Back to Reality!-2

Good to see I'm not the only one suffering from the whims of the fish gods. I ventured forth on Monday, seeing how it was finally warm outside. I thought I'd just "check" the water clarity. I had to take a trailer, not my dog, but son. Even at 5, his fishing patience is lacking. If you can't hear the audio, he says, "I want to go home, I'm tired of fishing."
The gate was locked, so I jumped right in and started flinging away. I didn't even see any fish, strange that. Thought maybe I was fishing behind some chump, but I could see upstream quite a ways, and no one in sight. Alas, I finally found a couple trout rising to a caddis hatch.. I stung one, and that was it. I actually had to put on a dropper, of all things.. I quickly hooked two decent sized ones, but that was it for the day.
Where I quit, there was a huge tree that has recently fallen, creating a very deep pool. So I took a photo, I know, boring. As Dixon and I were walking back to the car, someone came strolling up from behind us, yes, an angler. Explained a lot. He said he had fished from the gate way on up. His rod was strung with the "N-word", explains why he only caught 4 he said. Ah well, end of story. No more kids next time, for sure, bout as bad as dogs.

Back to Reality!

No joke, I was so excited to hit lost cove Saturday that I tossed and turned most the night, dreaming of wild browns and rainbows. Because of the sleepless night I didn't hit the road to after 9am. By 11 I was on FR 424 (having followed my impeccable directions from 3 years ago). A persual of my fish notebook revealed entries from 10 years ago itemizing nice wild fish caught there, averaging about 4 per hour, a great catch rate for the skittish wild trout of western Carolina. The most recent entry was 3 years ago and it wasn't too good, but it was from February, so I assumed I'd have much better luck with a late April outing.

It's a long curvey road route up 181 and then the switchbacks of the forest road. I had the dunstan, Lil Ann in the backseat and I was driving Christian's car so I wouldn't trash my own. I have even pulled a blanket across the backseat so Lil Ann wouldn't perminanty foul her car. I looked back at one pittiful looking dog as we made our way down the FR. She had syliva running out of her mouth like a rabid coon and bowed her head a couple of times to wretch out the empty contents of her stomach (I had learned from a previous outing that dog food and car rides don't mix). I kept telling her to laydown and put her head down, but she just couldn't resist the intoxicating whire of trees outside her window- no matter how nausious it made her.

I was still debating wether I should hit the upper or lower section when I came to the trail head of the upper section and to my absolute shock and horror, the gate was open and FR 424a, wound it's way3-4 miles down to the stream. I imagined a slew of rusty old trucks and beer cans awaiting me at the end of the road. I have never seen that gate open and I always surmized tha the 52 minute walk to the stream always kept the upper section a little more pure, so much for any barrier to entry. So I opted to try the lower section. At the parking area were three vehicles. I dutiful perusal of the backseats didn't reveal any rod cases so I hoped against hope that they were just backpackers.

I should have taken it as an omen when no sooner could I hear the guggle of the stream than I hear people, and dogs, and people. It was like grand central station down there. Backpackers and neardowells stumbling over themselves. Man I hate fishing on Saturdays.

I strung up and walked a ways out of the traffic jam and hit a little section of shallow runs and on the second cast struck a 7" rainbo.... maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Besides I had my 90 new flys and fly boxes I had just bought so, just rummaging through those was fun. Check out that fly above, it's a high res elk hair caddis. It's got some orange stuff tied into the elk hair on top so you can see it really well, even really small ones like size 20- pretty cool.

One bright spot... we knew the dunstan could point a trout, but I also learned she can retrieve one, and what a soft mouth she has.

So we headed back out shortly after the she fetched the mini brown, and although the weather had been excellent all day long, the pending thunderstorms found us so we enjoyed a nice wet ride home... till next time.

Desert Duo

This post may pale in comparison to the Gov'nas, but such is our luck. The Mule and I are destined to explore and detail new water, going without sleep, driving long distances all in the name of trout exploration. So our story is not one of flashy finned fish, nor lurking lengthy leviathans, but of non genetically disfigured trout in wily western waters.

Our Tale begins....

The most eventful part of our drive was chasing a jackrabbit down a dirt road for a mile. Poor rabbit couldn't turn left nor right for fear of falling off the precipice on which we drove. Sheer exhaustion drove him to lay down as near to the edge of the cliff, and let us pass on the right. The whole while we laughed saying, "we should be videoing this". We arrived stream side at 2 am.

A few hours later brought daylight and the first post moonlight inspection of the water to which we would spend the day fishing. The stream looked high, and the water was off color.

It took a bit of time to actually "find" the trout in this new water, as I was having visions of "Linville Gorge" syndrome (ask the Gov about that sterile stream), I came upon this pool, and quickly spied a trout that I soon caught. Several others followed before the Mule hooked a mini, and left the ranks of the "skunked". For a few hours we fished upstream, taking many small, but beautiful Bonneville Cutthroat trout. Combat fishing at it's hardest. The trout were unwise to the willy ways of the wayward piscator, thus enabling us to almost stand directly on top of the fish, while catching them just off of our rod tips.

Around Noon, we headed back to the area in which we began, took a small break and planned the afternoon attack. We decided to head downstream, into what we called the Gorge section of the stream. This area of the stream was confined within pale Sandstone and red Kayenta cliffs, very narrow. We bushwhacked through prickly pear cactus, and thorn bushes that threatened to make our waders even more breathable.

Till 5 pm or so, we fought our way upstream. Fishing some pocket water and many pools. The trout were fairly eager, and even a small hatch of midges and mayflies came off. I will say that we caught many fish, the largest being 12", none so big as to warrant a gloating southern accent back into the camera. End tally, many fish caught, two dog tired anglers happy to explore new water and would be willing to return some day, just not as the main destination. I will state though, that fishing for wild cutthroat trout in this lovely desert setting was odd, yet quite inspirational. And anytime one has a chance to wash off the dust of daily trials in cool trout infested waters, is fine day indeed.

Prolific Jacobs Fork

Last week as I was wrapping up, I did quick recognizance of the upper section which I had not fished in years. It looked like good dry fly water, so when I arrived about 9:20am I drove to the upper parking lot and jumped in just above the bridge.
Tally ho! I was off to a good start.

How do like that hat action! Remember "Wild Kingdom"- Stan Stock (he was the original crock wrestler before Steve Irwin.) Plenty more where that came from mate... I cleaned that pool out completely. Right after that pool I switched over to a dry fly because the water was "perfect dry fly" and with out much delay, got right into them.
These are not in order, but wanted to get to the punch line, these were the biggest, but there were many more that were just a little smaller than these behemoths! I have a secret technique for taking these big fish in deep pools. They have seen a bunch of piscators and a bunch of flys, but as you can see from the pictures and the video, I have found the secret sauce for these trophies.




Don't you like how she posed with her head against my reel!




Look at the girth on this fellow! No joke, these fish are hard to land because you can't get one hand around them. I seriously need a net! I have to wear them down until I can safely set my rod down and reach down and haul them up with both hands!
After Pablo demoed his video prowess, I was sitting eating and chilling and saw this fish rise in the pool right in front of me... dare I????





After several more fish on dry's in this upper section, the stream was becoming narrower and there were a ton of kids running up and down the trail and some playing in the water above me ("come on kids- what are you, raised in a barn!). Plus, I had a meeting scheduled back at the office for 2pm, which after 30 minute on the water I had decided I was going to be "unavoidably detained" so I needed to get back to my car and at least try to give the bloak a courtesy call! So I jumped out and headed back down stream. Meanwhile I noticed a fisherman working his way up a couple of hundred yards behind me. "Hey mate," I called out as I walked past him, "any luck?"... "Not a thing" he morosely replied... "Yeah," I hung my head, "me neither,well, good luck!"
I made my call and notice on my black berry that Pablo had called- it was killing him I know. I headed back down stream, hoping against hope that no one had jumped in at the rangers house (the section far removed from road and trail, where the stream get's tight and deep and the big fish reside). To my sheer joy, I found the spot empty, so I parked and trotted past the rangers work building and lawn mowers and eased back into the water... this day had been great, could it become prolific?


This rainbow came out of the same big pool where I took he monster brookie last week. I stalked her for several minutes, getting into meticulous position and then patiently waiting for the fish to ignore my presence. The tricky part was avoiding all the smaller fish in the pool. I had to wait for this one to come to where I could cast to her and then, "do that thing I do" with my secret fly and once she took it, she ran the length of the pool, yanking the line out of my hand and taking me to the reel. Scared me that I wouldn't be able to land her, so I fought her around for several minutes until she was sufficiently subdued and then eased her into my hand. Unfortunately this was toward the end of the day and I didn't have enough memory in the camera to take video (though of course right after I released her I realized I could delete some less entertaining vid and have room, alas). After I took the 'bo I had seen a brookie at least as big as the rainbow so I worked back into position and had a shot at him, but he must have just barely had the fly because when I struck I just had him on for a second and he was gone- have to look him up next time.

And the finale.....

So there you have it.. and by the way, I did end up with an eastern triple crown, brookie, brown and rainbo. Only caught one brown right before I jumped out of the dry fly water higher up were I started.

Vide-O-Rama Triple Play

Sometimes there's a price to pay for solitude. I paid walking 4 miles through slushy snow and mud. Really not a bad asking price. I found myself heading up above the "lake". Hadn't been there since last May with the Mule. What a gorgeous day, sunny 70 deg. As I crested the dam, I was shocked to see the lake still mostly frozen over. Then it dawned on me, "I live in Utah". Don't know what I was expecting or thinking.

As I walked in past the gate, I could tell not another soul had ventured forth down this long and lonely road. Good sign. The water was a bit high and off-color, not the best sign, but not one that would deter a die hard piscator such as myself. I ended up fishing all the way up to the confluence with the right branch, and then just a bit up the left branch. Nothing happening up that branch. The last 3 trout I hooked, I did not land. Much to my chagrin. They were all nice fish. The lackadaisical way they rose to the fly and just barely inhaled it, left me hooking them only momentarily. I hate that. So the day ended on a sour note, but as I sat under a cottonwood, sipping my fresh stream cooled DMD, thinking of how I had caught a triple play, I knew that this was fishing in all its glory, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 'Cept for the 2 mile hike out.

A Trout in the Hand isn't Worth a Camera in the Bush

I'm now officially addicted to the jacob's fork. I got back out under better weather conditions on the 8th. Alas, the fish had obviously seen some piscators because they were much more savvy than the week before. I was sneeking around in the underbrush and came upon this monster sitting out in the open of a long run. But the cover and approach was almost impossible.

He had to go 24" bow to stearn, rivaling the dude I caught the prior week. As you can see from the video, I had no approach. It was all I could do to get a picture from the underbrush.

Ok, it's not that easy to shoot yourself at arms length, nothing like the "talking nose". Anyway, I bushwacked above the big brookie and thought I'd do my patented downstream drift approach. Unfortunately, no sooner had cleared all the trees and eased into the water, I spooked a smaller fish which darted downstream and spooked the big guy- I never did see him again.

I caught a small brookie in a smaller run and then eventually made my way to the big pool where I had caught the big boy last week. One problem with sight fishing is you tend to walk past some nice water because you don't see anything. Later in the day I was just messing around on top and caught a brookie where I hadn't seen anything- so I sort of repented for my previous "retail" fishing. Anyway, in the big hole, they were all stacked in there just like before, but they had been educated. I switched fly's six times, changed approaches three times and all I got was a couple of "nosings" and a bunch of "look and leaves", very frustrating. Finally out of sheer desperation I tied on a monster egg leach thing Pablo had sent me for the Alaska trip and I wagged that harpoon right in the face of the biggest fish in the pool and finally, out of frustration and aggression he hit it. I landed the big boy and set my camera up on a rock. Got in position to shoot my movie and knocked the camera off the rock into the stream, scrambling to save it. Meantime I'd already unhooked the fish and left him sitting in some shallow water and while I was cursing and blowing on the camera, he decided "the instution no longer offered him anything and he'd release himself on his own recognizance". I dropped the camera on the bank and scrambled to scoop him up out of the shallow water before he fought back up current into the pool. So with a squirming 20" trout in one hand I got the camera and turned it on, only to find that the batteries where dead!

The peace and tranquility of the trout habitat was shattered by a primeval scream of the champion piscator who had no way of capturing his trophy for display to his doubting thomas comrades... What would Traver do? I did think long and hard about slipping that boy down my waders (see "delayed harvest brown, 1998"), but I thought myself a better man than that, so I turned him loose.

That was pretty much it. I fished up stream a ways but only caught the one small brookie. I walked back to the car and drove further upstream to the trail head for the backcountry area of the park. There were 5or 6 vehicles parked there, and as all suspicious disciples will admit- I just knew they were all fishermen working their way up stream ahead of me. I walked out on a bridge and surveyed the beautiful dry fly water that lay above me, and area, probably the only area of this stream I've never fished, but decided not to follow in anyones waders. As I turned to leave I spied a 20" bewildered looking rainbo hanging in shallow water behind a boulder and thought of stretching a line, but decided to head down stream to the park entrance and check out that water.

I drove back down to the main park station and jumped in at the bridge. For the next 1/4 mile I found only shallow water with few runs and no fish, so I jumped out and headed back- it was closing on 7:30pm with the sky turning purple and I know from experience they lock that dang gate at 8 bells on the nose whether you need out or not, and I didn't feel like sleepin streamside so I headed home... Not exactly the experience I had hoped for, but as always, an adventure. I've already found the time slot to go back next week and try those upper reaches. I let you know how it goes!

I'd walk (or drive) 500 miles..

Ahh, the old Hobble Creek. Like old friends getting back together, it was nice to be on Hobble again. Slightly overcast, 50 deg. I started below the golf course, just wanted to get on the water quick.

Here's the skinny. fished about an hour, caught 8 or so.. had a great time. Then i quickly headed down south.. way down south, St. George way. Caught rumor of a couple nice streams, had to check them out. OK, i had paintings to drop off in S.G., but what the hey..

Here's some video from Hobble.


There are some nice browns in Hobble. Most of what i caught was in the 10-12" range, but there quite a few nicer fish. I'm amazed at how much this stream looks like LHF. Now to head SOUTH, way South, to Dixie.

I found the pull out to the next stream I wanted to fish, North of S.G., it was around 7pm, and the dirt road was closed to vehicles. But what beautiful scenery.. watch the video. I may be partial to fishing in the desert amid redrocks and junipers.. so different than alpine scenery.The walk in looked to be 2-4 miles.. so i decided to save this stream for another day. It looked good, well ok, i couldn't actually see it, but it was remote, off the beaten path... just ready for exploration. I drove into S.G. got business taken care of and then drove out to another stream that I could actually drive to. Little stream, would be the optimal word here. but still... where's there's running water, I shall cast a line. And did, and caught a small cutt. The sun set, the light faded but I fished till I could no longer see, caught several small cutts, amid the redrock backdrop, even caught a 8" cutt, in the last hole.

This stream (in the video) will haunt my dreams until I can return. I'm thinking May. Anyone up for that?

Not sure when run off is, or if they have run off in the desert, but I feel the need to r-u-n-n-o-f-t....

It's Raining Cats and Brookies

I left the office about 12:30 on Friday afternoon under dark skies and a light drizzle, and headed for Jacobs Fork.

One of the great things about trout fishing in the Appalachians is you never know what you're going to come across. Although I didn't get to talk with the fine folks at this residence, I'm sure they would have had a story similiar to the one Pablo and I heard several years back when we stopped to ask direction of a kindly old gent and an hour later heard about his grand son who was born with his heart on the outside.

















I Was in the creek by 2:00 and the sun came out it was warm so I ditched the rain jacket right after I shot the intro (which I didn't include here)- but as you'll see later, that wasn't a good idea. I slogged around for about an hour working my way upstream, only seeing a few small fish when I finally spotted a couple of nice size fish at the top of long slow pool. Caught a couple of little Brookies before getting into the bigger fish. Eventually made my way into the gourge section of the creek where there are deep plunge pools and watched the skies open up for the remainer of my day.

I ran into only two other fishermen, which is unusual on this stream at this time of year- obviously the weather had deterred all but the truly dedicated piscator. They said they had spotted a giant trout in a large slow pool about a few bends above my position, but alas, they could not garner his attention. As it turned out the rain was an omen, right after it started coming down, I was into fish in a big way, catching them on a variety of streamers, some dead drifted and some stripped or wiggled at the precisesly the right moment!

I believe I came to the big pool my brethern had told me about. When the rain would let up a little, I could see into the pool and spotted several nice fish, but one especially note worthy lunker. I landed a couple of 15" and then as my green woolly bugger drifted into the heart of the pool and I gently lifted it up in a slight jigging motion, a big head flashed up from below, inhaled the fly and turned back to the depths. I was thankful I had broken off the 6X tippet on a previous fish and had tied on a length of the 6lb test I had bought at KMart on my first outing. Everything held and I eventually coaxed him up into some shallow water so I could duly document the highlight of my day.




Just a great day- all my troubles washed away and only the companionship of some foul weather finned friends.

STYMIED (almost!)

Finally got out today. Felt I was jumping the gun by about a month... cold, 43 degrees.. snow still on the ground. I headed out to LHF, once I turned off the highway, onto the road, I was turned back. By 2 feet of snow covering the road. Global warming my !#$%**#!**.
Almost thought of tucking tail and running for home. I had come this far though, so I figured I'd give the main branch of the river a try. Brrr......