GoPro

So the dude picked up a GoPro camera.  It's a neat little toy that I hope will broaden my multimedia offerings.  I was hoping to break it in on the slopes snowboarding but the weather has not exactly cooperated... oh we're getting precip alright, it's just that it is in the form of rain up to about 5500' elevation.  We live in the paradise known as Montana for many reasons-strong economy, good-paying jobs, short commutes to anywhere in the state..... One thing we do not usually have to deal with is shitty snow, if we wanted that we would move to Washington so at least we would be nearer the ocean and consequently the rivers that steelhead swim in.  So until our winter starts acting normal again I will play with my new toy elsewhere.  Oh yeah by the way it's not a GoPro2, I guess maybe our jobs aren't that high paying after all!  Anyway for now I have pretty much just stuck to still images (which is one of the drawbacks with this model-no lcd viewfinder).  Other than that it has proven to be quite user friendly.  I will share a couple of random shots for now, more to follow..............

My oldest grandson Landon, I gotta hand it to my son for letting his kids find their own style and fashion, rock on Landon!

My middle grandson Talon enjoying some pool time, and yes, that's my finger!

 

Trying it out underwater, my oldest grandson Landon again....

Yet another reason we choose to live here in Montana, new windshields every spring!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Is this thing on???  The dude-surprise self portrait!


That's it for now, hopefully it will cool down enough to dump some more fluffy pow, although I'm probably going to be snobby and wait for about 3' of fresh to cover what is rapidly becoming what left coasters know as either "Cascade Concrete" or "Sierra Cement".

Time to get a little blacktail

Well after the continued crowing of the collective minds at the NWS and their insistence that la nina was indeed still hanging around waiting to crash the veritable fly fishing party that has so far been the winter of 2011-12, she blew into western Montana last week with a vengeance. 
Up until last week I imagined the snowpack on our local slopes more resembled what one expects on an  April morning during a spring below zero spell.....a melange of sketchy coverage on frozen, tracked up runs. 
By early last week forecasters were again calling for the season's first serious winter storm, 4-8' in the mountains and 1-3' in the valleys.  I greeted the forecast with a fair amount of skepticism, but by late Tuesday afternoon it was obvious we may be in for the dump of snow that was promised. 
After watching the snow continue to pile up from my office window ALL DAY long Wednesday, the call of the mountain was too strong.  I put the text out to the guys "Craig's taking a pow day tomorrow, who's in?".  My brah Urban T. BDW informed me he was already at his yurt outside Whitefish, prepping himself for a big day at Whitefish Mountain Resort, I informed him that as bad of shape as I was in I wouldn't do justice dropping all that change on a lift ticket there, so I declined.  A few minutes later my buddy Gary texted back, saying he was game so after some logistical planning and a glance at the weather forecast, we decided to meet up early the next morning to make sure we got freshies at Blacktail Mountain.
After a full evening of rounding up all my crap, finding my boots and board and a fitful night of sleep I woke up to the snow still falling and a pretty sweet looking snow report.  (sorry for the picture quality, it may be time for a new ipod!)

The driving conditions, while far from ideal, added to the anticipation of deep pow that was building up on the drive to the mountain

Gary and I got to the hill plenty early, bundled up and strapped down and with barely a soul in sight we took the first run of what would turn out to be an EPIC day!! 

Freeheler Gary slashin' some deep turns!

The pow was deep and tasty all day, even with a foot of fresh we NEVER had to stand in line at the lifts!

the dude himself surfing some deep

As I predicted my lungs and legs only made it until a little after 11 before I had to take an early lunch break.  During lunch I texted broseph Urban Tiberius Bear Don't Walk to check how things were going up north at Whitefish Mountain resort (it's still tough not to call it Big Mountain).  He informed me that he had come to the kind side and was trying out his new snowboard (congrats brah!)  He was a little miffed that we were mackin so much fresh and that Whitefish Mountain had only received 4" overnight.

A Mad Urban Tiberius

After lunch we rode out to find most of our tracks filled in, so the afternoon would be spent making fresh tracks again, truly EPIC!!  (at least we didn't rub it in too bad for Urban).  My legs only lasted until a little after 2 o'clock and with snow still falling I had to call it a day. 
On our way back home we made the requisite stop at local favorite M&S meats for some buffalo jerky, where my bro Gary struck a pose with a local.  Since M&S is just north of the rez line, I wonder if this guy is not a cuzzin?

All kidding aside, it was a great way to start out the snowboard season of 2011-12, even if it was as late a start as I can remember.  I can't wait for the next dump!

Winter for real.......probably

So it looks like winter is here in Western Montana for real, maybe...probably.  Anyway with forecasts of heavy snow, highs in the high teens and strong winds I will take this chance to post some memorable moments from 2011 as I wait for the pow to pile up on the mountain.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, the spring of 2011 was wild to say the least.  Every river west of the continental divide was blown out.  Unfishable.  Period.  The winter of 2010-11 was longer than a.... well it was long and by mid-May my buddy Brooks, Marshall and I were jonesin' hardcore for some action.  So much so that we decided to load up our box with czech nymphs, wire worms and as many bobbers as we could find (a feat in itself since none of us care to fish underneath much, but that's another story). 
After the hourlong drive to Missoula, we picked up Brooks and hooked up his drift boat to my trusty Dodge.  After the requisite stop at Rattkesnake Trading Co. for a sandwich, it was eastbound and down to the Mighty Mo.  Visions of 20" trout danced in our heads, overshadowing the image of 12' leaders with an indicator, 3 split shots, a wire worm and czech nymph dangling from the end of our rods. 

After a quick piss stop in Lincoln, we stopped in at the ranger station on the edge of town to look at the famous 700 lb. grizzly that was hit and killed on the highway near Lincoln a few years ago.  A couple of ooohs and aaahs and it's back on the road, there are monster Missouri trout to be had after all, and by now we're almost close enough to smell them!  Did I mention it had been a long winter?

On the way up Roger's Pass I noticed the trusty dodge was running a little warm....oh well we're almost to the top and now we're even closer to all of those 4000 trout per mile.  As we drop into Wolf Creek, the weather clears and we glimpse the mighty Mo for the first time.  It doesn't look THAT much different than the Clark Fork, which is not surprising considering the absolute deluge that blasted the Missouri River corridor the night before.  It's HUGE but it is running clear, thanks to Hauser Dam.  We head downriver to Craig MT and Headhunters fly shop for some last minute advice and a shuttle.  Apparently the knob-turners (local jargon for the US Army Corps. of Engineers who control flows out of Hauser Dam) have decided today was a good day to dump another 3000 cfs over the dam in a attempt to keep up with inflows.  Well we're here, the water is clear-at least above the Dearborn, and there are 4000 trout per mile here after all.  After picking up a few must have flies, we heed the last bit of advice "don't be afraid to fish the hole on someone's lawn, just remember to wave as you float through".
Well the Missouri didn't disappoint, even for non-dredgers like Marshall and I.

Day one was spent getting used to chucking and ducking that long of leaders with that much weight.  It also brought quite a few fish, and as usual Brooks spent most of the time on the sticks (one advantage of a guide buddy, they fall into their routine so easily!  Just kidding Brooks, you know I'm always offering to row!)
Oh yeah, part of that routine is netting your fish and taking pictures.....

Day two dawned nice again, but again the knob-turners bumped the flows, oh well maybe now we'd be fishing soft water behind porch steps, but the fish were still there somewhere.  Nothing another 6-8" of leader and another little split shot wouldn't take care of.  Once again the Missouri gave it up like a freshman cheerleader on prom night to the homecoming king.

By the time we got to the takeout there were a few fish rising, after a quick round of rock-paper-scissors Marshall got to throw to the risers.

I told him he risked his built up dredging mojo casting to risers, but what do you do?  We hand't seen fish rise in almost 6 months.
With the boat loaded up we reluctantly prepared ourselves for the trip back over the divide and into the western half of the state and the biblical flows that were the reality getting ready to slap us upside the head.

It was tough driving away from the Mo and her rising fish.  After a quick gas stop in Wolf Creek it was homeward bound.  15 miles out of Wolf Creek my trusty-ish dodge began running warm again.  Damn, I was hoping that sh*t would have magically fixed itself during one of the shuttles, or at least waited until we were back home to really go belly up.  Well not only did it run warm, it overheated.  Not only did it overheat, it puked most of the coolant out the overflow tank.  There we sat, a long ways from home, and less than 20 miles from the Mo and her 4000 fish per mile.  I would be lying if I said thoughts of coasting back into Wolf Creek and fishing some more didn't cross my mind.  Unfortunately reason prevailed and after a phone call to my cousin he agreed to bring a trailer to haul my truck home.  Another call to Brook's wife and she agreed to come and rescue him and his boat.
Oddly enough, the toughest part of waiting wasn't worrying about what was wrong with the truck or what time we would eventually  make it home (I had to work at 7 am the next day and Brooks ironically enough was going to be back on the road EARLY the next morning to guide for a couple of days on the Mo).  The toughest part was sitting there, a mere twenty miles from 4000 fish per mile and not being able to do a damn thing about it!

We made it home sometime after 1 am the next morning.  Oh well, just another day in paradise!

Winter.......Sort of

Happy New Year everyone.  What a wild winter so far here in Montana.  We had a thunderstorm replete with lightning after Christmas (the first I ever remember that late in the year).  We were fortunate enough to celebrate a White Christmas (barely) thanks to a last minute reprieve, with little more than a dusting of snow a day or two before Christmas.  It has since melted and we rang in the new year with no snow and some downright balmy (even nighttime) temperatures.  I have since given up (well at least for the time being) on a deep pow day to strap on the snowboard.  With the forecast Wednesday calling for highs in the mid-50's I sneaked out of the office after lunch, picked up Marshall and hit the home waters for an altogether too brief of a fishing trip. 

After the short drive to what I thought would be the best stretch of winter water, we turned off the highway and  SON....OF......A.......BITCH,  there it was, smack dab in the middle of the small parking area, another truck.  Oh well, who could blame the guy, the temperature did read 57 at the bank in town.  Luckily our second choice was not far away and vacant as well.

The weather certainly cooperated. 

 

As we hurriedly rigged rods and wadered up, I even let myself hope for the possibility of rising fish.  After a frantic few minutes of scanning the water I resigned myself to the fact that any fish caught this day would almost certainly be caught dredging. 
As confirmed dry fly purists enthusiasts, my son and I rarely fish underneath and thus winter is usually left for more season-appropriate activities (snowboarding) and dreaming of the next season's hatches.  However with the somewhat recent passion for steelhead fishing we have decided to work on improving our nymph fishing and what better time than a shirtsleeve winter day?
I started off with a beadhead king prince nymph/pheasant tail combo, switched to a beadhead stone/san juan worm and continued through the detritus that is my nymph box, all to no avail.  (did I mention my home waters is a fickle mistress in the winter?)
Marshall on the other hand was into a fish by the second hole.

Apparently the fish was shy and knew I had my camera because it managed to spit the hook.  Home waters in the winter-1, the dude's son-0.
Undeterred, Marshall continued fishing behind me and was soon into another fish (at least I can say I taught him the majority of what he knows, although there's sparse comfort in that).

Home waters-1, Marshall-1
well, sort of.....
It was one of the biggest whitefish I've seen caught, pushing 18' and plump.   Nice job Marshall!!

All in all it was great to be on the water, even greater being able to spend part of a day with my son on the water and greater yet that he outfished me!

Fly Tying v2.0

Tonight officially signals the second phase of the dude as a fly tier.  Admittedly the first version was not only short lived (and many moons ago) but it was nothing to write about either.  I have to give thanks to my son for sparking the interest again.  I got Marshall a basic setup for Christmas with the intention of letting him get practiced up and then maybe easing back into it myself (after Marshall had become proficient enough to supply me with at least a half-season's worth of flies).  After the cacophony of Christmas with 3 grandchildren began to lower to a manageable level, my excitement about starting to tie flies again mounted much quicker than I had anticipated.  Marshall too was chomping at the bit to start in, in the few days since Christmas there have been numerous calls back and forth between us....
"What should we tie first?  Skwalas?  Steelhead flies?"
"I don't know, maybe pike flies... no wait streamers!  Wait Muddlers!"
"When do you want to get together to start tying?  Tomorrow?"
"Can't, gotta work tomorrow.  How about Friday?"
"Friday's too late, how about Thursday night?"
"I don't even have a vise of my own yet"
"Oh yeah, damnit.  We can take turns"
There may have even been whispers between the wives about the two of us sounding like twelve year old girls the night before the first day of eighth grade.  What did we care?  Hell, we couldn't even tell for sure, we were too busy giggling.
So this morning I went to the office, tied up some loose ends for the week and slipped out by lunch time in order to make the hour drive into Missoula to pick up a vise and some more supplies.
Well as luck would have it, I barely  made it home and was whipping up a sandwich with the last of the Chirstmas prime rib when my buddy D-dawg calls.

"Hey Craig, you still all worked up to start tying flies again?"
As it turns out, Dennis and his wife (mostly his wife......smart guy) used to tie flies, and as things turned out, hadn't been at the vise in quite awhile, so rather than let their stuff continue to collect dust it was offered to me in return for a couple of trips down the river next summer and a few flies thrown in for good measure.... suckers (on both conditions)
So after picking up the goods (What?  Not just a vise?  A sweet little tying table?  Quite a bit of tying material too, and all the tools?  NICE!)  I was on the phone with Marshall and plans were quickly made for him to stop down tonight for an initial tying session.
Not that I ever got very good at it, but it sure seemed like it was not that difficult.  I felt like I had a few thumbs and maybe a pinkie toe on each hand.  All kidding aside, by the end of the evening it was already feeling much better.  Although not many flies were produced tonight (and none of them would win beauty contests) I'm confident even the flies from this initial session will catch fish.
So begins Fly Tying v2.0, I hope this version lasts.  It already has done wonders for me.  It was pretty neat sitting across the table from my son, tying flies together.  Not only that but my two oldest grandsons (3 and 5 years old, respectively) on more than one occasion stood in awe watching or crawled on one of our laps, each time with a bunch of questions of course.  Landon (the 5 year old) even asked when he was going to get a fly rod and his own stuff to tie flies (how sweet is that?)
Instances such as these only cement my belief that fly fishing is one of the greatest ways to become (and stay) close to children and grandchildren...

Marshall, deep in thought... or did he drop a #18?

My first fly of v2.0

Both of our first attempts v2.0 (well for me at least)

 With that begins another aspect of my flyfishing journey.  Funny, I never really noticed that void until tonight........

Home Water

So a recent post on Washington Fly Fishing got me thinking about my home water.  I wrote about my home water in a previous post, however it was more about the inevitable discovery of my home water by more and more people.
I was born, raised and still live 15 miles from my river.  It's a small river by any standard, doesn't have much for prolific hatches, doesn't hold a lot of fish compared to even lesser known Montana rivers, let alone the flagship waters of the mecca that is Montana.  Although it holds enough fish that top 20" to constantly keep your hopes up, the average size fish is probably barely into the double digits.
Despite all of this, I have developed the bond that one only has with home water.
It is interesting in that it harbors 6 different species of trout; brook, bull, brown, westslope cutthroat, rainbow and the occasional errant lake trout.  It has given up 24" rainbows to a size 20 sparkle dun, 25" browns to a #2 JJ's special and 4" cutthroat to size 4 muddler minnows.
More common are fish like these, which I am happy to catch every day of my life.

 The biggest fish I've taken from my river took a JJ's streamer late on a hot, bright July afternoon.  I know, not the typical conditions that come to mind for chucking streamers.  After the majority of the day on the river goes by without seeing a single fish rise, every option in the fly box has been exhausted without so much as a passing glance and the thought of dredging nymphs is unbearable, the logical choice becomes a size 2 conehead streamer.  Not only does this fly become the logical (read only) choice, but apparently the method is to throw it downstream and strip/twitch it like hell.  That way when the 25" rainbow that weighs in the 6-7 lb. neighborhood smashes the fly just below the surface it, for all intents and purposes, took a dry.
Of course I didn't have my camera, so the image of the behemoth that is burned into my cerebrum is the only documentation.  That and the other image of my boss, staring in utter disbelief with his lower jaw somewhere near his belly button.  The final image permanently etched into my mind is his mouth agape and jaw dropped even further when I began gently rocking the fish back into the rhythm of the river and watched it slowly fin away back into the comfort of my river.
In recent years my river has become the beneficiary of a number of habitat restoration projects.  With this comes promise.  Promise of more fish to catch, along with a larger average size (at least in my experience).

 My home river has understandably taught me a lot of what I know about fly fishing.  Some of it unique, but the majority of which transfers to flyfishing in general..
As I mentioned before, my home river is not big (it's actually very small), doesn't hold alot of fish, doesn't hold many big fish and doesn't have prolific hatches.  It is however home, and even though I am fiercely protective of it, if you're ever in western Montana, I would gladly take you to my home water.........

Steelface

Steelface (more on that to follow).  My buddy Brooks Jessen and I were able to sneak out for a couple of days this week for (what is probably my last for this calendar year) some steelhead fishing on the Clearwater river in Idaho.  Although living in Montana is pretty much heaven for those of us who flick feathers, a steelhead obsession necessitates trips to states (or provinces, more on that later also.  Wait, probably more on that in a future blog, sorry) bordering the ocean (or at least Idaho).  That being said Brooks and I set a date for "sometime the week after Thanksgiving".  The sunday after Thanksgiving Brooks called me and wanted to know if I wanted to meet with him to plan the trip.  The meeting place turned out to be at a poker table in a Missoula beverage/live entertainment establishment.  Over the course of the evening we met a stoner who could not miss and two hunters from Georgia, who after some discussion, informed us that the elk hunting was too tough and that Montana "done kicked our asses".  After much back and forth we decided to leave early Wednesday morning and fish the rest of Wednesday and all day Thursday before heading home.  Tuesday morning after a couple of hours at the office I get a call from Brooks that goes something like this "so the weather's pretty nice Idaho right now we should have left first thing this morning because it's supposed to snow a foot on Lolo pass Wednesday.  I tell Brooks that it's only 9:30 and that we still have time to pack, make the trip and still get some fishing in that afternoon, thereby missing the storm.
Fast forward to 1:30, we're still in Missoula and after a trip to two different fly shops, walmart and the grocery store, we are now gassing up the truck and ready to head west.  As with any road trip, music is an essential piece of the overall experience.  As we make the turn onto highway 12 and the transition from 4 lanes to 2, the discussion turns to music as the confines of 2 lanes somehow gives it that proper road trip feel.  We begin bouncing ideas off each other regarding selection.  The discussion went something like this....

Me:  "Country?  a la Zac Brown Band?"
Brooks  "nah, too trendy, I don't want to be THOSE guys."
Brooks  "Alt country?  a la Drive by Truckers?"
Me  "no to Zac Brown but Drive by Truckers?  Pretty cliche plus I think we'd still be THOSE guys"

Some metal was suggested (you know steelhead, metal.....i know it's a reach but I think there were hints of it possibly helping the karma.  You never know)

Finally Brooks exercises executive decision-making power (it was his truck) and we are treated to this.  (sorry for the poor picture, it was taken while bouncing around the corners of highway 12)

Brooks (and Brooks, if you read this I'm sorry, but it's true) informed me that he has been listening to hip hop a fair amount lately.  So hip hop it was (I admit my music tastes range far enough to include hip hop, but not on a road trip!)  With that our road rose over Lolo pass, much  like our hopes for steelhead madness.
With each passing mile we recalculated ETA and how much daylight it would leave us to fish.  What we did not factor into the equation was the friendly Idaho State trooper that stopped us to remind us that the speed limit on this particular stretch of highway 12 was 50 mph not the 64 he clocked us at, and reassured us that it had been ever since we entered Idaho at the top of Lolo pass.  As we bid the officer adieu we realized the chance of arriving at our destination during daylight hours were slim at best.
Not to worry, with some further disregard for the speed limit (what are the chances that there's two troopers out here in the middle of nowhere) we made it to our destination with the final rays of the day angling through the clouds, taunting us to wader up.  Who were we to argue, so we wadered up (my spell check is telling me that word is misspelled or does not exist, we all know wadered up is perfectly acceptable grammar) and cast our hopes along the lengthening shadows.  We should have known better, there were WAY too many signs throughout the day that the steelhead gods were not going to smile on us this time.
So after a strategic retreat we grabbed some dinner, hit the grocery store for some snacks and made our way to the hotel.  During the course of the evening we heard the rain start, a nice steady drizzle.  We hoped that at this elevation the precipitation would continue to fall as rain and not snow, all the while wondering how many feet of snow was piling up on Lolo pass.
We awoke the next morning with renewed hope, and the sound of rain, YES some steelhead fishing weather!  On the short drive to our first choice in fishing spots we chattered aimlessly like freshman girls on their first day of high school.  Do you think anybody will already be there?  I hope not, it's my favorite run.  What are you going to tie on?  What should I use?  Do you think there are many fish in the system yet?  Are they up this high this early?  As neared our chosen spot we were both giddy to see a complete lack of people, we couldn't believe, we had the place to ourselves.  As much as the steelhead gods had frowned on us yesterday, they were smiling on us today, and in a BIG way.  (although the thought always creeps into my mind anway.  Why is there nobody here?  Do they know something we don't?  Are there no fish here yet?  At the same time the last thing you want to see upon arriving at your favorite run is a bunch of douchebags fellow gentlemen fly fishers beating the water to a froth.  It's enough to drive me crazy)  We couldn't wader up quick enough knowing we were going to get first shot at this run.

An hour in and I was beginning to question our choice of runs.  Brooks informed that I had not nearly made a thousand casts, steelhead were the fish of a thousand casts after all.  Another hour with nary a tug and Brooks was beginning to question our choice also.  A half hour and a couple of false alarms later (damn suckers) Brooks let out a familiar whoop that one instantly recognizes as someone who has hooked up with a steelface.  Steelface.  Brooks claims he coined this term on a trip to Washington in hopes of pissing off his fishing buddies, I say I've heard it on a tv  program or dvd or somewhere, anyway I give up and now give Brooks full credit for the term steelface, you read it here first.  Congratulations Brooks!  After a some aerial acrobatics and numerous runs, we are able to bring the steelface to hand.........

  

After the obligatory high fives (technically I guess it was a fist bump)  I congratulated Brooks on low-holing me.

I guess some days we are not meant to catch steelfaces.  A half hour after his first fish, Brooks is hooked up again.  After a lengthy battle, Brooks was easing the fish towards the shallow water when I approached a little too close and too quickly with the net (maybe subconsciously I did it on purpose).  It didn't take long to realize that the big hen was nowhere near ready to succumb to the net and made a sizzling run, managing to break Brooks off.  After another round of fist bumps, I congratulate Brooks on high-holing me (is there such a thing?)  Brooks, feeling pretty good about himself after bringing in two steelfaces in the span of a half hour, offers to let me reel the next one in for him.  No thanks I said (asshole), and continued flailing like the inflatable tube man at a used car lot.  

Brooks was nice enough to offer to go buy us lunch and let me continue fishing (or did he see the increasing frustration with each of my casts and decide it would be funny to let me continue flailing unsuccessfully?  bastard)  Sure enough, Brooks leaves and not 10 minutes later I get a tug, even though i know Brooks is not around I let out my own whoop and begin giggling like crazy, there will be steelfaces for both of us after all.  My happiness is short lived as my dance partner has give me the slip.  I trudge to the bank and plop down, in total awe of the power this fish has displayed.  I bask in the moment but am brought back to reality by Brooks dropping a cheeseburger next to me and informing me that a phone call and some family matters will cut our trip short.  We ended up driving back after one full day of fishing.

All kidding aside Brooks was the man on this trip, plus he's one of the fishiest guys I know.  Thanks for a good trip Brooks, can't wait to take another one.

As I mentioned earlier this probably marks the last time I will head over Lolo pass in search of steelhead for 2011, stay tuned as we will probably start fishing for steelfaces again sometime in February 2012.

By the way, for the ride home we came to an agreement on music.  We decided the Pearl Jam channel would be perfect to drive home to.  Arguably the coolest band in the world.

Fish Porn

It has recently come to my attention that my blog lacks somewhat in the fish porn department.  I guess after viewing it myself objectively there may be some validity to that point.  Soooooo....  here's the fish that originally started that burning deep in my gut that would grow and become the consuming steelhead obsession that I'm now burdened with....

That same trip (which happened to be our very first steelhead trip) my son was able to land his first steelhead.

From now on I will dig through the old fish porn files, see what may be of interest and post some periodically.  

Surface action

As much as I love fall and everything about it, the sun cresting over the mountains further and further south each day signals one thing that I do not look forward to; the unofficial end of the dry fly season.  Yesterday I was able to get out on the home waters with my son for a short afternoon trip.  My hopes were not high for surface action, the wind was blowing, the sun was bright let alone the fact that usually by November 9th dry fly opportunity is over on our little home river.
I decided to try a small canyon stretch, hoping the canyon walls would block some wind and keep direct sunlight off the water thereby increasing our odds.  We arrived in the early afternoon and promptly had a change of plans.  A cursory glance showed no bugs hatching and the wind had actually picked up.  After picking through the fly box and the usual "what are you going to tie on" conversation I decided to try a streamer while Marshall was going to go with a double nymph setup.  My hopes dashed and patience running thin, I left Marshall to his indicator and multiple double surgeons loops knot-fest.  I no sooner descended the small canyon to the water's edge and promptly saw a fish surface in the foam line six feet from the bank.  I decided to wait for Marshall to chase the riser so I halfheartedly ran my streamer through the next run downstream.  When Marshall made it down we decided to take turns throwing to what turned out to be 3 or 4 fish feeding somewhat rhythmically on the surface.  The fish were in a pool that was deep enough to preclude us from telling exactly what they were feeding on.  There were a smattering of sizable mahoganies (fairly late in the year I know, but then again everything was behind this year after the prolonged winter and spring)  some little caddis, and very few tiny mayflies.  I assumed they were blue-winged olives although the few we did see somewhat close didn't look much like bwo's.  Oh well, fish were feeding on top and I'm no entomologist so with a size 14 mahogany cripple I went to work.  Cast after agonizing cast I watched as my cripple drifted right through the foam without a look.  I decided next that a 6x and size 20 mahogany was necessary.  Different fly, same result.  Same result with a goddard caddis.  Finally Marshall spotted a ratty old parachute adams in my box and suggested I try it.  I silently questioned myself about how well I taught my son about flyfishing, surely he knows that fish this late in the fall requires matching the hatch with a fair amount of precision.  That being said with mounting frustration and daylight fading I thought "what could it hurt?"  After all a parachute adams is one of my go-to flies.  So I tied on the adams and cast my hope to catch one more fish on a dry this year.  After what seemed like an hour I finally got a decent drift in the swirling foam line and saw a snout break the surface and my fly disappear.  Far from a trophy, the average size cuttbow was exactly what I needed on this particular November afternoon.

After taking the picture and offering congratulations (without so much as a "I told you" or "aren't you glad you tied on that adams?") Marshall was eager to try for one last fish on the dry.  Marshall dried the fly off, laid out a decent cast and promptly stuck a fish!  After a picture and a high five (again not a word even though it took him exactly one cast and his fish was bigger)  and
without really any discussion we both knew it was time to call it a day.  We had asked a lot of our home river, a lot of the patron saint of dry fly fishing, and a lot of the fish gods period, better to not press our luck! 

As the sun sets on our dry fly season I now look forward to feeding my steelhead obsession next week!

Distractions, Part II

Thank you (both of you) for entertaining my rant about crowding on "my" river.  I would like to have brought you a report of another trip to the Clearwater river in Idaho, with news of multiple steelhead caught on the swing.  Distractions.  Not that all distractions are bad.  This past weekend's distraction was going to the Univ. of Montana's football game.

This also happened to be the first Griz game I was able to attend this year, and the first one for my two youngest grandsons...
Landon, the oldest is the ham, and has been to a few games, Talon is the middle one, the shy one

Braylon, the youngest, was a trooper.....

I also finally filled my freezer this year, although it was with a spike, and was not until October.  Sooo the streak of September bulls comes to an end.  Perhaps as one streak ends, another one will begin?  Maybe a steelhead on the surface every September?  I can only hope....

By the way, I was hunting with a buddy of mine so I'm not an indiscriminate killer, only the spike is mine. 

It has been too long since I've been on a river, even a home water (long being relative) I think almost 2 weeks, so even though I am in a wedding this weekend, which will preclude a steelhead trip, I plan on taking a day off of work this week to somewhat satiate my fishing appetite, it probably won't be until the weekend of the 18th that I will be able to truly feed my steelhead obsession..........