Water tested, fisherman approved

I always find it interesting when I stumble upon people using a product that wasn't entirely designed for the purpose that they ended up using it for. Like this distinguished gentleman, I have purchased many personal small water craft over the years and each one seems like it has a fatal flaw. I'll recap for the sake of discussion.

First, the float tube. Seems like a solid concept and it performs well enough. The Pros? A: its cheap($60-$200), B: its small, C: it fits into most overhead storage bins. In fact, its perfect as long as you A: Don't plan on moving around much, B: Have a really warm pair of neoprenes C: Don't mind that many of the storage compartments behind you cannot be accessed while your in the craft, and D: It's not designed for moving water. All these things can be overlooked if you intend to fish small lakes in mid-summer. Though I could say more, I don't want to pick on the float tube too much as it definitely has its place.

I know there are a few hybrids out there but not enough to warrant a category making our second craft the pontoon boat. I had really high hopes for this craft and most of them have been realized. However a few nagging flaws continue to beg the question, is there a better idea out there?

Pontoon pros are many. A: They are comfy and more maneuverable, B: they're warmer than float tubes, C: They're easy to get in and out of, D: they're pretty darn good in moving water (understand that not all of them are created equal and their whitewater competence is subject to this fact) and E:, if your lazy, you can hook a motor up to most of 'em. Sounds like a slam dunk right? Well, if it weren't for a few things it would be.

A: They aren't cheap ($300 for a base model and $1200 for the good ones) but that's okay if they are worth it, B: they sit high in the water letting the wind whip them like a sail every which way with no apparent favoritism, C: they have a ton of tiny catch points for stripped line to entangle with when throwing streamers, D: They are difficult to store, assemble, and transport, and E: lots of parts to break or lose. It happens to the best of us.

After the pontoon comes the hard-shell sit-on-top kayak. These popular crafts have been on the market for some time now and as you can see, folks are hauling in some big fish in these boats. They are sleek, fast and highly maneuverable but they too have a few deal-breakers. A: they are a pain to store and transport. B: They are almost exclusively designed for flat water or very slow rivers. C: They are pretty tippy which makes a few folks uneasy. D: they are also pretty expensive. (starting at about $700 and peaking at $1500)

So where should you spend your money?

In my mind, speed and maneuverability are huge, that is unless you like fishing 50 yards off the shore from where you parked your car. If your craft can do both it opens up a vast amount of water and therefore options. Second is comfort and stability which some may say that without the latter you cant be comfortable. This means separation from water as it can be very cold, and a good variety for body positioning to avoid cramped legs on long trips. Third would be storage transport and assembly. I for one do not live in a McMansion. I don't have a separate room dedicated to my personal watercraft.

My recommendation?

Try an IK.

Inflatable kayaks are the best of all worlds. What they sacrifice in open water speed they make up in whitewater worthiness. The one shown at left goes for $600, is rated to run any rapid you have the gumption to attempt, is super easy to inflate, store and transport, and doesn't have any obnoxious hooks, rivets, or gizmos to catch on your line. I spent 5 hours stripping line in a very cold day and suffice it to say I was as comfortable as I was in any other craft. Later I decided to test the whitewater merit of this craft on a technical, class 3 river which also happens to provide excellent fishing. Alas, it handled it with ease. You don't have to take my word for it though, most colleges and some local outfitters in areas with decent rivers are renting these boats for about $25 to $35 a day. Colleges are by far the cheapest so start there. If your experience is anything like mine, you will be hunting down a local retailer in no time.

As always, good luck.

It's the tying that binds us.

First of all, I'd like to apologize for the brief hiatus that I've taken from writing. Suffice it to say that my home now has one more remodeled room and a much happier wife living in it.

I've been at this whole fly fishing thing for quite a while now and more often than not I find myself instructing others as they begin their respective fishing careers. I don't mind the roll of instructor as long as I get some time to fish myself. Perhaps my children are responsible for teaching me to enjoy the success of others as much as my own. However, every time I stand back defending myself against the often unruly casting of the beginning fly fisher, it occurs to me that one element of success is not mutually shared between the student and the teacher.

The reward of successful creation.

I started tying flies shortly after I began fishing and much of that I credit to an experience I had as a young man. Years before I actually began fishing of my own accord, a 27 year old fellow named Tom took me and a friend up to a local river to show us the world of fly fishing. I was probably 13 or 14 at the time and though I caught several fish, it was how I caught them that mattered. Tom brought us over to his house and made us tie a few of what I now know to be sow bugs. I was overwhelmed by the array of tiny instruments and delicate craftsmanship required to tie a very simple fly. I was thoroughly impressed by the speed in which Tom created these tiny flies and though it took 10 years before I would acquire in earnest, any measurable degree of skill, it taught me that in Toms world, tying was an inseparable part of fly fishing.

Like so many other things in life, this puritan concept waned as I entered my mid twenties, and for a spell, was replaced by instantly gratifying, (though much more expensive) trips to the fly shop. This degradation of principles was accompanied by silly phrases like "there are flies you tie and flies you buy". While true to some extent, this concept can be exploited far beyond its original intent until your buy-to-tie ratio is way out of wack. For some, this ratio really doesn't matter and I have no intent to wage an argument in that arena, other than to say that I'm right and you're wrong. [insert sarcasm here] Seriously. I doubt I alone will place an army of fly tiers out of a job merely because I think its better to catch a fish on a fly I tied, but guess what, I do. Just like grilling your own burger, changing your own oil, and chopping your own wood, a man could let someone else do those things but the word "man" may mean a little less when he's done.

If it was merely a matter of gratification, my argument would hold little water. My good friend SM makes a good living and I imagine his paycheck is about as gratifying as my fly box, we both get the same feeling when they're opened up. It's the notion that tying your flies is an integral part of the process of catching a fish which is ultimately debatable. I cling to this notion simply because without it, I'd eventually find myself devouring a Five Guys burger sitting on a $10.00 bundle of firewood I bought at a gas station while Jiffy Lube wraps up their 100 point mega muffler inspection on my Mazda Miata. Not until they tell me that I have a crack in my split shaft carbon s-groove do I actually get under the car to see for myself. Simply put, you live a life dependent upon someone else's opinion, experience & expertise and that's is the decision that must be made. (for the record, I do not own a Mazda Miata. If I did, this discussion would be secondary to a much larger problem!) I for one choose to tie, whenever I can and wherever I can. I've not graduated to the class of streamside tier just yet but I do what I can. For those of you who have never wound a hook, take a rainy day this spring and give it a whirl. You'll be surprised at how many fish will accept your first attempts regardless of their imperfections, truly a life lesson for all of us.

Today is Sunday and Sunday is my tying day. I wish all of you a good spring, tiers and non-tiers alike. Until next time.

In case you've been living in a cave, may I introduce...

It's called a Thingamabobber. That's right, Thing-a-ma-bob-ber. It's one of those things that we all should have invented a long time ago and none of us did. Well, except the guys at Westwater Products in Utah that is. They have managed to nullify all other indicators (of which there are many) virtually overnight. The Thingamabobber replaces my previous favorite, the Fish Pimp (I know, it's stupid) and I'm greatful for that. They float higher, have far less snag points, cannot come off (unless your line breaks), and are easily adjustable. The only draw back is for those who sell nymphing indicators who now sell a whole lot less. A canister of 6 Fish Pimps used to last me a few months and after lending out a few to buddies and a few breaking, and a few lost, they're gone. But the Thingamabobber, if you can keep 'em in your vest or pack, you can keep 'em forever. I suppose UV degradation is the only thing that could take 'em down over time but gee, what are we talkin' 150 days in the sun or more? I think I could handle that. So your local shop owners may not love em' but I guarantee they use them. Do yourself a solid and go buy a few packs in varying sizes. You will thank us after your first outing.

I've included a video which describes how to use them, for some it may look obvious but if I had a dollar for every time I've had to... nevermind. You can also check out the folks at West Water Products by clicking here if you'd like. They have a few other interesting products including a new addition called the Unibobber which promises to tantalize the imagination of every fly tier out there.

Mastering the Art of Fly Fishing Art

I remember the first time I looked at a painting by Bob White. My friend had a large signed print hanging in a frame above his couch. I stared into it for some time as I stood in his living room. The painting managed to draw me in toward the rather modest image of an older fellow searching his fly box, knee deep in a misty gray river. This fellow wasn't landing his first Tarpon on a fly, or casting to the elusive Permit, or holding up a ridiculously large Alaskan Rainbow, conversely, he was searching his hand-tied flies for something that would work on that particular river, that particular morning. His line was dry, his net empty, only the solace and beauty of the river accompanied him and I found myself envious of his contentment.

I, like many of us, have often fallen victim to many a fishing video where titles like "Trout Gone Wild", though entirely fabricated by my imagination, would not be out of place. These videos showcase clip after clip of folks casting, fighting, and landing trophy size fish for a solid 90 minutes. My wife, as many wives do, refer to this as fish porn and they are not far off. When you first begin viewing said videos, you get all excited and ready to head out to some exotic locale to slay monster trout like a fish porn star. By the end of the film however, you are supremely desensitized to the euphoric sensations that would normally accompany the landing of a fish of that magnitude.

So here we are, mounting yet another angle to the age old debate between what is art, and what is pornography. Scholars and art connoisseur's the world over have been at it for centuries and little consensus has been reached between the two parties. On this particular front however, let me soundly interject my opinion on the matter. I will agree that there is much fish porn out there, pinned up in offices and break rooms throughout the ranks of fisherman, but the work of Bob White is not to be listed among them.

From his studio in Marine on St. Croix, Minnessota, Bob Whites' work has been featured in many of well known fly fishing author, John Geirachs' books and articles, as well as numerous publications including Fly Rod & Reel & Ducks Unlimited Magazine. His artwork is displayed in both private and corporate collections on 6 continents. Bob is truly one of the most inspiring sporting artists of our day. If you're interested in adding some grace and beauty to your living room, I highly recommend clicking Whitefish Studio to learn more about the work of Bob White. Tell your wife or girlfriend that Bobs' art is approved by the WCLDR, you know, the Wives Coalition of Living Room Decor. (which doesn't actually exist, but if it did, they would approve it.) Good luck fellas.

When the rivers get high, I fish with stoners.

We live in a state where 90% or more of our life-blood waters are provided by snow. Lately, it seems like the bulk of that snow falls in late winter, then lingers during the utterly confusing identity crisis that makes up spring weather in the high desert. By May, the snow that has spent the winter nestled in the mountain valleys is baked by the 90 degree summer sun, transforming it into water which hastily makes its way to the lowest point it can find. When this water isn't being channeled away to the next awesomely beige super-scale housing development, it forms a river, which frequently supports fish.

That being said, these creeks and rivers (which by most standards, are nearly all creeks) while just large enough to support fish during most of the year, morph into a mighty toilet bowl (you know, the kind that feels like your strapped to the rudder of a DC12 when you flush), for about 2 months. During this time, most fisherman head to a few "regulated flow" tail waters as well as the iconic stillwaters which, during ice-off, attract fisherman like a Super Target attracts wives. Some folks avoid the blown rivers because frankly, they're quite dangerous. Others just complain that the fishing is just no good and head off to join the masses at Currant Creek and Strawberry in hopes of improving their tight-line mojo.

I must say then, after pulling up to the Madison River in early June of 2009, that I took one look at the river and questioned the sanity of those who choose to wade this section of river. The "never ending riffle" looked more like a never ending wave train of moderately turbid water. Fortunately, I was in the presence of greatness (Kelly Galloup) and as such, received great advice on how to fish "pushy water". Fish don't stop eating, in fact, they eat more. They have to really, they're burning more calories working in the faster water. The slow water seams normally sought after by trout and therefore fishermen, are lost in the torrent, but a new area of calmer water almost always appears.

The bank.

"Take it to the bank" he says. "That's where a lot of the fish are holding". Sure enough, after a moments inspection, a 12"-24" (24" if your lucky) strip of slightly slower water was evident along almost every gravel bank I looked at. Normally, I wouldn't think to fish there until much later in the season when the terrestrials had entered the scene. I tied on a healthy size 6 Kaufman's Stone and began drifting my fly down the seam just a foot from the shore. The technique was money, money I threw right back at the bank.

Upon arriving back home in the great state of Utah, I surmised that the same method must work on our "rivers" during high water. I pulled into a well established parking lot on the then, quite high Middle Provo and to my surprise, I was one of just two cars. I ventured out to the swollen waterway and tossed my fly toward the rivers edge. Though the Provo doesn't support the the giant salmonfly nymphs that reign supreme in Montana, it does have a number of smaller, though still significant stonies that fish seem to love. I smiled incessantly as I reeled in my third, then fourth healthy brown. I looked around to see if there was anyone I could perform the rub-it-in dance for (I have no idea what this dance looks like but you get the picture) but there was nobody. I managed to have a solitary moment of profound success on the busiest river in Utah.

Perhaps many of you will read this and still vote to spend the high-water months fishing the epic ice-off event at the Berry, or the early season sanctuary of Currant Creek and if you do, that's alright with me. Those events are legend and rightly deserve some attention. Just don't jump on your local web community and rate the fishing as "poor" when it's really just not to your liking. Remember, the fish are still in there, and as this fisherman will attest, they have a bad case of the munchies.

IF YOU GO...

Kelly Galloups' Slide Inn is a wonderful operation with accommodations for every budget. I've stayed in 2 of the cabins and used the RV park. It's right on the river and Kelly and his guides are not only extremely knowledgeable, they are great hosts too.

They can be reached by clicking Slide Inn

or the old fashioned way listed below.

150 US Highway 287 South
Cameron, Montana 59720

Telephone

(406) 682-4804

Yet Another Meaning for Fish Taco.

Few things come across my desk that really impress me. I have Patagonia's logo as well as Simms logo on my blog because I use their products and I like them a lot. I receive nothing from them and this site is in no way commission based. That being said, for every decent product that comes out, 10 more thoughtless atrocities come out with it. When I stumbled upon The Simms Headwaters Taco Bag I instantly smiled. In addition to fishing, I've been an avid climber for over 20 years. Climbers have been using similarly designed products for a very long time to store, transport, and disperse their ropes. Climbers designed such products because their rope is their lifeline. It's probably a bit of a stretch to say that a pair of waders would equate to a lifeline, (though I'm sure that somewhere out there, somebody has a story...) but they sure as hell can make the difference between a marginal day and a great day on the water.

I drive a white truck, I call him Mighty Whitey though, in truth, he's pretty gutless. I call him that for his self esteem really. Mighty has a camper shell in which I stash my fishing gear all summer long. I never know when I'll fish next and I like to be ready. A few years ago I began using my wife's fancy yoga mat to lay on the ground beneath my tailgate, preventing dirt from getting in my boots and waders when I change. She doesn't use it, and it seemed like a good idea. Though it works for this purpose, it's a bit cumbersome. Of course, if I get the itch to pull a downward dog before I hit the river, it's perfect.

The best part about the bag is the price, at an MSRP of $29.95. it's hard not to buy a couple of them. I requested one to test prior to writing this article but alas, my request was not granted. I did however, purchase one of them from a local fly shop and I am pretty impressed. My only complaint, the zipper is a little undersized, even if it's a YKK.

The Headwaters Taco Bag Specs are as follows:

• Large circular design that easily zips closed to keep wet waders and boots from dripping onto car interior
• Waterproof fabric prevents wet gear from leaking onto the car or floor of the lodge
• Large enough to hold up to 2 stockingfoot waders and 2 pairs of wading boots
• Mesh vents help prevent mold and mildew
• Folds neatly when not in use
• YKK® zipper
• 40" x 20"

They are available at fishwest.com

Of Marriage and Trout

Last Saturday was one of those days that people like me dream about. As it was my eleventh Anniversary, I'd found and booked a two night stay at an incredible Bed and Breakfast in Wanship, Utah. In addition, I had decided, with my wife's blessing, to invite my good friend Rich and his wife as their anniversary is just a few days after ours. In my line of thinking, this arrangement was as close to perfect as one like me could hope for. Imagine, after a sound meal at the Wasatch Brewery in Park City, you retire to your suite, spend the night with the woman you love, and when you wake, she goes shopping with your buddies wife and you go fishing with your buddy.

Sound good? Yeah I thought so too.

I've tried this tactic once before, sans added couple, at a well known (but highly overrated) B&B in Heber, Utah. This place sits right on the Provo river and boasts several trout stocked ponds on the grounds which you could have fished if you hadn't spent the bulk of your day repairing the $280 a night room, but that's another story.

In that early attempt to combine fishing with the celebration of marriage, time on the river was painstakingly measured, being careful not to be lost in sport while my wife spent time reading her book in the room. In my limited experience, all mothers pursue silence as a destination, regardless of where it occurs, for at least the first 6 hours of any child free trip. However, this well-spring does wear off, and eventually, that life altering book she's been reading lately will look like the same Curious George number she's been reading to the kids for the last 3 weeks. When that happens, she's going to want some time with you.

Now I have to be cautious here as I don't want to paint myself out to be an anti-anniverserite, which I am not, but two hours, though enough time to read a book, is not nearly enough time to reach fishing nirvana. For that you need about six hours, and though I've done it in four, I wouldn't recommend it. It can really bruise your forearms.

So when I conjured up the idea of a multi-couple event, I felt as though I had discovered the Madison River right behind my office. It had been there all this time but for one reason or another, I couldn't see it. Suddenly, the likelihood of spending more guilt-free time on the river was looking pretty good while my wife's once important book reading thing was morphing into a girlie shopping expedition. We were both pretty darn excited.

That Saturday morning, I woke to the sun beaming through an over-sized plate glass window. The sky was blue, there was a slight dusting of snow still on the ground from the storm a few days before, and the smell of sausage was doing a fantastic job of permeating my yawning nostrils. I got dressed and followed my nose to the dining area area where Tracy, our British host was putting the final touches on what looked to be a handsome spread of various breakfast foods. We made some idle chit chat, she called me a "cheeky bloke" and then we sat down to eat. Fantastic. The food, the company, the setting, all of it was fantastic. This day could not have started better. After a few minutes of "man that was a big breakfast", the moment of truth was upon us.

Rich and I made preparations for the short drive down to the river while the ladies lounged on the couches in the common area. They didn't seem overly excited about the shopping idea and for a moment, I saw my plan crashing down around me. Perhaps I had underestimated the female need to "spend time" with their husbands on these annual events. Could this gravitational pull of emotional need possibly be stronger than the desire to spend money on clothes? I was nervous as we made our way outside and into the truck.

Within a few short minutes were were walking the banks of the Weber River en route to one of my favorite spots. Before us were a half-dozen holes lined up in moderately close succession wherein I had landed a handful of healthy, lake-run rainbows a few weeks earlier. The river, now entering it's spring persona, was running a bit off color and six inches higher than before. Rich and I tied on our respective offerings and began working the deeper runs. For the first few hours we fished while keeping a weary ear on our cell phones. At any moment, we expected to be pulled from the team of fishermen and put on the bench with the other fisherboys. Two hours passed, then three, then four. We were going to make it. You may chose to mock, but rivers have personalities that change daily due to weather, water temperature, hatches, fishing pressure and so on. On challenging days it always seems like you have to get to know the river before it will give up it's fish, and just like marriage, this process takes time.

After landing a few respectable fish on nymphs, I acted on a hunch and spent the last forty-five minutes in a zen-like state throwing olive streamers and watching the occasional trout flash and roll as they hit my fly. One of these marvelous beasts struck with reckless abandon and we locked horns. After several minutes I brought him to the net, released the fly from his mouth, and held him just above the waterline. I gently lifted him for a few photos and then let him slip from my hands back into the murky depths. As he swam away, I realized I had done it. I had achieved fishing nirvana, and I did it on my anniversary.

An hour later, I found myself sitting in a very comfortable chair as my wife put on a fashion show with the items she had purchased. As she strolled across the room, It became apparent that she too had far more fun than she would have had I been present during the said shopping ordeal. (My shopping shelf life is about ninety minutes.) A wry smile found a home on my sun burnt face. I was happy, she was happy, the fishing was great and the clothes were on sale. Some might say it didn't happen that way, I say it did. We drove through the rural countryside on our way to the to the best pork chop in three counties. Ask me about it sometime, it's that good.