many of you has taught me that this is the kind of fishing that has nothing to do with luck.  Drift fishing dead bunker through Woods Hole, casting into the rips off the Vineyard and even chasing funny fish with the long wand are influenced by luck.  In my experience with salmonids and flies, the skill of the angler is directly correlated with the frequency and size of the fish he/she catches.   It has to do with  strategy, presentation, accuracy, and the fight.  As I have encountered new species and aqua environments, experience is also required to land trophies even if you have been fortunate and skilled enough to hook up.  On the South Platte, we had established an order for frequency and size.  Max would lead on frequency and size followed by Ted and then me.  

Now I know Jack

Florida Jack
While I've managed to ignore this blog for six months, I haven't neglected fishing. I decided to title this post, "Now I know Jack," because I've had two great saltwater adventures that resulted in hard-fighting jack fish.

Back in October I went fishing with Captain Scott Hamilton in Jupiter Florida. Scott's outfit, Fly Fishing Extremes, focuses on big, powerful Florida fish. He uses 10-weight and stronger flyrods and is known for catching sharks, false albacore, dorado and big Jack Crevalle. Here's a recent article about his exploits that was in the works when he and I went fishing. It's from Hatch Magazine.

We met early one morning at the marina for a half-day of fishing in the inner harbor, where golfer Jack Nicklaus' home is located. The winds that week were simply too strong to allow fishing in the open waters of the Atlantic where he likes to fish ship wrecks and other structures that hold big fish.

We scooted across the waterway to a bank lined with scrub trees, where he seined for bait. We used flies he had tied, but he baited the water to attracted schools of jacks and tarpon.

I cast back into the trees with the 10-weight I had borrowed from Captain Scott and a jack nearly ripped the rod out of my hand. He had warned me that unlike trout and salmon fishing in the Pacific Northwest, I was to get my rod down to the water rather than jerking it up to the sky. To set the hook I should do that with repeated jerks to the side. Otherwise the jack would snap the rod. I did just that, in part because I had no choice. He had set the drag quite tight and even so the jack ripped off line -- zzzz-zz-zzz-zzz!

The fish was beautiful but sadly we didn't take a photo. Take my word for it. My son's baseball game was about to start and so I had to hustle back to his tournament, where he hit a couple of triples so the hasty retreat was justified.

It was my first jack.

Hawaii Jack (or HI, Jack)

Fast-forward to December. I flew into Maui on a Saturday afternoon before Christmas, and was on the water early Sunday morning with none other than Discovery Channel's Pacific Warrior, Jon Jon Tabon. Like Captain Scott, his outfit also uses extreme in its title, Extreme Kayak Fishing Adventures. Jon Jon is THE expert on flyfishing for Hawaiian bonefish, or O'io. He is also a gentle Aloha spirit and a great teacher.

He's a scarce commodity. Between taking care of his family, filming Pacific Warrior and guiding almost every day, you're lucky to get him. Last year I tried but he and his wife, Amanda, were going through a tough time with parents who were fighting cancer. This year I hit the jackpot by getting him on the first day of my trip.

I used my own 8-weight Sage rod and his shrimp pattern fly. He likes to use a 10-foot leader. The first thing Jon Jon focused on, before we got into the water in Kihei was how to cast in the wind. Weather advisories had the seasonal trade winds at 25 mph gusts but it would hit 50 mph while we were out there. It wasn't pretty but with his guidance I managed to cast alright even in the midst of the worst winds. At some points I could barely stand up in the water.

We were really looking for O'io but I knew jack was a possibility, too. We were in the shallows and looking for good spots where the sandy bottom meets the coral reef. Even with polarized sunglasses I couldn't clearly make out the sea bottom but at one point, in my mind's eye, I was casting to a sandy bottom sandwiched betwee two reefs. I felt a bump and thought it was me hitting bottom but just in case I timidly set the hook and immediately felt the head shake. Fish on! I hiked the rod tip to the blue Hawaiian skies and felt a very heavy weight on the other end. Jon Jon instantly knew it was a jack and the only question was what kind. Had it been a bonefish it would have peeled off all my line but even so this jack little by little did peel of line. It bent the rod nearly in two.

The fish fought very well for a good 5-7 minutes before we brought it in. It was a beautiful and fat fish. Jon Jon advised me it was a Pa'opa'o, a sort of Hawaiin permit as he described it. When I showed my photo below to locals on the island they instantly called it a Papio. Later in the week I settled the discrepancy when visiting the Maui Ocean Center where I found the photo and description pictured below. It is in fact a Pa'opa'o. A Papio appears to refer to any juvenile form of jack, whereas Pa'opa'o is specifically a golden trevally.

It was a huge honor to fish with Jon Jon.

Sea-run cutthroat trout back home

In the back of mind, in the heat of Hawaii, I had New Year's Day circled on my calendar back home. The Gig Harbor area of Pierce and Mason Counties are favorites this time of year. When we got back from Maui, it was cold but sunny in Seattle and after getting some work done for several days I set out one morning for Purdy and Vaughn Spits as well as the Rocky Bay area. I just had to say hello to another sea-run.

I packed my 6-weight and some flies and headed south. High tide was about 11 am and so I caught the end of the incoming tide and most of the outgoing tide. In the first two locations I see a fish or feel a bump. But the sun was brilliant and the air refreshing.

Finally, I returned to a stretch where my father and I had fished several years ago. I waded out and cast for about a half-hour to no effect. Then I looked down the shore to my left and saw some floating docks and decided to stand in the midst of them. Suddenly I got hot with 6-7 strikes, five of which I landed. They were not huge -- 12-14 inches, but respectable and good little fighters. I snapped a photo of one below.

These are very special fish, and we're lucky to see them becoming more and more abundant in the Puget Sound.

 

 

Ernest Hemingway and Zane Grey

 

Even though my fishing has been somewhat limited this past year, I did manage to read a couple of fairly obscure (these days) collections of writing about fishing by novelists Ernest Hemingway and Zane Grey.

 

Hemingway on Fishing is a collection of his short stories, parts of novels and newspaper articles in which fishing is the central theme. Big Two-Hearted River is a must for any literary fisherman. When I have more time I will try to write about some of the fishing literature I've enjoyed.

 

Zane Grey was my grandma's favorite author of westerns. His collection of writing, Zane Grey on Fishing, is less a literary feat and more instructive about light tackle fishing for big game off Florida. I was excited and surprised to learn what an astute fisherman he was.

 

Both Grey and Hemingway clearly inspired baseball great Ted Williams.

Ruby Springs

The Galeton River right now is very low. A river runs through it, but very slowly.

Nevertheless, it does run and the rivers are still open. So my friend Mark Koide, who resides in of all places New Jersey, flew out to meet me for a few days of fishing in the mecca of all fishing – the land of the Madison and the Jefferson and the Galeton and the Big Hole and the Beaverhead. And, perhaps most importantly, the storybook Ruby Springs.

The highway west out of Bozeman from the airport takes you right to the Galeton and by early afternoon we were itching for some fishing. We exited the highway, double-backed a few miles and found a pull-off where we could switch to wading boots, gear-up and start casting within an hour or so of landing.

The heat kept most sane folks in air conditioned parlors, but we started flailing away at this riffle and that run as if we were Orvis himself. We were comforted in the fact there was the occasional rise and so clearly fish were present. But we had yet to land our first fish. Ahead I noticed a slack water to the right of a nice, cool riffle and so I switched to a streamer and cast a few times to a shady area just above a fallen tree.

Cast, sink, sink, bam! Fish on.

After a nice little fight I had this gorgeous 14-inch brookie in the net.

 

With a thunderstorm gathering we made our way back to the bridge but on the way found rising brownies, and I managed to land a nice 10-11 incher on a dry.

Montana, like much of the West, is suffering a drought that will likely soon turn into emergency conditions. It will surprise no one if some of the great rivers are closed this month. The rain has been fine this season, but the snow pack is at or near zero and so flows in early July are closer to what you would expect in early August.

Our fishing lodge expected us for cocktails and dinner by about 7 so we got off the water and hustled south and west to Ruby Springs Lodge, our home for the next three nights.

In the movie Field of Dreams, the young ballplayer asks his host, “is this heaven?” Kevin Costner replies, “no this is Iowa.” Same line applies for flyfishing at Ruby Springs. No, this is Montana.

Paul Mosley and John Sampson have created something other-worldly, yet amazingly comfortable and familiar. The lodge cabins are what I would build for myself – in heaven. Yes they are comfortable and yes they are spitting distance to a great fishing stream. (Photo: our deck rail and the Ruby just beyond)

 

We made it to cocktails and dinner, but the rising brown trout – many of the them quite large by my Seattle standards – were too much for us to ignore at our sumptuous table. We impolitely excused ourselves after devouring a great steak dinner and were on the water again before sunset. We landed some nice brownies and of course a few more by sunrise after just a few hours of sleep.

 

A word about my fishing companion, Mark Koide. Koide must be the Japanese word for, "I love to fish." Koide is the CEO of a construction company that makes custom swimming pools, and he's a very accomplished business guy. But I've never seen a more passionate fisherman. John Gierach wrote in All Fishermen Are Liars this about fishing lodges and guys  like Koide:

I enjoy and appreciate fishing lodges, but not everyone does. Balls-to-the-wall types may see regular mealtimes and other necessary regimentation as a waste of valuable fishing time.

Let's just say Mark maximized his fishing time, and he was rewarded with a lot of great fish and a lot of great fishing stories.

Our guide, Jason Carrico, chose one of the mystical rivers mentioned above for our first morning. The dam-controlled water flow was at a nice 1500 CFS, which seemed perfect for floating and finding hungry fish. I had read about and dreamed of these rivers for years and so this was a particular treat. We left our lodge early, climbed the mountain elevation through Alder and Virginia City and descended into a spectacular valley. We used a nice nymph rig I won't describe here, and I got started with a 20.5" rainbow that was full of color and energy.

 

Jason is a knowledgeable, patient and authoritative flyfishing guide. We were lucky to have him. There is nothing like fishing with a guy who is at the top of his game. He managed the boat with great skill while keeping Mark and me focused and on the best buckets. We worked hard and reaped the rewards of lots of very nice fish. Jason also makes an extraordinarily nice streamside lunch.

Next day we floated the Jefferson which may be the most beautiful and diverse river in the Montana cannon of rivers. We did dry-dropper rigs this time and fished quite well early in the morning before the searing heat. We had a lull mid-day but it really picked up for us right at the end.

Both Mark and I continued to supplement our intense guided fishing trips with solo jaunts to every part of Ruby Springs. And we had great results in the mornings and early evenings.

RSL may be the best managed and most positive culture I've encountered in the wide world of sport and hospitality. I plan to be a repeat visitor and hope to meet my new friends again there next summer.

 

Maui

Someone once wrote that he had to quit his job because it got in the way of his fishing. Work certainly got in the way of my fishing last year as this seldom updated blog indicates.

A good (out of work) friend texted me at regular intervals this past year inviting me to fish for trout over the summer and salmon in the fall. My reply was always some dismal excuse to say no, usually related to work.

Looking back over the blog I managed just one post the whole year, and it was a highlight of the year -- serf perch in Carlsbad. I failed to write about my wonderful, if brief, guided trip on the Roaring Fork near Aspen where I landed a beautiful wild trout about 16 inches and lost a very big one due to the high and fast remainders of snow melt. I also caught a few small trout over the summer in my home waters, but nothing worth reporting.

This Christmas holiday I finally got some time away from work, and with relaxation came fishing. In the month leading up to our vacation, I did two things. First, I booked a guided trip with Brian Edmission of Maui Shore Fishing. Second, I invested in a new saltwater reel to go with my 7 wt. Sage flyrod. Both investments were aimed at catching my first bone-fish or O'io as they are known in Hawaii), which didn't happen, but both paid off with a lot of learning and fun.

 

There's Brian above throwing you a shocka with one hand and holding Hawaii's state fish, the Humumunukunukuapua'a -- with the other. Ryan snagged that reef fish with a little plastic grub. Ryan also caught some large needle and trumpet fish.

 

Brian is a knowledgeable and genuinely enthusiastic San Diego surfer dude turned Maui fishing expert. He's been fishing these waters for awhile now and has really learned the terrain and the techniques.

 

He gave me a good tip on casting to the edge of the reef and then dragging my squid pattern along the sandy bottom. "Imagine a little worm making itself along the bottom. That's what you're trying to imitate."

 

He was right. I caught a small Bluefin Trevally as well as this beautiful Leatherback Jack.

 

 

 

Brian tipped me off on a good place to find bone-fish in the flats not too far from where we were staying in Wailea. I headed there at sunrise before the Hawaiian trade winds kicked in, and found a healthy population of bones dimpling the surface and generally swimming about. It was exciting to sight-cast to bone-fish but alas I got no takes. Next time.

 

The pleasure of fishing stayed with me, and a few days later back at home in Bellevue I stumbled across a collection of stories by Ernest Hemingway called Hemingway on Fishing. It's not cheap but it has an interesting little essay by his son and then a series of short stories, book chapters and some journalism in which Papa writes beautifully about fishing.

 

Last night, New Years Eve, my fishing luck continued when I again found by chance a documentary on television I had not heard of before -- The Rocky Mountain Fly Highway. It is easily the most beautifully filmed and romantically written film I've seen about fly fishing.

 

All of this -- Hawaii, Hemingway and Fly Highway -- have restored my love and excitement for fishing.

 

Happy New Year!

 

 





Surfperch in Carlsbad

Ever since reading a few years back about surfperch, I've wanted to catch one. The idea of a beautiful, strong little fish living in abundance right along the Pacific shore is attractive to the fly fisherman. What could be better fishing than to wade out a little ways from the beach, cast into the surf and feel the tug of a fish.

There are some obstacles. First you need to be near ocean surf. Although I live in Seattle, I am a good 150 miles from the ocean, and it would take well over 4 hours to drive there. Next you need to know the right fly and how it should behave in the surf. Here my flyrod nimrodness tells you about everything you need to know. I don't have a clue.

On a recent overnight business trip to Carlsbad, California, I threw in the 6 weight and some light tackle. I read a few articles, watched a few videos, and -- importantly -- stopped by a local tackle shop to ask some questions. Pacific Coast Bait & Tackle in bordering Oceanside is a bustling little shop full of fishermen. I sauntered in and started talking to people. Mostly they pointed me to grubs, then to a few fly patterns. Then I finally found the proprietor, a guy who knows surf fishing. He set me up with the hooks and grubs below -- one motor oil color and the other sand crab color. I also bought a t-shirt.

On Thursday evening, as the sun was setting, I found a little piece of beach where I had observed some small birds earlier. There were plenty of rocks in the area which I had read was good for breaking shells and other bait. The guy at the bait store said to stand in knee-high water and just let the grub "loll around in the surf." I cast out into the foamy white water and just let the ocean current take it in and out.

Around 7 in the evening as the sun was setting I felt a strike but no consistent fight. I lifted the road and fish on. I stipped the little guy on the beach and let it go. I cast back out and after a few tries had one a little bigger on the line. I took the photo below of the second one, lying comfortably in the basket I use to strip line into.

The takes are pretty subtle compared to the draw of the ocean current itself. I learned that you really have to keep a slightly tight line as the current pushes and pulls it. Both takes were on the outgoing wave.

Surfperch fishing beats sitting and walking on the beach.

With darkness gathering all around me, I climbed the considerable cliff back up to the road and ambled across my hotel parking lot. A tipsy fellow walked out of the hotel bar.

"What the hell are you fishing for this time of year?"

"Whales."

His eyes got bigger than the rim of a highball glass as I laughed and kept on walking.

FOOTNOTE
On a March visit to Phoenix I read about a little pond near my hotel -- the Evelyn Hallman Pond in Tempe. I threw in my 5-wt and fished the stocked pond late one evening. Carp, bass, trout and catfish were in the offing. This little bluegill was the reward for a long cast into a shadowy piece of water near the central island. I sunk a wooly bugger and retrieved it slowly.

Think Pink

I've had two spectacular guided days this fall. Early in the pink salmon season I fished the Skykomish with guide Chris Senyohl in October. These were the first pinks I caught on a fly. I used his sinking line 6-weight and flies he tied -- pink ones.

This is a nice bright female pink. Probably the one I took home for dinner. If they are bled immediately and kept cold they are quite good to eat. I caught a bunch and took two home for dinner.

This is the male humpy, caught that evening after a significant rain storm. It was very cool to be out on the river during the dump.

Yesterday I spent the day on the Sauk River, which empties into the Skagit. It's a great bull trout and steelhead river. I caught a couple of nice bull trout on a Spey or Skagit rod, but my friend Scott Hood landed the most and the biggest fish. Scott is the head of Trout Unlimited in Oklahoma and on the TU board of trustees. It was a real honor to fish with him. We estimated the bull trout below to be about 25-inches.

We both fished Skagit rods. He had a black fly and I had a white and later a grey fly. Our guide, Andrew Grillos, put us on the fish and paddled a mean rubber boat all day. I fished the Skagit with him two years ago. He taught me two-handed casting and how to fish for bull trout and steelhead.

I highly recommend both Chris and Andrew.