Top 15 Moments Canadian 2012 - #2 - Hello Mary Lou

I had a couple of great ladies join me. The hope was to do some sight-fishing and enjoy the afternoon fly fishing. Prior to the trip, they'd had a chance to buy and view our Sight-Fishing Trout Rivers DVD and wanted to join me in seeing how we go about it.

We walked the banks of a central Alberta brown trout stream. It was a sunny day and the water wasn't crystal clear but only had a stain in it. The conditions were tough for any insect hatches but very good for sighting.

The day was consistent. Nothing of any great shakes happened for much of the day. We spotted some neat fish and I was able to show what I was looking at, where, and what key features I was looking for and why I was looking where I was looking. It was a lot of fun and they were really nice gals.

Towards the end of the day, having had a few hook ups, some sighting, and a lot of fun, we came around a bend of stream to find a fish popping along the bank 40 yards up. It was neat to see. It was also a decent brown for the stream.

Mary Lou was up and she was in the water, wading toward the riser. We stayed up on the bank, watching the brown rise at the pmds drifting sporadically past its lie under a bankside stick. It was just subsurface and we could see its full body swaying left and right, down, then out. It had quite a feeding window and was willing to move quite a distance. Mary Lou was blind for the glare on the water at her position, save for the rises, which actually didn't help all that much because after the rise, the fish would be 3 feet left or right of the ring. We could see everything from the bank, but could only use the bank, the middle, or a rise ring as a reference point to her as to where to cast. It was a bit of a 3-ring Circus just trying to establish communication at times, the fish was very active. One thing was very clear, while she was focused on making the best cast, the fish was so active that any cast would get its attention, so we made sure that any cast within 10 feet (it could move that far in a couple of seconds as she was false-casting) wasn't dismissed and given full attentiveness for line control and anticipation. After one more rise, the brown took back to the bank. Mary Lou shot her line and the fish rose slightly out from the bank as the line laid out. From the bank, we saw the fish slide back right, she was anticipating it coming left. That didn't happen but when her flies landed, the trout literally turned 45 degrees downstream, charging 15 feet to take her dry. Her friend saw the full event - the fish turn out and up, charging. "Here it comes!" And sure-as, the head broke surface and took. Awesome. The event is always amazing when showing it to people for the first time, and these two had an incredible moment. Sharing it was amazing. A lot of fun, positive emotion comes from an engaged moment like that. A little New Zealand fly fishing here at home. And what better gals to share it with. :)

Top 15 Canadian Moments 2012 - #9 - Into the Dark

At #9...
When you have finite time to fish, you tend to think when & where based on the weather & water conditions. Some days are so good or so bad you can't decide (there again, if things are that poor, there's sometimes better things to do - like edit video, pictures, or type an article). But, you play the best-guessing game and have a go at your selected water.
When fishing brown trout, the daytime isn't always the best. Some folks swear that evening or dawn is best. I don't agree with that as a carte-blanche, but at the peak of summer or on a bright, hot, still, sticky day things can get slow for bug hatches and browns tend to get shy here in Alberta, lest you sight-fish, then that's perfect opportunity! So, at times, when time is short and nothing is likely happening, you pick the evening stand-by. That's what we did one evening of a hot day.
Kevin & I got into the boat and made our way to our preferred reach and literally waited. The big mayflies were going to come off, we simply had to wait. And wait. And wait. Being so hot and bright, it was going to be post sundown most certainly this day before anything would happen.
As we sat, I mentioned to him that the previous night there had been a big slurp under an overhanging spruce tree but we didn't have a shot at it as my guest picked off the tree rather than the fish. It had been rising quite nicely and - as so often goes - he who casts 'iffy' catches trees while the fish are rising, and he who can cast very well doesn't cast because, generally, there are no fish rising.
And, there we were. No fish rising. We chatted. We waited.
Kev finally had enough, hopped out for a quick pee and then grabbed his rod. "Where?" he asked.
"Put it 2 feet above the spruce bow, drift it 5 feet. 2 - 3 feet off the bank", I suggested.
He did.

All was happy after that. The bugs came and the fishing got silly. In some spots there were a few  good browns rising in ear shot, some surprisingly close to the boat. As we came down one long bend there was a brown rising off a log. Try as he might, Kev couldn't get the right cast to it.
It certainly didn't help that he was going be sound. It was pitch black. I was 4 feet behind him, rowing, holding us in position and could just make out his light hat. That's all I saw. The water was black, the bank black, and you could only hear birds back across the river. I held us in an eddy and lightly stroked us closer up to the seam coming off the log. The fish rose a few times under my oar as I reached the top of the inseam. Still rising, the popping right below us, right in front of Kevin.
Kevin still couldn't see but made many attempts at getting the drift in.
After about 3 dozen casts, in what he thought was the same timing of the drift, he heard a popping take. And he set.
The fish hadn't taken the fly. The fly was stuck in the tip of the log. As it turns out, he said every drift would have been off by a foot or two. I pushed us up gently, trying to not spook the fish while getting Kev close enough to dislodge the fly. In the pitch black, he followed his fly line to the leader to the tippet with his hand.

As his had reached his fly stuck on the log, he felt the fish rise to take a mayfly, the head popping into the palm of his outreached hand.

He never caught that fish. It took a 5 minute break from rising after the encounter. But, when will you ever have that experience again?

Spawning Time

We just embedded a short video "Spawning Time". The video was taken this last week out west on a small stream - a tiny spring creek actually. It simply shows some pre spawn behavior of fish nipping at each other, then some nest building. Both browns and brookies in this video. It's been fun just walking and stalking and looking at the fish. Anyway, check the upper right hand column of the blog to see the 2 - 1/2 min vid.
Cheers.

Saturday walk & photos

The weather turned yesterday, finally. We finally broke freezing overnight again. Finally? Yes, we've been waiting for a couple of cold nights - in the -10C range. Last night was the first of those and we took advantage of it. Typically, to see browns spawn during the day you need a cold night and a cool, lower light day - or areas of a stream in shade. Of course, as we walked, we came across a few brookies spawning up in the higher reaches of the stream as well. It wasn't a warm day but the video was great, and a few photos were ok on the new camera. I can hardly wait to shoot some New Zealand tanks this winter. The brown I photo'd in the following shots - feeding - was only about 16". The shots turned out ok for being in the shade, moving, and not being a huge fish. The shots of the spawning browns below were a pair - she's about 17" and he's 22-ish. It's interesting to walk this stream. By the end of each season we tend to walk it without rods more often than not, and focus more on the fish spotting and photo/video. It's neat.

A good day with some good, neat moments.

All for one and . . . well... none for me

I was supposed to be at the computer all day. The forecast was for clouds and a cool +14. The clouds were nowhere to be seen. It was +18 at noon and almost no wind. Perfect sight fishing weather. Where could I go that wouldn't keep me out for hours on end, that I could hit & run? Google Earth teased me with a few tiny spring creeks a couple springs ago, leading AJ & I to come face to face with a monster brown cruising a beaver pond. It's an hour drive and 35 min walk in, but I knew it was one pond. Bingo.

I walked up the tiny little spring and in the tailout of a pool the size of a bath mat spooked an 11" brown. Not what I'd come for but a great sight.

It certainly is a tiny spring creek.

I arrived at the pond, the sun was at a perfect angle for viewing, the wind still, and I stood atop the bench. I hadn't been here in 2 1/2 years, and last time the fish were somewhat sluggish as it was just ice out. Besides that there might be 3 fish sharing the wintering pool as carrying capacity dictates supply and demand opportunity. I saw nothing as I strolled. Strolled might be a big word. Took a small step forward every 10 seconds. Nothing. I decided to take a cast out, just in case something held below a submerged log. Insert dumb mistake here . The irony wasn't lost on me as I reached out for my fly. I just got it out of the tree and was thinking to myself "this is usually when it would swim by". Uh huh. As I pulled my fly out and swung my rod behind me to avoid the reflective shine of the rod on the water, my big brown from 2 1/2 yrs ago came down the shoreline pipe, 2 feet from shore, leisurely swimming and finning. I struggled to race to get my fly out of the shrubs behind me. I looked for the fish. It was within 10 feet, closing, coming right at me. I froze on the spot, hoping to go unnoticed. If ever there was a gimmie fish, that was the moment. 26" and FAAAAT. 6 pounds easily, going 7 likely. And on down the shoreline it went. I was able to untangle my fly and line and give "chase". This was an ant's version of the OJ speed chase. I could see the fish but couldn't rush to it for fear my footsteps would reverberate into the water and spook it. I had to walk around into the bush and try to get ahead of the fish. I last saw it under a pine tree heading for the tail end of the pool. I got behind another pine tree and looked down the bank in the direction the fish was headed. It wasn't there. I looked back up the bank. Coming toward me with a huge head and big, rubbery lips was my Maestro. I bow & arrowed a cast along the outreaching pine. The fish, now less than a rod length from me, turned and came right at the hopper. It looked just like those photos on the New Zealand Fly Fishing Forum, the big head and lips coming straight up from the bottom, mouth agape. Awesome. Incredible. I had ample time to insert adjectives as the fish came in the still water. It turned and refused! Bugger! I lifted and shot the arrow again. It came within 2" of the fly from the bottom and again refused. I lifted and shot the arrow one last time. Another refusal. The toughest gimmie fish of the summer. It went on the opposite side of the pine tree from me and rested for a minute. I waited for it to move, not wanting to commit to taking a walk around the bush again to reposition in case it too moved, causing me to lose sight of it. So I sat. Waited. Took a couple of photos of the fish sitting there. All the while, my last cast lay on the water, waiting for the fish to move back out.

As I put the camera away, I realized I had been too focused on the big boy. At my feet was a smaller, 21" female. Here's the conundrum. My fly was sitting on the water and while it would have been nice to catch the female, I knew that doing so would kill any shot of the male - it would spook the second I hooked up. In a split decision, as the female rose at my hopper, I lifted it off the water. The female actually came out of the water to take the hopper but missed. She stopped, stunned, before sidling up to the male. The two of them swam away together, back up the shoreline. As the big male went, I watched as he took a nymph, his white mouth opening and gill plate flaring. No doubt any nymph would have taken him.
I decided to wait once more, and opened my fly box to tie on a dropper. The corner of my eye revealed the male doubling back. I was still with hopper. Only the hopper. And we played the same damned game once more. This time, rather than station on the opposite side of the pine, he went to the far side. I considered giving chase with a long cast, but as I raised the rod the female swam under my rod. Again, not wanting to spook her and then the male by default, I lifted the fly off the water as she again was coming straight for it. I tried to wait her out. Sadly, she stationed at my feet. About 30 seconds later the male cruised past and the female followed along for the ride. As he left his mouth again opened to take something subsurface. I didn't see them again.
It was one of those trips where I knew I was all for one pool, all for one large male brown. I knew I had to risk none. Alas, it turned out to be all for one, and none for me.
I take some comfort in the fact that AJ couldn't be with me and there would have been no video of the moment. So, by not catching it today, coupled with the forecast later this week when she gets home to fish with me again, maybe... just maybe we can recreate that scene and get it on the HD.
It won't take me 2 - 1/2 yrs to get back there.

Sighted

We spend quite a bit of time on the water and this weekend was no different. The one thing AJ & I always wonder this time of the year - where is everybody? Stauffer's fishing well - there might have been some anglers there over the weekend but none Thurs or Fri. But we drive past Range Roads, bridges, etc and see no vehicles. No sightings, no footprints, nothing. Well, we do see a few things out there...