Small fish, small flies

Hit a small stream with some small flies. Little Grumpies and Raggedy Andy's. I really love the small, intimate streams, the solitude they moslty provide because people always seem to chase the bigger fish in bigger water while I prefer to just catch fish. Always fun.

Apres Work, few hours to fish

Busted out of work and headed to the water as fast as possible. I knew my next few weekends were going to be fishless so I had to get a few before I headed out of town at the end of the week. Only got a few Browns in the short time I had. It was a scenario of pay your $15 dollars for the room, hit it, and move on to the next. I had a lot of fun in doing so, felt kinda dirty and learned a thing or two about a thing or two. Tried throwing streamers but it didn't quite work out for me... practice practice practice.

Football on Sunday?

Headed back to Football Creek with Amanda. My god, teaching someone is difficult, especially when they slay it so fast! Not to say she is killing it all over, but the learning curve is, well bending. The enthusiasm is really her biggest asset. I think the same went for me when I first started, you quickly figure out if this "sport" is for you or not. You find yourself either saying this sucks, it's fun for a few weekends a year, or you envision the remainder of your life in search of the beauties that live just beneath the surface. For me, this is an old man's game, being that I will be playing this game as an old man, and as Amanda stated she will be an old women slaying trout.
Amanda learned today why it is called Football Creek, she caught a football. It was funny. I was dabbing a streamer through a hole when she said "I'm on". I looked into the hole she was fishing and saw the monster rise, I exclaimed "HOLY SHIT" and yelled for her to lift her rod up high, reel it in and let it run. She knew whatever was on the other end was heavy but had no idea what she had clenched onto her fly until it got really close and rose next to her, I think her reaction was similar to mine; "holy shiz-nit". She fought the fish well, it made several runs up but never down, lucky her. We got it into the net and the look on her face was somewhere between shock, fear, joy, and happiness, a collage of emotion. We got her to pick it up and started taking pics, after a few we got in back into the net and had her take of few with me holding it so we could better see the beautiful monster football Cutthroat. It was then that I looked at her and she wasn't yet taking pictures, her hands were shaking so much it made me laugh. I "yelled" at her to take pics and she snapped a few before the shaking and adrenaline took over again. That was enough, we let the beautiful Cutt go back into the depths. I looked at her and said "Do you realize what you have just done? You may never catch a fish like that again, ever! That may be a once in a lifetime catch." Not bad for fishing a handful of times... ahh, the teacher so proud of the student!
Garside's cutthroat
(me holding Garside's fish)
Good times Garside

700k for Cutthroat Searching

700 miles of driving around Utah in search of Cutthroats. Well, I had to put my money where my mouth had been. The taste was not good; sour leading to bitter with a touch of irony in the background, and a long weak finish. I had been told about some new water to go explore and I set out to check on it. I wanted to target a specific species. I was in search of Cutthroats, and specifically Native Bonneville Cutthroats. So, I had to test the waters, the pavement, dirt, and soul. Getting there seemed as difficult as the first lunar landing probably was. The map was useless and I was heading into the utmost unknown. Usually the Utah DeLorme Atlas & Gazetteer is spot on, not so in this grid. It was pretty much useless and if times got rough it would have been the perfect fire starter. The landmarks I was told to look for were all in place but the map numbers, road numbers and names, and geography were all wrong. Making the trip extra difficult and the final location impossible to find. Well, not impossible cause I did find it. However, 10 years of being absent... my source proved to be the catalyst of change. The stream was down an easy 3 feet. The riverbed rocks long exposed to sunlight had burnt the mossy cling-ons that once flourished in the bottom of the stream on the rocks and they had turned a bright sun bleached white. There was no way 8-10" cuttys still lived here, and I was correct... they don't. I headed to the other stream just on the other side of the mountain range and again, water too small, bad map, lots of driving, etc. etc. New plan....

I packed up camp, got in the truck and headed out to yet another location, scene 3. Again, searching for more cutts. I pulled down a road where I had once fished years ago with B.G. I knew where the secret turn off after mile marker "xx" was, you know behind the OK Corral... but wait... a fence... a gate... a sign... private property? WTF? Denied again! STRIKE 3!
Feeling frustrated and seeing the sun was no longer going up or suspended for a moment in the sky, it was working its way west, and going down sooner than I'd like it to. I had to make a break for it to avoid another search by navigating the star chart at night, landmarks are difficult to see at night(if you didn't know). I arrived at the spot after dark no less, the area was crowded by hunters and 4-wheelers... perfect these fools don't fish.
So, it wasn't the desired spot. It wasn't the second days spot either. Nor was is by chance spot 3, no I was in the bonus round now, and spot 4 was going to deliver!
No disappointment the fourth time around... fours a charm? I did finally encounter the Cutthroats I was in search of. The lesson to be had was simple... when in search of specific things you may not always find them or find what you are looking for. Amazingly, this is the first time I have ever searched out a water to be denied on its bounty... times three. Yet, the drive to find the cutthroats didn't end, I persevered and after 700 miles from Friday to Sunday I may call the adventure just that, an adventure...
Where to next? More, bigger, fatter cutts next weekend? Who knows? I do know I will not be returning to spot 1,2,3 anytime soon. Time to bust out the maps and start the search again, for when the search stops so does the adventure and expansion of skills, heart, love, knowledge, solitude, and life... shit, what else... trout hunting.

A Journey North of Salt Lake City

Mark came in for his annual visit to Utah and the Western States to slay trout. I sadly missed his trip last year and would not make the same mistake again this year.

I fortunately got the time of from work and hit the road with:

Grizz
Chilli
B.G.
Mark
me (photo by Mark)

We headed North of Salt Lake City in search of monster trout in the remoteness of a grand mountainous forest.

All stacked up, like being on the Provo.
Still not sure if this net was truly big enough.

Once there it took no time to realize I was slightly over my head. The three in the group are all excellent sticks, and I found myself intimidated by them, their skill and prowess. Nothing they did intentionally intimidated me, it is just the difference between fishing their whole lives and me just a few years into a lifelong game... I was the top seeded amateur amongst the pros. :)

Mark navigating the holding monsters.

I know I am solid in my method of fishing, but my method did not meet the standard necessary to hook and land these behemoths. I did catch some nice cutthroats off the Raggedy Andy and some dry flies, and any other day in which you catch an 18" cutty is good, wait no... it's great. Yet, on this trip they did not measure up. The satisfaction sought by all was much bigger than a few little cutties.

Wild berries for natural energy boost.

I have never truly fished in the way we did, nor have I ever made a journey just to target a specific species. I now know that has changed. I really enjoyed the challenge of targeting just one species and the absurd lack of satisfaction in catching fish that you were not actually after. Usually any fish caught is a good thing, just not this go round.

Native window art.

The other aspect of true satisfaction, and possibly a test in my theory of fishing and adventure was the self realization that I needed to improve a very big portion of my game. There are aspects and styles that I want to improve and this trip shed a bright light on those aspects.

The test in theory was that of not catching fish but still being happy where you're at. I was exceptionally satisfied with the location, geology, forest, water, landscape, remoteness, friends, fish, and the time spent in the car driving.

I can honestly say this was a trip where I did not land a lot of fish but was more than plainly content, I was ecstatic to see my friends doing well and to acknowledge my own limitations and be completely satisfied with taking a back to seat to those guys and watch and learn. I felt like a drugged up child with severe A.D.D. I loved staring off into the mountains, clouds, trees and water basking in their greatness, with full appreciation of the surroundings.

So, my theory of catching fish being icing on the cake holds true, as I am so looking forward to returning to this spot in the future, with a bag of new found tricks and skills and testing the waters with said skills and slaying it!

Gourmet food on the fire, so good! Thanks everyone for taking their turn on the fire and food.B.G. through the trees.
Mark dresses for success and the ladies everywhere he goes.

Cutthroats, Browns and Flowers

I took Amanda to Football Creek. I knew that I had to bring her somewhere that she could catch fish. I know all too well the frustration that builds when learning to fly fish, spending days on the water without catching anything. I wanted this day to be different for her, her fortunes had to change. After hitting the Provo with no fish we had to hit a spot where I knew fish where active.
Football Creek is a minimum 12+ hour day of fishing, hiking and driving. She was a champion about it and was rewarded with lots of fish... of course there is "the one that got away" but I saw it, she hooked into a very nice cutthroat but it broke her off.
It was a really good learning experience for both of us. For me teaching someone and trying to think of a hundred ways to convey the same thing but differently until it clicks for the person. For her, it wound up being a lesson in casting, hook setting, and landing bigger fish. Not many people catch fish like she did her fourth time out.
It was great to have someone I could play fishing baseball with. Catch a fish and it's a hit, next batter up. Prick three, miss three, hook up and loose it and your out. Fortunately she was also catching fish so we each got plenty of at bats each and plenty of fish were brought to hand.