Driving from the Billings airport to the world famous Bighorn River near Fort Smith Montana is not a beautiful drive by any stretch.  In fact, in Montana terms it’s pretty much the ugliest…in Montana terms….which isn’t that ugly.  But, it is flat and “deserty”.  You pass Custers Last Stand at the Battle of Little Bighorn on the way.  As my buddy Mike and I got close a seemingly giant bird swooped down and made a sudden u-turn right into the hood of my car with a thump.  I have learned through the years that you do not swerve for animals; it’s too dangerous.  As I looked out my rear view windows as I shouted to mike, “Was that a hawk?”  Mike said, “No, that was a pheasant.”  I could see an explosion of feathers as I pulled away and the carcass careening end over end as it rolled off the road.  I hoped that was not a bad omen of the fishing to come.

The splatter of blood from the Pheasant I hit with my rental car on the way to the Bighorn

Well, we settled in our stuff at Cottonwood campground, talked to Kyle in the fly shop and got the intel and some flies and headed for the 3 mile takeout which is just a ½ mile drive.  It was mid-day after all the hatches so we rigged up with the bobber.  Kyle recommended a trailer that was a midge emerger pattern in size 20 tied with CDC; a pattern I had not seen before.  But, kyle said we’d do well.

We started fishing.  Mike went downstream and I went upstream.  Within minutes we lost sight of each other and I was alone in the wilderness; standing in a river waving a stick.  Just like I like it.  I was wet wading and the river was not too cold and the sun was hot.  The bighorn in this stretch was weedy like hot creek and just about the same depth in a non-drought year.  Within minutes a drift boat pulled up.  I waved and the guide said “how ya doin?”  I said, “3^rd cast; just got here from California.”  “California?” the guide said, “My boat is full of Californians.”   Then the angler in front squinted, looked at me and it went something like this: “Tim Huckaby?”  I shot back, “No way!”  And we all shook our heads smiling.  It was my buddy “Fred Gregory” from the San Diego Fly fisherman club.  A great fly fisherman, but more importantly a great guy.  Total coincidence that we were both on the same river at the same time.  I knew that would change the karma of killing that pheasant.  And it did.  Within minutes I hooked up with a good fish.  It ran towards the trees in the bank before I yanked it clear.  Then it ran mid river and ducked under the weeds where I had to coax it out.  At this point I yelled for Mike because I felt it was big enough that I needed help to land it.  But he was long gone.  I was all alone with a big fish and without a net.  Two anglers walked by laughing at me struggling.  It took me some time; probably too much time (5x).  but, I wrestled the 17” brown to a grassy patch on shore where I could take a quick picture and release.   “ahhh…” I said to myself.  “this is going to be a good trip.

And this was all before the fun began.  Before 3 days of fishing from a drift boat.  What I had to look forward to the next day was the world famous trico hatch on the Bighorn.

The rest of the gang arrived late that night: Mike dad, mike’s brother Mark who is a very good fly fisherman and his lifelong buddy Eric Schmidt, a professional photographer from Bozeman and whom I was later to find out is just a great guy.

We tried to get out as early as possible because the tricos start at sunrise and the spinners follow, but you know how it goes that first day: there’s lots to do and it takes time.  We did get to the river in time to see a number of noses.  What I noticed first was that the boat was scaring the pods of rising fish.  We’d row to a pod and anchor and the fish would immediately go down and rise somewhere else.  It was obvious to me, but I didn’t have the authority in that boat to be listened to. So I was targeting the fish >40 feet away with my size 18 trico imitations and having a blast.  I was getting strikes and from that distance you can imagine my hookup rate was a bit low.  I even broke one off.  Totally fun.

Mike fishing the risers with the dam at Fort Smith in the background

It was time for me at the oars and I was excited and a bit worried at the same time.  Excited because the oars are in my destiny.  Worried because it was only my 3^rd time doing it and I didn’t know what was in front of me and didn’t want to crash.  And, of course, worried because that 78 year old decided he needed to take the back of the boat so he could “help” by yelling at me when I made rowing mistakes.  Well I thought I was doing pretty well.  I was spotting risers and keeping at least 30 feet away because I knew the boat was spooking the fish, but he likes to fish right on top of them to make the under 20 foot cast.  And he let me know it.  After yelling at me to use my right arm instead of my left and tapping me on my right arm, I could help but think, “This is my 3^rd time doing this.  You are yelling at me and hitting me for the 2^nd time.  And you are the one that boat crashed us last year almost killing us and me losing $2500 of fly rods, gear, a camera and my phone”.  But, it didn’t come out of my mouth.  And I’m glad.  It’s his boat and at 78 he has earned the right to be cranky.  He is who he is.  Ultimately he got frustrated with my rowing “skills” and demanded to row again himself.  Quietly I moved to the back and armed myself with my Winston 6wt again.  Guess who won that battle?  🙂

The Bighorn is beautiful in its own way: check out the weed lines

I caught some good fish that first full day; we all did.  We floated the entire 13 miles.  But, the next day was going to be really fun.  It was going to be just me and my buddy Mike.

We got out a bit earlier the next day and Mike and I were ready so he suggested we just take off.  I said, “Sure.”  We didn’t know it would be a point of contention leaving the three of them behind.  They forgot to tell us they wanted to stay together.  Mike and I alternated fishing and were doing pretty well.  We both caught a good amount of fish above 16”, mostly browns.  But, we finished the 3 mile stretch way ahead of the other 3 and waited.  I got the Chargers on the radio who made a miraculous comeback over Detroit so it was kind of fun waiting.  But, by the time the other guys finished they were done.  They fished an entire day slowly and methodically on the first 3 miles.  Well mike and I were rested up so we went for a 2^nd session and drove the boat back to the dam at 5pm to put in.  On the way I knew exactly what I wanted to do.  I wanted to take the oars for the majority of the float and guide Mike.  Mike is not so possessed by fly fishing like his dad, his brother mark and me.  So, many times he ends up fishing the least without the practice and instruction.  And I wanted the practice on the oars on an empty river where I wasn’t apt to screw up to badly.  I told my plan to Mike and he liked it.  There’s no evening hatch on the bighorn at this time of year so I knew we were going to fish the bobber.  And I noticed a ton of great runs on the opposite side of the river in prior runs that we were going to concentrate on.  I rigged Mike up and we took off.  I navigated through the fast water to the other side of the river and we started killing.  I swear Mike was hooking up every 2 minutes.

We got to a deep hole where a creek flows in that just looks fishy.  I told mike where to cast, he did and whack!  But, he lost them.  I don’t know what got into me at that point.  But, I suddenly had a new found confidence in rowing and I said, “We are doing that again!”  And I started to back row.  And it was working.  I back-rowed to the head of the run and we did it again.  This time I said something like, “throw it farther and drag it by that rock.”  He did.  Whack!  I screamed the infamous Huckaby “Woo!” louder than I had in years.  And the fight was on.  Then I realized I had to chase it.  The fish ran down river and Mike held on.  Well Mike finally tired the little monster enough that I could net it and we high fived and I “Woo!”d again.  It was at this point I thought to myself, “I have not been more excited about hooking, fighting and landing a fish like that in years.  And I didn’t even catch it!  And we pressed on.  And Mike continued to kill.

This was hands down my favorite part of the trip. Rowing that drift boat, guiding and not fishing and not catching fish was the absolute favorite part of this trip for me.

I was looking forward to day 3 too because I would get to float with Eric and Mark, lifelong buddies.  And I was confident behind the oars and insisted I take them to start the float.  I think they liked that.  They were trash talking each other pretty good and I dug that.  And we got out earlier.  But, the trico hatch just wasn’t prolific.  We fished the first couple hours just hunting rises and anchoring close enough to them.  Soon the spinners were blanketing the water and with so many on the water getting your fly to be chosen was a crap shoot.

When Eric told me to back-row the water coming out of the dam and I knew I didn’t have the skill nor the strength, but I tried…. I failed meagerly huffing and puffing, but at least I tried.  By the time it was my turn to fish I was doing the 40 foot casts and having a blast.  I caught really nice 19” rainbow.  In a river with mostly browns that was a special fish.  And he took that midge emerger dropped behind my trico that Kyle recommend.  And he took it in a sea of spinners.  When I got back to Cottonwood Ranch I tracked down Kyle, gave him a $20 and said, “I so owe you young man.”  I could tell he loved that.

I love the Bighorn.  It was my 3^rd go at it.  Overall the river was a bit slow and at times it fished like the Henry’s fork. I’d say I averaged 10 quality fish a day.  The dry fly hunt was really fun.  But, I gotta’ tell ya’ the guiding from the oars was the best.  I will treasure that first 2 hours at the oars with Mike whacking them for long time.

August 20th, 2015

Part of our deal with my son Mark was if he got good grades he could have a car his sophomore year in Bozeman at Montana State University.  As much as buying a car without sales tax in Montana is we just couldn’t afford to do that.  So, it was clear that an 1130 mile road trip from Carlsbad, CA to Bozeman, MT was in order to drive a car out, move him into his apartment, and then fly home.  I figured we’d take 3 days and fish 4 hours each day as we worked our way from pretty much as far south in the US as you can get to as far north.  Then I mapped the route on my computer and stared at possible fishing locations on the way.  “My God.” I said to myself.  “We are driving right by the Henry’s Fork of the Snake River!”  Arguably the most famous stretch of fly fishing in America and I have never been there.  It’s also just two hours short of Bozeman which makes it logistically complicated.  So, without telling him I made the call: we will drive all the way to Pocatello, ID in one day so we can fish a full day on the Henry’s fork.  It took us 11 hours to do that.  From Pocatello it was an easy 2 hour drive to the Henry’s Fork at Island Park, ID.

 

I did a ton of research on the Henry’s Fork before going.  And I talked to a lot of my fly fishing buddies and guides who have fished there.  Every single one said basically the same thing: “Prepare to be humbled.”  Then why so special?  I got the same answer from all of them: “It’s all dry fly casting to the rises of huge fish.” 

 

Much of the guidance I got was you have to stop in at the fly shop there in Island Park, ID (Trout Hunter) and get some guidance and buy some flies.  Now, I tie a lot of flies, but, I firmly believe that getting guidance from the fly shop should not be free.  so I always buy flies because of that.  And, this was special.  this was a bucket-lister.  So, I convinced myself I wouldn’t go cheap because they have genuine Rene Harrop flies there and those are not cheap.  $120 later and a ton of great advice Mark and I walked out of there with 8 sets of 4 flies.  Of course we had to buy two of the special floatant at $15 and Mark insisted he needed a few more things.  but, I bought $60 of flies and it’s so not like me to do that.  But, this was special.  It was fishing the Henry’s Fork with my son.

 

Technically I got skunked.  I never got a fish to my hand or to the net.  I hooked 8 fish in about 8 hours of fishing.  which matches up exactly to what I was told to expect.

Guidance

Here’s what I learned from the shop, my fishing buddies, and guides.  It may help you; it may not. Henry’s Fork is so different than anywhere else I have ever fly fished and it’s so interesting….at least to me it is:

• It’s extremely technical dry fly fishing.  You don’t need to do a perfect cast and drift: you need to do hundreds of them.  I loved it. I could have fished there 14 hours a day for 7 straight days and still been happy to get skunked. But, Mark, no so much.  There’s just so much a 20 year old who thinks he’s an expert fly fisherman can handle.  His classic comment was something like, “Let’s bail this place; It’s 60 miles to the Madison. I just don’t understand why not catching fish is fun to you.” 🙂

• We just caught it on a slow day/week.  Mid august and a low river.  The first indicator was that there were only a handful of other fisherman in this 7 mile stretch of America’s most famous fly fishing river.  This place is supposedly shoulder to shoulder fishing…which I hate.  But, we had the river to ourselves which I Love.  
• The Henry’s Fork is Known for crazy ass hatches of multiple bugs.  We just didn’t see any significant hatches.  We did see bugs, but not the blankets of them I read about.  And consequently we just didn’t see a lot of rising fish. Also, they say it’s only big fish there. We found the opposite to be true. I caught a 3 inch fish. The biggest fish I hooked was only 12″ and probably 14″. 
• In a single day of fishing if you are upper intermediate or an advanced fly fisherman you can expect to hook up 3 times and lucky to land a single fish.
• You stand in the river and wait.  you wait for a rise and move to casting range.  If there is a hatch and you can figure out what it’s eating you are golden.  if not you keep changing flies until you do.  casting at a single fish for an entire hour is common on the Henry’s Fork.
• You never blind cast and it’s dry fly only.  You hunt and wait and casting at a rising fish…. never casting blind. So different. I thought I’d hate it because I’m such a 5 cast and move guy. But, I loved it!. I casted at a single rising fish for over an hour. I changed flies 8 times because I bought 8 different flies from the shop they recommended. And I still couldn’t fool him/her. I had to give up on him basically because mark was “done”.   I know if I had another hour I could have got him. 
• For Californians, in terms of look and feel, it’s like a giant hot creek. It’s a hot creek that is 100 yards wide. Crystal clear and weedy.  It’s different because you can wade it in every stretch of the river.  in August it’s an easy wade and crossable everywhere.  The gentleman’s rule of Hot Creek is you do not wade it.   The Henry’s Fork has that slow current just like Hot Creek and never more than stomach high (in august). No riffles, no pocket water, no tailouts… no real structure of any kind.  just one giant really good miles long run.

Because I didn’t land the huge Henry’s Fork rainbow I am now haunted by it.  I would love to go back and fish it for 3 straight days.  I have a son in Bozeman and it’s just 2 hours away.  hmmm….  

I say it all the time when I’m fly fishing, “It was the best $100 I ever spent.” What I’m talking about is the zipper on my Simms G4Z Waders. And I am frequently asked. The “Z” is for zipper. The zippered G4Zs are $100 more than the regular G4s. Without getting into gory details, many of us males over 40 have to go frequently. And if you fly fish you very well know what a pain it is to unbuckle to pull your waders down to pee. Guys in float tubes drown every year trying to pee when they flip over and get stuck…literally stuck with their pants down. If you add a jacket or sweatshirt to the mix it’s even more of a pain. Those you of you who steelhead know what a drenched ordeal it is to un-jacket, unbuckle, un-wader and pee while it’s raining or snowing sideways on you.

Is overcoming all that hassle and misery and risk worth it to you? I staved off the zipper for years. But, now that I have them I will never ever get another pair of waders without a zipper.

Many companies now have zippered models on their waders. Simms, HQ’d in Bozeman, MT is genuinely accepted as the best wader company in the world; certainly the best of the major manufacturers. But, Simms aren’t for everyone. And with an $800 price tag, the G4Zs aren’t for everyone by any stretch. I believe the G4Zs are the most expensive waders on the planet. But, if you aren’t a guide or a bushwhacker you really don’t need them.

You can buy new waders anywhere from $75 to $800. What’s right for you? Well, if you fish 1-3 times a year from a drift boat the $75 models are going to be great for you.

If you fish more than 60 days a year you are going to need something durable like the G4s. If you bushwhack you definitely need the G4s or one of the competitive products. I’ll do almost anything to get to good water: That includes climbing over fallen trees, sliding down a granite face or climbing a mountainside.

I’m the cheapest guy in the world and I internet shop the hell out of everything. Well, the G4Zs are just one of those products. You could search for months and never find a deal. So, if you are one of those old guy fly fisherman who are hard on the waders like me. Do yourself a favor and get the G4Zs.

You can buy them from the North Platte River Fly shop here. I like those guys. Great customer service.

July 10th, 2015 – I should have known it was going to be a special day.  In the morning I was fly fishing and a manatee swam up to within 5 feet of me, stopped and stared at me for a few seconds.  My Bucket list is getting so full I may have to get a new bucket!  Because I caught a Tarpon that was just short of 8 feet long and over 160 pounds!

 

The day went like this: I got up early after a late flight that didn’t get me to my hotel in Tampa until 12:30AM.  Early the following morning I drove an hour South near Bradenton Beach, FL to a lagoon that a local fly fisherman turned me on to a few years back.  It’s behind a beautiful beach and it takes quite the nasty and super creepy bushwhack through the mangrove trees to get to a shallow part of the lagoon suitable for fly fishing.  Once in the lagoon there is life everywhere.   It’s quite beautiful and although I have never done very well fly fishing in there it is the perfect place to practice my cast on my Orvis Helios II 10 foot 8 Wt. 

 

 

I had about 3 hours to fish before I drove half the way back to meet all my Microsoft Partner advisory council buddies at a marina near St. Petersburg for a half day of guided conventional inshore fishing in Tampa Bay. 

 

I noticed a lot of movement in the water in places I just couldn’t reach.  and I probably fished an hour before getting struck.  The fish shot like lightning to my right and as quickly as it happened it was gone; bummer.  But, that was a good sign!  And it was just a few casts after that when I saw the big V wake about 100 feet away and closing.  When it got to around 60 feet I casted, perfectly, but nothing.  in my haste I tried to cast again when the thing took a hard left turn and closed in on me.  It wasn’t until it was about 20 feet away that I could see down into the water with my polarized lenses that it was a Manatee!  A huge one.  he/she stopped just 5 of so feet in front of me and we stared at each other for a few seconds.  Then the rest of the Manatee tribe closed in; at least five of them.  And they all swam away.  I immediately called Kelly and said, “You are not going to believe what just happened to me.”  The video I took doesn’t do it justice because my camera doesn’t have a polarized lense, but it’s still pretty awesome.

Here is the video i took:  Manatees

I just knew that was going to turn my luck and sure enough a few minutes later I caught and released a ray, But, since I don’t know their ocean I couldn’t tell if it was a sting ray or not.  So, I was very careful when I released it.  I fished some more and did okay and was all smiles as I hiked the beach back to my rental car.  That 3 hours was good enough to be a great day.  But, it just got better.

7 of us took off on two guided boats out of Oenida Marina just south of St. Petersburg.  on my boat was my buddy Tom O’Connell who has fished with me a few times before.  Tom is a CEO mentor for me and a great friend.  Also joining us was Scott Gosling from Brisbane, Australia who I met for the first time….and now we are lifelong friends.  We were being guided by Chris Wiggins of Salty Dog Charters.  I will fish with Chris again.  I highly recommend him if you are going to be in the Tampa Area. (727) 479-5455.  I knew it was going to be fun because I talked to Chris on the phone when arranging the fishing.  Chris is no stranger to fly fishing.  His dad has a place on a river in Montana.  He told me to bring my rod, but we probably would not run into a scenario where it made sense to fly fish.  I understood.  Not a problem.  I’m not weird about conventional fishing like so many of my fly fishing brethren are.  But Chris did tell me the fishing was slow, but picking up. 

We pulled up to some boats that push the oil tankers in and it was slow.  Even though we had live bait we had only managed to catch a few fish in a couple hours.  We were catching snapper like the one above and catfish.   I think I only caught a couple fish, but was still pretty happy about it.  I could tell Chris was bothered by it.  So, he decided we were going to go hunt.  Mainly for redfish.  I have caught redfish before and they are really fun.  but, it was still pretty slow the next couple hours. 

That is when Chris saw a tarpon roll off in the distance.  He said something like, “if it’s going to be slow we may as well try to catch a tarpon.”  So he drove the boat to the spot and anchored.  In my mind I said to myself “We are done.  I’m going to start drinking a lot of beer.”  Fisherman go their whole lives trying to catch a Tarpon and fail.  On my fly fishing TV shows they dedicate entire episodes to fishing for tarpon and many times fail.  I knew just how hard it is and how lucky you have to be and how much skill and physical strength it takes.  Tom and Scott did not…but, they would soon learn. 

First it was Chris that hooked up.  He’s a big guy and was getting man-handled by the prehistoric fish.  I was laughing the entire time.  I just couldn’t believe the luck of hooking up with a tarpon.  And when I saw that fish bringing his face to a strained, sweaty and concerned look I really doubted we’d land it.  But he did!  I was laughing and in shock and totally excited.  We were done as far as I was concerned.  It was the perfect day. 

We started fishing again and sure enough Tom Hooked up and was battling a tarpon!  Now, I was really laughing.  I just couldn’t believe it.  2 tarpons hooked and it wasn’t even tarpon season!  You could tell the adrenaline was running hard in Chris too.  He was stoked and because he is a such a good guide he turned a slow day into a great one.  That’s what good fishing guides do.  Tom got his tarpon to the boat and I was “Woo!”ing and high fiving and laughing.

 

“Tim, we gotta’ get you one.”, Chris said.  I was skeptical.  But, sure enough I hooked up, the tarpon jumped high.  I bowed to him and the fight was on.  He jumped again and then  ran on me.  the drag was signing and I was close to spooled when the line snapped.  I snapped him off on 60 lb flouro.  Chris said the fish must have scraped me against one of the deep pilings.  The boys tried to console me, but I was totally stoked happy.  And I felt blessed.  Those who fly fish with me know that I enjoy my buddies catching fish much more than catching them myself. 

 

It was getting late in the day and we were only supposed to fish 2 to 6, but the fishing was good so Chris asked us if we wanted to fish more.  The answer was obvious.  And I hooked up again!  This time I battled, but the fish never jumped.  I could tell it was huge because of the pull.  But, it never jumped and we never saw it because I snapped off 60 lb test again!  “Darn, the lord is just not going to make this the perfect day.” I said to myself.  Now the boys were really bummed.  I promise you I was not.  Chris said he had not had a fisherman snap off all season and I had snapped off twice. I felt blessed to have hooked to of them.  Well, since we never saw the second one and because it snapped off I really think it was one of those huge bull sharks they have.  I just think the shark teeth cut the line. 

 

It was now 7PM and time to leave.  We casted a couple times and Chris said to reel them up; the day was done.  I made two turns on the reel and whack!  I got struck like a freight train.  On the last cast!  This could not be more perfect!  The tarpon immediately jumped about 50 yards out.   I was shocked at the size and went into total concentration mode, but I believe Chris said something like, “That is a huge tarpon.  I have to call my wife because we are going to be late.”  The fight was on and I have to admit I was worried I’d have the strength or the stamina to fight that fish.  And a fight it was.  Once I started to really get my ass kicked, Chris untethered the anchored and chased the fish.  Thank god.  Because it would have spooled me.  I had barely anything left in the tank when I finally wrestled this huge prehistoric monster to the side of the boat so Chris could unhook it and release it to fight another day.  It was too huge to haul up on the boat so I was really pleased that Chris lifted out of the water far enough for a picture.  A picture that I will cherish forever.

To me the battle seemed like over an hour.   Chris said it was more like 35 minutes.  My arms, legs and back were all cramping.  I was breathing heavy like I had just sprinted up a staircase.  I was dripping in sweat head to toe.  I have not done anything that physical for that long in years.  Chris said that tarpon was between 50 and 75 years old.

 

What a day!  We ended up hooking 7 tarpon and landed 3 of them.  I was ecstatic about it because people go their entire lives trying to catch a tarpon and never catch one; I was clearly lucky on this day.  We didn’t get back to the marina until after 8pm.   I drove away with both arms twitching and a huge smile on my face.  I thought I would sleep great that night and I didn’t because I was in so much pain; more pain than alleve can handle.  And that was just fine.   

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