Well Claire, Vincent and Lucas got back from their trip to France. I think they had a good time despite some of the difficult circumstances. They say family and, more importantly, family saw Lucas for the first time. With his personality I'm sure he won them over very easily. Although they missed some of the year's best trout fishing there was still plenty of time for great hikes and good fishing. We met up and had a picnic and went on a relaxed hike. Unfortunately, the rivers were a bit dirty from the recent rains but we still got a little fishing time in. No trout though. They're getting quite elusive whenever I'm trying to put Vincent onto them. Oh well, it will happen in time. We had a very pleasant hike though and it was a great way to spend an afternoon in the Whitewater valley.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
The party hanging out
Claire, Vincent and little Lucas
Natalya, Daddy, Pierce, Jessica and Lucas
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Timing it right
After spending the day working at home I got an email just after 4pm from my boss meaning pretty much everything I'd done would need to be redone, so what other choice did I have but to go fishing? We've had some rain lately so I figured the water would be a little cloudy so I figured my best choice would be throw streamers up the top of the middle branch of the Whitewater River. It was a very humid day with heavy cloud cover and the forecast was for severe storms with the chance of a tornado. I don't understand why I had the river to myself.
When I first got there I noticed heavy clouds of tiny tan midges coming off with just the odd mayfly mixed in. There was sporadic subsurface swirls but not enough to change my plan of throwing a small clouser. I wandered upstream probing the pools with gentle conviction as a few light showers pushed quickly through the valley. I had not so much as a look until I'd gotten as far up as the sixth or seventh hole. As the fly swung down to the tailout and past a large rock it was swatted at by a small brownie. There had been a few swirls in that location as well so I swung the fly through a few more times. All I got was refusals but the fish kept taking whatever it was eating. By this time a few more light mayflies were coming off so I switched to a small hare's ear. I had a couple more swats but didn't hook up so I moved up to the head of the next pool.
Now I was convinced the streamer approach wasn't the way to go. Fish were swirling and occasionally feeding on the surface here and in the riffles at the head of the pool. It was time to switch to a light cahill which immediately paid dividends. The hatch only kept getting better and the fish were very much keyed in on them. The fly had to be riding high and once it got waterlogged and down in the film the fish wouldn't strike. The action was fast and furious and each fish was extra fun as I had to play them carefully with the 7X tippet. Of course most strikes didn't come to hand but the true joy of fishing dries is watching as they instantly materialize from the depths and the fly you've been watching as it drifts down disappears below. What a blast. In the next hour and half or so I landed seven brownies and three rainbows, all from the same pool. The last fish in particular was particularly rewarding.
When the hatch was at full stream there were fish boiling and leaping all across the head of the pool, and you had your choice of risers to cast to, but as the hatch dwindled the rises became less frequent and you could focus on specific fish. Having the right fly it was just a question of getting the right drift with the right timing and you'd get a rise, and eventually hookup and land the fish. At the very head of the rapids was a couple of large boulders and some crazy current and, with the right drift, the fly would slip into a slick and dip about six inches or so beneath the surface in some broken water. Although you'd momentarily lose sight of the fly, the rainbow would be clearly visible as it darted up to slap the fly. He probably hit the fly a half dozen times and I felt the wait for a second or two probably once or twice but then he became wise to me and stopped coming up. I'd rested him over and over but he was apparently done with me.
When the hatch dwindled to almost nothing I went upstream and fished the next few pools for a half hour or so without bringing any more fish to hand. I was getting late so I decided to head back but I couldn't help stopping by that pool. I'd had a great afternoon but I felt it would just be somehow perfectly completed if I got that last rainbow that had eluded me. First drift through his hole and up he came. It wasn't a vicious strike as he just sipped it down but he was on. Carefully I let him have his head and he darted down into the body of the pool and I gingerly brought him to hand. It's a real shame my camera died last week because although he was only eleven or twelve inches long, he was broad and bore a deeply crimson stripe - truly a pretty fish. With that I felt fantastic, as though I'd achieved near perfection. There was nothing to be achieved by fishing or catching anything else, and indeed that would somehow taint the entire experinence, so I followed the riverside trail back to my car. What a great evening and not another angler around.
When I first got there I noticed heavy clouds of tiny tan midges coming off with just the odd mayfly mixed in. There was sporadic subsurface swirls but not enough to change my plan of throwing a small clouser. I wandered upstream probing the pools with gentle conviction as a few light showers pushed quickly through the valley. I had not so much as a look until I'd gotten as far up as the sixth or seventh hole. As the fly swung down to the tailout and past a large rock it was swatted at by a small brownie. There had been a few swirls in that location as well so I swung the fly through a few more times. All I got was refusals but the fish kept taking whatever it was eating. By this time a few more light mayflies were coming off so I switched to a small hare's ear. I had a couple more swats but didn't hook up so I moved up to the head of the next pool.
Now I was convinced the streamer approach wasn't the way to go. Fish were swirling and occasionally feeding on the surface here and in the riffles at the head of the pool. It was time to switch to a light cahill which immediately paid dividends. The hatch only kept getting better and the fish were very much keyed in on them. The fly had to be riding high and once it got waterlogged and down in the film the fish wouldn't strike. The action was fast and furious and each fish was extra fun as I had to play them carefully with the 7X tippet. Of course most strikes didn't come to hand but the true joy of fishing dries is watching as they instantly materialize from the depths and the fly you've been watching as it drifts down disappears below. What a blast. In the next hour and half or so I landed seven brownies and three rainbows, all from the same pool. The last fish in particular was particularly rewarding.
When the hatch was at full stream there were fish boiling and leaping all across the head of the pool, and you had your choice of risers to cast to, but as the hatch dwindled the rises became less frequent and you could focus on specific fish. Having the right fly it was just a question of getting the right drift with the right timing and you'd get a rise, and eventually hookup and land the fish. At the very head of the rapids was a couple of large boulders and some crazy current and, with the right drift, the fly would slip into a slick and dip about six inches or so beneath the surface in some broken water. Although you'd momentarily lose sight of the fly, the rainbow would be clearly visible as it darted up to slap the fly. He probably hit the fly a half dozen times and I felt the wait for a second or two probably once or twice but then he became wise to me and stopped coming up. I'd rested him over and over but he was apparently done with me.
When the hatch dwindled to almost nothing I went upstream and fished the next few pools for a half hour or so without bringing any more fish to hand. I was getting late so I decided to head back but I couldn't help stopping by that pool. I'd had a great afternoon but I felt it would just be somehow perfectly completed if I got that last rainbow that had eluded me. First drift through his hole and up he came. It wasn't a vicious strike as he just sipped it down but he was on. Carefully I let him have his head and he darted down into the body of the pool and I gingerly brought him to hand. It's a real shame my camera died last week because although he was only eleven or twelve inches long, he was broad and bore a deeply crimson stripe - truly a pretty fish. With that I felt fantastic, as though I'd achieved near perfection. There was nothing to be achieved by fishing or catching anything else, and indeed that would somehow taint the entire experinence, so I followed the riverside trail back to my car. What a great evening and not another angler around.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Floating Foster Arend
With only a short work day ahead of me, and still shivering from the excitement of Sault Ste Marie, I was looking for a quick, easy way to hook into some fast fishing action. Luckily for me, there's a stocked pond that the county and MN DNR fill with rainbow trout on my way home from work. It's a reclaimed quarry so the banks are heavily vegetated and not suitable for wade fishing but it's great fun from a float tube. So, before work I loaded the car with my stuff and headed in for the "joys" of work but had a little to look forward to for when it was all done.
I can't say Foster Arend pond is a wilderness experience as the sounds of Rochester are very evident, there's a heavily used swimming beach, a fishing pier and it's usually ringed with night-crawler laden bobber fishermen, but its banks are wooded and there's beaver, ducks and geese to keep one company. The fishery is usually boom or bust, depending how long it's been since it was stocked, but there's usually a trout or two and always all the sunnies one can bring themselves to waste time with. My technique is not fancy as I troll a woolly bugger behind me as I wind around the lake. Small nymphs are monopolized by the sunnies so you need something a little larger (although you still get a few sunnies) but you can switch flies on the rare occasion you sight a pod of resting trout, or there's a specific hatch.
It wasn't long before I had my first rainbow to and that was the start of steady action for the next couple of hours. When I was done I had ten rainbow trout and six sunnies. The highlight was when I stummbled upon a pod of perhaps a hundred freshly released trout finning in a small bay. They would slam the small pass lake wet as soon as it hit the surface but after only a couple of fish the pod disappeared. Perhaps the dark shadow of a large bass I saw had something to do with that (and no, I couldn't get him to hit my woolly bugger). The rainbows were all the same, small size but it was better than nothing and I can always convince myself it's a great way to get some fitness in.
I can't say Foster Arend pond is a wilderness experience as the sounds of Rochester are very evident, there's a heavily used swimming beach, a fishing pier and it's usually ringed with night-crawler laden bobber fishermen, but its banks are wooded and there's beaver, ducks and geese to keep one company. The fishery is usually boom or bust, depending how long it's been since it was stocked, but there's usually a trout or two and always all the sunnies one can bring themselves to waste time with. My technique is not fancy as I troll a woolly bugger behind me as I wind around the lake. Small nymphs are monopolized by the sunnies so you need something a little larger (although you still get a few sunnies) but you can switch flies on the rare occasion you sight a pod of resting trout, or there's a specific hatch.
It wasn't long before I had my first rainbow to and that was the start of steady action for the next couple of hours. When I was done I had ten rainbow trout and six sunnies. The highlight was when I stummbled upon a pod of perhaps a hundred freshly released trout finning in a small bay. They would slam the small pass lake wet as soon as it hit the surface but after only a couple of fish the pod disappeared. Perhaps the dark shadow of a large bass I saw had something to do with that (and no, I couldn't get him to hit my woolly bugger). The rainbows were all the same, small size but it was better than nothing and I can always convince myself it's a great way to get some fitness in.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Eldorado Found!!
For the last few years my buddy Ted and I have been searching the Great Lakes region for fantastic fishing action for anadromous salmonids and this last weekend we found it. Despite some success chasing steelhead in Michigan and Minnesota this spring, we still didn't get to experience that magical bite that seasoned steelheaders promise is out there when the planets align.
Lake Superior is the most northern of the great lakes and is a huge expanse of water that warms very slowly through the spring. Consequently, as it drains out of the main basin and through the locks, dams and St. Mary's Rapids of Sault Ste Marie and down into Lake Huron, the steelhead spawning run from Lake Huron up into the rapids is probably the last run of the spring. For those that don't know, Sault Ste Marie is actually two towns, one either side of the Michigan, USA/Ontario, Canada border which just happens to be the St Mary's River. For a number of reasons the rapids are only fishable from the Canadian side and having never fished such intimidating water we took the advise offered to us from a number of sources and booked a guide for our first day.
After a 10 hour drive we checked in at our hotel, got our fishing licences, grabbed a bite to eat then headed for our first look at the rapids. Within minutes of getting our first glimpse we saw a steelhead porpoise and watched an angler land a nice fish down the berm wall. We were definitely ready for the coming day. Johnny Giuliani met us in the lobby at 4:30am and sped us down to the river. He quickly rigged us up and put us on our first spot for the day. Within the first minute Ted hooked up for the first time. That fish didn't come to hand but a minute or so later he was on again, then again. Only one of those fish came to hand but it took him on a wild chase down stream into some rough water and was a bautiful fish - the first of the day.
A few minutes later and I hooked up on my first fish of the day, a beautiful silver hen that sped back through our hole and took me deep into my backing before we had to chase that fish downstream as well. Talk about hot fish. When we finally got the fish her throat was chock full of steelhead eggs she'd been gorging on. The sun wasn't up and we were already having the best steelheading of our lives.
Soon after that Johnny had us moving out to some other water on the outside of the berm in some fantastic looking tailouts. It wasn't long before I was hooked up again, with another fresh, chrome hen. Although this classic holding water had been hot just a few days before we only got the one fish from it (well, there were heaps of suckers up there spawning but we don't count them) which clearly meant the steelhead were jumping up onto the gravel and the aggressive fish were sitting behind them gorging on eggs.
We had them dialed in now. However, although we knew where the fish were, there were some centerpinners from Michigan that were monopolizing the hole and a whole army of guys from Toronto in set up in the other prime lies so we had to pick and choose some other water to fish, but we still caught fish.
After Johnny left for the morning (he breaks his day into two sessions of 5am-9am and 5pm-9pm) we explored a little and fished behind and to visible fish on beds. Although there were fish sparring we couldn't hook any fish that weren't foul hooked. The wind kicked up with the rain and we opted to grab some lunch and get some sleep before heading out for the afternoon session.
When we arrived in the afternoon the run we wanted to fish was open and we set up. It only took a few drifts and I was on again and landed a nice fish. At this point my memory gets a little hazy. The fishing was so amazing I can't put it together. We were hooking up every few minutes and the fish were aggressively slamming the green caddis and other offerings we'd present with wild abandon. We lost count of fish hooked and landed but it was between 25-30 hookups each!!! My poor old seven weight was underpowered against some of the hotter fish and Ted's eight couldn't hold a true monster that went somewhere around fifteen pounds. The session was phenomenal until the fish again turned off just after 9pm. My arm, elbow and shoulder was sore, but in the best possible way. We couldn't wait until tomorrow.
I must also mention Johnny was an awesome guide that certainly knew the river. Although not a cheap option, it was money VERY well spent and we watched a large number of fishermen go home that evening without so much as a hookup. Johnny had clients in the morning and asked us not to fish his preferred spot (which we hadn't been early enough to fish with him) but he suggested getting up early and fishing the same spot in the morning.
After a brief time wondering about in the dense fog and darkness of pre-dawn after missing our trail out to the rapids (we got up at 3:30am) we were soon set up in our run again. It was too dark to see and in no time Ted had a fish landed. We swapped positions and soon I also hooked up but came undone. At the exact moment you could finally see your indicator the Michigan centerpinners turned up and again set up in the prime drifting lanes. They were nice enough guys but they were going to fish in "their" spot no matter who was fishing there. We continued to catch fish but not like we had the evening before (still much better than aything else we've experienced chasing steelhead). Ted seemed OK fishing in the crowded conditions because he was still hooking fish but I went off in search of other fish. Unfortunately I didn't find any. A nasty storm front pushed through around 9am so we headed back to our rooms for some sleep.
The afternoon was frustrating. The weather was cold, very windy and tough. All of the good spots were crowded with anglers so I decided to head back out into the main rapids and try my luck with a big streamer - to no avail. Then I switched to an indicator rig with the same results. Despite a large number of fish visibly swimming around the weather had caused them to lock up and no more fish would be caught.
The following morning we were heading back home, very well satiated with our spring steelheading. Of course, having woken up in my own bed monday morning I was already itching to get back out there and catch just one more steelhead. I can't wait until the fall!!!
Lake Superior is the most northern of the great lakes and is a huge expanse of water that warms very slowly through the spring. Consequently, as it drains out of the main basin and through the locks, dams and St. Mary's Rapids of Sault Ste Marie and down into Lake Huron, the steelhead spawning run from Lake Huron up into the rapids is probably the last run of the spring. For those that don't know, Sault Ste Marie is actually two towns, one either side of the Michigan, USA/Ontario, Canada border which just happens to be the St Mary's River. For a number of reasons the rapids are only fishable from the Canadian side and having never fished such intimidating water we took the advise offered to us from a number of sources and booked a guide for our first day.
After a 10 hour drive we checked in at our hotel, got our fishing licences, grabbed a bite to eat then headed for our first look at the rapids. Within minutes of getting our first glimpse we saw a steelhead porpoise and watched an angler land a nice fish down the berm wall. We were definitely ready for the coming day. Johnny Giuliani met us in the lobby at 4:30am and sped us down to the river. He quickly rigged us up and put us on our first spot for the day. Within the first minute Ted hooked up for the first time. That fish didn't come to hand but a minute or so later he was on again, then again. Only one of those fish came to hand but it took him on a wild chase down stream into some rough water and was a bautiful fish - the first of the day.
A few minutes later and I hooked up on my first fish of the day, a beautiful silver hen that sped back through our hole and took me deep into my backing before we had to chase that fish downstream as well. Talk about hot fish. When we finally got the fish her throat was chock full of steelhead eggs she'd been gorging on. The sun wasn't up and we were already having the best steelheading of our lives.
Soon after that Johnny had us moving out to some other water on the outside of the berm in some fantastic looking tailouts. It wasn't long before I was hooked up again, with another fresh, chrome hen. Although this classic holding water had been hot just a few days before we only got the one fish from it (well, there were heaps of suckers up there spawning but we don't count them) which clearly meant the steelhead were jumping up onto the gravel and the aggressive fish were sitting behind them gorging on eggs.
We had them dialed in now. However, although we knew where the fish were, there were some centerpinners from Michigan that were monopolizing the hole and a whole army of guys from Toronto in set up in the other prime lies so we had to pick and choose some other water to fish, but we still caught fish.
After Johnny left for the morning (he breaks his day into two sessions of 5am-9am and 5pm-9pm) we explored a little and fished behind and to visible fish on beds. Although there were fish sparring we couldn't hook any fish that weren't foul hooked. The wind kicked up with the rain and we opted to grab some lunch and get some sleep before heading out for the afternoon session.
When we arrived in the afternoon the run we wanted to fish was open and we set up. It only took a few drifts and I was on again and landed a nice fish. At this point my memory gets a little hazy. The fishing was so amazing I can't put it together. We were hooking up every few minutes and the fish were aggressively slamming the green caddis and other offerings we'd present with wild abandon. We lost count of fish hooked and landed but it was between 25-30 hookups each!!! My poor old seven weight was underpowered against some of the hotter fish and Ted's eight couldn't hold a true monster that went somewhere around fifteen pounds. The session was phenomenal until the fish again turned off just after 9pm. My arm, elbow and shoulder was sore, but in the best possible way. We couldn't wait until tomorrow.
After a brief time wondering about in the dense fog and darkness of pre-dawn after missing our trail out to the rapids (we got up at 3:30am) we were soon set up in our run again. It was too dark to see and in no time Ted had a fish landed. We swapped positions and soon I also hooked up but came undone. At the exact moment you could finally see your indicator the Michigan centerpinners turned up and again set up in the prime drifting lanes. They were nice enough guys but they were going to fish in "their" spot no matter who was fishing there. We continued to catch fish but not like we had the evening before (still much better than aything else we've experienced chasing steelhead). Ted seemed OK fishing in the crowded conditions because he was still hooking fish but I went off in search of other fish. Unfortunately I didn't find any. A nasty storm front pushed through around 9am so we headed back to our rooms for some sleep.
The afternoon was frustrating. The weather was cold, very windy and tough. All of the good spots were crowded with anglers so I decided to head back out into the main rapids and try my luck with a big streamer - to no avail. Then I switched to an indicator rig with the same results. Despite a large number of fish visibly swimming around the weather had caused them to lock up and no more fish would be caught.
The following morning we were heading back home, very well satiated with our spring steelheading. Of course, having woken up in my own bed monday morning I was already itching to get back out there and catch just one more steelhead. I can't wait until the fall!!!
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Apple blossom in Bayfield
One of the hobbies of Jessica's parents is timing sporting meets and one of the more logistically challenging meets they do is a running meet in Bayfeild each spring. The problem is there is a three mile run and a ten kilometer run, both starting at the same place and time and finishing in different locations. This means they need some extra hands to help out and both last year and this year we came along to assist.
Bayfield is a pretty town on the south shore of Lake Superior and a jumping off point for the Apostle Islands. It has sheltered bays and waters and means sailing is a big thing there. In many ways it's like a mini Door County. There are vineyards and plenty of apple orchards and when they're in blossom it's a great spectacle. After the drive from Plainview we arrived late Friday night at the beautiful guest house that had been generously donated to the race timers. It sat in some woods on a bluff overlooking Lake Superior and the islands and for a guest house I would have loved to live in it.
After staying up late catching up with family Jessica's dad and I were up early getting stuff set up while the girls (Jessica, her mother and sister) got the kids ready for the upcoming events. The wind was a little strong but apart from that the weather was perfect for a running race being a touch cool but with bright sunshine. The field wasn't Olympic standard but there were some respecetable times posted.
After heading back to the apartment for some lunch we headed down to the ferry to go across to Madeline Island. Jessica's father was asked to time a swimming race in August but wanted to check the site out before committing to it and we came along for the experience. Natalya loved being on the ferry and it was only a twenty minute ride. Once there we wandered up the main road and visited one of the parks so the kids could play on the swings and slides. Natalya especially had a good time. When Steve was done we met up and walked around a little until we found another park and Natalya convinced us we needed to check it out. We could only stay a little while as some nasty storm clouds were building and we only just made it back to the ferry terminal before the skies opened up.
The morning was as relaxed as the evening and by noon we had the place cleaned up and we set off to check out the yachts at the marina. Natalya found yet another park and we had a great time playing before heading off for lunch at the"pink flamingo". The food was good but the real highlight is always the hand drier in the bathrooms which is more like a jet engine than a hand blower. The drive home was pleasant as the trees were in that light green shade of early spring. All in all it was a relaxing trip and just what the doctor ordered.
Bayfield is a pretty town on the south shore of Lake Superior and a jumping off point for the Apostle Islands. It has sheltered bays and waters and means sailing is a big thing there. In many ways it's like a mini Door County. There are vineyards and plenty of apple orchards and when they're in blossom it's a great spectacle. After the drive from Plainview we arrived late Friday night at the beautiful guest house that had been generously donated to the race timers. It sat in some woods on a bluff overlooking Lake Superior and the islands and for a guest house I would have loved to live in it.
After staying up late catching up with family Jessica's dad and I were up early getting stuff set up while the girls (Jessica, her mother and sister) got the kids ready for the upcoming events. The wind was a little strong but apart from that the weather was perfect for a running race being a touch cool but with bright sunshine. The field wasn't Olympic standard but there were some respecetable times posted.
After heading back to the apartment for some lunch we headed down to the ferry to go across to Madeline Island. Jessica's father was asked to time a swimming race in August but wanted to check the site out before committing to it and we came along for the experience. Natalya loved being on the ferry and it was only a twenty minute ride. Once there we wandered up the main road and visited one of the parks so the kids could play on the swings and slides. Natalya especially had a good time. When Steve was done we met up and walked around a little until we found another park and Natalya convinced us we needed to check it out. We could only stay a little while as some nasty storm clouds were building and we only just made it back to the ferry terminal before the skies opened up.
Pierce and Jessica on the trip over to Madeline Island
Mandi and Natalya at the Playground
Natalya on the slide
The ride back was a little damper than going over
Even though it was raining on the way back Natalya wanted to be outside of the crowded cabin and I agree it was a more pleasant setting. The evening was relaxed and we all had fun just catching up as families do. We did go down and cross a big old bridge overlooking a small tributary stream flowing into the big lake (there were no steelhead in it - I checked) and Natalya wore herself out showing us how she could run when we called, "ready, set, go".
Mandi and Natalya at the Playground
Natalya on the slide
The ride back was a little damper than going over
The morning was as relaxed as the evening and by noon we had the place cleaned up and we set off to check out the yachts at the marina. Natalya found yet another park and we had a great time playing before heading off for lunch at the"pink flamingo". The food was good but the real highlight is always the hand drier in the bathrooms which is more like a jet engine than a hand blower. The drive home was pleasant as the trees were in that light green shade of early spring. All in all it was a relaxing trip and just what the doctor ordered.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
North Shore Steel '08
If you were going to search the Great Lakes region for the most challenging steelhead fishing you'd be hard pressed to go past Minnesota's north shore. Due to a combination of low fertility in Lake Superior, a the streams really make life tough on the fish. A steep decline from the swamps and bogs of the BWCA area makes for fast, strong water coming down from large catchment areas and the available stream is often very short before the fish encounter a terminal waterfall to stop their upstream migration. The terrain also dictates a dramatic lack of suitable-sized spawning gravel. All of this means the wild steelhead of this area have adjusted over the last century or so have adapted to a very tough situation. But if geography didn't make things tough enough, humans (as is their way) decided to "improve" the fishing by stocking genetically inferior kamloops rainbow trout in these waters that run the streams with the wild steelhead and the resulting mixed genetic stock have proven unable to handle the rigors of this challenging environment, leading to a dramatic reduction in what was never a great fishery. The small runs of fish stay in the streams for a very short time and river conditions go from frozen solid, to blown out with spring run-off, to good conditions, to too warm to hold fish in a crazily short time so timing the run here is almost impossible. I've heard stories of the run being over in a day or even a number of hours on certain streams!
Despite the challenging fishing and low numbers of fish, the north shore has charms of it's own that have attracted me for the last several seasons. With the limited amount of stream available to anglers there is usually a number of anglers to contend with and because fish are few and far between, sometimes fishing etiquette can be "questionable" with anglers with little steelheading experience but a tremendous desire to catch these magnificent fish losing all of their manners when they suspect you might be somewhere they can catch a fish. Fortunately, most of these guys focus on the terminal pools and the mouths of the rivers, but there are also a number of "herons" (my nickname for those guys that stalk along the bank looking for spawning fish to "catch"). For me though, there's serenity to be found fishing darker water and swirling water in the picturesque scenery of the north shore, especially if you get on the water early and late, when most anglers are driving to or from their distant homes.
This year I had only a couple of days and wouldn't have even had that except the run was very late on the north shore this year. The weekend before I'd struck fish running one of my favorite streams, the Stewart River but because I was "up north" to celebrate my wife's birthday I had only a limited chance to fish before a huge rainfall blew the streams out. After giving the streams a few days to clear I packed up the Jeep and headed north. The drive was uneventful but when I stopped in Hinkley for a meal I also stopped to check out a wood carving place. It worked out well as the carver was working on a nice bear eating a fish and I got to chat to him for a while and learn a little about the process. It was a good way to break up the drive.
I arrived at the Stewart river about 4pm and noticed their weren't many cars in the parking lot - not a good sign that the fish were in. Anyway, as I moved up the stream I didn't see any fish and the one angler I can across assured me the stream temperature was too high. I wasn't completely convinced but I was enjoying probing this delightful river as it's one of the few north shore streams with a decent stretch of river before the fish hit the terminal barrier. The sun got lower and lower and I eventually called it a day and headed back to the car, without any sign of fish. Then I had an idea.
A couple of years before I'd experienced the smelt run on the Beaver River and tied up a heap of smelt pattern flies I'd never used. Now was my chance to try out some of these flies, even if the chances were very low - at least I wouldn't feel like I'd tied them for nothing. The other thing in favor of trying it was that the Beaver River is close to Split-rock Lighthouse State Park where I intended to camp for the evening. So off I headed and I arrived there with the sun beginning it's decent over the Sawbill Mountains. I tied on my smelt pattern and began fishing. The conditions were great and not an angler to be seen. The water was lifeless but young families of ducks and mergansers were swimming around on the larger lower pool of the river. As I fished I wondered how late in the day the smelt began running but really I was just enjoying shooting my streamers out into some uncommonly large water.
Slowly but surely I began to forget about the serenity of things and became more focused on fishing. I began to notice swirls and sploshes, some that could only be made from large fish. I began casting at these swirls as they became more frequent and they soon had my complete attention. I became convinced my clumsy attempt at tying a smelt pattern was too sparse in the water and switched to a fly with more profile in the now low-light conditions. It was only the first or second swing through the head of the pool when a strong shock traveled through the rod and into my arm. For a moment or two the fish didn't know what was going on but when it figured out the resistance of the flyline wasn't to it's liking it shot off downstream towards the big lake. The reel screamed and I headed off in pursuit. This fish gave a very good account of itself in water that was large and deep enough to showcase it's ability to run, jump and sound. I also enjoyed the fight because there was little chance of losing the fish in water with very few logs or other snags around. Although it feels as though time stands still when I'm fighting a big fish I'm sure it was only a few minutes until I beached a beautiful, spawned-out, wild hen steelhead. My heart was pounding but I soon discovered I'd left my camera in the car. So I left the fish in the shallows and ran up the steep hill up to the car and then quickly sprinted back down. After snapping a couple of brag shots I released her no worse for the wear and sat back as my heart really pounded in my chest. Despite the fish still swirling I rested my eyes. When I awoke a dark black sky surrounded me and the gentle whirring of the whitewater soothed the cool night air. The waxing moon was already high in the sky and after a brief fishing session I headed back to the state park to set up camp.
The next morning saw me set up on the Splitrock River but after working it thoroughly I saw no sign of fish. I headed all the way up the shore to Devil's Track River and although the water temps were great it had too much flow to fish safely by yourself. I sat and thought about things for a while and realized I'd already exceeded my expectations for the trip. I pointed the car south and probed a few streams I'd never fished - the Poplar and the Cross - before heading home. As I drove past the Knife River I noticed there wasn't a single car. I knew water temps were way too high but I just wanted the chance to fish the once prolific waters of the Knife (I did wet a line there last year but it was PACKED with anglers then).
I noticed resistance on my drift and when I looked up to see which rock the flies were wrapped around I watched as the snag moved out and then downstream - Fish On! Unfortunately the dark fish didn't put up much of a show. He was beaten up from the rigors of the spawn and although he tried to run there just wasn't the ferociousness you might expect from a steelhead. He came to hand quickly and took a lot of reviving, and maybe he didn't make it. If I had to guess his story I imagine he might have been a prize fighter and was the dominant male of that stretch of spawning gravel but with each fight he lost some strength. Now he had been dethroned but instead of retiring gracefully he was sitting below the new king and queen eating their eggs. It probably isn't true but that's my best guess and I'm sticking with it. Although I took a picture of him it is probably the ugliest steelhead I've caught to date.
Despite the challenging fishing and low numbers of fish, the north shore has charms of it's own that have attracted me for the last several seasons. With the limited amount of stream available to anglers there is usually a number of anglers to contend with and because fish are few and far between, sometimes fishing etiquette can be "questionable" with anglers with little steelheading experience but a tremendous desire to catch these magnificent fish losing all of their manners when they suspect you might be somewhere they can catch a fish. Fortunately, most of these guys focus on the terminal pools and the mouths of the rivers, but there are also a number of "herons" (my nickname for those guys that stalk along the bank looking for spawning fish to "catch"). For me though, there's serenity to be found fishing darker water and swirling water in the picturesque scenery of the north shore, especially if you get on the water early and late, when most anglers are driving to or from their distant homes.
This year I had only a couple of days and wouldn't have even had that except the run was very late on the north shore this year. The weekend before I'd struck fish running one of my favorite streams, the Stewart River but because I was "up north" to celebrate my wife's birthday I had only a limited chance to fish before a huge rainfall blew the streams out. After giving the streams a few days to clear I packed up the Jeep and headed north. The drive was uneventful but when I stopped in Hinkley for a meal I also stopped to check out a wood carving place. It worked out well as the carver was working on a nice bear eating a fish and I got to chat to him for a while and learn a little about the process. It was a good way to break up the drive.
I arrived at the Stewart river about 4pm and noticed their weren't many cars in the parking lot - not a good sign that the fish were in. Anyway, as I moved up the stream I didn't see any fish and the one angler I can across assured me the stream temperature was too high. I wasn't completely convinced but I was enjoying probing this delightful river as it's one of the few north shore streams with a decent stretch of river before the fish hit the terminal barrier. The sun got lower and lower and I eventually called it a day and headed back to the car, without any sign of fish. Then I had an idea.
A couple of years before I'd experienced the smelt run on the Beaver River and tied up a heap of smelt pattern flies I'd never used. Now was my chance to try out some of these flies, even if the chances were very low - at least I wouldn't feel like I'd tied them for nothing. The other thing in favor of trying it was that the Beaver River is close to Split-rock Lighthouse State Park where I intended to camp for the evening. So off I headed and I arrived there with the sun beginning it's decent over the Sawbill Mountains. I tied on my smelt pattern and began fishing. The conditions were great and not an angler to be seen. The water was lifeless but young families of ducks and mergansers were swimming around on the larger lower pool of the river. As I fished I wondered how late in the day the smelt began running but really I was just enjoying shooting my streamers out into some uncommonly large water.
Slowly but surely I began to forget about the serenity of things and became more focused on fishing. I began to notice swirls and sploshes, some that could only be made from large fish. I began casting at these swirls as they became more frequent and they soon had my complete attention. I became convinced my clumsy attempt at tying a smelt pattern was too sparse in the water and switched to a fly with more profile in the now low-light conditions. It was only the first or second swing through the head of the pool when a strong shock traveled through the rod and into my arm. For a moment or two the fish didn't know what was going on but when it figured out the resistance of the flyline wasn't to it's liking it shot off downstream towards the big lake. The reel screamed and I headed off in pursuit. This fish gave a very good account of itself in water that was large and deep enough to showcase it's ability to run, jump and sound. I also enjoyed the fight because there was little chance of losing the fish in water with very few logs or other snags around. Although it feels as though time stands still when I'm fighting a big fish I'm sure it was only a few minutes until I beached a beautiful, spawned-out, wild hen steelhead. My heart was pounding but I soon discovered I'd left my camera in the car. So I left the fish in the shallows and ran up the steep hill up to the car and then quickly sprinted back down. After snapping a couple of brag shots I released her no worse for the wear and sat back as my heart really pounded in my chest. Despite the fish still swirling I rested my eyes. When I awoke a dark black sky surrounded me and the gentle whirring of the whitewater soothed the cool night air. The waxing moon was already high in the sky and after a brief fishing session I headed back to the state park to set up camp.
The next morning saw me set up on the Splitrock River but after working it thoroughly I saw no sign of fish. I headed all the way up the shore to Devil's Track River and although the water temps were great it had too much flow to fish safely by yourself. I sat and thought about things for a while and realized I'd already exceeded my expectations for the trip. I pointed the car south and probed a few streams I'd never fished - the Poplar and the Cross - before heading home. As I drove past the Knife River I noticed there wasn't a single car. I knew water temps were way too high but I just wanted the chance to fish the once prolific waters of the Knife (I did wet a line there last year but it was PACKED with anglers then).
The Splitrock River
North of Cross River mouth
I tied on my go to cactus fly with a pheasant tail indicator rig and headed downstream, probing only the most likely of dark water. I was scanning for fish and about two thirds down to the lake I noticed a hen actively spawning and a male behind her. I positioned myself for the drift and began running the flies though. No take, no take and no take with every drift meeting with refusal. Finally, I let me flies drift below the tailout containing the fish and into the broken water, as I tried to reposition a little downstream of where I was standing.
North of Cross River mouth
I tied on my go to cactus fly with a pheasant tail indicator rig and headed downstream, probing only the most likely of dark water. I was scanning for fish and about two thirds down to the lake I noticed a hen actively spawning and a male behind her. I positioned myself for the drift and began running the flies though. No take, no take and no take with every drift meeting with refusal. Finally, I let me flies drift below the tailout containing the fish and into the broken water, as I tried to reposition a little downstream of where I was standing.
I noticed resistance on my drift and when I looked up to see which rock the flies were wrapped around I watched as the snag moved out and then downstream - Fish On! Unfortunately the dark fish didn't put up much of a show. He was beaten up from the rigors of the spawn and although he tried to run there just wasn't the ferociousness you might expect from a steelhead. He came to hand quickly and took a lot of reviving, and maybe he didn't make it. If I had to guess his story I imagine he might have been a prize fighter and was the dominant male of that stretch of spawning gravel but with each fight he lost some strength. Now he had been dethroned but instead of retiring gracefully he was sitting below the new king and queen eating their eggs. It probably isn't true but that's my best guess and I'm sticking with it. Although I took a picture of him it is probably the ugliest steelhead I've caught to date.
The beaten up steelhead
I fished down right to the lake and never saw another fish and the spawning couple left their redd with all the commotion of my fish. With the sun directly overhead I headed back to the car and continued back home. All in all I was more than satisfied with my north shore trip.
I fished down right to the lake and never saw another fish and the spawning couple left their redd with all the commotion of my fish. With the sun directly overhead I headed back to the car and continued back home. All in all I was more than satisfied with my north shore trip.Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Carp on the Fly
My quest for my first stream rainbow trout of the year was still alive and if I caught a brownie I wanted it to be big, so my decision of fishing location would obviously be in the Whitewater system. I elected to go down to the bottom of the main branch to some water that has held rainbows and big browns. It's a quiet place that sees very little pressure. I fished some good water without a strike and things weren't looking good. In fact, a substantial hatch of dark hendricksons were coming off but I saw no fish eating them in the dirty water.
Finally I hit a nice little rainbow as my streamer drifted under a logjam at the head of a deep pool. That was the theme of the afternoon as the storm clouds built all around me. I ended up with one more rainbow and a little brown trout broken up through the two or three hours I was out. At the final hole I fished I stumbled onto some trout that would consistently strike the fly but wouldn't hook up. After a half hour of frustration I gave up with the heavy rain and storm blowing in.
As I walked back towards the car I smelled the stench of decaying fish. I knew there was a small tributary ditch that drained a floodplain closeby and the local kids often speared the spawning carp as they ascended the shallow ditch. It turned out I had by 6weight rod and was fishing streamers so I thought I'd give it a go. Despite thunder rumbling around me and heavy rain falling, I peered into the small pool behind the concrete culvert under the road. It was full of big carp and the sound of them pushing through the culvert was loud and frequent.
It was as close to fishing for king salmon as I've come across and it was impossible not to foul them. I landed a few of the suckers and redhorse that were also in there but had pulled out of the carp I'd fouled. Finally, I watched as my bright streamer was sucked up into the mouth of a big carp. I set the hook and it set off in the only direction it could - down. They do run and fight but it's more of the dogged battle of a black salmon than the electric fight of a steelhead. Finally though I landed my "prize". A few minutes later I was hooked into another one but when a loud crack of thunder let me know a storm was right on top of me I figured two carp was enough to satisfy me.
Finally I hit a nice little rainbow as my streamer drifted under a logjam at the head of a deep pool. That was the theme of the afternoon as the storm clouds built all around me. I ended up with one more rainbow and a little brown trout broken up through the two or three hours I was out. At the final hole I fished I stumbled onto some trout that would consistently strike the fly but wouldn't hook up. After a half hour of frustration I gave up with the heavy rain and storm blowing in.
As I walked back towards the car I smelled the stench of decaying fish. I knew there was a small tributary ditch that drained a floodplain closeby and the local kids often speared the spawning carp as they ascended the shallow ditch. It turned out I had by 6weight rod and was fishing streamers so I thought I'd give it a go. Despite thunder rumbling around me and heavy rain falling, I peered into the small pool behind the concrete culvert under the road. It was full of big carp and the sound of them pushing through the culvert was loud and frequent.
It was as close to fishing for king salmon as I've come across and it was impossible not to foul them. I landed a few of the suckers and redhorse that were also in there but had pulled out of the carp I'd fouled. Finally, I watched as my bright streamer was sucked up into the mouth of a big carp. I set the hook and it set off in the only direction it could - down. They do run and fight but it's more of the dogged battle of a black salmon than the electric fight of a steelhead. Finally though I landed my "prize". A few minutes later I was hooked into another one but when a loud crack of thunder let me know a storm was right on top of me I figured two carp was enough to satisfy me.
A big, ugly carp - at least they fight well
When I got back from the north shore I did go out to see if I could hook another one but all I found was beaten down grass and a heap of dead carp littered around the creek. I did manage to hook a two foot longtom-like fish that leapt clear of the water like a crazy thing but I guess the local boys had their fun and cleared the place out.
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