Big Ugly Trout Need Love Too

Dede and Barb have been fly fishing in the Jackson Hole area since the 70’s. I met them as a young buck working in the Jack Dennis Fly Shop in Jackson, Wyoming in 1987. They came in the shop, asked me some questions and quizzed me hard. I was the new kid in town. Fortunately I knew enough that they accepted me and we’ve been friends ever since. For years we never fished together. It’s typical if you work in a fly shop. Your customers become friends but you rarely ever fish with them. It’s because you never have time to fish with all your customer/friends. There’s so many of them and you only have a couple days off a week. But sometimes it works out. Luckily ten years ago it worked out that Granny and I fished with Dede and Barb on one of their secret waters. We had so much fun that we fish together at least once a year ever since.

Kubswin Lake isn’t really one of Dede and Barbs secrets. Anyone who chases big trout about knows Kubswin has some of the largest browns in the entire west, but because it’s a lake they rarely go there. When they go, it’s usually a one time thing because they get skunked. These trout are very hard to catch and as a rule anglers walk away shaking their heads wondering if the lake has any fish in it at all. Granny and I and Dede and Barb have certainly had these days. Nonetheless, that’s where we spent Tuesday and Wednesday

Monday night Granny and I drove to stay and have dinner at Dede and Barbs. These gals take great care of us when we stay over. We brought down some steaks and wine and they cooked it all up with some fresh veggies. Morning came fast and after  some quick coffees we drove to the lake. The weather continues to be as good as you could ask for. Despite Kubswin sitting at over 7,000 ft there was little to no wind and temps reached 80º each day. When we arrived at Kubswin it was almost calm. This sounds good to a rookie lake angler but the truth of the matter is that trout are so spooky under a placid lake that when your cast hits the water all nearby trout retreat to the deep. They think and eagle or an osprey is diving for them. I ran into this repeatedly when I was walking the shoreline and casting to cruisers. All but one took off just from seeing my fly line in the air. The one that stayed around followed and refused my fly.

We all spend more time fly fishing on lakes than the average trout fly fisher and we each have rigs and vests we only take to lakes. My rod of choice is my 6-weight Ross Essence FC. To match that rod I use the Ross Airius Reel and I have five spools to go with. Each spool has a different Rio fly line. There’s a floater, Midge Tip, Intermediate sink, Slow Sink (Type 3), and a Fast Sink (Deep 7). With those I can cover top to bottom of most lakes simply by changing spools. The line I use the most often is the Intermediate which in Rio lines is called the Aqualux.

We each carry a wide range of flies. Most of your once a year lake fly fishers simply pound away with various streamer patterns. Streamers definitely provide some success but I find that most of my catches  are made by patiently sight casting to risers with dry flies or slowly twitching nymph and midge patterns just below the surface. The speed and way you move your flies makes all the difference in the world. Lake fly fishing is extremely challenging and if you haven’t fished them much there’s lots to learn. I enjoy the challenges lakes present me with and especially the chance at catching huge trout. I also find them rarely crowded like many of our best rivers.

It wasn’t until about 1 pm on Tuesday that one of us hooked up. I was daydreaming while retrieving each cast and chatting away with Dede. Then she hooked up. It was obviously a big fish because her reel sang as the beast headed for the middle of the lake. Barb and I reeled in while Granny, who opted  to observe this weekend, came running with the camera. The fight lasted a good five minutes before she netted an obese 23” brown. Fat probably wasn’t the best word to describe this enormous trout. This amazing brown trout was an absolute monster and a perfect example as to why we like the challenge of lake fishing. And rather than eating a huge streamer, this brown ate one of Dede’s small nymphs while she was doing a very slow strip down near the bottom.

Our fishing remained slow both days but was very rewarding. We only landed a total of five fish, but the smallest was 17 inches. Dede caught four of these and three of them were over 20 inches. All the ones over 20 inches were impressive to say the least. One was impressive not only because of his size, but he was one of the ugliest big browns I’ve ever seen! His bottom jaw protruded so far out past his upper it was ridiculous. It’s a wonder he could even eat with this obscurely shaped mouth.

I only landed one but he too was a monster. This brown trout ate an olive bead head leech late in the day  and schooled me out into the lake. I rarely need backing when trout fishing but this fish required about thirty feet of it! It was another great weekend. Next for me will be back to the Harriman Ranch on the Henry’s Fork for the last of the Mahogany Dun hatch.

Our fishing remained slow both days but was very rewarding. We only landed a total of five fish, but the smallest was 17 inches. Dede caught four of these and three of them were over 20 inches. All the ones over 20 inches were impressive to say the least. One was impressive not only because of his size, but he was one of the ugliest big browns I’ve ever seen! His bottom jaw protruded so far out past his upper it was ridiculous. It’s a wonder he could even eat  with this obscurely shaped mouth.

I only landed one but he too was a monster. This brown ate an olive bead head leech late in the day and schooled me out into the lake. I rarely need backing when trout fishing but this fish required about thirty feet of it! It was another great weekend. Next for me will be back to the Ranch on the Henrys Fork for the last of the Mahogany Dun hatch.

as ridiculous. It’s a wonder he could even eat with this obscurely shaped mouth.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

A Last Day Crushing!

Today was my sister Becky and brother-in-law Don’s last day in town. It didn’t look like they were going to go back to New Hampshire with any great fishing stories from this visit. Last week our jaunt to the Henry’s Fork was a near bust (although Becky pulled a hopper away from a beast). Then while they were in Yellowstone Park this week they were blown off Slough Creek by our windiest day of the season. And although yesterday was certainly fun getting three year old Sierra hooked up to some fish at the Victor pond, it wasn’t like Becky or Don got to wade a river for wild rising cutthroats. With that in mind, for their last day I wanted to take them to some place that they were almost guaranteed to catch a few fish. And not just little fish either. I wanted to see them catch some big beautiful fish on dry flies. Piece of cake – right? Well, such a request might be a piece of cake in my boat, but with a three year old and four adults the boat wasn’t an option. We had to walk.

I thought pretty hard about this and last night I came up with an idea – drive as deep into the Canyon of the South Fork as possible and hope to find at least a few cuttys feeding on a riffle. I’ve floated the Canyon several times this summer and the fishing has been no less than spectacular each time. And as long as you don’t mind driving your car up a dirt rod for twenty miles you can access some of this water on foot. By 11 am this morning we found ourselves at the end of the road on the banks of the South Fork Canyon.

We weren’t even out of our cars when Granny spotted a nice cutthroat nymphing. She was leaning out the passenger window staring at a fishy looking spot under a leaning river birch with leaves beginning to turn yellow. “There’s one!” Granny shouted. “Get over here Donald”.

It appeared Becky would be first on Sierra duty as Don already had his vest on and was speeding our way. By now I too was observing the cutty and was glad to see he was also rising to the first of the days hatching PMD’s. He was a hefty trout. He was easily pushing 15”s and thick around the belly. I could see his beautiful orange colorings as I looked down from the dirt road we were perched on. Catching this cutty would make anyone’s trip a success. For starters I had Don tie on a small Chernobyl Ant and wade into position. The trout was weaving in and out of some very strange currents but when I saw the opportune time I told Don to cast. He made a perfect presentation but the cutty had no interest in the ant.

I advised Don not to make another cast and to immediately change to a PMD. I had a feeling we would end up going this route, but it’s so much easier to see a Chernobyl on the water for someone who rarely gets to trout fish we had to try it. Often times the Chernobyl entices the strike. But the Chernobyl is also the type of fly that if the fish wants it he’ll eat it on the first cast. If he doesn’t and you keep trying, he quickly figures out that there’s an angler around and may stop eating everything altogether.

Don tied on a size 16 PMD and began to cast. By now there were two nice cuttys looking for PMD’s and I knew we had a good chance. As expected, the smaller sized fly was difficult to see and Don had trouble landing it where it needed to be. These fish really were in a technical spot and in order to get a good drift the cast needed to be right on the money. Once Don had a feel for the drift he laid the fly right in there and one of those gorgeous cutthroats ate it.

Unfortunately, the cuttys of the South Fork have and uncanny way of not getting hooked. We all saw the mouth close on Don’s fly but when he lifted his rod there was nothing but air. Unbelievable! Now the trout were wise to us and other than a few refusals we didn’t get hooked up.

Then it was Becky’s turn while Don watched Sierra. Granny, Becky and I walked down through some willows to a back eddy where some fresh fish were feeding in a bubble line. Becky is much more experienced than Don so Granny and I just grabbed a seat on a fallen cottonwood tree and watched. As Granny and I fought off some angry ants Becky presented the fly where it needed to be and a cutty ate instantly. But she too missed her first fish. I tell you, these guys really can be tough to hook. Becky was a little frustrated but she threw right back in there and hooked and landed one of the smaller risers of the pool.

Becky caught a few of the smaller trout before hooking a big one. I saw his large jaws close down on her fly  and the surprised look come over his face when he felt the hook. Then I watched him take off frantically and bolt from side to side in the pool. Becky’s 5-weight was bent and the game was on. By the time I scurried down to her to prepare to take some pictures the brute had worked his way to the main river. As we all know, the current and power of this river is amazing and the cutthroat had a huge advantage. I instructed Becky to put some heat on him and boy did she ever. Unfortunately it was too much heat and she broke him off.

Becky was bummed to say the least. So were Granny and I. There were plenty of fish but there was little to show on my digital. While Granny and I brought along our rods to do a little fishing, we decided that it was best to leave the good fishing opportunities for Don and Becky. We had some errands to do anyway so we headed back to Victor and they stayed.

Becky, Don and Sierra returned to Victor this evening with big smiles. I knew if we left them on their own they would find a way to outsmart the big cuttys of the South Fork. It turns out that Becky landed several more trout from her pool including one nice one like the one she lost. Don also landed two cutthroats. What made one of Dons catches so rewarding was that one was the first he missed to start the day!

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

Fishing and Gliding - Yes Gliding not Guiding

After a 2010 summer record, four days in a row without casting a fly, today I took my three year old niece Sierra to the Victor pond to reel in a few fish. My sister Becky and her husband Don have been in the area for about ten days. They drove all the way out from New Hampshire with young Sierra who already has a serious liking to everything the outdoors has to offer from hiking, wildlife viewing, skipping rocks, and running barefoot in the grass. She even seems to like fishing.

Last week we spent two days camping and fishing the Harriman Ranch of the Henry’s Fork with them. The trip was kind of a bust with horrible weather and only a few small fish. I never got around to writing the report for those days because shortly after I got home from them I got the horrible news that my friend Rob Merrill drown in the South Fork. I’m sure most of you read the story. At the time of my post, Rob’s body was still missing. He was found Friday afternoon an incredible 34 miles downstream from where his boat overturned. A celebration of Robs life will be held at the Timberline Bar and Restaurant here in Victor on Saturday night from 6:30 pm until 8:30 pm.

There are only a few stocked trout left in the Victor pond by the time Labor Day comes around. This little pond has had the living daylights pounded out of it by so called “one weekend a century” anglers since Memorial Day Weekend. The crafty anglers have bombarded these poor trout with worms, powerbait, marshmallows, lures, minnows, bacon, spaghetti, and perhaps even dynamite. The few fish left have literally seen it all and if you are dumb enough to think they will devour any fly you throw at them, I can guarantee you will be sorry. These survivors are brilliant!

Becky, Don and I fished for two hours and only managed to land a few of the wise little trout between us. Remarkably, Sierra caught one of them while reeling in her bright pink closed-faced Princess fishing rod outfit. Don cleverly set her up with a good old fashion red and white bobber, but instead of dangling a worm, he tied on an olive tungsten bead head hares ear nymph below it. I didn’t think it would work but heck, it wasn’t much different than the embarrassing rigs grown men have started nymphing with during the last decade. Perhaps they too should spend much less money on their equipment and get themselves a close-faced outfit named after their favorite superhero.

Anyway, Sierra had great fun fishing but then it was lunch time. We stopped by the house and picked up Granny and drove to the Warbirds Cafe in Driggs Idaho. Warbirds is located on the edge of the runway at the Driggs airport and while you eat you watch the valleys small airplane traffic come and go. Just as I was biting into my half pound buffalo burger (which I highly recommend) and sipping a hefty draft beer, our friend Sam Lee pulled up a chair to say hello. We used to see Sam all the time but he got into flying gliders and since then we hardly ever see him. He absolutely loves it and now takes people on glider rides out of Driggs. Sure enough, before I knew it, I was heading up with him for a quick glide after lunch.

Now I’ve always wanted to take a trip in a glider. But if I were to plan it, I’d do it before lunch rather than after. And I probably wouldn’t treat myself to a pint before the trip either. But there was no planning involved, just a spontaneous answer of, “Yes I’ll go”. Well, the good news is that I’m quite solid when it comes to a rough ride at sea or major turbulence on a small airplane and fortunately for both Sam and I, both buffalo and beer sat right where they belonged. Best of all we had a fantastic ride high above Teton Valley and just west of the Tetons. If you’ve never been thousands of feet up without an engine carrying you then it’s hard to explain this adventure. Just imagine this though - there was hardly a cloud in the sky today and if there were climbers on top of the Grand Teton we probably could have seen them. What I can say best about the trip is that if you pass through Teton Valley and Driggs Idaho, YOU MUST treat yourself to a trip with Sam.

It was an incredible day today. It seems we never know what will come from a summer day in the Yellowstone area. What began as a simple few hours on the water with a three year old and some family turned into an unexpected adventure 12,000 feet in the sky. I love it! As for the future, tomorrow is the last day with my sister and her family and I’m sure we will fish again. Then they head home and Thursday begins the Jackson Hole One Fly Contest.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

May My Rod Rest in Peace

When the geese flew over my house early Friday morning I was a bit suspicious. They were in formation as if it were October – about fifteen of them honking away. But it’s only August I thought to myself. It’s just a fluke. It’s the middle of summer. Well, Derek and I froze our butts off from 4 pm until dark today.

Derek Mitchell is an old-time friend of mine. Derek and I met in about 1988 when he joined the fly shop team at the Jack Dennis Outdoor Shop where I worked. We fished hard together that summer and have done so many more since. We’ve traveled the world, smoked cigars and shared a six pack from time to time. And now, despite him having a family and living in California, we still manage to fish together at least once a year if not more.

Derek works for Mountain Hardwear. Yesterday afternoon he finished up working a trade show in Salt Lake City. The minute the show was over, he drove his rental to Victor to meet me for three days of fishing. He got to my house at about midnight. Rather than charge out the door at the crack of dawn today we awoke casually and I ran a few fishing ideas by him over coffee. We settled on some of my favorites, Quake Lake, Hebgen Lake and on Monday, the Henrys Fork.

You’d think we were getting old or something. We didn’t leave Victor Idaho for our two hour drive until 10 am. By the time we stretched our legs and drank a celebratory beer on the platform at the Last Chance parking lot on the Henrys Fork, visited with and got our Montana licenses from Kelly Galloup and then launched my boat at Quake Lake, it was 3 pm. Finally I fired up my 3.3 Mercury and putted us up the lake to my favorite spot. There was a light chop on the water and I was sure the fish would be rising. Well, they were rising. But as we pulled into the dead trees, a main feature of Quake Lake, the first of a weekend of thunderstorms hit and we had to beach the boat and duck heavy rain, hail and wind in the trees.

The storm lasted a couple of hours. The lake roared with whitecaps and high winds changed direction at least a 100 times. Safe drift boating with the 3.3 would have been risky and fishing would have been hopeless during the storm. Thanks to some good cigars and icy cold Budweiser’s the time went unnoticed as we remained ashore and caught up on the happenings in our lives. Once the weather settled we pushed the boat back out to catch the evening hatch.

Things didn’t start out so hot. The temperature dropped at least twenty degrees. There were no bugs and not a fish to be seen. While Derek twitched big dries at the base of the eerie looking 50 year old dead Quake Lake trees protruding from the deep, I prowled the area with nymphs using my 6-weight Ross with my intermediate sinking Rio Aqulalux line. Hand over hand I slowly retrieved my Ben Byng Damsel and an English Buzzer three feet below the surface. Neither of us touched a fish.

The temperature continued to plummet so much that I set my rod down and pulled my emergency Tupperware from under the boat seat to get out a sweater. As I was digging around I heard a strange noise. It was as if something was getting pulled from the boat. Unfortunately it was. My rod, reel and line were leaving the boat! When fishing Quake Lake I fish amidst the middle of the dead trees. Sometimes I tie up to a tree but tonight we were slowly drifting and bumping off the trees. Sadly, my second fly that was dangling hooked a tree as we drifted past and my outfit got yanked from the boat. I spun around just in time to see the outfit plunge.

Let’s go back two years. I was in Egypt chasing Nile perch and we got caught in a bad storm in the middle of Lake Nasser. As we sped for shore, my 10-weight rig got bounced out of the boat by a rogue wave. I instinctively dove out of the boat for it because the tip was still in view, slowly sinking between the huge waves. But because of the speed in which we were traveling and my inability to see a damn thing once overboard amongst the waves and wind, the rod was gone. I got tossed around in the waves so badly I nearly drowned during the time it took the boat to navigate back to find me in the rough seas. Worst of all, I had my camera around my neck when I dove so that was lost as well. There’s even another time in Panama when I dove for my 14-weight, but that’s a long story so we won’t get into it. Let’s just say, I don’t dive for rods these days.

So when I spun around on Quake Lake and saw my rod sinking, I had second thoughts about leaping aimlessly into the creepy dark water. Even though I literally had one foot on the edge of my boat gunnels and my weight leaned forward to make the dive, I didn’t do it. The rod sank too fast. And thank God I didn’t because I had my new Canon camera around my neck, my phone and wallet in my pockets and I was already cold enough. I also had on lots of clothes and a full rain suit. Swimming would have been difficult to say the least.

That rod was my 6-weight Ross FC. Although you may not suspect it by the price tag on this rod, it’s one of the best 6-weights I’ve ever owned. I have taken that rod around the world with me this year and taken over 25 different fish species on it since fishing Brazil last March. This was a horrendous loss. Not only that, attached to it was my Ross Airius Reel. This is my lake reel and I have five extra spools for the reel, each with a Rio line of a special sink rate. This was a disaster.

Shock hits you hard when you have such a loss. It wasn’t so much the financial loss but the sentimental loss. This outfit was an old friend. It went on every outing with me and let me tell you, that’s a lot lately. As I pulled out my 4-weight and tied on a parachute Adams, I was in a daze. I kept replaying my last glimpse of the sinking rod. Should I of dove or should I of not? Man it was brutal.

About that time I heard a slurp. It was nearly dark so seeing wasn’t easy. But indeed it was a feeding trout followed by another and another and in minutes the lifeless lake came alive. There were brown trout rising everywhere! Before I could clip the tag end of my Clinch Knot, Derek was hooked into a leaping 13” brown. From then until 10 pm in the pitch dark, Derek and I landed over twenty browns and one rainbow on dry flies. It was unreal!

There’s nothing like a difficult fishing day that starts tough but ends big. That’s lake fishing for you. Many times you get to a lake and nothing’s happening. You blind fish with every fly in your box but to no avail. Most anglers pack it up and run to the nearest river. But my advice is that if you plan to lake fish, dedicate yourself. Spend the whole day on the lake you chose. Because every trout in the lake must eat at some point and if you are there it can be incredible. Derek and I gritted out the pain of no fish and a lost rod, reel and line, but the fishing turned on and we were rewarded big time.

It’s now unbelievably cold. It’s easily in the thirties. We had big plans of burgers at the Grizzly Bar tonight but it’s too late. Plus we are exhausted and tomorrow morning it’s up before sunrise and off to Hebgen to see if the Callibaetis will hatch. A couple pieces of this wet fried chicken in the bottom of the cooler will surely cure our appetite. On that note, were sleeping right here at the Quake Lake boat launch.

Jeff Currier Global Flyfishing Web site

Norwegian Fishing Culture

July 13, 2010 Day 4 It’s amazing what a night of sleep will do for you when you haven’t had a good one in a few days. Vladi Trzebunia and I jumped from bed at about 6 am and listened to the birds over a pot of Norwegian coffee. Half way through, Vladi began giving me careful instructions on how to go about catching an Atlantic salmon on a fly. Few anglers have ever caught a wild Atlantic salmon. Populations have been overharvested and suffer incredibly from pollution and dams. Efforts in North America and Europe have returned small populations but overall there are only a few places left that have them running wild. I have fished Atlantic salmon only twice before. Once was a weak attempt in Maine and the other in Scotland on the River Tweed. I failed to catch a salmon either time and sort of wrote off my chances of ever catching one. That was until I met Vladi and now our trip to Norway. Even in Norway salmon populations are nothing what they used to be, however Norway does have some of the best rivers in the world. Norway is also known for some of the largest salmon left in the world. With my limited salmon fishing experience and the knowledge of how few Atlantic salmon there are, I came here in hopes of catching one wild Norwegian Atlantic salmon of any size. When Atlantic salmon migrate from the ocean to a river they do it to spawn and don’t feed. Therefore, getting one to take a fly is not an easy task. This has led to some amazing flies and tactics that have been developed over centuries. Luckily after eight years of Atlantic salmon guiding, Vladi knows many of these tricks. The River Gaula has numerous beats. Vladi and I are camped in Stǿren on the banks of the river on what is referred to as the “Stǿren Campground” beat. The “Storen” beat is numbered 1, 2a and 2b and 3. 2a and 2b are the only “Fly Fishing Only” sections. So first thing today Vladi got us organized to fish there. In most of Europe, there’s a fee for the beat you chose on top of the regular fishing license. Norway is the same and this famous beat cost 250 crowns ($40 US) for a twenty-four hour session. Vladi has chosen not to fish today to help me get that first salmon. When we arrived on 2a and 2b there were several fly fishermen taking turns fishing the beat. The way you fish an Atlantic salmon beat is you start at the top (upstream end) and after every cast you take three steps down. Once you are at the bottom (downstream end) of the beat you get out and back in line you go. This beat takes approximately 30 minutes to fish. I was at the back of a line of about five anglers. At first this may sound horrible but it was cool to hang out and meet the other anglers in the salmon hut. I would also find out later that time between turns provides valuable and needed rest. Most of these anglers are extremely experienced in Atlantic salmon fly fishing and true addicts. Some spend the entire summer at the Stǿren campground fishing beats 2a and 2b. Every one of them uses a two handed spey rod. I was the only one with a single handed rod. I quickly realized that I was immersed in a fly fishing culture. It was similar to opener of the Ranch on the Henry’s Fork. Long time friends gather and catch up on stories while catching some fish. The only difference is we walk around trying to catch a few huge finicky rainbows while these guys do it for Atlantic salmon. Best of all, these guys welcomed Vladi and me into their group. Today the group consisted of several anglers from Denmark, an Italian, three East Germans, a family of Swedes and several Norwegians. They loved that they had an American in the mix and were very excited that I was after my first salmon. And like I do for any newcomers I meet on the Henry’s Fork, all of these guys started giving me tips on how to go about catching my salmon. Already I’m in love with this new fly fishing experience. Despite witnessing some of the most unbelievable spey casting you could ever watch, no one hooked a fish while I waited my turn. When my turn came there was lots of encouragement and tips from the group. Vladi strolled down to the river with me and coached me on how to fish to the salmon. There are certain angles in which you land a cast and all kinds of methods for presenting the fly. For the most part, you cast as far as you can downstream at a 45 degree angle and let the fly swing until it’s directly below you. Some guys move the fly a little while others keep it still. When a salmon takes the fly it’s usually gentle and you then give them line – far different than anything I am used to. I watched each angler before me land 120 foot casts with their spey rods all the way to the other bank where the occasional salmon free-jumped. I was seriously handicapped with my 9-foot 9-weight because my average cast was about 80 feet. I addressed my disadvantage quickly and rather than ripping my underwear trying to cast 120 feet I concentrated on seams and rocks on my side of the river. There’s no doubt that beginners luck exists. As my fly swung on each and every presentation I knew something was going to happen. Sure enough, fifteen minutes into my turn I had an aggressive take and set the hook. It was a nice fish but by no means a huge salmon. Everyone came running down to see. After a good fight I landed a sea trout. Everybody was pretty amazed that the “single hand rookie” got a fish so fast. Not only that, sea trout are rarer than the salmon on the Gaula River. It was a lucky catch. My fishing ticket started at 9 am today and runs for 24 hours. While most guys’ fish about three hours then take a break and then come back for another three hours, I fished right through from 9 am until 10 pm. Now I’m tired and hungry as heck. I’m really excited about my sea trout in my first pass. Unfortunately that was my only fish today. In fact, it was the only fish caught today. There’s no doubt it was beginners luck and I need to mentally prepare myself for a tough week in search of that one salmon. The plan now is to get some sleep for a few hours then Vladi and I will get up at 3 am and fish out my ticket till 9 am. As we climb into the camper here for dinner (more pasta) it’s starting to rain. Vladi says when it rains fresh ocean salmon come into the river. Vladi is usually right! Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

The HF Marathon

June 22, 2010

There’s nothing like the longest days of the year. Being able to spend fifteen hours or more outdoors in daylight can’t be beat. That’s why twenty-four years ago I came up with the “Marathon”. The Marathon is basically my longest day of fishing of the year. What I mean is actual hours on the water. The Marathon always takes place in the Harriman Ranch of the Henry’s Fork River and I always fish and hike my way from the Last Chance parking lot all the way down to Osborne Bridge on Highway 20 and then back. It’s a total distance of about eight river miles.

For all these years the Marathon has taken place on the first Tuesday after the Summer Solstice because that’s been my day off for twenty-three years. On the very first one I was a young buck with young friends and we left the parking lot at 5 a.m. and fished until 11:15 p.m.! We never stopped for anything other than snacks and cigars. In fact, at that age I remember our snacks consisted of chips and warm beer. Such long hours went on for many of the early Marathons, but the  last five or so years the hours have been more civilized with parking lot departures of 7 a.m. and returns of 10 p.m. – still plenty of fishing. Some years there have been as many as ten of us while others had a mere three or four. Regardless of who came over the years, the end result is one of my most enjoyable fishing days of the year.

I’ve also kept pretty good track of catch rates and river conditions. The best Marathon was about fifteen years ago. The Ranch was full of fish that were transplanted from Island Park Reservoir when it was drained to kill Utah Chubs. On that Marathon I landed a remarkable twenty-three truly big fish. A fish is not even noted during the Marathon unless it tops eighteen inches. Unfortunately like the steroid years in Major League Baseball, that year definitely has an asterisk. On a normal year, the average catch on the Marathon is three fish. Last year was my toughest in recent history with one twenty-incher of which I did not catch until 9:30 p.m.

Yesterday Granny and I arrived at the Last Chance parking lot at 7:30 a.m. Although a few friends planned to be there for Marathon 2010, it was just Granny and I. Granny normally does about a half Marathon so I suggested she relax in the morning and track me down later. I’d never done a Marathon solo and was pretty excited for it. I left the lot at 7:50 am and immediately crossed the river and walked down the far bank. It was cold and cloudy. The river was void of a hatch so conditions weren’t ideal for finding rising fish but things would improve as the day warmed up. Naturally I watched for rising fish as I walked anyway but I was really getting myself deep into the Harriman Ranch so I could make it all the way to Osborne Bridge and back before dark.

By 10 a.m. I was two miles in and hadn’t made a cast. There were no fish rising and in the Ranch you don’t blind fish. Finally, I saw my first rise at 10:15, much later than normal for June 22 on the Ranch. I waited fifteen minutes or so but the fish never rose again. I hoofed it another twenty minutes to the center of the Ranch where you find Cattleman’s Bridge. Another thirty minutes walk downstream of Cattleman’s Bridge is the famous Millionaire’s Pool. Between Cattleman’s Bridge and Millionaire’s Pool is one of the least fished sections of the Ranch. I walked downstream for about ten minutes then got comfortable on a high bank that has held fish in years past. Sure enough, I barely dug my water bottle from my pack when out in front of me a nice rainbow sipped down one of the first insects of the day. I chomped down some chicken and observed. This was by no means a feeding frenzy, but about every five or so minutes the fish rose gently, barely breaking the surface of the slow moving river.

I had the same ant on that caught me a nice fish in the Ranch on Saturday morning. I figured if it worked on Saturday why not start with it today. I waded near the trout to make my presentation. On the Henry’s Fork, I prefer to cast down-and-across to the fish. What this means is I stand upstream and away from the fish. Then I land my fly upstream of him and past him. Then I slide my dry fly into his feeding lane by raising my rod. Once I think it’s just right, I lower my rod and feed my fly to the fish. I do this repeatedly until I’m sure the rainbow gets a few good looks. A couple good drifts without an eat and I change my fly.

When fishing to trout with PHD’s in entomology, make your first cast count. Make the cast as perfectly as you can and be ready to set the hook. I got my cast right, but with my aging eyesight, I couldn’t see my ant. Sure enough the trout rose in the vicinity of my fly. On my sharper fishing days I would have immediately set the hook, but for some reason I hesitated. Big mistake, the fish did eat my ant and by the time I set the hook he’d tasted metal and spit it. I was too late and the huge fish was gone.
It was trout one, Currier nothing. Not the way I wanted to start my Marathon, but that’s the Ranch. By now there was a full blown hatch of Pale Morning Duns, March Browns, Baetis and a spattering of caddis. Theoretically it should have been easy to stumble upon another rising fish but it took at least hour of walking downstream. This next fish had a body guard. Body guards are small trout feeding ridiculously close to the larger trout that you want to catch. The fear here is that when you present your fly to the big fish,  the smaller fish will beat him to it and when you hook him he will scare away the fish you want to catch. The strategy is don’t set the hook on the smaller fish. Let him swat at it till he realizes it isn’t real and doesn’t eat it again. Then you have a chance at the big guy. Sure enough, despite knowing what to do, on my first cast the dink ate my fly and I stupidly set the hook and caught the ten inch rainbow. And sure enough while fighting the body guard I spooked the larger trout.
At 3 Granny met up with me just above the Millionaires Pool, just when I found my next sizable rising fish. I set her up with a PMD and had her cast to him. On her third cast the trout ate her fly and she set the hook and missed him. That was that. We had lunch and a beer then she headed back. The hatch was over and there weren’t even small trout to cast too. I continued my walk downstream to a favorite area just above the Osborne Bridge and miraculously found some small trout to cast to. They were feeding on left over cripples and spent mayflies that hatched earlier in the day. I landed several of them and at 6 began my long four mile hike back.

The Ranch on a summer night is one of the most incredible places on Earth. Remarkably, I walked most of it tonight without seeing another single angler. That made it even better than usual. The only problem was there were no feeding fish. Usually the famous Bonefish Flats section always has at least a few rising monsters even when there’s no hatch. But tonight there were none.

At 9 p.m. I was a mile from finished and I still hadn’t caught a big fish. In all the years of doing the Marathon I’ve always got at least one big fish. I had to get one. Last year I was in the very same position and one of my favorite little nooks in the Ranch saved me. So all business, I headed to my spot.

I think there was a mere two anglers in the entire Ranch tonight and sure enough, they were both staked out in my promising location. From the distance I could see both dudes were casting to actively rising fish. Darn! I was too late. You might think if the trout are rising here, they must be everywhere, but that’s not always a guarantee. My little honey hole is like a gigantic back eddy where insect debris accumulates throughout the day. Big lazy hawgs like to swim into the area late at night and clean up what insects are left.

At 9:45 I was starved. I was exhausted and my legs were shot. Walking in waders and straining your eyes for fifteen hours takes its toll. I knew Granny was patiently waiting at the parking lot. I was sure she was starved too and she’d kill me if we missed dinner at Trout Hunter that stops serving at 11. There was also a massive thunderstorm brewing and headed our way. A skunk on the Marathon was a tough thing to swallow. I had about a ten minute walk left. As I covered the ground I scanned every inch of the bank, every rock and every slick where I’ve caught big fish before. But it was over. The fish had gone to bed, the thunder was overhead and the rain started to fall.

When I hobbled into the lot, sure enough, Granny was waiting. It was nearly dark and the rain fell harder. As I handed her my rod to put away she asked me if I finally landed a pig. When I told her I hadn’t she replied, “You were out there for nearly fifteen hours you crazy ****. I’ll bet you’re about done with this “Marathon” thing.”

“Ha”, I responded, “not a chance. Today was the best day I’ve had in a year.” And I meant it. The Ranch of the Henry’s Fork is a serious sickness and although most fly fisherman don’t understand it, getting an ass-kicking on the Ranch is what I live for. I’ll admit, a blank on the Marathon is a disappointment, but I knew I wouldn’t make it through life without one. It’s time for a few days to catch up on my art and then be ready for a report from the Big Hole. It will be nice to sit in a boat for a few days, cast big dry flies to the bank and day dream about walking the Ranch.

 

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site