For a long father’s day weekend I planned a back packing trip to the Forks of the Kern months in advance. I invited a number of “value-adds” to the trip, but because of that particular weekend it ended up with just me, Kelly (my lovely bride of 26+ years who is happier in a Nordstrom’s than she is in the wilderness) and her / our friend Meredith. Mer loves to backpack and is turning into quite the wilderness gal. But, it was just me and two hot mom-babes which is just another reason for stressing while back-packing.

I had to drive to the trailhead from the North, actually from Fresno where I was on a business trip. I pulled Huck-truck into the lower Peppermint campground about 10 miles short of the trailhead at 12am the night before and crashed in the back of the truck. The girls came from the south and met me the next morning, albeit a bit later than we wanted to start because of the heat.

So, I headed into the wilderness with two moms. Mer had a bear spray and I had one. And I had my Delorme InReach Satellite tracker. I was still a bit worried though because the hike in to the very same place with Kelly last year ended up with my buddy mark mcgeary carrying her pack…and his. She was a lot smarter about what she put in her pack this time. And she was a lot stronger. But, I was still a bit worried because “wierdos” do live in the sierras in the bush. As a fly fisherman I don’t worry about large animals like bears and moose and wolves; I worry about tiny things like ticks and the protozoans they carry and others like giardia. And I worry about wierdos; the kind that are vagrants living in the bush and the other kind that are illegal drug farmers. And I have run into plenty of both.

Once we got to the little Kern crossing (which I didn’t even bother taking my boots off for it was so low), I overcame my fears and hiked ahead to see if we could get our favorite primitive site on the river. Because going farther on the trail beyond that site is at least another hour of hiking over the mountain and I know there would be no way we’d be able to do that on that hot day. And alas, when I got there, it had tents on it. Darn. My first mistake was thinking the girls might want to share that site. (A day later I met the 4 guys in that site who were fly fisherman. But, not the types the girls would want to share a site with). So, I left my backpack in that site amidst the other guys stuff and I quickly hiked my way back on the trail hoping to quickly intersect the girls. I did not. They had slowed down because of the heat. It was every bit of a couple miles where I met up with them. I told them the options we had (share the site, go farther, or find a spot close and call it a day). And it was obvious it was getting hot and time to find a site near there and call it a day. So, we did. So then I had to hike that 2 miles back again to get my pack. Once I did I put my pack on and hiked the 2 miles back again to the girls. Six extra miles, but, I wasn’t fading by any stretch. It was a record fitbit day for sure. Between the hike and gathering fire wood and fishing my fitbit said it took 37,530 steps and covered 16.5 miles before I crashed for the night.

Signs of the prolonged drought were everywhere: dead and dying trees, brown grass and a really low river. In fact, the upper Kern river was flowing under 200 CFS when it should have been at 2,500. The Kern is not going to be fishable in the fall I fear. And there could be a massive fish kill because of the warm water. Or, all the big fish could move up river to the forks where the kern is colder… that would be good….

We set up camp and I handled the important stuff with the gals: collecting and making firewood and setting up a proper and safe fire ring.

The water was already mid-day warm and this was June. I’m so glad I didn’t bring waders; three was no need for them. I’m glad my son Mark talked me out of carrying them in. It would have just been dead weight. By the time we set up camp, made firewood and I built a fire ring the day was mostly gone. By the time I got into the river to fish it was late afternoon. I had a little pressure on me because the girls were counting on eating trout that night. Well, I missed about 10 fish in a row and started to get frustrated before I realized I was setting “up river” instead of downriver like you are supposed to (a trout faces up river and waits for food to go by so you want to pull the hook downriver so it catches their mouth properly). There is so much in fly fishing for me to get better at. And this is one of the areas I need to get better at: the set. I set too early, I set too late, I set to hard. And it this case I was setting the wrong direction. I was on the “right handed side” of the river and setting downriver with my left hand is not natural. I had to concentrate to do it. And once I started doing it I started hooking and landing fish. Before I knew it I had 3 quality fish that I kept and harvested for dinner that night. And that night was the last time I ate trout on the trip and could be the last time I do it ever. Even though I cooked it in fresh lemon juice, olive oil, white wine and spices it still tasted like trout. I’m not weird about harvesting the fish; I’m weird about how badly they taste. They eat bugs and they taste like bugs. But, the girls like it more than backpacking food so I gladly caught and cooked those two fish each night.

This is a California Mountain King Snake. I had to lie to Mer and tell her it slithered off when really it went under a rock just ten feet from her tent. We saw lots of water snakes on the trip including one that just wouldn’t give up trying to steal our fish. I whacked it on the head and it still came back. The stringer I made prevented it from stealing them.

I’m a fly fisherman who backpacks to the fishing. I’m not a backpacker. The difference in this backpacking trip was that we broke camp and moved every day. So we backpacked 4 straight days. It cut into prime morning fishing time, but I didn’t mind at all. We were having fun and it honed my set up / break camp backpacking skills. We hiked all the way up river past mosquito creek close to the Kern flats! And getting over that mountain was a bitch because the pine beetle has done its thing and numerous trees have collapsed on the trail. Getting around one of the collapsed trees involved a 50 foot straight up climb the side of the mountain with the packs on. I’m a “goat” but it was tricky and very physical for the girls…and dangerous.

The fishing was good; not great. I’d say I’d averaged 20 fish days each of the days. If I fished the entire morning and nights I probably could have turned it into 40 fish days. But, I have seen it and fished it a lot better… where every cast is a potential strike. There was not a lot of action on top, but enough to elicit some vicious strikes from smaller rainbows. But, all the decent size fish I caught were on the dropper or on a streamer.

The two best fly fishing takeaway stories from the trip:

1. I caught a big fish on the last cast on the last night. And then I followed it up with a first cast fish the morning. Both were right in front of the camp site.

2. I taught both the gals how to reach cast and we even did a little roll casting. And both of them did great (realize how impossible it is to teach your wife anything). Well, on the last night they had seen refusals and strikes all trip long, but still had not landed a fish. I told them before the trip they’d catch fish, but they wouldn’t land them. They soon figured out what that meant. Anyways on the last night just as the sun was going down the caddis hatch went off. I noticed and looked at a river in front of the site alive with rises. I said, “Ladies, if you are ever going to catch a fish it’s going to be now.” They both motivated and grabbed their rods. Mer was downstream. I went with her first and since she was casting great I simply pointed out the rises and told her where to cast. First cast….Strike! She missed it… but, was now excited. I said, “Keep fishing and let me take care of Kelly.”

So, I put Kelly in another spot 100 feet upstream which had a lot more rises, but an impossible reach cast because of the trees. She’d have to roll cast it. As we practiced the role cast she mangled her rod in a tree and lost the flies, so I gave her my rod. She was getting struck every time and missing the sets. I was frustrated and yelling “Set!” And she was frustrated at me for being so into it and yelling. After about ten straight misses I pondered what to do and she let her line swing…. “I got a fish!” She screamed. I said to myself, “No way. On the swing.” I had not caught a fish on the swing all trip long. Kelly actually caught a fish! I shouted “Woo!”. Well she battled it to her feet where the barbless hook fell out. I call that a catch…. On the swing… and Meredith got struck on top numerous times on a caddis imitation.

Both of the girls want to go back. That is awesome. Kelly was even talking to Mer about buying her own backpack. They are both pretty stoked on the trip as am I because even though it was a different trip, it was a ton of fun in the Sierras. Kelly was so much stronger this time. Of course she was smarter about what she put in her pack this time…but not totally smart….:) Both girls agreed for the next time: “Less food; more booze.” And who can argue with that?

I know the girls are very proud and rightfully they should be because they really enjoyed themselves and they did help a lot. Can’t wait to do it again… Next time with twice­ as much fly fishing.

April 10-12, 2015

Well, I checked off another “bucket-lister” – I back-packed the forks of the kern trailhead into the Sierras wilderness for 3 days and two nights – alone. The Forks trail opened up the day before so I was the first one on the trail for the season. And the only one there. I didn’t see a single sole the entire time. The reasons I’d do something crazy like that risking a bit of safety are numerous:

1. A shot at throwing the first artificial flies of the season at the legendary Kern River Rainbows in low water Spring conditions.

2. I started the back packing thing late in life and am trying to learn as much as possible and be able to deal with the adversity that the wilderness throws at you. And I did see my share of adversity on this trip.

3. There’s nothing like being in the wilderness alone to bring clarity of thought (unless you are scared about all the bears in the vicinity like on this trip).

Forks of the Kern Opening 2015 release compilation
My compilation video of some of the releases i did on the trip

I blocked my calendar for a long weekend at the end of a business trip weeks ago; naively. I knew that in the 4^th straight year of the worst California drought in recorded would mean a very productive and fishable river in April. In normal years that river in April would be huge and nasty and barely fishable at 2500 CFS (cubic feet per second). There is only one positive thing I know of in the drought: great fly fishing. With 1/10^th of normal flow there is just no place where the fish can hide from a good cast.

Check out the Kern River Water flow historical graph below:

And now let me tell you that the Kern was under 200 cfs (cubic feet per second). In normal years in April through June, you would even consider wading into the river 5 feet because it would be a raging 2000 cfs and really dangerous. I found a river easily crossable in numerous places in April; shocking. And very fishable albeit cold and early in the season.

I lucked out. They opened the road to the trail head the day before. I had no idea they even closed that road or the trailhead in winter, but it makes total sense. Even getting stuck on the road in the winter would be an issue because it’s 30 miles from any civilization. I called the ranger station the week prior because my permit was not approved yet and that is when I found out how close I was cutting it. I called them again the day before I was to start my trek and they told me the good news.

Driving the road to the trail, though, I saw snow. A lot of snow. Hmmm…. When I got to the trailhead I parked on the dirt alone. I have never seen that trailhead empty before. hmmm….

My footprints were the first on the trail for months after it closed for winter. It was eerie hiking in with 45lbs on my back and my right hand constantly checking for my bear spray. And stepping over or around all the rocks and trees that had fallen on the trail over the winter. The first encounter was a big bobcat. I spooked it and it ran away quickly. I didn’t realize they run like tigers / cheetahs with a double foot gallop. My next encounters were with snakes warming up on the trail. After the first hour of the hike down into the canyon I took off my boots and gingerly crossed the little Kern River and picked up the trail on the other side. And that is where I ran into the first real concern: bears. There was bear scat right on the trail. These are just black bears and normally not a threat…except in Spring when they come out of hibernation hungry, horny or with young bears…or all three. As I hiked the 4.2 miles on the trail to my favorite primitive campsite I kept running into more and more bear scat. And one huge fresh one just 100 feet from my favorite site. Hmmm…

The first issue. Since my pack was already at 45 lbs I didn’t bring hiking boots. I hiked in with my wading boots…which are a full 1.5 sizes too big by design to fit the neoprene sock in waders. And now my feet are blistered and in pain. So, I have to suck it up.

Once I got to my destination I scanned the river for rises; none. No bugs in the air either.

I quickly unpacked my backpack. 2^nd issue: my water bottle was carabineered to the outside of my backpack. It unscrewed itself on the physical hike/climb in and I lost it. uggg… I had a coffee cup and my jetboil, but now I was stuck sterilizing water in a 12 ounce coffee cup. Either that or drink water right out of the river and risk giardia.

I set up camp quickly. I set up my tent close to the primitive fire ring figuring alone I’d want everything close. It’s not normally where I put my tent. I hung my food and knew I had to make firewood before I fished because I’d hope to fish a hatch until dark. The process involves dragging downed tree branches 100s of yards to the site, leaning them on a rock, and trying to break them up by two handed throwing the largest rock I could handle. It’s backbreaking work…especially for an overweight little old guy….

I strung up my Winston boron II 6 wt with a huck hopper and rainbow warrior dropper I tied and on the 3rd cast, just 50 feet from my tent I was into a battle with a 16” Kern River rainbow. “Yes!” I shouted to no one after I hooked, fought, released him. After a couple hours I had landed 5 big fish all within 200 feet of the campsite. And most of the hookups were on dries. I was really pleased.

It was getting cold; no chance of hatch so I headed to make a fire. And thank god I had a fire permit. Because it was cold; really cold. I underestimated how cold it would be. The closest weather report I could get was from Johnsondale about 40 road miles away. And it was easily 10 degrees colder in the mid 30s.

After eating and sipping a little JD I sat next to the fire and I txt’d many of my fishing buddies about my success with my delorme inreach satellite tracker; An amazing safety device. I also txt’d Kelly telling her I was safe and having fun. And all the people I txt’d could see exactly where I was and where I had been at: https://share.delorme.com/TimHuckaby

It was a long first night. I could hear every little noise from the wilderness over the sound of the rapids from the river. So, I was a bit freaked. I’m pretty sure I had an animal visitor in my campsite. Additionally, the wind would hit my tent and make a noise like an animal (or worse a wierdo) tapping on my tent. It was so cold it was the first time I mummified myself in my sleeping bag. When the sun came up and my watch alarm went off at 6:30 I said to myself, “my god it is so cold I can’t get out of my sleeping bag.” For those who know me as a really early riser that is a shock. But, I did. And I could see my breath so heavy it went out at least 3 feet in front of me. there was no frost so I know it wasn’t 32…but, it was darn close. And since I was backpacking light I just didn’t have the clothes to support the cold. The first thing I saw was a giant pee stain in the dirt right by where I cooked my food the night prior. I got visited by a bear.

I made firewood to warm up. I made coffee to warm up. When I ran out of chores and eating I wadered up and fished downriver. I was a bit freaked by the bear and for no logical reason felt it would be safer to fish back the way I came in, instead of deeper into the sierras. And I did well. It’s wasn’t crazy every cast takes, but the fishing was consistent all day. And I caught a lot of big fish… maybe around 15. And that is the weird thing. I was only catching big fish.

The highlight of the day is one I will remember forever. Those who fly fish know that getting a fish to rise to your fly is the ultimate. Even better than that is getting a big fish to rise. Even better than that is getting a big fish to rise to a fly you personally tied. But, there is one thing even better….

There are spots on the kern where you just can’t wade. The river has cut into the granite in bends and formed deep pools under cliffs. Typically a tail-out ends in a deep pool. And that was very much the case as I climbed down the granite face to about 10 feet above the water. I casted up stream and drifted the tail-out – nothing. I pulled it up right in front of me because below me was 30 foot deep of crystal clear slow moving water. That water never works so I didn’t even drift it. I casted upstream 40 feet or so again. Nothing. “One more cast.” I said to myself fully expecting to move to better water. I casted, drifted, nothing. But, for some reason I just let my huck hopper ride in the slow water contemplating moving. That is when it happened: 10 feet downstream and below me I watched as if it were in slow motion… a monster rose from the deep like a torpedo and crashed on my huck hopper. I set and the battle was on. He had plenty of deep water to run on me and he jumped a couple times. Huge fish. Now, I had to figure out how to land and release him. that was a bit tricky and dangerous. Totally worth it.

My second night went a bit better, but it was even more bitter cold than the first night. When I got up in the morning my breath was “smoking” 3 feet in front of me.

I packed up camp and got on the trail. I decided I’d break the trip back up into two segments in fish a couple hours in between. I decided to fish the little Kern river because I never have caught a fish there. And I still haven’t. There was plenty of water and I fished up about a mile, but for some reason I didn’t see any fish. It was really rugged too. I lost my bear spray in the process. Now I had to hike all the way out of the canyon without bear spray. Uggg.

The hike out… gaining all the 1800 feet back up hill… was brutal. I’m in cardio shape, but still 15 lbs heavy…and another year on this broken down old body didn’t help…. But still totally worth it. When I got to the trailhead I was still the only sole there. I sun showered with soap and shampoo; I grabbed a beer from my cooler and headed home with a smile on my face. Can’t wait to get back in June.

I don’t know if I’ll ever push the safety thing to those limits again….probably not. But, I’m sure glad I did it and lived to tell you parts of the story.

If any of you want the intricate details and directions on how to pull this backpacking trip off I’d be more than happy to provide them. Just email me.

February 14-16, 2015

I had the best birthday ever. My wife of 26 years sacrificed Valentine’s Day. She suggested I go visit my youngest, Mark, 19 who is a freshman at Montana State University in Bozeman, MT for the long president’s day weekend. And it was awesome. Totally fun trip in so many ways.

Not counting the travel on either side I got to spend 3 full days with my son (and frequently his buddies) fly fishing and snowboarding

Who would have thought the fishing could be good in mid-February in Montana?!

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Saturday February 14^th

We made the 30 minute trek to Livingston, MT to fish DuPuy’s. DuPuys is a private spring creek tributary of the Yellowstone River. Each fly rod costs $40 and limits the amount of anglers on this 3 mile stretch of river to 16 per day. Its barbless catch and release and totally worth my $120 to host Mark and his two mt state dorm buddies Irah (Montrose, CO) and Burnsie (Sacramento, CA). Of course we stopped at Yellowstone Anglers on the way and got some great guidance from our long time friend and awesome fishing guide, Paul Bloch. We also bought some highly recommended flies from Paul.

The fishing was surprisingly good. I mean it was mid February. But, montana is having a weird winter too. The temperature got above 60 degrees. What pleased me most was that all the boys caught fish. These three teenagers are no strangers to the fly rod, but Dupuys is very technical fishing; not a place for beginners.

We had about a mile of the Northern end of the spring creek to ourselves most of the day. That is where Paul told us to hole up anyways.

Before I knew it Mark has two really nice fish; a brown and a rainbow. And Irah had a big brown. Burnsie caught fish too. Then it occurred to me….”I haven’t landed a trout yet and it’s close to the end of the day.” I was having so much fun watching the boys and doing a bit of guiding and re-rigging I just wasn’t fishing a lot. And I was mostly fishing behind them. And totally happy doing it. I had caught some whitefish and I lost two big trout I remembered. But, it seemed strange that I hadn’t landed a trout and was really happy about it.

Well, towards the end of the day I suggested I show the boys the rest of the spring creek and we should pick a hole and finish it out. We ended up at the very southern end of the spring creek. And it was cold and windy and the sun was going down. Everyone was tired and achy. My GPS told me that we hiked a full 6 miles. Mark took a couple casts and called it a day. Irah went down river a bit and Burnsie was about 100 fee from me. I tried all the trout looking water with nothing. So I decided to hit some “spawny” looking water right by the car that everyone passed up and sure enough I nailed a nice spawned-out rainbow. Those “last cast” fish are so much better than the first cast ones….

Sunday February 15^th

“I dragged my snowboard all the way out here so we have to go at least once.” is what I told Mark. He was whining about the conditions: 60” of packed powder. I told him how spoiled Montana has made him; that the drought in CA is real and he wouldn’t believe what bad shape mammoth is in.

So, with an early start we headed to Big Sky. I had never been there and neither had Mark. The students and locals go to Bridger Mountain. The elite go to Big Sky. But, Mark had a coupon for us and we got a deal.

Big Sky is really wide open with all the advanced stuff mostly above the tree line. Mark took me off a double black that was kind of hairy but it was a really fun day overall. It is amazing how good he has become. A number of his buddies are expert skiiers from CO so it’s forced him to get really good. He’s 2x the snowboarder than I am now…. And I’m pretty good…for an old guy. He is comfortable switch and and 180 and 360. He goes so fast I can’t even keep up. But, what surprised me the most is the velocity he carries into the trees….and shoots out with 20 feet of air 100 yards down. He’s going to kill himself…or someone else. I’m so glad I bought him an avalanche beacon.

The day ended kind of early and I was just fine with it because keeping up with him had me exhausted. But, the way it ended was kind of nasty. He was racing down the hill and I was struggling to keep up. A hundred yards from the lift he spotted a jump… failing a 360 he crashed to snow as hard as ice. I saw the whole thing and said to myself, “ouch”. I expected him to get up but he didn’t right away…. In fact it took him a number of moments to compose himself. He took his board off and limped to a bench. We did a couple more runs after that and he said he was hurting bad and asked if we could call it a day. I gladly accepted so we went to get a beer and a bowl of soup in town. he’s fine; he’s 19.

Monday February 16^th

Well, it was unanimous that the 3^rd day was going to be a fly fishing day. So, I dragged three teenagers out of bed early and we made the 2 hour drive to the upper Madison. It’s a beautiful drive. We ended up seeing over 500 animals; maybe closer to a thousand. Herds of elk, deer and antelope. We saw a coyote and bald eagles … and there was that moose.

Paul and Bryce suggested we fish “between the lakes” (quake lake and hebgen) and that we might just catch the early spawn. It’s a beautiful part of montana. Even the boys said, “this is why we came to montana.” Unfortunately what we didn’t expect is 4 feet of snow and bitter cold conditions. And that really shut down the fishing. It was so cold the line was freezing to the rod.

We ran into another couple advanced fly fisherman and they weren’t doing well and gave up early. we lasted a couple hours and ended up hiking over 4 miles, sinking deep into snow at points, above 10k feet. So, we headed to 3 dollar bridge about 10 miles back where I figured we’d do better. But, it was howling wind there. hmmm.

But, if you could deal with the 20-30 mph gusts and fished the soft water and got a drift…you got whacked! In one 20 minute stretch I hooked up with 3 huge fish. Landed 2 of 3 of them. I was all alone because the boys spread out so I had to take a vertical phone pic quickly so I could release the fish quickly in the cold conditions as to not harm it.

At one point I was battling a fish and a bull moose jogged by 50 feet behind me.

Conclusions

This was the best birthday ever simply because of the father-son time. My son is getting older but, fly fishing is something we can enjoy together until I pass. Then, he’ll do it with his kids. It wasn’t the fishing or the snowboarding and I have most certainly had some wildly fun birthdays. There’s just something about spending quality time with your kids out in the wilderness. It’s hard to explain to people that don’t have a wilderness component to them.

September 4-9, 2014

Every Fly Fisherman has the Green on his bucket-list. And I had never been there before. I had read numerous stories about 40+ fish days on the Green from my Fly Fishing Group, SD Fly Fishers. So when the O’Laughlin Father-Son team suggested the Green for our annual trip I jumped at the chance. I did a ton of research and got a ton of help from Lucky Ketcham of the SD Fly Fishers.

Well, the Good news is that I caught two fish of a lifetime on this trip; fish that every fly fisherman dreams of. But, that is not the only luck I got on this trip. The Bad news is that the fishing was slow and there were two major calamities on the trip.

The Green is a River you fish in the spring time when the water is low and the weather turns warm. It’s a tail water (behind Flaming Gorge dam), so in the summer, when they need to generate power they release a ton of water. And, unfortunately, in September when we were there the water was two times what would dictate good fishing conditions at 2500 CFS.

I got a good look at the water for the first time when we put the boat in and I could tell it was way up. But, it was crystal clear just like I read about so I was not worried about the fishing. The Green boasts the most fish per mile of any river in the US. So, not matter how raging the current was, I was confident I could find fish in the steams, pocket water and banks. The Green is separated into 3 sections A, B, and C. Section A is the first one and starts right behind the Dam. It’s the most prolific section and the one where we started.

The “Mother in Law” Rapids

The other thing the Green is famous for is a couple Class 3 rapids. Section A has one of those rapids. It’s called “Mother in Law”. And although not a legitimate representation of my mother in law, who is truly awesome, I believe we all understand why this rapid is named what it is.

More on the “Mother in Law” in a minute because right off the bat I got a huge trout to rise and take my “Huck-Hopper” in pocket water. And like the many huge trout I have caught throughout the years the bigger trout are older and just don’t have the fight in them anymore. So, I brought the fish to net quickly and released her quickly. I didn’t take a picture for that very reason. I wanted to get the fish back into the water as soon as possible because I could tell my dragging her through current really tuckered her out. But, it was a female rainbow that was way north of two feet. Probably 26” and football sized. Plus, I could tell Mr. O’Laughlin was cranky I caught that huge fish and he didn’t and wanted to move on.

The thing about the “Mother in Law” is that it is famous; famous for boat crashes and drownings. And there is a ton of guidance on the internet including numerous youtube videos on how to navigate it. And we got a ton of guidance on how to navigate it. The consistent message in the guidance is: “You are going to think you want to go right of the huge rock to avoid smashing into the canyon wall, but you can’t; The River sucks you into the rock. So, just stay left of the big rock and trust that the river will take you close to the canyon wall, but you won’t’ smash into it.” Now I am just horrible at the oars. I have only done it 3 times. I wish I was better, but I just cannot get practice in a drift boat without owning one. So there is no way I could have been at the oars for this bad-boy. It always makes me feel a bit guilty but, me at the oars is just not safe for anyone. And Drift boats are designed for fishing; not shooting rapids. But, how bad could this rapid be if my SD Fly fishing group peers, many of whom are over 60 go through it in pontoon boats? Mistake number one: Not insisting that Mike take the oars instead of his 75 year old dad. Mr. O wouldn’t give up the oars anyways because he’s a stubborn mule, but, we should have insisted. Mistake number 2: Not realizing at the class 3 rapid at 2500 CFS is a class 4 rapid. Mistake number 3: Not saying out load numerous times: “This is mother in law; you have to stay left of the Rock.”

This next 90 seconds was a surreal experience where it seemed like it happened so fast yet the entire thing was in slow motion. We were set up perfectly when we approached. I didn’t even button up my rod because these two O’Laughlins are so competent at the oars. I wanted to catch a fish in the “Mother in Law”. But, at the last minute Mr. O started back rowing aggressively trying to go around the rock the wrong way. We didn’t even have time to say “Left of the Rock!” because we hit the rock head on. Here’s what I remember: I found myself flying like superman; launched from the back of the boat from the impact of the crash. I remember hearing my fly rod snap in half as the streamer caught something on the boat as I flew over it. I don’t remember which side of the rock I landed on or if I flew over it (which seems impossible). But, I was told after I was in the big rapid to the left of the rock. I remember hitting the 42 degree water face first with enough velocity that I went under a good couple feet. When I bobbed to the surface I blinked a couple times hoping my contact lenses were still in so I could see; they were.

Good fortune number 1: The Green is the only fly fishing river I have ever heard of that requires you to wear a life jacket and enforces the rule with pricey tickets. I was just whining a few minutes before what a hassle it was to wear a life jacket while fishing and how damn hot it made me. That proved to be quite the stupid statement. Although fit, and consequently, I probably would not have drowned without the life jacket, it sure made it easier. So, I did what we are taught and have read so many times about fly fishing safety: I rolled on my back feet first down the river. At this point my first worry was: “There is a 75 year old in the river.” I looked to my left and saw Mr. O hanging onto the boat with a concerning look on his face as it zoomed by.

Good Fortune #2: many of the drift boats that hit that rock sink and get pinned under it. The fisherman get pulled into the current with the pinned boat and that is how they drown. Well, our boat, even filled with water worked itself free. I saw Mike too zooming down the rapid looking quite collected and calm. I looked to my right towards shore to see my path to safety.

Good Fortune #3: There were 4 young fishing guides on the side of the river drinking beer and watching the rapid. They saw the whole thing and jumped into their boats to chase us down. Right there to my right was another drift boat with a young guy shouting, “Grab the Oar!” By this time I had kicked out of the fast water, though and was in deep slow stuff. I grabbed their oar, then thought, “That’s silly; how is he going to row.” Then I grabbed the side of the boat. They said, “Pull yourself in!” But, I couldn’t. I couldn’t because with the high walls of the drift boat, I was too weak and too wet.” I told them something like, “I can get to shore. Please go chase down the boat.”

It’s when I got into shallow enough water where I could walk to shore when I said to myself, “Holy shit I am cold.” And “Oh no. I am holding a broken Winston Boron IIX that costs about $900 and cannot be replaced because it was custom made for a guide I have lost touch with.” Praying that Mike and Mr. O were safe, I started walking the shore down river in somewhat dazed state. There is no river trail on that side of the river so I was essentially bush-whacking and rock hopping and trudging through current, hoping to see everyone safe, down river from me. I came upon mike first about 200 yards up and didn’t even recognize him. For one, he didn’t even look up at me and didn’t respond to my words. It turns out he didn’t hear me and was gathering a bunch of the stuff from the boat that floated including one of the oars. I can’t remember the exact exchange of words, but I do remember mike saying, “He’s fine”. Which was a tremendous relief. But, I could tell Mike was a bit perturbed at his Dad’s mistake. I was just glad we were alive. I grabbed the oar and one of the fly fishing bags full of my stuff that I had on board. That little recovery of my stuff was a huge relief. But, everything in it was soaked. I had another bag with all my good stuff in the boat. I feared it lost. We bush-whacked together down river about ½ mile until we came upon the now 6 young fly fishing guides, Mr. O and the boat. During that walk I went through in my mind the rest of my stuff that was most likely lost: My beloved $500 Olympus camera and the handful of pictures on it (which is why I don’t have my usual set of great pictures for this blog post). My phone. My beloved Sage ZXL 586 and its $250 Galvan Rush R4 reel. I can’t remember what the guides or Mr. O said. But, they were working on righting the boat and bailing the water. I’m sure I heard, “You guys are lucky to be alive.”

One of the guides handed me a bottle of bourbon and I took a shot. It seemed natural to do. We gave all the guides a beer (they chased down the cooler in the current) and they seemed inordinately happy about it because it wasn’t 3-2 beer.

Once the boat was navigable again the guides took off in their boats down river and we collected ourselves. You can’t just quit and walk home at this point. There is only one boat take out and its miles down the river so eventually we would have to get back in the boat and row our way down without fishing. Mr. O apologized many times and I kept saying, “Fishing stuff can be replaced; lives cannot; don’t worry about it.” Once back at the camp site in Dutch John I hit the scotch and pretty much didn’t stop until I put my head on the pillow. I know that my fly fishing buddy Mark McGeary, who is studying to be a priest said a prayer for me because I had talked to him hours earlier. He had fished the Green; I had not yet. I also know my fly fishing buddy Ken Bendix who passed from Meso a few years back had a hand in our safety. I always try to say a little prayer that includes Ken when I enter a river. And that prayer usually includes, “I don’t need to land him, but Ken, please give me a shout at trout-zilla today.”

Huck-Truck proudly pulling the drift boat

Day 2: Section B

Fly fishermen don’t end a trip, 900 miles from home because of a “little boat crash”. Plus the boat had no significant damage. So, the next day we fished Section B, taking off right where we took out the night before. And right off the bat I saw that foot deep riffle water with yellowish cobble stone river bottom that Bighorn River trout love to hang in so much. I blind casted into it and after a ten foot drift, “Whack!” I saw the whole thing and set perfectly, thank god. It was a huge brown and it took my “Huck-Hopper”. I was locked again within first few casts. The big fish jumped twice. But, we were headed for another tricky section that we were warned about: a low bridge that had to be navigated perfectly on the right bank of the river. I told mike not to worry about the fish so he could navigate the bridge. I managed to finesse the fish, sitting and lowering my head as we went under the bridge and lowering my rod to parallel to the river out the back of the boat dragging the fish under the bridge. Mike quickly got to shore and we netted the huge Brown. It was also a two footer easily. I’m not a fish measurer and rarely take trophy shots anymore. I usually take pictures of the fish underwater these days. But, my awesome camera was at the bottom of the river about 8 miles upstream so Mike took the trophy shot for me with the fish wrapped by the dry dropper.

I believe I landed around 10 fish that day, but it was really slow at points. I was fishing all dries and occasionally a streamer. I had already decided there is no way I’m fishing the bobber on this awesome river when I have a shot at fish on dries. My most fun battles of the day were out of the boat. I just love wading in and making that big 40-50 foot double haul up stream and setting from what seems like a mile away.

During this stretch, Mike also navigated another one of those Class III / IV rapids beautifully.

Day 3: Section C

Section C is the most un-fished stretch. And it’s the slowest (safest) stretch. It also has legendary huge browns. And like the prior days, I caught a very nice brown right within my first casts of the day. And like prior days it got really slow at points. I did miss a beautiful fish that I called. I saw pocket water ahead and said to mike on the oars, “Watch this Mike.” I casted, it hit perfect. A Monster rose from the depths and took my Huck-Hopper and I set. And he wasn’t on. Sometimes those hooks face the wrong way in the trout’s mouth and just find a way out. Darn. But, that was sure fun. Mike and I were both laughing.

Day 4:

Day 4 required a lot of decision making. The storm was coming at 3pm so we needed to decide where we were going to float and we needed to float early and get off the river by or face horrific rain, wind and lightning. We needed to decide if we were going to face our fears or float B or C again. We did not face our fears. The dam was still releasing at 2500 CFS and raging. We fished a combo of B and C.

Mike and I also decided that because we were going to finish so early we’d get a jump on the 900 mile ride home and drive 4.5 hours that night to a Marriott in Richfield, UT to break the trip home up.

And like the prior days I caught a nice fish right off the bat within the first few casts. And like prior days it got really slow. But, this time we knew it would get slow. The guys at the fly shop in Dutch John (Ken and Steve) by the campground that were so tremendously helpful the prior days, told us that when we hit the Salt creek tributary the river would blow out with muddy water. I have successfully fished many a blown out river before, so I wasn’t worried. But, I grossly underestimated how much mud entered that river. It wasn’t even fishable after the first half, so mike pushed it…and because of the wind got a nice workout.

We were on the road by 6pm and at the hotel watching the Chargers choke another Monday night game by 10pm.

Calamity Number 2

The next day Mike and I were on the road by 6am. I was going to get to the office by 1:30 PM. We hit the first sign: “ I15 closed in Arizona” within a couple hours of the drive. “Do we even go through Arizona?” I said to Mike. Then we hit another of the same sign about an hour later. “Well, you cannot close 15.” I said, “There would have to be a detour.” So we turned on the radio and Mike searched the internet, but we got no real info. Kelly did mention, “Las Vegas is under water.” To me the night before. But, it didn’t occur to me how tame that statement was compared to what actually happened. Giant sections of the 15 freeway were gone-washed out by flash flooding. We just didn’t know it. So we trusted we’d run into a detour. When we got to St. George, Utah we were forced off the freeway into the city…with no detour…. In California there would have been a detour. In Utah you have to figure it out yourself. So, we pulled into a coffee shop with our computers and mapped a route home. And the route home was not going to be pretty. We’d have to backtrack 45 minutes to Cedar City. Then trek north on what is essentially a desert / farm route: a 250 mile detour; the only way to get around it. And even that would have been fine if all the truckers hadn’t figured it out too. It was a parking lot. It took us 14 hours to get home.

Notice the Blood on my nose. This is a result of Mr. O’Laughlin making a bad cast in the wind and snapping off a barbed pheasant tail nymph in my nose. His response: “Thank God I didn’t snap off that bad knot on a fish.”

Summary:

The only day I fished a dropper was Day one and that was only for 15 minutes or so. I call that awesome. Mostly it was all double dries or streamers then entire time. For some bizarre reason I caught my best four fish on the first casts of each day…and then the fishing seemed to slow down. I’d love to fish the green again one day when the river is not raging…and I will. Sections A & B even have River Trails on the North bank so technically it is very wadable which would be really fun.

August 30-31, 2014

Our first trip as “Empty Nesters” was a wedding near the Sacramento Area. We hit our good friends the Scripps up in Mammoth on the way up to break up the trip and have some fun. We did two great sierras hikes, but I only got to fly fish for 10 total minutes (one little brookie and one miss).

Kelly had never been to Yosemite so it was a no brainer to drive through on the way to Sacramento. But, we really didn’t have time to stop and fish; just to take a few pictures. But, I was not stressing hard about it because I knew that after the wedding I was going to put Kelly on a plane home from Sacramento. She had a concert that night with her girlfriends.  And I was going to “sacrifice” and drive the car home.

My plan was a “bucket-lister”: To back-pack into the Sierras alone. Just a single night, but for someone like me that has really just started back-packing a few years ago, it was a big deal going alone. I have learned so much about back-packing and really wanted to prove that I could do it alone. Issue number one was that I was going to hike into a place I had never been before. A place I knew existed, but had no details nor had I met anyone that had ever done it. So, I parked at the Johnsondale bridge and hiked the trail up river into the unknown.

Issue Number 2: We were out very late the night before with great friends in Sacramento. Couple that with Kelly’s 5:50AM flight, and then the 4.5 hour drive to the trailhead hungover on 3 hours sleep meant I was not in good condition for a hike in 90 degree weather with 45 pounds on my back. At the one mile mark was the last humans I saw. At the two mile mark (I was wearing a GPS), I started to run out of steam. So, I found a primitive camping spot ~2.5 miles in. I didn’t know it as the time, but I was camping very close to a somewhat famous waterfall. But, in a hundred year drought it was merely a trickle.

I set up camp quickly because even though I was exhausted, I was not there to relax; I was there to fish. I set up my tent in the soft sand, hung my food, and arranged camp. Then I stared at the river: no rises. I rigged up my rod with a huck-hopper and dropped a rainbow warrior I tied. Within 4 casts I had a small Kern River Rainbow on. And that is pretty much the way it went until for some reason the fishing just shut down 4 hours later at 5PM.

The Kern is so low it is just so easy to fish right now if you can read the water and cast. It’s a wild river strewn with multiple boulders so some of the drifts are tough. But, since it’s wade-able it’s not impossible like normally. The Kern is crossable in many places… which is silly ridiculous. And it is fishing so well… 50 takes a day type of deal both on top on the huck-hopper and below on nymphs. And those wild fish fight so frickin’ hard…. Totally fun. With barbless hooks it’s just natural to lose a number of them in the battles because they shake so hard and jump so much. And with so many takes you can’t help but want the little ones to come off naturally so you don’t have to touch them.

The Huck Hopper – A combo of a Colorado hopper pattern and a traditional Hopper pattern I love to tie that just kills. In fact, I haven’t fished an indicator in years. I use the Huck Hopper as an indicator no matter what time of year. It always seems to draw strikes.

I probably fished up river 2 miles that first half day. I did have one calamity that could have been really bad. I most certainly have had my share of dangerous incidents fly fishing; but I have become much safer through the years. Here’s what happened: I came to a point in the river where is was deep and un-crossable with a granite wall on my side of the river. So there was no way to wade forward. The safe thing to do would have been to back track, hop out of the river go up and around. Unfortunately, I decided I was a 52 year old in a 25 year old body (which is way way far from the truth because I’m just not as strong as I used to be and 20 lbs heavier). I looked at the granite wall and decided I could scale it. I found a place to reach up and put my fly rod so I could gingerly pull it up from on top. I looked at the path I would take: standing on a boulder just above water level on my left I would have to take two quick steps up, right then left and grab an outcropping so I could hoist myself the rest of the way out. Unfortunately on that first lunge up with my right foot I just didn’t get enough power; either because I’m old or I was just too exhausted. It was a huge step and I really had to press. My left made it to the next step, but it went in weird and I didn’t want to get stuck hanging upside down. by my left leg. I quickly bailed it and like a cat flipped and belly flopped into the deep water. My hat and glasses came off and although wet wading I was wearing a pack that got soaked. My first thought was “Oh my god, that could have been really bad.” Then, I thought “hey, that swim was kind of refreshing.” Soaking wet I waded down river like I should have in the first place; up and around and down again into the water where I railed more big trout.

When I got back to camp around 6PM I was hungry and exhausted and in pain. It was so hot I was dry so I wasn’t uncomfortable, but I was “done”. I fished a little in front of camp but, it had shut down. I still can’t figure out why because that was the time of day it should have been good; not during the middle of the day.

I ate a little, gathered wood; cut my hands numerous times breaking it up, set up a camp fire (in this part of the wilderness you are allowed to have a camp fire with a permit) and drank all the JD I had hiked in. I believe around 830PM my little $30 Timex ironman watch I had for 10 years made some weird sounds and died. I thought to myself, “how appropriate” and through it in the fire because replacing the battery on a watch like that is more expensive than a new one. The only problem, I speculated, is that I gave Kelly a specific timeframe the next day that I would call to tell her telling her  I was safe.  And without being able to tell the time and with the fishing so good I could easily screw that up.  I was in my slepping bag asleep shortly thereafter. And I slept well.

I did not wake up with the sun which is rare for me; Which means I probably slept 9 hours until 6am and obviously needed it. I quickly broke down camp and packed my back-pack. My plan was to leave my back pack there at camp ready to go when I came back after fishing. I hiked ~2 miles up river where I ended it the day before because I wanted to see all the new water for the first time.

And the fishing was awesome. I could have fished all day. It was constant action with me taking as many as 3 fish from a single pool. I ran into some back-packers around 6 miles in and I saw one of them was wearing a watch. “11:30” he said. “ugghh! I gotta go.” So I did. Practically running with my rod down the trail. I quickly broke down the rod when I got to camp and loaded up my 45 pounds on my back and out I went.

It was a hot day and even though I was drinking water like crazy I wasn’t peeing and knew I was dehydrating. It was very physical. About a mile from the bridge I started running into families. When I got back to the bridge and my car it was total chaos. People everywhere below the bridge enjoying the river and a totally full parking lot. this was completely opposite of the morning before. It was the Sunday of labor day and people trekked all the way up into the sierras to enjoy it. It was strange only because I barely saw a soul just 2.5 miles up river.

If you were a fly fisherman ever to do a back-packing / fly fishing first time trip this would be the one. it will not be this good for another 100 years. And you would get it in before the winter weather starts. Compared to the forks trail this is an easy one that just follows the river. And this would be the year to do it. I have to figure out how to get back in there in October.  Come with me.

I really figured that I’d be able to fish…a lot… in the 4 days during the process of moving my son Mark into his dorm at Montana State University in Bozeman. I cannot tell you how much pain, suffering and frustration was spent in the first 2 days as my wife spent gobs of money on him and his dorm room while I following them around, sulking through Costco, Walmart, Target, the Salvation Army store, etc. All those rivers so close and no matter how much I whined I didn’t get to fish in the first 32 hours. I was dying; and Kelly was pissed at me.

At the end of the 2^nd day Kelly was tired from an exhausting day of shopping and setting up the dorm room. So, I saw my opening. It was around 5 pm. I knew my buddy chuck’s house in the Gallatin Canyon was about 30 minutes away. I asked him the week prior if it could park there and fish the awesome run of the Gallatin right behind his house. This is the stretch of the Gallatin that the fly fishing scenes were filmed for the movie “A River Runs Through It”. In fact, “Brad Pitt Rock” is just 300 yards upstream from my buddy Chuck’s house. I had to be back at the hotel by 7pm so we could go to dinner. So, off I went. I ended up only having 45 minutes to fish and it was totally worth it. 4 rainbows to net, one of size. And I missed a few others. I fished the entire time within 100 yards of Chuck’s house. So fun.

There was one very concerning moment, though. With me facing downstream I was startled and turned quickly after a loud thunk in the water and splash happened just 10 feet up from me. It was way too loud and too big a splash for a fish jump. I immediately thought someone had thrown a rock at me…a big one. I scanned back at the bank and there was no one. These are vacation homes on private property on the road side of the river and rarely have people in them. It is total wilderness on the other side. I have heard of fly fisherman having incidents with property owners, but I was in the river, totally legal. Then I thought it might have been kids… but the throw would have had to have been a long one…and really accurate. Had I been hit in the torso I would have went down; had I been hit in the head I would have been dead. But, there was no movement, nothing on the houses side. Kids could have scurried off, I guess. Then I looked across the river up into the hills. Having recently watched a bigfoot show on Discovery channel and all the “supposed” bigfoot incidents where bigfoot throws rocks at people I wondered. Then I thought it was a world record brown so I casted at the spot. No matter what it was I was freaked out. It wasn’t until the next day that I figured out what it was….

Kelly had never been to Yellowstone so, a run into the park was a must. And from Bozeman it’s an easy trek to Old Faithful from the Western entrance. But, it’s a 2+ hour drive there and back. I figured I could sneak in a few casts on the Firehole River on the way there or back, but the weather was just miserable. And I wasn’t about to fish without my son and he was totally hungover and tired (welcome to college) and not up for a few casts. Plus fishing in the park takes a special license and we didn’t have one.

We got lucky and timed the old faithful thing perfectly. It erupted just 5 minutes after we got there. The wait can be as long as 2.5 hours. So we turned that whole thing in 20 minutes and started heading back. We saw animals (bison, elk, etc.) , but not a lot like the huge amount of animals in the northern side of the park.

On the way back I asked Kelly if she could just drop me off at Chuck’s house so I could sneak in a little fly fishing. And she agreed. Now that Mark’s dorm was set up she really didn’t care if I fished. Mark wanted to get back to all his new buddies in the dorm so I was on my own. But, the plan was sound because Kelly could take a little nap then have the time to get ready to go out to dinner and I could fish for a bit. Then, she’d just come back and pick me up. She agreed. I fished for 1.5 hours. It was raining and cold the entire time. And I just killed and had the time of my life even though my right hand was completely numb by the time I was done. It was close to frostbite from releasing trout. I landed 8-10 fish, many of size to 18”. I caught a few browns and a bunch of rainbows. I missed a bunch of fish too. I was never short of action.

The Mystery solved: about an hour into fishing I casted up river and something floating way up river caught my eye. “What the hell is that?” I said to myself. As it got closer it looked like a dead human. Then we made eye contact and I knew…. It b-lined for me swimming fast, went under water and ten feet from me came up and whacked it’s tail on the surface of the water. A beaver. A huge one. And he was not pleased I was fishing in his stretch of the river. So, it was not a rock the prior day, just one big-ass, pissed off beaver.

The highlight was one of those “last casts of the day” things. With time running out I pressed a little upstream towards Brad Pitt Rock and saw a perfect channel and seam of slow moving water on the bank. I had already figured out the prior day that the fish had moved out of the typical runs and closer to the banks because high, fast water as a result of the storm. So I casted 40 feet upstream just a foot off the bank into what I guessed was a foot of water. It drifted 5 feet or so and whack! I set the hook from a far; big fish. It turned into the current and jumped for the first time. It ran into the current and started moving downstream toward me. I turned him and he jumped again in front of me. I didn’t realize it until now that the fish took my huck-hopper on top! I got him to rise in driving rain. He jumped one more time and shot down river…. I followed as best I could because it was treacherous at this point of the river. Since he was on the hopper I knew there was 3x above it and I could muscle him and not have to tire him too much before releasing him. 16” if not more; Male rainbow beautifully colored like he was in spawn. I took a couple pictures quickly and released him. I was now 5 minutes late from my 6pm pick up and smiling ear to ear.

And that’s it: 4 days in Montana and just 2 hours and 15 minutes of fishing. And that 2:15 was so fun. And now my son lives in Bozeman…and I cannot wait to get back to visit him…. in 4 weeks…when I can fish 14 hours a day… J

August 10, 2014

The Driftless Area – Not many of us Western Fly Fishermen know about it and the literally thousands of trout laden rivers, streams and creeks that encompass it.

From Wikipedia: The Driftless Area or Paleozoic Plateau is a region in the American Midwest noted mainly for its deeply carved river valleys. While primarily in southwestern Wisconsin, it includes areas of southeastern Minnesota, northeastern Iowa and extreme northwestern Illinois.

I’m certainly no geologist, but my interpretation of what happened here is that during the glacial period this area did not have the travelling glaciers that caused massive geological changes like we have in the west; this area simply experienced runoff that carved the river valleys.

What does it mean to me? Awesome fly fishing. And when I get a business trip anywhere remotely close to the driftless area (Minneapolis, Madison, Milwaukee, etc.) I jump on the chance. And on this particular trip I flew to Madison, WI. Which put me 1.5 hours from the famous Timber Coulee Creek; often listed as in one of the top 100 American trout streams.

This area of the US is beautiful. And it is in the middle of nowhere. And the state of Wisconsin is one of those states that has its act together in terms of protecting its native waterways. WI also has the most elaborate internet mapping system of fishing of any state in the union. Which means I didn’t have to call a fly shop to locate precise directions to the river and where to park. I did call the Driftless Angler Fly Shop and I am so glad I did. Isn’t it always the case that a 5 minute call to a local fly shop is an eternity of valuable information? My only regret is not being able to get to Driftless Angler because of time and location. I owe them. And I will find a way to repay them by spending money in their shop. It may take a year or so, but I will. Not only did they tell me what to throw and how, but most importantly warned me about the dreaded yellow parsnip.

Had I not talked to driftless angler I would have come back with two years or more of what effectively is poison ivy. It’s everywhere. It’s almost impossible to miss. And it is riverside. You know that nasty plant that lines hot creek? I think it’s called the Stinging Nettle. And when you fish hot creek you invariably get your fly stuck in it. well, stinging nettle is an hour long nuisance. This non indigenous yellow parnship is 2 years of misery.

Back to fly fishing. From where I parked I could see the creek. And there was a sign warning about C&R single fly barbless; perfect. It was about the size of the upper owens. It’s Wisconsin in the summer so I was wet wading and because of that I could get ready quickly. It occurred to me, because of the nightmare of commercial airline travel I was fishing at the exact wrong time of the day; but I had therest of the day. I hopped the cow fence and walk down to the creek. Size 2 grasshoppers were jumping and flying everywhere. “oooohhh” I said to myself. Unlike the upper owens this creek had no river trail that lined it. hmmm… that cannot be possible for a fly fishing paradise.”, I said to myself. “There are no cars here. It’s Sunday. I have this river to myself. Maybe I am in the wrong place.” Also unlike the Upper Owens this river was overgrown on both sides, so it was going to be a technical casting day. From where I approached the river it was clear it was a cow crossing…disappointing. But the water was still clear and cool. Then I noticed a handmade sign: “Bull in Pasture – beware.” Great. I looked upstream and saw encouraging signs of structure in the banks which had to be a Trout Unlimited project. I looked downstream and there was a bend with a deep pool.

“Well, there is only one way to find out if there is fish in this river.” I said to myself or outloud. I was in the middle of nowhere and no one was within miles. Even though the logical thing would be to fish up river I just could not resist starting at that big bend below me. It was overgrown with trees so I had to make a difficult cast downstream at it. I tied on a Huck-Hopper. Whack! First cast. Big fish. It surprised me and I farmed it. uggghh…. And we all know what the jinx of the strike on the first cast means… but, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I threw a few more times at that pool, but that first strike scared the pool and it needed to be rested. So I moved up stream. Within 5 minutes I landed my first little brown; just 100 feet from my rental car.

Within 30 minutes I had landed two big browns. One of them was a female that was an absolute battle with me steering it out of the danger areas (sticks, trees, boulders) all over that river. The other was a big male that rose viscously for my hopper. It was in still, deep water surrounded by danger and nowhere to land the fish. I immediately thought I would have to purposely snap him off (5x) so as not to hurt him. But, the fish gave up quickly. It was one of those older fish that are just tired and no longer strong. We have caught them through the years. the older, bigger ones just don’t have the fight in them anymore. So, I literally walked the fish downstream 100 fish to where I could enter the river and let him go quickly.

Now, I was starting to think, “40 fish day!” And oh how wrong I was. I moved up stream basically bushwhacking and it seemed like every run I came on I took one too many steps and 50 rainbows scattered which means I ruined it. I tried to be stealth. But, I didn’t know the river so I had to take a look before casting… and taking a look required me to get to close and scatter the fish. Also there were large froggy sections that did not seem to hold fish. So, I went about an hour as I pushed into the wilderness without any strikes. At this point I tied the dropper on. but, after hopping a cow fence it was also becoming evident of something I have only experienced when hunting the big rainbows on Kauai: bushwhacking through thick vegetation that was 10 feet tall and full of thorns and other dangers. Little did I know the great thing about fishing the pasture was that the cows ate their way to nice casting areas. In the wilderness there were no cows to trim. I pressed on and saw big fish but casting was impossible. At the high of frustration I looked at my cell phone to see the time. Later than I thought, of course. And I had a cell signal! I can’t even get a cell signal in my office in Carlsbad, CA, but in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin you can. I had a txt that my buddy Loren, a beginner, was on his way with an ETA of 30 minutes. Perfect excuse to hike back.

When I got back Loren was there just yet so I fished the spooked areas I couldn’t before. And I landed another nice fish.

Check out the Huck-Hopper in that bad-boy’s face. When Loren showed up I lost my Huck Hopper to a branch in the river with one of those impossible casts. But, you are not going to catch the quality fish unless you try. And that is why I tie flies.

I rigged loren’s brand new sage up. we did a litte casting lesson and his stroke was good. even though I wanted to I wouldn’t have to do much guiding with Loren short of tying on his flies and helping him read the water. In fact, by the end he was totally self sufficient and didn’t need me.

It was 4pm now and normally this would be the perfect time to fish. For some bizarre reason I tied big ass commercially tied hoppers on both me and Loren even though my size 6 huck-hoppers were working great. my thinking was it matched what I was seeing in the naturals better. I was wrong. The fishing went dead.

Loren and I fished downriver in some awesome stretches of water with hopper-dropper. I dropped everything off me and Loren from prince nymphs, to flash back pheasant tails, to rainbow warriors, to midges…. Nothing. Both of us were making good drifts too. Bizarre.

After a couple miles we turned and fished our way back up. Awesome runs and our drifts were good, but, nothing. It was the curse of the commercially tied hopper when a badly tied huck hopper was working great. It was all my fault. I screwed with fly fishing karma and now not only was I being punished, Loren was too. Frustrated I started fishing more quickly and giving up on the good runs more quickly after one cast. So, I got about a quarter mile in front of Loren. And, of course, that is when I heard him yell. In shock I looked down stream and he was on. And doing everything wrong trying to land that fish and I was not there to guide him. My curse was official. He was going to lose that fish and it was going to be my fault. So I started running… when I got there he landed it! and he had beached the brownie and had forceps shoved into it’s face trying to unhook it. I quickly unhooked it with fingers and said, “we have to take a picture quickly.” We did.

By the time I got him into the water he had to be revived, but he did swim away. “Woo!” high fives. Then I fished the rest of the way back, skunked in my 2^nd session and I knew why.

July 24-27, 2014

There are very few positives to California’s worst drought and water shortage in over 100 years. One of them is the spectacular fly fishing on one of, if not the wildest and most dangerous rivers in California: The Kern. When the Upper Kern River is low it can be waded; and there are a lot less places where a fish can hide from a good cast. Like I told my son Mark, “This is a very technical river to fish, but if you know how to read the water, it does reward a good cast.” Let’s be clear: I am a fly fisherman who backpacks; not the other way around. So, excited, me, my 19 year old son Mark, and his two buddies, Shane and Taylor dawned the backpacks for 3 nights of primitive camping and 3 days of fly fishing above the fork of the Upper Kern and the Little Kern Rivers. This was a special trip not just because I knew the fishing would be good. But, because this was my last shot at quality time with my son before he headed off to college in Bozeman, MT and Kelly and I become empty nesters.

The Fork of the Kern is a reverse hike; meaning you go downhill when you are heavy (full with food) and back up the 800 feet of the canyon when you hike out. And it’s physical….very physical. This hike is not for the faint of heart. The temperature can be brutal and when you combo that with the altitude and the relatively treacherous trail it’s right up there with the hardest hikes in the sierras.

And let me tell you, the Kern was low… easily 4 to 5 feet lower than normal for July. My guess is that it was 1/3^rd of its normal flow for that time of year.

When you fly fish as often as I do, and still have stretches where you get skunked you just get that feeling like the lord owes you one. Well, in Lake Tahoe the weekend before on a little hike in the desolation wilderness with the huckaby clan I tried a few casts in Echo Lake: nothing. I didn’t even see fish. Then on the way to backpacking from tahoe, Mark and I tried one of the blue ribbon stretches of the Truckee River near the Truckee Bridge for a couple hours: nothing. We slept in the back of my truck Wednesday night before hiking the forks hike at the Johnsondale Bridge parking lot. While waiting for Shane and Taylor to show up Thursday morning I fished the kern about a mile above the bridge (20 miles short of our hiking destination) for 30 minutes….nothing. So, we headed to the Forks of the Kern Trailhead with me thinking, “the fishing is going to be good and the Lord owes me one.”

We set out for the journey from the Kern Fork Trailhead late morning and made it to our favorite primitive site to camp in record time: well under 1.5 hours. The first thing I noticed was just how low the river really is….at least 5 feet lower than normal… that has to be 50,000 CFS lower than normal. The great thing about our favorite site is that it is a great stretch for fishing…especially rich in risers. Unfortunately, it’s normally not crossable for a mile in either direction at this spot and it’s an impossible cast from the camp site to where the risers are. My first thought was I can cross the river and turn an impossible 75 foot reach cast that has to clear a 5 foot space between two trees behind me into a simple 15 foot roll cast upstream from the other side of the river. Now I was really excited!

The boys were wrecked, though. I had been training by running and mountain biking for 6 weeks in advance. Let’s just say drinking beer and chasing skirts were more of a priority for the boys leading up to this trip than getting in shape. So, I set up my tent quickly, rigged my Sage ZXL 5wt quickly and hit the river while they relaxed. It was mid-day, clear and hot, though; the exact wrong time to fish. I didn’t care. And Within 30 minutes I had over ten strikes on my huck-hopper on top. Within two hours I had close to 20 fish landed and released. I was right. It was good; really good.

So, for the next 2 and a half days I fished…and the action never stopped. I never fished a good run where I didn’t get at least one strike. I fished dries or huck-hopper-dropper the entire time. And with the river so low I never had to hike more than a hundred yards to the next good run. Typically it was about 100 feet between runs. I am not much of a fish counter, but my guess is 30+ fish landed every day with about 50+ strikes; All Kern River Rainbows with some hybrid goldens mixed in. Half of the fish went over 14” all the way to 20”. I failed to land a few above 20”. Some of the battles went forever with me chasing fish down river. I was even getting them on the swing. And if you are a fly fisherman and get fish on the swing you know that every once in a while you catch fish accidently as you start your cast…. The fishing was so ridiculously good I even started picking flies out of the box I was sure wouldn’t work. And the bigger the fly I dropped, the better the fishing got. In one 3 hour stretch I dropped the biggest most nonrealistic stone fly nymph imitation I have ever seen…and it killed.

Highlights:

· I had my fly rod ripped out of my hand on one of the most vicious strikes I have ever received. I have only had that happen once before, in Gates of the Mountain, Montana during the spawn. Unfortunately, if you lose pressure on a Kern River Rainbow, you are going to lose the fish…which I did. My guess was one of those 24”s the kern is famous for. It was on the swing so there was tension on the line. I panicked and practically dove in the river after my rod.

· We ate a couple trout. After days of powerbar like backpacking food it’s hard not to. I’m not a trout eater… I even catch and release salmon. So, on this trip I pack in a little white wine, olive oil and lemon juice and do it right. And the teenagers love it.

· I had so many epic battles won and lost I can’t even list them all. The one I remember the most ended in me saying to myself, “my god, that is the most aggressive 12” fish I have ever battled.” That little fish took me a hundred feet up stream and then 100 feet downstream. It included 3 separate shamu like jumps before I brought him to hand.
The 2^nd one I remember the most is going to haunt me for a while. It was a 20”+ fish that jumped ten feet in the air. What are you taught when a trout jumps? To lower the rod and release tension. I did not. It shook its head violently in the air and snapped me off (5x). I looked at Mark, shook my head and said, “That was completely my fault.”

· My top highlight was not even me. On the last night as the sun started to go down the risers started at the site. My son Mark got up and started fishing the rise with his rod. I got up and asked him what he was dropping, and he said nothing; that it broke off earlier. I said, “Take my rod; it’s rigged. And let’s go up stream a couple hundred feet under the trees. So just Mark and me. father and son headed to fish alone. I carried a cup of JD and he carried my fly rod. We bushwhacked through the heavily overgrown stretch, guarded by trees on both sides. I said like I always do when guiding him: “What do you see?” He said, “I see two good runs with two separate seams.” “Yep.” I said. “You also see it guarded by overhanging trees on both sides and water too dangerous to wade so you’ll have to sidearm roll cast it under the trees.” First cast, whack! Miss. I don’t think he was ready for a vicious take on top. Second cast, Whack! This time on the stonefly nymph dropper. 10” brought to hand quickly and released quickly by Mark. A few casts later, Whack! This time it’s a big fish. I looked at his face and I could tell. Nothing was said as he fought the fish for an eternity until I said, “if he gets any farther down river you are going to have to chase him.” That fish ran again down river, shook his head and he was off. We both laughed. Sometimes losing a fish is as fun as landing them. He took a few more casts and caught and landed another 12” fish. By this time it was dark. 20 minutes, 4 takes, 2 landed. We walked back to camp and I said, “My god you have become a good fisherman. And man am I going to miss you.” He said nothing; which meant everything.

As I hiked out with the boys I tried to think if I ever had a better 3 day stretch of fishing in my relatively short, decade long fly fishing obsession. Certainly my trips in Montana measured up in terms of quality and quantities of fish…but many times that was guided on drift boat flinging the bobber….just not the same as hunting wild fish wading on a technically difficult river. And there was the many October trips in float tubes in Lake Crowley. But, lake fish don’t fight as hard as river fish and stripping streamers just is not as technical or difficult for that matter. So, yea, this probably was the best 3 day stretch of fly fishing I have ever had. Of course having my son Mark with me, just a few weeks short of him moving out of the house and off to college weighed in heavily on that conclusion too.

I got a jump on the rest of the crew and made my way to the Savage River early on the first day. They were all coming that night and since I love to fish alone in the wilderness I could not resist. What shocked me the most was how beautiful the river and the area was; So green and so many trees. This was one of those places in America where animals thrived.

As I was to learn later it is also a very technical river where trees punish a bad cast and bad drifts don’t fool anyone – Absolutely perfect.

Savage River Outfitters is in Swanton Maryland in the Northwestern part of the state. It has an Orvis Fly Shop and 3 rentable cabins. And there really isn’t anything close. The houses my buddy Tom rented from them were perfect and inexpensive.

Mike, the owner of Savage River outfitters, is retired and looks 20 years younger than he is. He greeted me within minutes of stepping out of the car. He gave me some guidance and I was on the river by 2:30pm. I did not step out of the river until 8:50PM because that was when the gang was due to show up. I wouldn’t have called it slow that day. But, it kinda’ was. I did miss a bunch of fish. I think I was only 2 for 12. Two landed and ten missed. I was to learn later it was a slow stretch of days on the river.

Mike had a buddy fishing up stream, so to be respectful to him I fished downstream for a mile or two and had the time of my life. I walked the road back to the houses and ended the day waiting for the guys fishing the big pool right in front of the place. That pool held a ton of big fish, had all types of fluctuating currents which made it very difficult to drift. And it would end up never producing for me even though I fished it 5 separate times. My nickname for it was “Refusal Pool” because that is what happened to me….numerous times. Why is it that we remember the refusals more than the fish we land?

Well the next day is when we had all three guides for us 6 guys. I paired myself with Loren because he was a total beginner and we got Mike as our guide. Charlie and PJ were the other two guides. Great guys and genuinely great guys. I did the parings and told mike to spend 95% of his time with Loren. That plan worked perfectly. Loren essentially got a guide to himself and “was hooked”. I can’t wait to fish with him again. It was a great day but really slow. The great news was that Loren actually caught and landed a fish on a dry. I was shocked by that. Mike took us to numerous places on the river and we even got a hike in in the upper section by the dam. When I do get back I have all the intel I need to fish that river successfully.

The gang ended the fishing day around 5 or 6, but I kept fishing, of course. I hooked and missed a big fish on my huck-hopper in the giant pool of still water foam up river. Ugg… I rested the pool a bit and tied on a huge dropper of 5 feet. Success. Big brookie of 14”. Long battle. I thought I nailed that big fish at first because these wild fish pulled so hard. That is the great thing about wild fish. I walked the road home, and then I fished the hell out of refusal pool. I targeted a 24” brown sitting 6 inches under on the wall. I made numerous perfect drifts over that fish’s head and got 2-3 refusals. I became obsessed with that pool. It still haunts me. I bet 100+ fish are in there and I didn’t hook a single one. I even stooped to a streamer on a sinking line….which always works. just not there. I even threw a cicada at 11pm in total darkness…nothing.

On the last day I was the only one that fished. We had a big night of drinking and eating and Mike and Charlie joined us. I only got 1.5 hours of fishing time because we had to pack and be out of the houses for the next guests by 12pm. And the lord rewarded me. I started in the big pool and had the fish of a lifetime rise from nowhere in the riffle that entered the pool only to refuse me. That one I will remember for a long time. So I pressed up river intending to end it in the big pool where I missed that big one the day before. On the way I saw a fish rise. I was under two trees and it was a spot too deep to wade so I was on the side of the river out of the water. I said to myself, “you are only going to get one shot and this is one of the most difficult 40 foot, side armed reach casts you will ever make.” Thank you lord. My size 18 x-caddis dropped silently and landed sofly just 5 feet above the fish. As it passed over where I thought the rise was the fish struck hard. I set sideways down stream and the battle was on. my first thought was “big fish” because he pulled hard on a run. But, when I turned on him (5x) he jumped 3 feet in the air. I said to myself, “not so big a fish….12” brown.” Then he jumped again and I let out a “woo!” to no one. after the 3^rd jump I was already thanking the lord and my fly fishing buddy ken Bendix, who passed away 3 years ago from cancer. I just had this feeling that ken decided I earned a good fight on a very technical river. As I walked the road home I was elated and sad at the same time. I wanted another full day on that river so badly. I was just starting to figure it out.

The Savage is one of those rivers where you don’t even consider using an indicator. It’s just not right. The river holds mostly browns and brookies (which is all that I caught), but there are rainbows and an occasional cutthroat. It’s a wild river with prolific hatches of many types of insects. It’s a river where you hunt fish instead of throwing blind. If it gets slow, like it was for us, you drop a nymph under your dry. It is a river where roll casts spook the fish. You typically get one shot with a sidearm reach cast under the trees and if you miss, you lose. It’s also a very slippery river and Maryland is one of the few stupid states that has a no felt wading boot law. It is very hard to be stealth when you’re slipping and constantly tripping.

I quickly learned that this river was the golf equivalent to cypress from the tips. And I loved every minute of that. The savage thrives with fish to 30” and I never hooked anything over 14”. I have never fished a river where I had so many refusals. I had refusals from huge fish that will haunt me for years.