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By Anthony Naples, on January 3rd, 2010
Well – reading Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan has inspired me (see review in previous post Here). The hard thing about any creative pursuit is the idea that you must press forward, onward into new territory. If you want to be taken seriously then you need to come up with something of your own – to merely be a good writer, painter, photographer, etc. is not good enough – you need to find a new way to express the human condition.
Luckily for me I don’t need to be taken seriously – so I can unabashedly emulate (without even being ironic). Richard Brautigan invented a perfectly good wheel – and I’m going to use attempt to use it to get where I want to go (maybe not very successfully). So please indulge me with a flight of fancy as I explore my inner Trout Fishing in America with a Brautiganesque Fishing Report from this past summer (2009).
The Dream Stream: South Platte River below Spinney Reservoir, Colorado
August 14, 2009
We arrive at the parking lot. We are two men full of trout. Skulls like aquariums – fish looking out onto dry land through our eyes. There are some other anglers there in the parking lot. They squint and lean on their trucks like empty beer cans. I don’t ask how the fishing is because beer cans don’t usually talk – and when they do it’s garbage that you don’t want to hear.
We put on our waders, sort through fly-boxes and string up the rods. More anglers appear in the parking lot like weeds pushing through the gravel – some are coming, some are going. But nobody’s talking. The sky is blue but with the whispered promise of bad weather. Birds of prey circle and occasionally dive. The mountains in the distance remain judgmental. Maybe it’s just me but I get the feeling that they can tell that I’m not from these parts.
I learned to fly fish in central Pennsylvania. The streams there like to hide themselves discreetly in narrow wooded valleys. This stream was not so shy, she lay among the dry grass out where everyone could see her for miles around, twisting in restless dreams.
Thinking about the way that stream looked now, months later, I reach into my pocket, pull out a bit of string and toss it onto the table top. In memories the streams that I have fished are made up of these bits and pieces from my pockets.
We finally leave the parking lot and walk to the stream. This moment before fishing is the best part. When I come to a new stream – it is not yet written in my book. Everything is possible – the bends, the riffles, the pools are all pregnant mothers. I am an expectant, anxious father full of hope.
As we walk to the stream the sky decides it will rain on us. I don’t have a raincoat with me – so I unfurl the thin plastic rain poncho that I stashed earlier (hoping that I wouldn’t need it). Hopefully nobody will notice that I’m wearing a plastic bag. Maybe it will be good for fishing, maybe the fish will think that I’m just a plastic bag rolling by in the wind.
We stop at the first good looking stretch that we come to. Here the stream curls out of an oxbow, hurries though a shallow riffle and into a deep run. Pretty as a picture, like a trout stream in a catalog. You know the fish are there.
One tiny fish and several hours later we walk back to the car. It turns out that the moment just before fishing was the best part of the trip.
By Anthony Naples, on December 1st, 2009
Well, a while back I ordered a Tenkara Fly Rod from TenkaraUSA . I went with the Ebisu 12-ft rod. The Ebisu is a medium weight rod with a unique Pine Wood grip.
I’m sure most everyone has learned about the Tenkara fly fishing style by now – I published a post previuosly with a nice Tenkara write-up done by Chris Stewart. The post was called Tenkara Fly Fishing?. Chris does a great job of describing and explaining Tenkara. So I won’t attempt to repeat it all here. The TenkaraUSA website is also a great resource with articles, videos and an active forum.
Briefly though; a Tenkara rod is a telescoping fly rod, (usually longer than a typical fly rod) and it uses no reel. The line is simply attached to the end of the rod. And yes – you do cast, you don’t just dap.
I decided to go to a small northwest PA wild trout stream. This particular little stream tumbles along at the bottom of it’s own steep-sided valley, forming a series of shallow runs and occasional deep pools.
The steep hill-sides, boulders and deadfalls make traveling a little treacherous. There are trout here – but on this day the water is low, the terrain makes stealth difficult and I’m trying to use a 12-ft fly rod. This was perhaps not the best place to try the new Tenkara rod. If you ever want to remember what it felt like when you first started fly fishing then take a 12-ft fly rod out on a small brushy stream.
So how was the Tenkara? Well…it was the first trip so I can’t say too much. Here are a few thoughts though. Firstly, When you have the space, you can cast wonderfully with a Tenkara rod. The casting stroke is different than regular fly rod – and I haven’t perfected it – but after a bit, I was doing okay and casting with a some accuracy. Secondly, and contrary to what I had thought, the Tenkara rod is not great for dapping – in fact a regular fly rod is better for this. The reason is that with a Tenkara rod you cannot reel in the line to change its length. To really dap effectively you would have to change the line from the 10-ft line to something more like 4-ft or so. This could be done, but I wouldn’t want to have to change back and forth between the long line and the dapping line as I moved along the stream. As a fly-fisherman, you need to be aware of your surroundings. As a Tenkara fly-fisherman you need to be even more aware. Casting a 12-ft rod, in a wooded environment can be tricky – you really need to look above and behind you to avoid constant hang-ups. Hook-sets can be tricky too – a flick of the wrist, with a 12-ft rod, can send you rod tip into the overhanging branches pretty fast.
So what about the fish catching? I’d love to report on all the trout that I caught, but as fate would have it…But I did catch a beautiful Creek Chub. I never thought I’d post a picture of a chub on my fly fishing blog. But it was my first fish on a Tenkara rod. So here it is.
By Anthony Naples, on September 23rd, 2009
Spring Creek, Centre County, PA: September 18 & 19, 2009
Got a chance to fish my “Home Water” recently. I say Home Water in quotes, because although, I live 3-hrs away I consider Spring Creek to be just that. I know it better than any other stream and I find myself testing my skills on it’s wild browns more than any where else. I guess I should consider myself lucky – I’m sure there are those whose Home Waters are across the country or across the oceans. It is a wonderful feeling to ease into my waders next to a familiar run or riffle and know that I’ll probably have some success. Hey maybe I’ll even skip the nymphing and just look for some risers. I’ve caught enough fish here over the years that I have a familiar comfort with no anxiousness about fish catching – It’s just good to be here on the banks of Spring Creek.
Me and My Shadow
It’s like Bob Dylan says in Maggie’s Farm, “I wake up in the morning fold my hands and pray for rain…” And so I did – but alas it was no to be. The whether was beautiful – and I was cursing this. The fly fisherman can be a contrary sort. While everyone else is singing the praises of a beautiful fall day, the fly fisherman looks to the cloudless clear blue sky, squinting like Clint Eastwood and looking about as ornery. It was great for a country drive or a hike in the mountains, but not exactly what I was hoping for. Gray skies, cool temps and a little rain would have made me much happier. With those conditions – maybe our little friend the Blue Winged Olive would have come out to play. But it was bright skies and looming shadows as we fished Spring Creek below Bellefonte. Bank-feeders scattered in fear as my shadow announced my presence. The shadow of the fly-line and the glint of the sun off of the fly-rod didn’t help to make for stealthy approaches either.
All of these conditions, contributed to the surprise of what we saw – surface feeding trout. It was one of those mystery hatches. Maybe a better angler would have figure it out, but I was at a loss. There were fish rising pretty consistently and no bugs that we could see. If I were a more prepared fly fisher I would have taken my bug-seine, waded to the tail of the pool and found whatever it was that was drifting in the current – but I’m not. So it remains a mystery, which is okay by me. After all, the mystery of fish and bugs, is a big part of what makes the game interesting.
What to Tie On?
I opened my fly boxes and looked over the selection. Sometimes I think that I read about fly fishing too much – and I tie too many flies. This can result in analysis paralysis. The question of which one of these things is the “right” one can cause me to open and close box after box, and then go through them again. I should probably tie on some sort of tiny emerger and fish it in the film – yeah that’s the smart thing to do. But which one?
But then I thought that it would be much more fun to put on a big dry fly and see if there were any takers. Make it simple. Fish are eating at the surface – give them something on the surface to eat. And preferably something that I can actually see at 30-ft.
Who Would Have Thought?
I tied on a tan and green, elk-hair caddis. And surprise, surprise – It worked! I tie this fly a little differently than the traditional style. I like to tie it with a twisted antron body (I like the segmented look that gives you). Also rather than palmering the hackle on the body, I use hackle only in front of the wing and trim the bottom, so that the fly floats a little lower.
The fish took this fly without hesitation. They came up out of the depths and sucked it in without a second look. I was completely surprised. Usually I only fish dries on Spring Creek when there are hatching bugs to match. I have never had much luck on Spring Creek with attractor dry flies. So why did this fly work so well? Maybe there had been recent caddis activity and the fish “remembered” this. I guess I’ll never know for sure. I’m sure the next time I try it – there will be no takers.
The Next Day
There’s not too much to report. We fished the morning in an area upstream of Fisherman’s Paradise (I don’t want to be too specific). There were a lot of big fish. I didn’t catch any of the big fish. I don’t know when the browns start spawning in Spring Creek, but there were a lot of fish gathered together. I didn’t see any activity that I’d call spawning activity and I didn’t notice any redds. The fish that I watched were not feeding at all though – they were very inactive. Of course it was bright and sunny and there was no bug activity at all – at least while we were there in the morning.
By Anthony Naples, on September 22nd, 2009
This is the second post in the Colorado Expedition series that cover my recent trip to Colorado this past mid-August. I know it’s a little slow in the coming but…well real life sometimes gets in the way of cyberlife. In the first post, Colorado Expedition Part I: The Fryingpan River, I related a bit about my time on the Fryingpan River.
After our time on the Fryingpan we drove east through the mountains, over the continental divide and into the Taylor River Valley. It was a beautiful, scenic drive.
View Larger Map
The Taylor River is located in the Gunnison River drainage in the northern part of the southwest quadrant of Colorado. It flows 20 miles from the Taylor Park Reservoir to Almont where it meets the East river to form the Gunnison. There is scattered posting along the river – but there are many long stretches on public lands that are open to fishing. Access is not difficult – Route 742 out of Almont follows the river all the way to the reservoir. There are numerous Gunnison National Forest campgrounds along the river, which provide great base camps from which to explore.
We stayed at the Granite Campground. The campground is located across Rt. 742 from the Taylor River. The river in this area is beautiful water full of pools and pockets. Do not forget your wading staff. The heavy current with rounded boulders and cobbles of all sizes create some of the most difficult wading that I have ever done. Although the river is never far from the road, the scenery along the water is beautiful and the road is often far enough away so that it is not visible.
So How’s the Fishing?
The fishing was good. After the finicky trout of the Fryingpan, it was a nice change to fish the lower Taylor River (the upper section is another story). Though not jumping on the hook with abandon, fish were willing to come from the depths of deep pockets and runs to take attractor patterns. Royal trudes, elk hair caddis, parachute drakes, stimis all accounted for fish.
Maybe nymphing would have produced more fish, but the older I get the more I enjoy fishing dries. Casting a dry fly is just so much fun – it is what the fly rod was designed to do after all. The sport is called fly fishing and not nymph fishing. I’m not a dry fly snob though – but I’ll try dries first and resort to nymphs and streamers when it becomes apparent that the dries aren’t doing it. It hasn’t always been that way but I’ve tangled enough nymph and split-shot rigs to last a lifetime, and if I can avoid that…well so much the better.
In addition to the general action with attractors, we did run into a nice hatch of PMDs in the afternoon, along with a pool full of rising fish.
The Upper Taylor River
The upper stretch of the river, right below Taylor Reservoir has a different nature than the lower river described above. It is smooth water with plenty of visible trout. You can definitely do some sight fishing for large trout up in this section. The mysis eaters grow large and chunky – the largest trout in Colorado live here.
We got lucky the first evening – there was a great hatch of midges with loads of rising trout. That’s not to say that I caught many, actually I haven’t been schooled so badly in a long time. Surrounded by rising fish I got only the occasional hook-up. Across the stream from me a pair of anglers caught one after another, many were nice heavy fish. It was humbling.
It was obvious we didn’t have the right fly (it couldn’t have been lack of skill). It wasn’t going to happen again though – back at the campground the next morning fly tying equipment came out (thanks to Larry). Tiny midge emergers were the ticket. It was going to be great tonight, I could just see the fish we were going to catch. It is a great story; get schooled, go back to camp tie the right fly, get back on the water, catch tons of fish. Except, nature didn’t cooperate. This evening – there were no midges! How could this happen? The water was dead, with no risers. Just when you think you have it figured out – you realize that you don’t.
 
By Anthony Naples, on September 7th, 2009
Well, I managed to make it to Colorado again this year for some fly fishing and some family fun. This is the first post (in a series of three or four) that will cover the trip.
To start the adventure, I flew into Lincoln, NE and met up with my buddy (and my personal fly-fishing guide/outfitter) Larry. After about a 12-hr roadtrip we made it to the Roaring Fork Valley of Colorado. For fly fishers this valley is most famously known as the home and meeting place of the Fryingpan and Roaring Fork rivers. On the final approach to the Basalt area and our campground, we stopped off in Carbondale for a couple of slices. Upon Larry’s recommendation we ate at Peppino’s Pizza – I had the excellent, NY-Style, thin crust. If you’re in the area I highly recommend it.
Location of Basalt, CO
View Larger Map
The view from the river is not of mountains but of looming, pine-covered ridges and outcroppings of red rocks. Being an easterner I never get tired of looking at the red rocks that rise to the deep-blue sky along the Fryingpan. This is a nice change of scenery for me, it’s quite different from anything that I can get back in Penn’s Woods.
The first morning we fished just below the dam of Ruedi Resevoir. The water was a little high but fairly clear and imminently fishable. As we got to the stream, rigged up and squeezed through the willows we immediately found rising fish. After we got our fish eyes on – we could see fish everywhere. And as a bonus we were mostly alone – and grateful for that. The fishing was a game of midges. We both hooked some fish (Larry more than me), and had a great morning on the Pan.
After the action slowed down, we stopped for a lunch of PB and J. The fishing story after lunch was a little different. It was a story of hunting for water. The Fryingpan has a lot of fish – but there seems to be an angler (or two or three) in every pool. It’s hard for me to complain, as I am a visiting angler, and thus part of the problem, but none the less… The stretch we fished in the morning was now occupied, as was all the decent dry-fly water that we could walk to. So it was in the car and down the road – without much success. Every pull off was full of cars. The problem with the Fryingpan is not finding the fish – the problem is finding a place to fish. After trying to fish some of the faster water that we could find open we headed back up to the Dam in search of dry-fly action.
I couldn’t resist checking out the ginormous mysis-eaters at the outflow of the dam, in the “Toilet Bowl”. You can stand on the rip-rap bank here, and watch the submarine-sized trout, pick off the mysis shrimp that wash out of the reservoir – there are some very large fish. Some seem to be half as wide as they are long. Fly Fisherman has a great article online about fishing for Colorado’s mysis-fed trout.
The Mysis Shrimp or a Cautionary Tale: Mysis shrimp were released into Colorado’s cold water lakes and reservoirs in the early 1970s to provide prey for kokanee salmon, also an introduced species. This did not work out as planned. The shrimp avoided the salmon (a mid-water fish), staying in deep water during and coming up only at night when the kokanee couldn’t see them. Worse yet, the shrimp fed on large zooplankton, out-competing the salmon for this food. Kokanee populations crashed in some places; growth at some sites went to zero. Introduction of mysis shrimp ended up ruining the fishery it was meant to enhance. The silver lining is the huge mysis-fed trout in the tailwaters below the dams.
Well, I had a few mysis that I tied – so I figured I’d give it a go. My expectations were not high – I’d read that these fish were just a little picky and not too easy to fool. There was some interest on my first few casts, a few hits and misses, and then Woohoo! I had one on – it was a pretty good fish maybe a little over 20-inches, but fat! It took me downstream fast – I had 6x on so I didn’t want to horse him too hard. I scrambled up the bank, ran down the road, till I couldn’t get past some willows, then back down to the stream. At this point he’s across the river maybe 150 feet away. An angler on the far bank is getting his net out to net him, then…the line goes slack. He’s gone. I reel in, I still have my fly, and it’s got a little bit of fish lip on it. I fished a few more minutes there but moved on – after all it is a little like fishing for fish in a barrel. And I didn’t think that I could stand the idea of hooking and losing another one of those monsters – my fish landing confidence had been shaken.
The episode with that trout inspired a little poetry – so at the risk of driving away my already small audience I’m going to wax poetic.
Mysis Eater
The fish is so close. For a moment, I can see the fiction reflected in his eyes,
the repeated story that grows in time along with the fish.
Then it’s back downstream, the reel screaming (in spite of the cliché),
and I’m scrambling over the rip-rap on the river bank, up to the gravel road, this is a fish worth running for.
He and I are now only distantly related, like childhood and adulthood.
Within site of each other but separated by some irreversible path (I’ll never land him now).
The line goes slack like a dream that mostly fades upon waking,
but still lingers at the edge of your mind avoiding the snare of words.
Here is an aerial view of the outflow and the Toilet Bowl. I hooked the big one in the, turbulent water, that shows up white in the image below. I ran downstream with him, till I got to the willows that you can see along the bank.
View Larger Map
Here’s the mysis pattern that I used to fool that trout- obviously I can hardly claim that it is a great new pattern that will fool lots of mysis-feeding fish, but It fooled at least a couple in very short order. Maybe it was just close enough to the natural but different enough from the other imitations presented lately. Anyway, it is easy to tie (no messy epoxy).
Simple Mysis
Hook: Size 16 standard Dry Fly (or whatever else you have handy)
Tail/Body/Shellback: White Anton
Thorax: Blend of white rabbit, white antron and Pearl Ice Dub
Eyes: Melted Climax Brown Monofilament
Notes: The tail, body and shellback are all one piece of white antron. I first tie-in the antron leaving a little for the tail, then twist the strand to form the body. Wind body, tie-off antron, dub the thorax, then pull the antron over the top.
After the mysis-eater episode, I went downstream a little and managed to find a spot to squeeze in. There were sporadic PMD’s coming off and I managed a few on a PMD emerger. Then a few green drakes started to escape clumsily from the surface. It wasn’t a huge hatch – but it got some fish feeding on the top. The bugs were large – I’d say a size 10 or so, and they were much lighter in color than anything that I had tied. A large Adams would actually have been a pretty good match. The closest thing that I had was a size 10 March Brown. This fly fooled a couple of trout, that I managed not to hook.
A “new” trout behavior observed:
The most interesting thing about this hatch though was a “new” trout behavior that I had never observed before. I noticed what looked like a trout with very bad aim – he’d come up at a natural and invariably miss it, the bug would try to flutter away and then the fish would try again and this time suck the fly in. I watched this happen several times. When I cast to the fish it hit, but I missed, I cast again – with the same result. Then I cast and I let the fly drift without striking: The fish came up, watched the fly, tapped it, watched, then drifted away. I cast again and watched the same behavior. The trout soon lost interest in that fly – so I switched, and I watched the same behavior. This fish was “testing” the flies, if the fly didn’t flutter away after the initial tap, he “knew” it was a fake and didn’t take it. Just another example of how these C&R waters condition fish and create some very selective fish (even if unnaturally so). I know some folks won’t believe me – but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
The Fryingpan is a great river – but with that greatness comes great crowds. If I fish the Fryingpan again it will be in the off-season, if there is an off-season on the Fryinpan.
By Anthony Naples, on July 11th, 2009
Well, it has taken me a little while to get this trip report posted. Sorry folks – but I have a good reason. My camera took a little swim in the Little Juniata. I guess I should call it my ex-camera. I let it dry out for several days – no luck. I tried the alcohol soak trick – no luck. It is dead. I was able to get the pics off of the card – but I had to get a card reader, which I finally got around to.
It was a warm and sunny day (too sunny for me). We started off the day above the town of Spruce Creek, fishing several different areas. For hours we pounded the deep runs along the shady bank – no fish, no bites, no flashes, nothing. I was beginning to think that I missed the news of a massive fish kill. Surely it wasn’t my lack of skill.
There were very small light gray mayflies (size 20-ish), hatching sporadically all day, never in large numbers, but fairly consistently. I didn’t get a picture, but I did get a good look: Light gray body, light gray wing (no veins or speckles). I could not identify these bugs. If anybody has any guess as to the identification please leave a comment.
 Little Juniata Riffle We fished this nice riffle, deep run combo for a bit. It just looks fishy doesn’t it? This riffle, led into the deep run along the rocky, shady, bank. I couldn’t have designed a nicer looking section of stream.
 Deep Run on the Little Juniata  More of the Deep Run It looked perfect but I couldn’t find the fish. I carefully fished stealthily up through the run and into the riffle, casting on a grid – covering the water systematically. Surely I’d come up with some fish. After a fishless 45-minutes or so, I grew a little impatient and waded across the riffle just to investigate and FISH! I finally found the fish. The fish were up in a shallow side-riffle ranging from about 5-inches to 18-inches deep. They were going crazy! Zipping around, backs out of the water – how did I miss them? I assume they were feeding on emergers of the little gray mayflies (I can’t say for sure).
I managed to hook up with a nice rainbow (18″ or so), but then managed to loose it. It hit a size 18, rusty compara-emerger. I never did manage another fish hook-up out of that riffle. But it left me wondering how many times I’ve passed fish by like this. I could have very easily missed these rising fish all together.
 I finally found the fish After managing to put these fish down for good – we moved on. This time we decided to head into the “gorge” section between Spruce Creek and Barree. We hiked into the gorge about 1.5 miles or so. What a beautiful setting! The river sits at the bottom of a dramatic canyon – with steep ridges rising about 1200 feet above the valley floor. It feels very remote – and if it weren’t for all the fly-fishers it would be very lonely in there. Aside from the train tracks and bridges – you don’t see any sign of civilization.
 The Gorge on the Little J  Another view of the Gorge For a sense of perspective – look at those little black dots in that picture above, those are fisherman. That hill rises up about 1200-ft almost straight up. Maybe not much much by western standards, but it still feels impressive (and looming) when you’re in there. The topo-map from GoogleMaps illustrates the terrain nicely. The picture of the gorge, just above, was taken looking upstream from just below that wide spot in the river (near the 800′ elevation mark).
View Larger Map
Not only is the setting beautiful but I finally caught a few fish. I caught two browns, one about 8″ and one maybe 13″ or so. They were both caught on a size 10, green caddis larva (with an orange “hot-spot”). We couldn’t stay long in the gorge though – we had a long walk out of there and the Diner 22 hot roast-beef sandwich with fries (and pie for desert) was calling. Diner 22 is located on Rt. 22 neat Alexandria PA. The Little J. did not give up her fish easily on this day – but the stream and the setting (especially in the gorge) are just beautiful.
 A nice brownie from the Little J.
By Anthony Naples, on June 30th, 2009
You know that feeling – when you just need to get fly-fishing, the feeling, that something important hangs in the balance – and you can only save the world by tying an imitation bug to a strand of nylon and whipping it back and forth a while and then plopping it on the surface of some body of water – you know right? Or the feeling that you’ll shatter into a million shards of glass and fly in all directions at once unless you are tied to a struggling fish by a fly-line. Well I’ve had that feeling lately.
I haven’t had a chance to get on the trout stream…but we got out to the local farm pond. It will do. Mother Nature found it in her heart to bless us with some plump and spunky bluegills.
And she topped it off with one of the most beautiful sunsets that I’ve seen for a long time. Well it worked. The world is all better for a while – and I think I’ll stay in one piece.
   
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