Shop River Journal

11/22/2009: The 600 Mile Day Trek, Nick Teynor

How far will you go to find solitude and potential fishing Shangri-La? Have you ever had a hankering so strong, an itch that cannot be scratched, or have been looking for any excuse to travel and see some beautiful country? The 'suicide' trips that many of us have taken to the Green are well documented and publicized events here at Western Rivers, and if the timing is right, the most satisfying trips that one can take. If they are not researched well, and conditions are not good, they can quickly become horror stories that will keep many a fish bum tucked in bed at night instead of following paved lines through the abyssmal darkness of the night. It is this adrenaline rush of high expectation or ultimate defeat that continues to spur me onward and crave the need for suicide trips-that and the high potential of finding good water and no crowds. The need to revisit old waters and old haunts for the jolt of rejuvenating reel music and the steady pull of a large fish making my rod bow, or just the sense of peace that I recieve when I am able to slip into a piece of water that I love; all are just as important and just as rewarding. For the past two weeks I have ventured North to Last Chance, Idaho in search of peace and humility. I was unable to fish the Ranch as much as I wanted to this year, and the pit in my stomach caused by a lack of vitamin Rainbow was never ending and just too much to endure.

It all went downhill two weeks ago. Suffering from a nasty bit of cabin fever, and needing to get out and wet a line, I found myself at the most logical conclusion that I have had in a long time. With all of the Browns busy and focused on passing on their gentic code, and with the swarms of anglers romping up and down their nurseries, I concluded that heading north to circumvent both the bodies and pregnant fish was the best solution. Destination: The Henry's Fork for a final showdown with fish that escaped my presence and flies. Angling pressure is next to none, there are no Browns to worry about naviagting through, and the fish are quite willing to come up for a fly...as long as it the right size, shape, color, your drift is spot on, you don't put them down with clumsy wading, and that your line lands where it needs to and not on their heads. Piece of cake. As any Ranch veteran knows, it is quite foolhardy to show up and expect there to be fish up and rising. It can sometimes take days of constant walking and patience just to locate one good fish to fish to, and here I stood trying to line up the spread and hit it all in one day.

Crazy? Not worth it? Can the truck take this kind of a road trip? Why travel four hours when there is fishing 45 minutes away!?  All of these thoughts were going through my head as I loaded up the truck at 7:30 in the morning, pointed the nose of the truck north, and hit the accelerator. The entire trip up was spent nervously analyzing the clock; making sure that I was keeping good time and shaving precious minutes off of the clock when possible, and not having to worry about an Idaho State Trooper with an itchy radar gun trying to ruin the day. All was going well until I entered 'The Malad Triangle', a seemingly inescapable bubble of mechanical doom that only my truck seems to be affected by. The old F-150 has never given me any problems; it has been a spark of hope in an otherwise dismal sea of poor car making that has become synonimous with the American automotive industry for the last decade. Yet, my stalwart steed was and has been plauged with problems through this relatively flat stretch of road. Were this a mere coincidence I would not waste words on further describing this odd predicament, but when these same issues occur at the same milepost, same exit, on more than one occasion...then I have no choice but to surmize that  universal tampering and influence is quite apparent.

After sacrificing a piece of roadkill, performing a ritual rite of oil and blood, and banishing the gremlins lurking inside my engine block to another dimension, the old truck was up and running. The miles ticked by, and so did the time. When all was said and done, I rolled into Trouthunter at 12:30, had my license by 12:40, and was off to see if my day had indeed been a waste of time. The upper parking lot of the Ranch has been very reminiscent of the "Bunny Farm" on the Middle Provo. It is always crowded during primetime, there is always usually someone fishing it no matter what time of the year, and it seems to gather sports who have no business fishing the Ranch until they tighten up their technique. Short on time, and itching to just find one head up and rising, I took a deep breath and headed in, fingers crossed that I would indeed find what I had quested for. The willows parted, a sunbeam shined down on an empty parking lot, and I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Walking to the overlook to survey the situation, I was stunned to see what was occuring no more tham twenty yards away. Heads. Lots of heads, up and greedily consuming hapless Blue Wings that drifted overhead. Looking up and down river, and finding this treasure all to myself, I muttered the cardnial rule of the Ranch aloud and to myself,"Don't leave rising fish to go find rising fish."

Nothing justifies this drive until I slip into the waters that have captivated my soul. Finding a decent head up and gulping, I take two long drifts over him in quick succesion. A head appears, the fly vanishes into a white maw, and the tension felt soon afterwards gives me all that I ever expected out this mad dash north. Four hours of driving, for four hours of fishing. With no expectations other than solitude and the hope that a fish will rise.

A six-hundred mile roundtrip effort to find peace and solitude, rising fish, scratch the itch,  satify a thirst for tough fish, and all done with little expectation.

Crazy, huh?

11/02/2009: Year of Big Fish and Water, Nick Teynor

This has been a year of years; all of the complaining, anxiety medication, and time spent waiting for our rivers to come into shape has yielded a bounty of water that is still continuing to fish and fish well. The fall season is well underway, and this unexpected of week of warm weather should tickle anyone with the 'bug' to venture forth and take in the season before it is gone. Just the other day, I had been thinking to myself how good the fishing of July and August had been, and here in the beginnings of November I am still in awe at the fact that Thanksgiving is a mere weeks away, and all too soon our winter season will be upon us. I have always made it a tradtion to sit back and reflect on what, where, and how I fished and spent my 'wasted' days and time venturing back and forth in pursuit of fin via fly at the end of the year, and this years entry will be one of big fish and water.

The waters were varied, but all shared a familiar pull of strong fish, and a constant pull of the current on my apendages. There were unintentional 'baptisms', and days where the weather was more than enough to satisfy the thirsts of this fish bum as I drove and explored many of the waters that I have negletced over the years due to my propensity to head north at the drop of a hat. Everywhere and anywhere-that was the motto for this years pursuits with a fly. Whenever a chance to wet a line raised its head, and I had no 'honeydos' or bills to ground my flight, I jumped into the truck and in the process had quite a diverse experience. From carp, to trout on a mouse, to fishing nothing but soft hackles for a day, or dragging a tight line with a nymph, I caught good fish on all, and I have been reliving the memories day in and day out. Yet, out of all the techniques and methods that prosuced good fish, nothing was more rewarding, nor exhilarating of big fish scarffing big dries that we had this year.

One particular water that I have told myself to fish more, and up until this year had not, was the superstar in my eyes. Our venerable Weber River has begun to reclaim much of its former glory; and I was fortunate enough to be able to experience so much of the season on that particular dicth. The sediment that had for so long hampered and robbed the invertebrates of habitat-was washed away in the face of our mighty run-off, and our Mother's Day caddis was just the beginning of an unbelievable season that  up until a handful of weeks ago, was still producing well on top. PMD's, Caddis, and Hoppers-all provided unprecedented action topside, and I had many a day that was puntuated by fish with an average size of 16" or better. Some were more memorable than others; such as the 23.5" fish that I sight nymphed to for an hour before I finally found a nymph that he couldn't refuse. Or the 18" inch brown that I conviced to come out of a cut back and eat my PMX...in only six inches of water. All of them are rememberd with fondness, and all have given me hope that the Weber will only continue to get better and better as the years continue to roll on.

Murphy's. Could it be a bar, restaurant, or perhaps a place that I don't talk about? Regardless, Murphy's was unbelievable this year, and I walked away a satisfied customer every time. The solitude, and beauty was shared with many a local and I had the place all to myself. Hamburgers, appetizers, and entrees were the highlight specials, and I look forward to stopping in at Murphy's again when I am in the neighborhood...there's a brunette who owes me a beer.

My trips to Fork this year were limited, and in short-all too short. Like everywhere else that had an unbelieveable water year, fishing was off the charts, and the crowds of bandwagon fishermen were everywhere. It is quite ironic: I love the Ranch when the fishing is tough and the fish are limited, and when the fish are large, and fishing is good-I don't go. That being said, I finally made it back up to Last Chance for my annual fall trip to the Ranch. I didn't consult local sources, decided to leave Salt Lake at 8am, fish late, and then drive home. Pulling up to the upper parking lot and finding myself alone, I didn't care. Fishing, for yet another fall, was fabulous. I only saw one other angler, caught some wonderful fish, and froze my fingers to near frostbit nubs. Looking at the calendar I see that the Ranch doesn't close until November 30th this year, and with all those pregnant browns trying to pass on their genes, a trip north for rainbows sounds all the more fun.

As the fall progresses my thoughts continue to revert back to images of anadromous fish, and the record run that continues to stir passions within the shop. Pursuit of these mythical fish known as steelhead with a two handed rod has becomse a ritual rite of passage for everyone in the shop, and I am reminded of this every time someone comes back from chasing these wonderful fish. I have a date free in November, and I may finally have a chance to put all of that practice with a two hander to work. For now, I will continue to look forward to the reliable hatches of Baetis, and all too soon midge hatches to keep me busy, as the Year of Big Fish and Water slowly and progressively comes to a close.

4/26/2009: Snow, Rain, Sunshine & Blue Wings, Steve Schmidt

Weather over the last several weeks of April has made for some exceptional fishing and has also created some challenges.  As temperatues threatend to hit 80, rivers rose and filled with the first of springs fresets.  Yet these storms and cooler temperatures that have been more predominant have made for some incredible fishing and days on the river where few others venture out.  Today was another in a string of spring fishing excursions where the fishing was good enough that it masked the challenging weather conditions and kept others most others comfortably sitting at home. 

Those who took the time to look out their window this morning nocticed with an intereste in fishing, greeted the day with a smile.    Over breakfast I checked out the radar imagery to check out the intensity of the storm, looking for signs that the weather was going to be around for a while.  Shortly after this little fact finding mission I called Chris Latour to see if he was of the same frame of mind and me.  Soon both of us were at the shop and quicker yet headed down I-15 to the Lower Provo.  It was pouring as we headed south.   In the canyon, not even a handful of anglers were on the water.   After doing a quick lap, we decided to fish the pines, especially after seeing alone Bald Eagle sitting quietly eyeing the same prize as we sought.  

Unlike my last visit here, which you can read about in on my Blog, there were other angler about, but most of the Lower Provo Rivers waters were empty.  The river had cleared from earliery in the week when Little Deer Creek dumped some color into the river.  At two, as it has been everytime I've been here, the blue wings popped, providing us with 3 hours of great fishing through rain, snow and even a breif moment of warm sunshine, before the weather got really serious. 

Don't know how much longer this is going to last, but if it stays cool, the fishing should remain for at least a week or possibly longer.  There are plenty of mayflies left to emerge, but if it gets warm again, given the snowpack we have and the current level of the Provo River's Reservoirs the tremendous fishing we have been experiencing may come to and end.  Over the next several weeks, I'll be paying close attention to the weather and flows hoping to get at least on more day on the river.  

04/19/2009 The Pull of Spring, Bryce Nichols

"Get out while the getting is good." I've been living with this philosophy the past month and a half and if you've seen me I've been grinning ear to ear.  The pull of the spring time storms has deffinatly been strong.  Within the past 3 weeks i've spent far more time on the water than in class where my attention should be.  If your me I make sure my priorities are straight and fishing trumps all. 

I've been north, south, and east as of late and to each destination a great reward was found.  Most of my fishing has been locally on the middle p or the lower and the few trips I've made further away from the city have been awesome.  The local streams have been so kind to anglers this year that no matter how far I go, I still get pulled close to home to fish.  The weather has been awesome for fishing and with the sunny weather temporarily in the forcast I'm excited for the skwala's this week is going to bring.

The lower has been so outstanding.  Words can hardly describe.  The size of fish is remarkable and the technicallity of the fishing is phanominal.  Picky fish on dries is tough to beat and bigger fish really makes it tough to focus on books.  The middle p has been epic for me this year, especially the past month.  The flows are up and everyone has heard.  Depending on the person some get frustrated with higher water.  In high water my days in fishing fast moving pocket water in Colorado really pay off.  The stone fly fishing last Friday with Frank (our loc

al Scott rep) was awesome.  High flows are always something I look forward to.  The fish are super charged and aggressive and easy to find.

Some of the fish my clients and friends have been catching are epic.  Last year I had a warm welcome home to Utah with healthy fish and great water.  With the storms of late I can hardly sleep at night with the anticipation of my next adventure, chasing skeptical trout with a fly.  The fish are so healthy this spring that I am taking every extra chance I get to be on the water.  I have seen fish in the past month caught by clients, friends, and myself that not only are as healthy as last year, but I haven't seen fish this healthy in these quantaties since before the reconstruction project. 

For those of you who linger around pondering about going out, follow those instincts and do it.  An afternoon on the water does more for the mind and body than anything modern medicine can produce.  Take advantage of this weather, it has provided opportunities for everyone whether your chasing trout with a dry, nyphing the bottom for a lunker, or swinging softies chasing fish higher up in the water column.  Spring is here so let it pull you out of the solomn winter mood and into the exilerating spring we are having!

Synapsis of the Year So Far, N. Teynor

Well, for all of you trout bums sitting on the edge of your seats waiting for us to finally give you a little piece of our fishing experience, my apologies. Our duties around the shop have prevented us from writing down our experiences, and the unbelievable fishing that we have been experiencing for the last couple of months hasn't made things easier. This February-April season has been some of the best that we have had in a long time. From the Green, to the Middle and Lower Provo, the fishing just continues to be consistently good and when the weather Gods cooperate-absolutely phenomenal. Our midge fishing was great much earlier this year, with bigger bugs coming off in December and going all the way through March, and the Green was just awesome. As long as the weather patterns were stable, the fishing was some of the best that many of us, our guides, and clients have ever experienced. The freak Blue Wing emergence in late December-January was just one of the highlights of the early season, but the fishing just continues to get better and better as the storms of April just continue to roll right along.

The Middle Provo also continues to provide consistenly great fishing, with Blue Wings and Skwala Stones making up the majority of the action. Specifically targeting those really nasty days, and having a knowledge of swinging soft hackles can lead to some unbelieveable fishing experiences. The last five excursions I have had were nothing short of fantastic, and it was because I swung flies and covered water until I found a hatch situation. If you have ever wanted to learn this technique, come on in and ask us! It isn't as cut and dry as it seems, but it is one of the most relaxing ways to fish a fly that I know, and I look forward to swinging softies as much as I enjoy walking and looking for heads up and rising. The Skwala stones of spring are also out, and although I haven't really hit a day that is really premiere for them, they are emerging and the fish are noticing.

The Lower Provo has just been unbelievable. Reports from our guides, shop rats and friends...it has just been a banner year for Buffalo Midges and Blue Wings. Bryce was just out the other day with his buddy Matt(they decided the true meaning of Easter is found in a river), and they were well rewarded with wonderful hatches, and strong healthy fish. I must admit, the Lower really isn't my scene, but the canyon is gorgeous, the fish are big, and it is fishing very well. Sections of the Weber are also starting to fish very consistently, and for those willing to chase a few Skwalas, the Weber isn't a bad scene for that right now. Just remember to throw it tight, and keep your feet light, and you might find some nice fish willing to clobber a #10 dry!

January 22, 2009: A Breath of Fresh Air, S. Schmidt

Although I didn't fish, it felt like I did. Instead I labored through a meeting on issue revolving around outfitting on ghe Green while my friend Bob "Snake" Nohavec fished.  So on the way home, I lived vicariously through his eyes. 

Needless to say, it was great relief to leave the smog ladden valley for a breath of fresh air.  Your sinuses began to clear as soon as you reached Parley's Summit. For both of us, our attitudes immediately improved just begin able to see a rich star studded sky as we made our way over to the Green.  By the time the sun rose, we were just cresting Seven Sisters.  From that unobstructed vantage point we had a tremdous view of the Wyoming landscape. 

On the way we encountered several Redtails, a handful of Golden Eagles, several small bands of wild horses and numberous antelope and deer.  Not to mention some rathe nice scenery. Regardless of how the rest of the day turned out, this was all worth the trip. 

After exiting my meeting of 6 hours, Bob picked me up, only to find that our mental states couldn't be more polar.  He was all smiles.   Blue wings, and midges from 10-4.   He and one of our guides, Brad Lovejoy, barely had to move so many fish were up.  He rubbed it in all the home, but that and an incredible sunset were perfect elixers for what had soured my disposition. 

Regarless of my disposition, when Salt Lake gets like it has been this week, the drive alone up and out of our inversions is worth the exercise.  I like to say, "the worse the inversion the better the fishing".  On this and most days that holds true.  Last year in February when a friend and I enjoyed our last day of fishing together, we also found ourselves emersed in such a day.  Beautiful blue skies, great dry fly fishing and with just a few eagles around to share in the scenery. Want to get away!

January 8th. "Hucking Meat", by Nick Teynor

For those of you who know me, or have fished with me, you know that swinging soft hackles and fishing dries is the pinnacle of my fishing experience. I keep an open mind, and I fish nymphs and streamers whenever the mood hits me, but I must admit that "hucking meat" doesn't give me the tingles. So many of the streamers that we fish these days are just too heavy. There is no sense of true casting; it is an imperfect ballet dictated by how fast you can duck your head before your creation from hell gives you a lobotomy, and makes you the most recent victim to a fly that catches men as well as it catches fish. The premise of using a bigger fly to catch bigger fish holds true, and it is often streamers that are responsible for all of the pigs, toads, fat lady's that we hear of being caught. That being said, even I will occasionally dabble with the "dark side" of the sport, and will sport a fly big enough to whack a fish unconcious, in the pursuit of the larger fish that prowl our waters.

Most recently, in fact just the other day, a crew consisting of Matt, Bryce, Matt(Bryce's friend), and myself headed over to Dutch John to "huck meat", and to see if any of us could come up smiling with a couple Green River beauties. Traveling at night, especially this time of the year, is not for the faint of heart. Between the "natural" road maintenece of WYDOT, the hords of critters, and the instability of the weather, it would be wise to watch the weather like a hawk. That being said, we left at eleven, and didn't get to Dutch John until three in the morning, and we enoutered all of the previously mentioned hazards. After five hours of sleep, and a breakfast of PBR and Pop Tarts, it was off to the river under blue bird skies and waning wind. There are some trips that you just know are going to turn out great. Be it the weather, the presence of some great guys to fish with, or just the fact that it is January and forty-five degrees, there is something inside all veteran anglers that pulses hope, and the knowledge that there will be fish on the rise. I felt that sitting down at the boat ramp ready to push off. Between stowing the gear, and drinking more beer, I took out my streamer rod and headed above the boat dock. Half an hour later, I had taken three beautiful rainbows, watched Matt nearly go under, and was ready for the day that was to follow.

Joining us on our trip were Darren Bowcutt, and Brad Lovejoy; two of our Green River guides who decided to join the festivities. For those of you who want to fish the Green, I would recommend that you grab these two guys before our summer trips are booked. They are both excellent guides, great teachers, and good guys to have on the oars when traversing the Green. Prone to having a weakness for dry flies, I sat at the bow prowling for heads while fishing a streamer, while the boys in the other boat faithfully stuck to stripping Matt's House Specials. The wind prohibited the midges from their duty of making fish rise, but we still found nose's up and willing to take a small Para. Adams or Black Beauty Emerger in between gusts. The streamer fishing, however, was good. For every retrieve that we didn't get a hit, we had fish following our flies, or striking so aggressively that they missed it all together. Not to say that we were getting fish hand over fist, but the overall day was a treat and it was awesome to see that the fish were so willing. The visual act of these fish stalking our flies, and seeing the eat was enough to make the day just unbelievable. I was even more tickled that I got a first hand experience on the oars...and I didn't kill anyone. To any of our fellow anglers looking to go hit up some early season action, be prepared. The old boy scout adage can save your day and keep you happy should anything go wrong.

Word of caution to wading anglers: They are bumping the flows twice a day. When we were there, the flow went from 800 cfs to 1700 cfs, and back. Little Hole, on these sunnier days, is fishing great with midges and the freak hatch of Blue Wing Olives is a possibility. Be careful if you choose to cross! With the light boat traffic there won't be many chances to get ferried back, so if you get stranded on river right, chances are you are going to be there for a long time. Other than that, bring a bunch of streamers in natural and ginger colors, and cover alot of water. The more water you cover, the better off you'll be.

Swing Season is in Effect, by Nick Teynor

This time of year is typically one that isn't really that productive. For the past five years, my journal has been a hard source of information to ignore, especially when regarding the "swing season." I coined this term, referring to the period of time from the end of November, to the middle of December; due to the inconsistency and lack of anything going on. The browns are recovering from getting beaten up, the hatches are down to just a mix of leftover baetis, and the midges aren't really the main event. Sounds just like that time between Thanksgiving and Christmas: One moment your fat and reaching for the Tums, the next your looking for that hole in your wallet where all your money went, and on the verge of drinking your meals. Mix in a little pich of economic reccesion, and you've got yourself the perfect excuse to go fishing. Life may suck, but I am glad to announce that my journal is not really on par with the fishing as of recently. Small midges(#22-26), which we usually don't see in good numbers this early, are coinciding with the last stands of baetis(#20-24). Crazy to think that this time last year there was at least a foot of snow covering everything up on the Middle and Lower Provo, but it could be worse. The fact that there are still fish up rising should be enough motivation to get all you stock holders from yanking out your hair, and out fishing. After all, you'll have an excuse to fish AND drink. Swing Season is in effect. Get out and enjoy it before it crashes too.

Steelheading Warp Up, by Steve Schmidt

Just got back from catching my last fish of the year.  I end my season every year this way.  Although there is good fishing to be had, I've had one of my best years in memories.  My last days of swinging flies was no exception.   Looking at the weather today, we hit it just right.  Since leaving the Salmon, the rivers gone up quite a bit and it's gotten quite cool and wet.

Part of the fun of the trip was the company: Bob Nohavec, Bill Shann and Carter Davis. Great crew, who when the fishing not good, still make the most of an outting.  Bob Nohavec got his first steelhead, after hooking several over the past couple of years.  That moment was one of the hightlights of the trip.  He as new to the game as he is with is spey rod.  He stuck with both, and his persistence paid off. 

Regardless of where you swing flies, conditions and your timing are the key.  This year on both of my steelhead trips, I hit it pretty good.  In most of the northwest there were a lot of fish around, but should your timing be off, that matters little.   One of my best trips was a year when there were few steelhead returning.  I just happend nut the river conditions. 

It didn't seem to matter what fly we used, they all seemed to work, but what I find amazing is these fish will take a fly just below the surface, after swimming almost a thousand miles.  Between us we caught only one Wild fish.  We lumped a few for the cooler, and in doing so help the Wild Steelhead out some.  I still find it difficult lumping a fish that goes through the same challenges as a wild fish, but if we are to have healthy stocks of Wild fish, the hatchery fish need to go away. 

I also find it intersting that the gear guys are absolutely disgusted when they land a Wild fish.  We talked to a guy who was distraught with the 38" Wild Buck he caught, because he had to release it.  Take any fly fishing guy and he would be doing flips over such fortune.  A fish of that size, that is wild on the river.....

There's still some Steelheading opportunities left, especially given the warm weather.   Some of the shop guys are looking to head out late into the month and possibly even in December.  It may be that kind of year.  For me, it's will be almost a year before I get to swing a fly in hopes of a tug.  by the way, that's what I was left with.  On the last day, I didn't land a fish.  My last fish, left me with only a tug.  It came as quicly as it ended with no time to react.  I thought that was rather a fitting way to end such a great trip.

Strawberry Fun October 20th, 2008-Matt

I went up to Strawberry Reservior on Monday the 20th and fished Mud Creek Bay.   The weather was blustery with intermitant showers, hail, and rain, but the fishing was HOT!  They seemed be focused around the outside mouth of the bay during the day, and were eating white bunny streamers really well, fished slowly at between 8-10 feet down on a sinking line.   The fishing got better and better into the evening hours, and when the wind finally died at 5:30pm, or so, I switched over to a floating line and a Mouse fly on top.  I was stripping the mouse really slowly over the weed beds, when the fish started to rise through out the bay.  About five minutes into fishing the rodent I had a swirl that missed.  I stopped the fly for a second, stripped again, and a twenty four inch cutthrout inhaled the fly!  It was awesome!  That fish was rodent hunting, big time.  If you get a chancer definitely swing up there as the streamer fishing is really good and the

BC 2008 by, Steve Schmidt

2008 was the shops 22nd year of taking groups to Frontier Farwest in British Columbia to fish the Bulkley River.  For the first time in my 23 years of knowing and working with this lodge, it had new owners: Andrea and Derrick Soto.  So needless to day, our verteran crew of: Tim  Branigan, Brad Hare, John Rose, Tom Stormann, Angelo Chachas, the Matt "FNG" Hansman and I were a little apprehensive about how the changes would all work out. 

A few of the crew headed up early and managed an overnight trip through one of the camps famous canyons before they joined the rest of us.Just before departing, we'd all been together to cast, tie flies or catch up on any news from the great northwest.  Early reports were very good, but having done this for so long now, we know better than to put too much stock into early reports good or bad.  Those, including myself, who were left behind were quite jealous.

For those who didn't go up early we were picked up by our new hosts promptly,  after some troblesome luggage issues. That's not a rarity in this part of the country.   It doesn't take much to make this group happy.  We were all excited to go fishing, but it was obvious from our initial greetings at the lodge and by it's appearance that we were going to feel right at home.

By Saturday night, we were all together.  Outside the lodge at our historical gathering place we enjoyed a beverage or two and waited for our fellow steelheaders to return from the canyon.  It was clearly evident that we were all happy to be here and in great spirits as we shared in the successes that some of us had already enjoyed.   The boys in the canyon arrived shortly after we did.  Hugs, hand shakes, a few "F" bombs, and laughs were quickly exchanged before we got to the serious stuff.  By their attitudes it was clear they had an epic start to their week.  Stormann was all smiles he should never play pocker, as he, Tim and Brad bailed out of the Suburban to join us.  He'd taken several big buck, 39" & 38", on his first few days.  Talking about getting off on the right foot.  Tim and Brad were also lit up by their two day float on the lower Bulkley. 

By weeks end, it would wind up being one of the best trips we've ever had in decades.  The camp and their staff did a great job of making us comfortable and ensuring that their end of our trip meeted our expectations.  The fish and fishing, which they have absolutely no control over, even did their part. Matt, who had probably the least amount of steelheading experience put us all to shame.  Since we've all had those trips over the years, we were happy to see him have such great success.  There were more large fish caught in a week than I can ever remember.  The Bulkley traditionally isn't a big fish river, although it has its Kahauna's.  Typically it spits out 10 lb fish. Instead we were treated to a steady diet of plus 10 pouncder with many in the mid to high teens and several that hit twenty.

Matt, whose now has earned a new name, is hooked.  That tug, which makes us behave irrationally, has him.  He'll never been the same.    Overall, it was a good week for everyone.  Stormann, whose more than paid his dues over the years, had an eppic visit to BC, and he almost didn't go.   It was a great week; perfect weather, water conditions, outstanding group....simply just a lot of fun. If you stop in the shop and have time to look at some photo's, I've go lots.  Want and e-mail fix: info@wrflyfisher.com, drop me a line.  I'm happy to relive and keep the memories of the week going as long as I can. 

Summary of the Year, and Fall...So Far, by Nick Teynor

The leaves have changed, the cool crisp embrace of fall is everywhere, and the storm patterns that bless this region with moisture and great blue wings has arrived. For me Fall evokes so many different emotions; ranging from excitement as the countdown begins for great blue wing fishing, deep reflection on all the fishing that I have done throughout the year, and the little sigh that all anglers exhale when the realization hits that it will be a long time until summers warm rays tickle our ambitions to once again travel to our haunts.

This years fishing was a series of firsts- starting with an incredible winter that was filled with excellent micro-dry fishing. Wadnering out into the cold in snowshoes, I experienced a side of the Provo that many people long to have on an everyday basis. I had the river corridor to myself, nothing but silence and rising heads as long as I had the constitution to stick it out during the blizzards that rolled through on a daily basis. There is something to be said about the angler willing to risk it all just to have a little bit of the world to himself. Even if that little space is one that everyone knows about, it still offers a barrier between the solitude that encases you, and the harsh reality that when the weather warms it will never be trully vancant. None of that matters once that first dorsal fin breaks the surface. You are sucked into the realm of fish, not to return until the river tells you very subtly that reality is beckoning. Thankfully, the snow is close to flying, and I will have my snowshoes ready the moment the size #28's/#30's start to make their appearance.

Silver Creek. A name that conjures big fish, technicality, and a historic recording that has trancended generations. I was fortunate to be able to sneak away for a couple of days to walk its storied banks and pursue the well documented inhabitants in it. It is said that many, if not a mojority, of the fish in Silver Creek have been fooled into eating an artificial in their lifespan. The number of anglers patrolling the banks year after year have given these fish a very tough reputation, and have made them into the consumate ph. d fish that many a trout bum hath desired to do battle with. I was spoiled. The reception that I recieved was one that I will never forget. Blankets of big PMD's, many a fish hooked, and many a fly lost in the span of two days that I will never forget. The big browns, the spirited rainbows, the sheer horespower that every fish seemed to exert was an honest shock with every hook set. It is a place that is shared by many, proteced by many, and I look forward to yet another trip north of Twin Falls...whenever that is possible.

Last Chance. I have decided that the only way to describe this years fishing on the Ranch is in a handful of words, seeing how I could write my dissertation on the life altering effect these fish have on an angler. Righteous. Euphoric. Outstanding. Orgasmic. Big Fish. Backing, lots of backing. Swearing. Clouds of spinners. Frustration. Yeah, this at least paints a small window of what happend. It was as good as anyone who has fished it for a long time can remember, and I am just thankful that I was there for the ride. The only blemish to such a fantastic year, was the number of inexperinced anglers trampling up, down, and through Last Chance this year. I am not one to look down upon another, and I hope that those peoples who unintentionally put down fish, and trampled through the water with little to no regard learn from their mistakes. The ranch is a treasure. I would of been content with walking the banks; simply the hope of finding a rise and the excitement it stirs within is enough to make me travel those many miles in the dead of night.

Locally, we've been on the recieving end of good graces. The fall fishing has been the best that I have experienced in a long time, and the fish are in great shape. Psuedoclones, Blue Wings, Caddis, Hoppers, and our old venerable friend the PMD are coming off as we speak. The middle Provo has been fishing better and better ever since the completion of the mitigation project, and the healthiness of the fish this year speaks for this dramatic turn around. Fish of 12"-15" are thick little footballs, capable of running your reel a good ways into its reserves, and their dramatic leaps and jumps have been things that we have now come to look forward to.

Shop Trip, Henry' Fork, 2008, by Steve Schmidt

This year the Henry’s Fork was rather kind to us, compared to years past.  Skyler and I headed up a day ahead of the others. Lucky us! We were fortunate and secured our favorite camp site.  It has a fair amount of shade, which can be critical for nap in the afternoon.    While Ken, Matt, Alex, Spencer and Nick held down the fort, Skyler and I woke to a brisk clear morning on the Henry’s Fork.  

If you haven’t met Skyler, he’s quite the young prodigy.  At 15, he already cast as well as most of us and he ties a mean fly.  I wouldn’t hesitate having a few of his ties in my box.  Most customers ignore him because he’s so young, but he’s well advanced for his year.  He reminds me of PJ, who now guides for us, when he first started coming into the shop. 

Anyway, it was fun for me to show him the Ranch and start to teach him about these waters.  Some of us have struggled to get a fish on these challenging waters over the years we’ve been coming here.  In fact I remember when 8 of us went fishless after two days on one of our previous shop excursions.  Skyler however was not to be denied.

At first light I was up and was surprised that I didn’t have to wake up the young one.  He was up shortly after me.  Given it was a Saturday, it’s important to be on the water early.  Even though it meant getting only a few hours sleep, here you can always get a nap during the afternoon if the wind picks up.

Skyler didn’t waste any time getting his first Ranch fish.  He stayed on point werhe I set him up until he got one of the nice fish he was working to take his fly.  Although there is some skepticism as to its actually size, I can at least vouch for his feat and confirm that it was a nice fish.  From where I was though, actual inches are uncertain.

While Skyler was hooked up, I was chasing one of the hottest fish I’ve ever been attached to.  All the while my young friend was screaming behind me.  By the time I’d landed my fish I was just far enough away to see his fish, but couldn’t quite tell if it was as long as he said it may have been.   Actually among the crew, there seemed to be a fair amount of one up man-ship going on.  It must have been due to that recent shipment of “fish stretchers” we all picked up.  Kenny as court jester, his typical role, kept us all honest.

Nick and Spencer arrived to fish the evening hatch while Skyler and I tried to exercise a few fish of our won.  Other than a busted off fish and a very picturesque sunset, there wasn’t much going on.  Before we headed back to camp the mosquitoes had their fill with us.   They weren’t as bad as previous visits, but given how wet the year was, there was plenty of those f….. blood suckers to make us miserable at times.

Matt and Kenny arrived sometime after we all called it a day.  If they’d hadn’t dilly dallied around “Pocafella” we may have been awake to welcome them into camp.  Knowing that we were going to be on the water again, bright and early, we gave in to some heavy eye lids early.

Come Sunday morning the Shop Trip was official.  By 7:30am we were all headed into the Ranch to take our licks.  The morning proved a great success with almost everyone getting into a fish or two.  Flav’s and PMD spinners again covered the water.  Caddis hung heavy along the banks as we made our way in.  By 11, summer’s wind drove us all to the Grub Stake for lunch.  They still make the best sandwich on the plane  I’d have to say we look forward to a cold one and one of Dionne’s famous lunches as much as we anticipate the fishing.  

While a few headed for some shut eye, Nick and I prowled the upper portion of the Ranch in hopes of finding a bank feeder or two working PMD’s.   Nick did, I just managed to wear the soles of my Sticky Boots off.  I needed the exercise, however it would have been nice to put a fish on the line for my efforts.   Matt, Skyler and Spencer hit below Osborne Bridge to try and pierce Skylers ear while casting a two-hander.  Outside Skyler drawing a little blood for his efforts, Matt put the hurt on a couple of big rainbows that he enticed to take his home grown bunnies.

After camp dinner, we were undecisive as to where to go.  Eventually we scattered in all directions.  Kenny and I, stayed in camp for another hour, enjoying the breeze and one last beer before heading out.  The wind finally died, but not soon enough to let the bugs do their thing.

Back at camp, we had the young ones build a fire while Kenny, Matt and I (alias management) kicked back.    Given their impressive effort, I’m surprised they didn’t burn the forest down.   From 10’, one was more than comfortable.  The Boy Scouts would have been proud.

Compared to some previous trips, this one was pretty mellow.  I was up early, and headed to the river before some of the other stirred.  With the bugs not getting to do their thing the evening before last, I was in hopes of catching the residual this morning.  By 7:00, I was already in the water.   The other, again took to various parts of the river and left me to myself.  

For all of us, unfortunately, the river never really lit up, as it did the previous day.  There were some sporadic fish to fish to, put nothing to the degree we saw before.  I can’t speak for the other, but after 6 hours of working two fish, I had little to show for my efforts;  one empty take, a few head shakes, and a fair amount of ware and tear on my waders from crawling around all day.

All in all, it was a successful trip.  My crew left Kenny and Matt standing up to their withers ripping streamers at Osborne Bridge in hopes of replicating what transpired the day before.   Although the wind created a fair amount of challenges for them, it wasn’t near as challenging as trying to find an assortment of car keys.  That’s a whole other story. 

Tour Of Utah, July 15, 2008, by Steve Schmidt

Took another grand tour of the state. Started out the day fishing will Bill Young, Bill and Mary Shorter sampling some of Utah's small streams. With the Provo having such success, it's taken some of the pressure that we experienced earlier on our small streams. The Wild Flowers were worth the trek alone. All of our small streams are now in excellent shape. We saw good mayfly, stonefly and caddis hatches throughout the day even found a fish or two that would take our offerings.

I've had a chance to get out more this year than in years past and it's reaffirmed what wonderful and diverse waters we have in Utah. Many of them take some planning since they require a fair drive, but as I've proved over the past 4 or 5 weeks, they can easily be done in a day: Currant Creek, Strawberry River, Price River, Diamond Fork, Huntington, W. Fork of the Duchesne, S. Fork Odgen and that's just what we have locally.

One of the days highlights, was the infamous pre-fishing "Stabutic", blended and delivered by Mr. Shorter. It was followed by him guiding me into the mornings first trout, a nice cutthroat on one of his favorite pieces of water. Although, I think he put me on that fish, so he could get to the larger brown that he took just above where I got mine. It didn't matter. All of us could have caught more than our fair share of browns and cutthroat, but we decided to leave a few for the next angler and headed home at a decent hout.

After getting back to the shop, I joined the crew for a shop evening out on the water. There were lots of options, which made it difficult to come to a decision on where to go. Eventually, wanting to see a Drake or two or possibly find some PMD spinner leading to an evening rise, we hit the Middle Provo.

Although it's been crowded here, we were pleasantly surprised to find the parking lot with only a handful of cars. Walking in, we ran into only on person with a fly rod and two guys chucking gear.

Matt was the only one to get any decent opportunities on the top. Ken and I after a running out of daylight started swinging soft hackles. By the way, if you want to enjoy a quiet few productive hours on the stream, tie on a soft hackle, with some 4X tippet material and hang on. The fishing was excellent. These fish after some water are in incredible shape. The obviously have been eating well.

Can't wait for my next day out. This morning as I write this, it's overcast and fairly muggy. For those who head out it should be a fantastic day.

Around Utah July 9th by Steve

I love this time of year; Green Drakes, PMD's and Stoneflies on the Provo. Once this happens, although it took a while, everyone congregates on the Provo leaving much of our Norther Utah fisheries somewhat quiet. I've covered over 600 miles checking out some of our waters. Finally all our waters, except the Strawberry River are in good shape.

There is so much going on right now. The big surprise has been the Cicadas. I've never seen so many of these big terrestrials on such a wide variety of waters. Beside these big bugs you find Green Drakes, PMD's, Caddisflies, and Golden Stoneflies. It's a great time of year and one of my favorite.

Although many got frustrated with the fishing, or lack there of because of high water, it's obvious by the condition of our trout that they found the late spring run-off season to be very beneficial. If you haven't been getting out, it's great fishing. Even if the fishing isn't as good as you anticipated, between the lush vegetation and wildflowers the scenery is tough to beat. I couldn't think of a better way to beat the heat.

"Henry's Fork" 4th of July by Steve

A family rendezvous sent me back up to the Henry's Fork over the 4th. Although I couldn't dedicate a lot of time to fishing, given the conditions, it was all I needed.

Green Drakes, PMD's, Flav's, Brown Drakes, Golden Stoneflies, Caddisflies, typical of the Ranch it was delivering a cornucopia of options for the rivers rainbows to dine on. You'd think that would make for easy fishing, but the variety of insects on the water at any given time created for things very challenging.

Although there were a fair amount of people around the river was fairly uncrowded. One of the aspects I like about fishing when the Green Drakes are out, is you know where everyone's going to be, the upper end of the Ranch. It's very similar to the situation we get on the Provo, when the Drakes hit there anglers are reluctant to go anywhere else. I love this about the Drakes and it's one of the reasons I don't ever fish them. The Henry's Fork is no different.

I met up with Chris Latour, another Ranch addict. The first two morning we didn't see another anglers. Blue skies made for tough fishing and sparse spinnerfalls, but we still found enough fish to keep us occupied. With the clear morning skies, came the winds. On the second day it hit us early. I'd been crawling around on my knees working a fish with his belly in the gravel for about 30 minutes when the wind picked up. The rainbow continued to rise while I changed my fly under the more turbulent conditions then it quit. I stood up and make a cast where I thought I last saw the fish. Felt since I'd gone to the trouble of changing my fly that I should at least put it in the water. The dam fish ate it, and I immediate broke it off. My buddy Chris commented over my shoulder: that's Ranch fishing.

The last morning dawned overcast and cool. We headed into the Ranch around 6:30am. A lone eagle overlooking the water on a downed snag was our only company while walking in. The clouds kept the wind down and we had a breathless morning. Drake, Flav and PMD spinner covered the water. Different fish were feeding on different insects. It's a great game.

Before having to head out, I took one last fish. Turning around, Bonnie and Rene Harrop were behind me, watching me put the finishing touches on a nice "Pork Chop", as Rene likes to call the fat rainbows of the Ranch. We talked for a while, a fitting end to an excellent trip. Since returning I've been trying to figure out how to get back up there, realizing my windows of opportunity are few and far between.

"Henry's Fork, Salmon Flies" June 1 by Steve

I was fortunate to have an afternoon to wander around the lower Henry's Fork and look for the infamous Salmon Fly. Rumor had it they were crawling around. I've seen this hatch come off in incredible numbers on several occasions, but never had the opportunity to fish it. By the boats I'd seen over the past few days parked at the Warm River bridge the hatch was fairly active. The first day I stopped, I saw a few bugs but nothing like this Sunday.

Stopping on the Bridge for a few minutes, not pausing long enough to cause a traffic jam, I saw several large bugs making a lethargic water crossing. The river was up and had a fair amount of color to it, however it was definitely fishable.

Heading down river it was evident that these prehistoric insects were emerging in numbers; they were crawling across the road, flying everywhere, and were balled up in every bush and grass. Until you've seen this scene, it's hard to describe this amazing migration.

There had to be close to a hundred boats, looked like it anyway, that put in that day. The road was crawling with anglers as well. Both of these conditions almost led me to take up other options. Heading back, I again paused at the bridge and noticed there was no one fishing either side up river. Letting my dog out, had a sandwich while slowly putting my stuff together, I took in the traffic. On the far bank a splashy rise caught my attention. More bodies, trailers and boats put in below the bridge as I contemplated getting ready.

By now there were a few more Salmon Flies flying around, but their numbers were still far more denser below; an ideal condition. Finally realizing I had good open water above the bridge, I took the easy bank first, being right handed, and stepped into the murky water where the first clump of willows overhung this portion of the river. Haphazardly I flopped my first cast upriver. The pattern barely hit the water when it disappeared, the trout surging upriver.

In the 35 years of fishing the Henry's Fork, I've never landed a Brown. Upon landing my first trout of the year on the lower river, I was surprised to be securely hooked to one, but even more surprised at it's size. I quickly measured two hands across it's side before it slipped back into the river. Several inches of it's tail still hung past my measure. Not a bad way to start out the day. By my fortunes, I figured I was done, other than just fishing the water. We've all had days like that; land a nice fish first thing, don't see another for the rest of the day. Worse things have happened.

By the time I had to head home my fortunes stayed with me. I landed several more good Rainbows in the short stretch of water I'd worked. I virtually had these waters to myself, which was an added bonus. That is if you discount the large bugs occasionally crawled down my neck or hit me in the side of the head. Had I just caught just one fish given my expectations, let alone several better than average trout, I would have been content.

If you have time this week for a road trip, I would encourage you to head up north. We have some decent fishing here, but nothing like the experience of fishing Salmon Flies this time of year.

"Silver Creek Encounters of the 1st Kind..." May 26th/27th by Nick

It's 11:30 pm. The Red Bull is running thin, my nerves shot, and my ability to comprehend a map is at its worst. Not the greatest way to start a fishing trip; lost in the middle of Idaho and without a full tank of gas, but my hardships were well rewarded the following morning as the meadowlarks and blackbirds beckoned in a new day on yet another legendary ditch. There are few waters in the west, let alone the world, that carry such a remarkable documented existence that is Silver Creek. In a remote valley, in the middle of an arid desert, it runs true and clear supporting an otherwise open landscape with a bastion of life, and luring all with its siren call of big, picky fish.

All were very much on my mind as I finally corrected my course and made it to Hayspur, hoping to find some of my companions from the shop in late night revelry. What I found was an army of RV's, and no sign of anyone that I could call friend or acquaintance. With the unsettling thought of being in the middle of this army of potential anglers, I retired to the back seat of my car and awaited the early morning that was quickly approaching. The night past fitfully, and by the time the first haze of light was upon me, I was already up and looking for a place to set up base camp so I could beat the crowds to the river. Ironically, everyone I had been looking for had only been 75 yards away, and after pitching the tent, and storing the valuables, I was on my way to procure a license and get my feet wet. Driving up to the conservancy I felt a little chill of excitement run through my body,a chill any angler gets when he is is about to enter water that has a legacy,a tradition that transcends even himself and the meager footprints that are left following the thousands that came before. I follow the trail down from Loving Creek, spooking two large resident browns that inhabit the pool below, and more wakes as I appear downstream. One mistake, but none that can directly affect what is really going on further down. I make another mental note as I see a couple more large wakes racing upstream, despite the fact that I am moving slowly, that these fish have seen quite a few anglers, and that I am going to need to being my A game if I expect to find any success.

The trail finally leads me down to the confluence, and I am met with a most promising sight: Big fish, and they are rising. Sneaking out on my hands and knees, I slowly inch my way to get a shot. Expecting to see the little baetis that are rumored to be coinciding with PMD's, I am shocked as I see that these fish are hunting down midges; little bastards that are around a #26-28. Just goes to show that even the guy with a thousand flies can still show up and not have it dialed in, and I breathe a deep sigh as I frantically search for a a hail mary to save me from my predicament. Lumps rarely convey a sense of relief, especially in this day and age with the war on cancer, but as my hand reaches for the last possible space, I feel a lump, and I rejoice. It is a little treasure trove of itty bitty flies that I tied up for the Provo's micro-midge hatch this winter, and I all of sudden have the opportunity to score big.

With renewed faith, I latch on a little dry/soft hackle hybrid and go to work.

Poon's..May 08 by Steve Schmidt

If you haven't seen me in the shop lately, I apologize for not being around. For the past decade I and several friends head to Key West annually in pursuit of one of fly fishing most exciting game fish, tarpon.

Just before I arrived I got a call from Jon Ain, one of the Key's better Permit fisherman to get warmed up off the front of his skiff for a few hours before my days with Captain Ohearn began. How could I pass up such gracious Key's hospitality and couldn't think of a better way to start the trip out.

Jon meet me at the airport and after some coffee and a quick hug from his lovely wife Shirley, we hit the water. Our morning was spent we Jon on the poling platform and me at point. We reversed roles in the afternoon, hoping to get a shot at a lone Permit or two for Jon before the day ended. Although we saw not Permit, which is not unusual for this time of year, we did see some very big tarpon. Unfortuntely we didn't get any eats for the day, but given it was my first and Jon had many more ahead of him, we both were content with the outcome.

Pulling up to the Cypress House the crew was already assembling by the poolside bar. We've been doing this long enough now that it's getting to be like "Old Home Week". Reports were mixed as my partner Ken Louder and I joined those who had been out for the day. The weather was really the hot topic; a rare warm, and calm southerly flow would accompany our efforts. All we need was a few willing Tarpon to make for a perfect trip.

At 6:30am our Captain meets us for the first full day on the water. As the majority of Key West's tourist sleep off the ill effects of the previous night, the islands Tarpon angers and guides gather.

John use to have us up and on the water an hour earlier. He's become a little more sane these days. Adding a couple of kids to his life will do that to you. It suits Ken and I just fine. Although we start off slow on this first day, we end it with some of the most exciting Tarpon fishing I've ever done. In a place called Green Lakes we find hundreds of laid up, yet reluctant Tarpon. Under a flat surface, with barely a breeze to disturb the water we watch our flies swing into pods of fish. Ken finally jumps a fish, but these big Poon's have seen more than one boat over them this day and their educated reluctance reminds me of fishing some of the west's most technical spring creeks. For our first day we jumped two fish, got another two eats and landed a nice eighty pounder.

During the course of our days on the water we had a brief discussion on how different each day was. One day you think you have it figured out, the next day you can't find a fish, let alone get one to eat your fly. As the week went on, this simple truth played out. Although we would land and jump several more fish, no two days were alike. We had incredible conditions, which always makes for a more pleasant experience; client and guide alike.

Over the years we've had many a good trips to Key West. Some trips we've caught more, other not a sniff. Such is what one comes to expect when fishing for these piscatorial giants. Regardless of the tally, between the friendship we share with our guide and those we meet in Key West it's always a great trip given the fact that we get to visit such an incredible fishery.

Departing for home and back to the shop, it was difficult leaving. I could do this for a month and never tire of being on the water. As always, the time passed much to fast. We all felt that way. Twelve months seems like a long way off for next year, but given how time seems to rapidly pass these day, 2009 will be here before we know it.

Common Sense People...by Nick

The world of fly fishing is full of anglers who are content to remain ignorant, arrogant, and oblivious to the fact that they have no sense of etiquette. These individuals knowingly and unknowingly, ruin everyone else's day so that they can go home with a swagger and call themselves "accomplished" because they caught loads of fish at the expense of everyone else. This phenomenon has repeated itself time and time again; both personally to me and to a number of my friends and clients, and I am going to lay out some simple guidelines for those willing to listen and learn so that EVERYONE can enjoy a day on the water.

Rule One: If someone is fishing water that you usually fish, YOU ARE THE ONE WHO NEEDS TO FIND NEW WATER. Fish don't live in just one area of a stream, in fact they live in lots of places. Hard to believe folks, but your usual "honey hole" isn't the end all be all of fly fishing. Wherever there is food, cover from predators, and shelter from the current-YOU WILL FIND FISH. If you are truly an accomplished angler, you will know where to find these places, and not have to worry about coming into conflict with the guy who was there first. If you are a novice, and don't know where to go, talk to us. The guys at your local shop are here for you, and they will do their best to help you learn these places so that you don't have to depend on one or two spots.

Rule Two: If you are going to pass ahead of someone to fish, GIVE THEM SOME RESPECT. Don't be the guy who jumps in front of someone to fish a spot you know has fish. THAT IS RUDE AND UNCALLED FOR. You wouldn't want that to happen to you, and if you have had it happen to you, you know how rude it is. If I intend to head upstream of someone, I am courteous enough to give them at least 150-200 yards of river before I decide to jump in and start fishing. That way, you never have to worry about playing leap frog, and you will often times never have to worry about cutting them off.

Rule Three: You never start fishing downstream, YOU ALWAYS START UPSTREAM. Why? The current is bringing food to the fish, and the fish are facing upstream in the current. It is hard for a fish to get oxygen and eat if its head is facing downstream, hence why we always fish upstream:THEY ARE FACING THAT WAY AND CAN SEE OUR FLIES. This is one of those things that can be a gray area, given the stream conditions and the number of people fishing. The fact is, you don't walk downstream and fish at the same time. You never know who may be just around the corner, and you don't know if there may be a person working his way up to you. Take the high road and restrain yourself unless you feel one hundred percent certain that you are not cutting anyone off.

Rule Four: If anything that I just wrote doesn't make any sense, REMEMBER THE GOLDEN RULE. Treat others the way YOU would want them to treat YOU. We have a lot of great water in our state, but it is high time we all took the time to learn how to fish together and in a way that leaves all of happy and content. I have no patience with those who put themselves above others. In this age of self-absorbtion and self- indulgence, many of us have forgotten our manners and common civility.Fly fishing used to be considered a gentleman's sport, in which one would not screw his fellow fishermen over just so he could have a great day. These rules which were so potent in the past, need to be enforced and practiced in our age if we are all to enjoy this wonderful sport. Life is hard enough on all of us, and there is no reason or excuse to be rude, or selfish when we are on the water trying to find peace.

First Outings: The Henry's Fork. May 7th, 2008. By: Nick

Runoff is imminent, the hatches are slowing, and the crowds are growing. Three things that the Trout Hunter never wants to see, but that is the reality, and it is what it is. That being said, my first outing of the year to the Henry's Fork has come and gone, leaving with much to reflect and remember until I can make another dash north. Fishing was slow, bug activity insane, and the overall experience was a great treat. Not only did I end up catching a couple of smaller residents on dries, I broke in my "new" Hardy Princess and Winston in a way that many trout snobs would heartily approve, and I did manage to sting a big dog before the weather and water conditions brought an end to my day.

That being said, if you choose to venture North have a good assortment of bugs and check the flows. The area directly below Vernon Bridge had great hatches and the flows were decent. What frosted the fishing was the over water clarity, and recent flow increases. Hatch wise, bring your Blue Wings( size 18-22), March Browns (size 14,16) Caddis, and Midges. The March Browns were fun to watch bob along, as was the anticipation of them being gorged on, and Blue Wings carpeted the water for most of the day. Caddis were also good. Make sure to have a light wing and dark body and size 14-16. The Lower Henry's is a great option for this time of year, and I know I will be back soon. Hopefully, I'll be able to complete the equation, and hear that Hardy really sing...

 

Zip, Nada, Zilch,March 30, 2008 Steve

I was suckered. This past Sunday it was raining, snowing and overcast. One couldn't ask for a better day to hopefully hit Blue Wings. Stopped in the shop, picked up a few flies and got some Java for the road and headed to the Middle. With the flows being up on the Lower, I thought it would be best to give it a few more days before venturing there.

Met my buddy Snake, who was already on his way by the time I called. When I arrived there were only 5 vehicles in the parking lot. I've had a number of good days on the Middle already this year, so given my past outing I was anxious to find some bugs on the water and a few noses up.

Typically all those who had arrived before me were in the first couple pieces of water. Leaving them behind I saw no one the rest of the day until I ran into my friend and we had headed back.

It was 11:00am when Snake and I parked on a nice section of the river to watch for some noses. While we patiently waited we had Geese, Goldeneye's, Teak, and Mallards all try and land on the run we had hunkered down upon. Maybe that's why we never saw any fish up, but in reality it was probably more directly attributed to the fact that there were literally no bugs on the water.

With not hatch, by 1:00pm we headed back. Pausing at every good piece of water prior to arriving back at the parking lot, we still didn't see a single fish. By two I'd headed to the Side Track Cafe to retrieve a lost coat and enjoy one of here amazing Scones and grapped a cup of coffee for the ride home. Really a great day in all. Although we didn't make a cast, we did enjoy some great birding: Sandhills, Eagles, the variety of waterfowl that I mentioned earlier, and Red Tails.

I'm anxious to fish Blue Wings, but it will have to wait a day or two to try again. Maybe this weeks warmer weather will get them going.

Got Lucky: February 13th,2008, Steve

Woke up late to an impending storm. Checked our website for the weather link to Heber City and saw that all was calm for the moment, and partly cloudy. I could go to work, or go fishing. Tough choice. I went fishing.

Winds were nuking at the top or both summits on the way to the Middle. By the time I reached the Heber Valley, it was dead calm. To boot, there was only one car in the lot when I arrived. I guessed right, that the angler the vehicle belonged to would be in the first pool, and he was. That was the last I saw of him and the last person I would encounter that day.

Although I took snowshoes, I ended up not having to use them. The river corridor is still blanketed in 3' of snow, but the path is worn enough that it will support most anglers.

After about a 20 minute walk, I stopped to build a leader and survey the scene. The clouds had kept yesterdays warmth in, and for the time being it was very nice out. By the time I finished rigging, a few fish had begun working the pool. I sat for a while before entering the river to make sure I wouldn't be walking over a nice fish or two. By the time I entered the water I picked out a couple of decent fish working the midges that were now hatching in good numbers.

I tried several patterns before changing to the old stand by; the Double Midge. After a few dozen casts with now takers, the first fish I put the DM over took the offering.

For my first day out, it couldn't have been nicer. I took a handful of fish before calling it a day, saw no one and throughly enjoyed one of the more peaceful days on the water that I've enjoyed in sometime.

A Great Day With Dries February 7th,2008, Nick

After being knocked out of action for the last few weeks,due to the pandemic that seems to have swept across the country, I have been dying to get back out on the river and enjoy some more great small dry action. Yesterday was once again a cold, but great day. My buddy Dan and I hit the MOVO, and enjoyed some great midge fishing from about 11-6, and hooked a bunch of healthy fish ranging from 13-16 inches. It was on small midges, ranging from size 24-28, and many of the fish gave us spectacular rises and fights. Make sure to take some 6x-7x tippet; the water is low and clear, and the fish will be holding in shallower water looking for warmer temps on warmer days. So before you jump on in, take the time to look and find risers. Even a random riser will take a midge if the presentation is right, and you keep presenting it to him in a fashion that won't make him bugger off. Another hint: Snowshoes. If you want to put some middle ground between you and the next guy, snowshoes are a must. The fishing can be awesome this time of the year if you go prepared for crappy weather, and you don't mind doing a little cardio to get into places that people haven't been to in days. FYI: If you love eagles, this is the time to go to the river and check out a couple of these majestic birds.

Middle Provo Scouting Report February 2,2008, Steve

It's been a long hard winter. Something our fish could use. We've been out some, but snow and cold have made us realize it's better to work on our fly tying some days vs. test the elements. But with Saturdays sun peaking out briefly from behind the clouds, I needed to be by water.

Snowshoes were definitely a must to get around. If you haven't been up on the Middle or Lower, it's been since the early 90's when our river corridors have been blanketed in so much snow. Even with snowshoes, being the first to break trail after our last storm, it was easy to work up a sweat.

Although is was relatively late, since I wasn't interested in fishing as much as I was scouting, I didn't take a rod. Even as we made our way back we found fish up. Not a lot, but enough. The trip definitely got me excited about upcoming fishing opportunities and those nose poking out of the water sure were tempting. If you'd like to read more about my outing visit my Blog.

"My Nuts Freezing in an Open River" December 21st,2007, Nick

Why do we do it? Why do we feel the urge to travel out of our warm, secure dwellings and subject ourselves to the bitter cold for itty bitty bugs and lethargic fish? I know I do it because I love small bugs. In a world where bigger seems to be better, I love the little midges that inhabit our rivers. They keep fishing interesting, and they add another challenge for the avid tyer and fisherman alike, for once you step into the realm of fishing # 28-32 hooks, you have descended down a slippery slope that can make you a small fly addict.

It is a lifestyle full of ups and downs, bitter cold days, and no real guarantee on finding enough bugs to get a couple of nice fish to the surface. Today started out with the promise of sunshine and solitude, and quickly turned into a frigid affair(courtesy of a a strong east wind).For two hours, the wind howled and the water became chop, leaving the only productive technique that we have all come to love/hate: Nymphing.

Some guys can't get enough of it, others won't touch it. I take the middle road, for I know it is a deadly technique given the conditions are right, and it gives me something to do besides freezing my ass off waiting for a hatch that may or may not appear. And I do my time. For an hour, I work the water methodically, and produce the fish of the day: a beautiful brown of about 15 inches. Small tokens to most Western trout snobs, but more than enough for me. The wind kept howling, and my boys kept telling me to retreat out of the cold to find warmth in the sanctuary of the car. But I didn't want to leave without throwing my dries.

Down below the madness of the upper river, I found a pool that was sheltered from the howling wind, and sat down to await the arrival of the afternoon hatch that was overdue. Heads appeared, most small, some good, and two hours later I had hooked some good fish that I never brought to hand, and landed lots of little guys. Everything was going great until the wind shifted, and I was once again subjected to yet another front of cold air. This put the fish down, and it put me down. By the time I got back to the car I had little tearsicles running down my cheeks from the blasts of frigid wind, and I could not feel any of my apendages.

Just another day in paradise for a small fly addict.

"Steelies" October 18th, 2007, Schmidt

Haven't had time to post anything about annual trip to BC. Tom Stormann, Neil Kochenhour, Angelo Chachas, John Rose and I all headed up the end of September. this was my 21st year off fishing the Bulkley River Valley. In all the years I've been fishing here it was probably the least crowded due to the lower fish counts that continue to be reported form that region. If you've a mind to catch a lot of fish, this type of fishing probably isn't for you. It's truly an occasion for hope on any given day, where you can easily go "O"fer on a day or you can run into a whole nest of steelhead. With these migratory creatures you never know.

Tom when up early and had already a big smile on his face when we arrived. The valley was blanketed in a splendid array of fall color. The river as we flew into Smither, that beautiful "steelhead green". For me, Tom's smiling face helped overshadow some the fact that none of my luggage made it. After 21 years, however I figured I was due.

Angelo gets the award for the most driven of the group. After finding out his passport was expired, he had to rent a car to drive across the boarder going and coming. He was rewarded by catching the first fish of the trip. Being his first visit to BC, he was not to be denied.

Even though numbers were down for the week, we all got into a fair number of fish. For some reason I couldn't break the 30" barrier on my fish, but my companions made up for any short comings I had. The Bulkley generally isn't know for large steelhead compared to the Kispiox or Babine , but it does spit out a few. Both Tom an Angelo landed fish in the 16-17 lb range. These fish got everyone excited.

For me this was an emotional trip, probably one of the reason I didn't fish so well. My long time friends had sold their lodge after some 20 years of business. I was very happy for them, but each time we visited one of their beautiful river camps, I left knowing that my stay in the river two spectacular canyons would most likely be my last.

One of my fishing faults is I'm a home body. This river like the Henry's Fork are two that I'll alway fish. A 200 year occurrence rearranged the Bulkley this year. Although I know if like the back of my hand. As I age, my hand changes as does this an all rivers. Where runs once held fish, they no longer did. Islands had been moved, new islands formed, it was amazing to see the what the power of nature could do to a piece of water this size.

Coming home was tough, leaving behind old friends, a familiar river and a week of fishing that met all of our expectations. I'll return next year, but it will be different now being with: Collin, Cary, Kelly, Ingrid, Andre and the Crew. Wonderful people in a great land; Steelhead Paradise.

"Run Silent, Run Deep" October 4th,2007 MOVO, Nick Teynor

The time for those willing to brave the wonderful crappy weather of the Wasatch Front has arrived in the form of hordes of little olive mayflies. Baetis, baby!!! The Middle Provo is thick with them, and the fish are responding well to the overall influx of flows and angler alike the past couple of weeks. Those who like to seek the companionship of their fellow anglers are finding it. River Road Bridge all the way to the dam is where good dry-fly action has brought down the brunt of the pressure, but for those willing to walk, and go a little deep, the rewards can be bountiful and downright exciting.

Nymphing has always been the most popular way to fish the Middle. Every time I have been out on the river, I have seen guides leading armadas of balloondicators through various holes and pools with success, and I wonder: Is it really necessary? Has nymphing become the way of the lazy angler? I have never been one to become a full time nympher-I prefer the visual stimuli that can only be achieved as a fish slurps a well presented dry or emerger. As long as guys have used balloons, I have thought that we as anglers have lost the true challenge and skill that nymphing requires. For it has evolved into a means to get tips at the end of the day, or a means to catch fish and really learn no real technique.

Thursday was one of those days where I knew I would have no choice but to nymph. Between the nuking gusts of wind and the blinding sun, it was not an optimal day for baetis down around Legacy Bridge. Forced to put aside my usual routine, I started and ended a very memorable day on a technique that I have frowned on since the inception of the balloondicator. It turned out to be one the best days in a long time on the MOVO, and I didn't need a balloon like so many of our brethren.

The concept of tightline nymphing is almost as old as the sport itself, and one of the most effective ways to fish a nymph. Many people who use balloons simply throw out way too much line, breaking one of the more pivotal concepts of nymphing. If you have ever watched footage of fish eating nymphs, you would know that a fish can take and spit out a fly in less than a second. Strike indicators are on the average only 50% effective because of the natural ability of fish to take and expel organic matter that isn't the real thing. By having less line on the water, you increase your overall feel of your nymphs and have the ability to set the hook more efficiently.

That being said, I have a maximum length of 15-20 feet when I am nymphing, and I make sure to keep a tight line and drift throughout the entire time my nymph enters and exits the water. Even 15-20 is too long in many situations, but it can be necessary when deal with spookier quarry. Tightlining is a great technique; but why don't more good nymph fishermen utilize it? I believe that it is just another example of guys depending on "technology", over technique. Any fighter pilot who flew in Vietnam can attest to this fact. Until our flyboys were taught the good old basic concepts of dog-fighting, we were having a helluva time understanding how "inferior" Vietnamese pilots and technology were almost keeping an even kill to loss ratio with the most advanced air force in the world.

This odd example is the underlying truth of why guys use balloons: To catch more fish without actually having to think about proper depth, fly selection, line management, or fish location. Some like the balloondicator and will fish it until they die. Which is fine. I am not here to judge. I am here to show that the good old basics can and will make those willing to step up and answer the call better anglers and fishermen overall. My success on this day can be attributed purely to tightlining. Half of the fish I felt take my fly before my line did anything suspicious, and I had a 6 fish better than 16 inches on top of the whistle dicks that now infest the MOVO.

Now, on to great dry fly fishing, and maybe another venture below...

September 9, 2007 Green River, Kevin Wright

On an otherwise boring Sunday, Matt and I decided to drag the drift boat up to the Green and float the A section. Along with Schroeder, the newly appointed captain of SkyWest, we took off from Salt Lake around 8 pm. Having never before towed anything behind the truck, most of my attention was directed towards the rear view mirror just to make sure everything was a-okay with the shop’s beloved Clackacraft. I also found myself cranking the volume to a little European trance music and keep myself awake. I had just worked a full day, and the last thing I needed was to fall asleep at the wheel while hearing all about SuperCubs, Beaver float planes and Matt’s bear stories. It was nigh essential to find some sort of mental nirvana while listening to Matt and Schroeder exchange loooong conversations about flying, float planes in the Alaskan bush, and delicious Mexican food.

We camped up off the side of the road near Red Canyon Lodge because we thought Dripping Springs was going to be jam packed. It was a perfect starry night, yet no fires were allowed, so by the time we pulled into our campspot, we turned in for the night. After Matt’s flatulence woke me up at 6:30 that morning (I mean, for the LOVE, I was IN the truck with the windows barely down and he STILL woke me up!), we headed down to Trout Creek Flies to find nothing but a few elk crossing the road. No rigs, no drift boats, nada, zip, zilch. After a breakfast of snarfing down French toast and biscuits and gravy (for which we would all pay a heavy price later that afternoon), I faintly remember Schroeder being sarcastic and taking advantage of the irony that it was Labor Day while muttering something about “Remember that time we went to the Green and NO one was there?” Soon enough, we prepped the boat for takeoff, and I took the truck down to Little Hole, while Amy’s mom (who just happens to live in Dutch John) gave me a shuttle and we were able to save some dough on the trip as a whole.

By about 9 am, we were pushing off and Matt had already taken a nice rainbow with one of his House Special streamers. Apparently, it was on the first cast. Nice work, Matt. We floated for a good while, exploring the upper eighth of the canyon, when finally Schroeder hooked into a nice bow, using a black ant. We thought ourselves quite river savvy when we armed the Clacka with a XP 691 lined with a sink-tip line that you could throw half a mile, a Winston LTX 9’6 with a nymph rig, and identical BIIx 8’6 5 weights. With a full quiver of rods and plenty of flies (except the Fat Alberts we left in the truck), we switched out time and time again trying to match the hatch that wasn’t exactly happening. The warm weather disappeared after Matt had finished off a few beers, and the rain came a brewin’ in. We had caught a few on streamers, and Schroeder had dialed in the ol’ Andy Kim Special Thread Midge rig, and commenced to rope the dopes through the storm. The rain lifted while the wind continued. I had a few hits on Black Para Humpy Ants and MFC Para Crickets. It wasn’t until after Mother In Law that I caught my first fish for the day. While Schroeder navigated us through Boneyard, I was up front and making a cast and heard an earth-shuddering “Ka BLOOSH!” I had generally expected some large boulder that had dislodged itself from the canyon wall to have just made entrance into the river when I looked back and there was no sign of Matt. We looked at each other and were both saying “WTF?” when an arm threw itself onto the side of the boat and Matt comes up laughing and saying “That was hilarious!”

As Matt gave everyone in the canyon a mild peepshow while drying out ALL his clothes, he retold the event. He had been stringing up his rod with a new setup and lost his balance, and just figured “What the hell…” and went face first for a dip. I guess your balance is shot after half a dozen Rogues. We laughed til our guts hurt.

Around 5:30 pm, the wind blew out and we started throwing Caddis patterns. I was able to swing a Hemingway Caddis into the current below us and caught the only brown trout of the whole day. We parked up on Coney Island and fished to the sippers on the riffle and hooked some beauties. We hit the banks all afternoon with ants and hoppers, and Matt continued to huck huge streamers in the deep pools.

There was a decent caddis hatch, but we mostly noticed smaller blue wing olives, which hatch all year here apparently. We continued to fish all throughout the last few sections as we rolled into Little Hole. A perfect day, no worries, plenty of Matt’s famous stories of glory days in Alaska, Liberty Heights sandwiches, and enough consumed sunflower seeds to feed a small nation. The following ride home, however, was dreadful: Instantaneous rolling down of windows, loud music to keep the driver awake, and plenty of caffeine consumption. Thanks to the Boss for letting us take the boat. It was my first float down the Green, and I can’t wait to get back up there in January when there is literally NO ONE on the river…

August 3-8, 2007 The Ranch, Steve Schmidt

I haven't fished the Ranch for this many days in over 20 years. On many trips I've felt like it. This was the first time in a while that I really felt like I was getting tuned in to all the little nuances that this challenging fishery offers.

Five of my high school classmates flew out to join me for a flogging on the Henry's Fork. We couldn't of hit it better. The weather had cooled some, thunderstorms were in the area, and the wind was more than cooperative.

Before my crew arrived Bob "Snake" Nohavac and I had a morning to wander around Millionaires and get a feel for life on the Ranch. Our last trip, the shop trip was a great time, but little was going on. Reports before we arrived mirrored our last visit. Typical, we eagerly suited up and headed into the Lower Ranch with little expectations, just happy to be here.

Callibaetis were already on the water at 7:00am. The early hour left me with only a few hours sleep as a result of another late night drive. Viewing these big spinners quickly removed the numbness in my head. We'd barely found a place to sit, when we spotted our first fish up. That's the last we talked to each other, each going our seperate way until I had to head into town to meet my old friends.

If this first morning was any indication of how our fishing was going to be, we were in for a rare treat of good fishing for a change. After not landing a fish on the Ranch the previous year, I was due. Both Bob and I hooked a number of good fish. With them recently having lowered the river, we either lost or broke off all of them in the moss. It was one of the best mornings I've had in years and if I hadn't hook another fish the rest of the trip, I wouldn't be disappointed.

Pulling up to the Grub stake, Brad and Dione still make the best Sandwiches on the Planet, it's obvious. Several phone messages have already been left on my cell, which typically I hadn't checked announcing their arrival. Several of these guys I hadn't seen for over 30 years. I'm I that old.

The rest of this day was a scramble. Meeting guys, running down Kmart tents that got blown off into the trees. My guys were quickly introduced to the severe weather patterns that can quickly inhabit this basin. On another evening as we waited out a thunderstorm at Osborne Bridge before heading to the river, my rod arched with electricity severely enough that I had to put it down for fear I would be reduced to ashes. I've never had that happen before. The ensuing light show, rainbow and showers were all impressive. The residual calm was almost eerie.

For the next 3 1/2 days we had some great fishing. Since it was their first trip to the Henry's Fork, it was difficult for these guys to know how good the fishing was. Towards the end of our visit, the Honey Ants paid us a visit. On our last day, they dominated the activity. In my thirty years of fishing these waters, it was the best showing of ants I've seen. Not only are these arthropods a treat for the trout, their icing on the cake to any flyfisher who fishes these waters.

After our ant encounter, we headed into the shops to resupply and get some grub. I began to wonder about a conspiracy between the trout and fly shops as once again, I

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