Author: tamaracksguideservice

Fly fishing.  Some learn it from their fathers or grandfathers.  Others learn it from their mums.  A few are just innately good at it.  Others chase it and spend years learning it…not for profit, not to be the best, but just to learn, and have something that fulfills the self.  That accomplishment of figuring something out, the satisfaction of learning and be able to apply a skill and it be successful.  Some people spend their entire lives looking for something that brings their life joy and gratification.

I consider myself very fortunate.  Despite the hardship my family and I have overcome since my lady.  Got started at 18 right out of school.  Became adults together.  People still think we are young and my lady and I laugh.  Just starting out our 30’s with 3 kids under out belt, college degrees, debt, bills, the crap that builds up with life, my lady and I have a few things figured out and some experience with life compared to others our age.  We’ve been homeless, poor, living out a car, hotel rooms, bumming up with parents, if my 20’s taught me anything it was how to survive.  A few years back, my lady and I made a plan.  A very adult plan.  We cut the fat, got serious, and stopped fucking around so to speak.  We set a course, checked our barrings, and struck out on a new adventure…our adventure.

Fly Fishing, it seems, found me right when I needed it.  Fly fishing was and has been one of the only constant things in my adult life.  I stumbled upon it, and a long relationship began.  I sought it out, chased it down, I needed to know everything I could about it, to understand it, to find out all its secrets.  Not to be the best, not to eventually guide and make money, I did it because I was drawn into it. It called to me.  It pulled me in, like a big ‘ol 2’fer trout on the end of your line that won’t give up.  Every time I thought I was ahead of the game, it threw me a curve ball, typically right when life would throw me one as well.  I couldn’t get enough of it.  I always wanted one last cast, one more bend, one more run.  No matter what obstacles were there I kept working my way up river.  Life was no different.

Now I’m not gonna get into all the negative and bad shit that befell my family.  It doesn’t really matter anymore.  But it should be pointed out that I would not be the man I am today with the reservations, resolve, and perspective I have without those years of hardship and in a sense I am grateful for them.  Because, what is life without hardship?  What is fly fishing if the trout does not need to be tricked?  The most memorable fish, have come from some of the hardest to reach spots, the longest and toughest days, and when you least expect it after hours, days, months, hell years, of hard days…then…it happens….and every bad day is worth it.  The journey to that day becomes the story, it becomes the focal point of conversation.  The trout that came of it is secondary, what came before, the lead in, that is what becomes memorable.  Life is no different.  At least not for this trout bum.

The skills required to pursue such places and such memorable stories and trout waiting to be made and tricked, they do not just appear.  Unless you are like my son and are just somehow a tuning fork for trout.  But I was not so inclined.  Fishing was very hard for me.  I was very bad at it for a very long time.  I didn’t catch my first trout for almost 4 months after I started.  But as many know, when you get that first trout, one of two things happen.  You either get over it, or you become addicted.  I was of course the latter.  And I hit it hard.

But I was horrible at it people.  Missed everything.  Just didn’t get it.  Didn’t understand what I was doing.  But that pull, that feeling that something was lurking under that root wad that was life changing, something no other person had ever caught or seen.  I had the bug, I was drawn into fly fishing like nothing I had ever experienced in my young life.   At 30 that hasn’t changed, maybe more controlled, but that need, that pull to the river and what lies beneath has not lost any of its lust since that cold February day over 10 years ago now.  When I think back to how I was during those first few years and what I’ve seen and done, some of it such a blur, that I can’t do anything but smile.  No matter what life threw at me, the years have been filled with some absolutely amazing fishing.

I was able to experience things that anglers twice my age with way more skill still strive for.  With no money mind you.  I learned early on that you don’t need money to enjoy all that fly fishing has to offer.  Expensive gear and fancy accommodations are not a necessity for fly fishing, in fact, in my opinion they are a distraction.  Sleeping under that stars, the river rambling in the background, the birds in the morning, the crackle of the fire, and the sounds of the night, those things are not present in a hotel room or a resort and fly fishing is best experienced as a whole package.  I was able to visit places and fish them, way before YouTube and FB, and digital cameras, on a shit budget, with cheap gear, and hand tied flies, sleeping in the back of my truck or on the ground along the river.  Gone for days at a time, being completely irresponsible as an adult and skipping work and class to do so.  The PNW was my playground and I played hard.  My lady always vigilant and supportive of my trout bum behavior.  When kids got thrown in the mix…we adapted our lives to accommodate both my insatiable appetite for chasin’ trout and having a family.

It’s not like I didn’t put effort into school or my family, but like many from my generation we got dealt a shit hand and had to make due.  We were in college thinking it was a necessity for a good life.  That’s bullshit by the way.  We grew up thinking that was the path we needed to take.  Looking back on it…a lot of wasted time and money.  So when it all went to hell in ’08 and the aftermath of trying to become a regular adult with a standard 9-5 career went down the toilet, after literally 100’s of job interviews, passed up left and right for more experienced  and seasoned individuals I developed a distaste for that lifestyle and the reasons for needing one.  As we grew closer to our 30’s my lady and I made another big change.  This also was when I had a resurgence of fly fishing in my life.  I was fishing more than I had ever before at this time.  I began delving farther and farther into the world of trout and insects, the connection between mountain, river, fish, land, human, all that…stuff!  I couldn’t stop.  With everything that I was told life was supposed to be, then real life giving me one hell of a dick punch, I decided…fuck it…I’m going fishing.  It wasn’t until recently that I thought of putting the skills I had been learning and the trout I had been chasing to work for monetary gain.

With life kicking me when I was down and a push from the best woman in the world; I took the plunge and went full into the business of guiding.  Struck out on my own, that college business stuff giving me the confidence and skills to do it, so there is that from the college debacle.  Being an adult is seeing positive out of shit situations.  Or maybe that’s just the trout bum in me, hell at this point they are interchangeable I guess.  I knew right off the bat, that the time and patience I had put into learning the ins and outs of fly fishing and the years of fishing a ridiculous amount had prepared me on a skill and technique level.  The life that lead me to that point prepped me for the rest.

I learned to teach, I learned to run a business and how not to run one.  I learned who to trust and who to cut out of your life.  I learned from many different people, but developed a strong intuition and technique of my own in the process.  I learned to never stop learning.  That the skills necessary for being a fly fishing guide must be exercised like any other muscle.  This includes the mind as well as the body.  I learned in my first year that this is a people business, not a fishing business.  My time as a musician and entertainer prepared me for that.  My guide trips are gigs, and I play them to the best of my abilities every time I sit at the oars.  I took all that hardship and turned it into a tool set.  Cut out what was unnecessary and focused on what made me happy and have confidence in myself that the money would figure itself out over time.

Business takes time, and must be built, one client and one trip at a time.  Just like catching the most persnickety and wildest of trouts takes time, patience, and a strong skill set with an aptitude for thinking like a trout.  Everything that led me to today was prep…the preseason.  People ask me how I keep my energy level up the way I do.  They ask if its just a show…its not, when trout season starts I start, when it ends I take a breather.  Its my life, and if you can’t get excited about life then what the hell are you doing.  I get to live, I’m not chasin’ bills, and I don’t have a lot of stress in my life other than the little things.

The off season is for rest, reflections, preparation, and to focus on the other things life gives you, like kids and shit.  The off season is long though.  But I’m young still and about half way through the off season…I get anxious…I feel that call, the pull, the river enticing and inviting.  The trout…oh the trout…intoxicating just to watch, habit forming and very addictive to trick and become involved in their world.  The satisfaction I feel knowing what it took to be able to enjoy fly fishing as life.  It’s not just a business for me, but my business is hand built, like my flies making it mean something more to me than just financial stability.  It’s mine, I’m building it, I’m putting in the work and time, that little slice of American Dream for myself I guess.

It’s funny, I talk about business, but in reality I’m thinking about how I can skate through the early season by only taking as many trips as necessary so I can fish myself.  When you work in your passion you don’t get to enjoy it as much.  Like the artist constantly working on commissions instead of their own artistic pieces.  Like having to play cover tunes at a gig when you have a library of originals.  Luckily I love my job as much as I love fishing.  But I do get burnt out.  On a people level and a skill level.  When I burn out on people I fish with friends or solo, or go see a movie.  When I burn out on clients missed fish…I go fish.

I bare witness to many a missed fish by clients.  It breaks my heart, but its also part of the fun.  I do have days where I know that skills I have honed over the years are what are needed for a particular fish or situation.  Some people just aren’t on the level yet.  I do my best to get clients close, and many times it works out…well….a lot of the time actually now that I think on it.  Ha…sweet.  Anyway, when I start to feel like snatching the rod out of a persons hand and doing it myself.  I take a break and fish myself.  If you tried to book a trip with me the last week of October, I was taking one of those breaks.  I fished everyday for a week straight.  Slayed trout too.  There are times that those skills need to be practiced, to be tested, tuned up, and enjoyed.  I didn’t learn all this stuff to not go fishing.  I add and test skills and techniques as well.  Constantly learning and retooling and tuning.  As I’ve gotten older and life has simplified, I find myself wanting to fish even more.  I know that I cannot be an effective guide if I myself am not an effective angler.  Those who teach should also do.  If this is life…I wanna do it right.

Fly fishing is so much more than business or hobby to me and my family.  It is our lives.  From the food we eat, to the cloths we wear, to the conversations at the dinner table, and the adventures we have as a family, its what we do.  My lady and I are already planning shuttle stuff, prepping the kids and house for trout season, the days are getting longer, the river starts is quiet call.  Our whole lives revolve around the river here.  It’s a good place to be.  The journey here wasn’t easy…but nothing worth a damn is easy.  2’fer trout don’t just trick and catch themselves they require patience, skill, time, a developed angler, and a few big fuckers missed that haunt you.  Prep work.  Life.  Fly Fishing.  Boom.

 

Tamarack

I rarely leave the house for a day of fishing with the words Slay and Trout in mind.  I find it strange to say ‘slay trout’ when most of us practice catch and release in the fly fishing world, unless its a dirty brook trout or hatchery fish.  To Slay Trout means one thing in my mind.  To catch every fucking fish in the river that day.  Like I said, I don’t fish with this mindset much anymore.  There’s a reason why, but when I decide to slay said troots… nowadays it usually goes pretty well.

I’m not here to toot my own angling horn.  I am confident in my abilities to trick trout on my homewater and any freshwater river for that matter.  A trout is a trout.  They have a set of rules they follow like all other things, when you know those rules, and how to bend them and use them to your advantage as an angler…the trouts slay you.  I know that I come off as arrogant and cocky to some, loud and obnoxious to others.  A wicked good time to most.  But there is method and reason behind my madness and sometimes insatiable energy level when it comes to chasin wild trout.

I was young, and naive, thought I was hot shit for a few years when I first started out.  I was catching a lot of fish…but not all the fish.  I came into the shop one day after what I thought was a pretty damn good day of fishing while wading.  I was talking it up like anglers, especially young anglers, will do.  When a mentor of mine, just out of the blue from the back of the room, his eyes fixated on a fly in the vise, a feather in one hand, thread and bobbin in the other, “You haven’t had a good day fishing, until you’ve caught all the fish in the river.”

Like a punk, I laughed it off, but the other guys around me didn’t.  The guys that knew, that had some experience under their belt, they leaned in.  Their attention went to the guy meticulously tying flies in the back of the shop.  He had been quietly listening, and being my mentor, let me put my foot in my mouth so I would learn a few valuable lessons from an old timer who really had caught all the fish in his tenure as a river and trout bum.

I will paraphrase what was said, and eliminate a majority of the curse words but ‘Slaying Trout’ took on a whole new meaning to me after that day:

A good day of fishing is when you catch every fish in the river.  This was explained as meaning; on any given day in trout season…there are a few that happen every season…that every trout that will eat…eats.  They happen more often than you think.  And those days are the ones you hear being quietly whispered about at the TU meeting, or at the local shop, or among a handful of close angling friends that get quiet when others walk by at the bar.  These are days when the hatch is perfect, the water temps align with the air temps, all the factors that need to come together for once in the whole universe do!  These days are truly ‘Epic’ in every sense of the word.

These days have rules and things that must fall into place for it to work out in nature before the angling part even comes into play.  The entire winter snows have to be perfect, the snow melt through spring must be on time, the spawn must start and end on a normal schedule.  The air temp, cloud cover, barometric pressure, light angles, it all has to come together the way nature intended…and then you will see it….every fish in the river that will eat…eating.  It’s like a switch.  When you are on river and see it for the first time, engage in it for the first time…its like the fly fishing gods opened up a freaking door to Shangri-la dudes.  Fucking Epic Shit…real epic shit.

As my mentor describes all the pieces that must fall into place I see a few of my fellow angling peeps lose interest.  They get bored with the ‘how to’ and wanna cut straight to the end product.  There are many anglers that just wanna know when these days happen and then show up and fish them…these anglers miss the point and the difference between a few days of ‘Slaying Trout’ and a lifetime of it.

After my mentor finished telling his story…I was in disbelief.  The type of day he was describing could not be possible.  Something guides told people to sell more trips I thought.  I was wrong…The thought of one of these days stuck with me.  For days…then weeks…before I knew it my entire off season was enveloped in discovering if there was any truth to the claims of an old timer guide who spent more time tying flies and selling things than he did fishing.  (More on that in a later blog…some guys…really have caught all the fish in the river and don’t need to do it anymore.)

My every free moment in between changing diapers and feeding my first kid at the time, was spent chasing this newly developed obsession.  I had seen days where fish rose all over the river and you could pick them off, bug number days and big bad ass troots.  Weekend stretches where I had caught literally hundreds of fish.  But every fish….did my mentor mean to say that you don’t miss a single one?  Every fish landed? Was it a joke and even the little dudes under 10 inches counted?  (I had a fish size complex for a while back then.  Cured it with a 3Wt Fiberglass and fish that had never seen another angler.)

What was he talking about!!!?  I watched and read everything I could.  Every tutorial, every fly pattern, every technique, stuff from all over the country’s trout rivers, journals, fishing reports, bought books and movies about trout feeding habits, metabolism, weather, scientific studies, if it could be linked to having an effect on a troots desire to feed…I was waist deep in that shit.  I wanted one of these days…at first it was because I wanted to be there…rod and fly in hand ready to catch every fish in the river…but as I went through this process of learning, expanding my knowledge and truly opening up an entire world of angler and nature interaction I became…Enthralled.

Was this what my mentor was talking about?  Learning the sequence…the algorithm, the code behind how a river, trout, and angler worked.  (Keep in mind I was knee deep in an IT and Business Management degree at college during this time…and spent more time on river than in class.)  I was into it.  Like really into it.  My lady hated it.  I’d have a kid on my knee with food sliding down her face, flinging a spoon around telling them both about all the cool shit I was finding.  I was up late every night, tying flies to work in conjunction with all the things I had learned.  The way I thought about trout, the way I tied my flies, the way I approached the river, my cast, the way I waded, everything about my angling began to change.  The trout season was fast approaching…and after a long winter I felt I had come out of the thaw with a better understanding of what I was looking for in these days of ‘Slaying Trout’ and catching every fish in the river.

Now this isn’t about to go into a few paragraphs of it happening right away.  Hell no, like all things in my fly fishing career…it took months of frustration filled patience and a side of crazy.  I broke two rods during this time…like a bad golfer throwing a fit on the fairway dudes…I was that guy.  I knew all this shit, where are the damn fish!?  Then you get the shanks, you start hooking lots of fish…but missing…80% of the bastards.  They outsmart ya at every turn, you get a shitty hook set 7 out of 10 times.  You’re so focused you miss out on…IT.  It wasn’t until the Golden Stonefly Hatch that July…9 months later…after I had listened to my mentor tell of such a day…that I was present for one finally.  (I knew full well I had missed so many of these day during the season.  Just hit the tail end of it, missed it by a day or a week.  Happened all season.  Until July came.)

July…mid July if memory serves me right (I‘ve enjoyed a lot of smoke since then) it was warm…but not so warm my fat ass was sweating in my board shorts and a pair of shitty Teva water sandals at the end of the day.  I had some ridiculous Simms fishing shirt on now that I think on it.  I had a fishpond vest filled the brim with stuff…still have it…sitting in the closet.  I remember taking it off to wade out into the summer current in the upper river that day after seeing it all unfold.  I was in my early 20’s and would wade shit I wouldn’t even touch without my boat now.  (Such a dumbass back then.)  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The day started early.  Wicked early.  I skipped class that day.  For good reason…I had a feeling…the first spark of that intuition I rely so heavily on now. I remember leaving the house wicked early and my lady asking what I was doing…I just said ‘fishing’ and grabbed that silly vest and left.  She was wicked pregnant…our son was born a few weeks later.  We need this day, I was on her nerves, our son was on her bladder all the time, and I was running on empty with the toddler.  Needed some dad time.  Of course, I spent it riverside.

I was out the door before she could say no…not that she would have.  Drove to one of my favorite upper river spots just above the State Boat Launch east of Cle Elum.  (I didn’t have a boat yet.  Was a hardcore wader.  The following year I was swimming the rapids of the Cooper River with a 3Wt in my teeth chasing 10-12 inch wild AF little troots more on that to come.)  I love the side channels and braids of this section in the summer.  An adventurous angler that is a strong swimmer can access some amazingly untouched water for the Yakima River in the summer.  The entire drive my mind was foggy with all the factors leading up to this particular day making me wake up at 4 am and drive to the river.  The previous few days had been productive…but something seemed to be happening…I could feel it.  The fish were…just weird, man.  They were in the right places…but they wouldn’t f’ing eat.  I could see them!  They were right there…there’s my freaking fly…just eat it…literally fish touching the fly with their nose…and giving me a big fat…’NOPE!’  Ugh.  (I fished a lot, 3-5 days a week in between classes, sometimes only for an hour.)  And things seemed to be staging for something.  All the things I had read and absorbed during my winter solstice of trout enlightenment had lead me to believe that something was about to happen…and I didn’t wanna freaking miss it.  I had been working toward this…was this it…was this the day all the trout in the river eat?

The morning was cooler than normal.  Light breeze…blowing slightly upriver.  A slight shiver in the trees at times from it.  The cloud cover was around 30% that morning.  Better than any other day that week.  Temps only hit 78 on the river… in the river was a nice 58 rising to 60 or so that day.  I waded into my usual spot to watch.  I found a side channel the boats couldn’t access due to a log, still there, that filled with trout during the summer flows.  Was a bitch to bushwhack to but today it was particularly worth it.  This spot requires some swimming in summer flows, unless you use the trails and possibly engage in a little trespassing…maybe.  I found myself there by my normal means, and watched.  I could see trout.  This time of year they were always in there resting out of the irrigation flows in the main river.  This area also gave me access to 3 good miles of water to work…and work it I did.

I waited.  I didn’t want them to know I was there.  They weren’t ready yet.  This could be the day…this could be it.  As I sat there watching the fish, prepping my gear, checking my flies, I remember thinking about the birth of my son coming up.  It was distracting me, stressing me out, was a big reason why I was fishing so much.  Those pre-baby jitters Dads can get.  Took me three tries to tie the fly on.  Then my attention shifted to the river.

I saw it.  Like a cliche dudes.  So much time had past since I had sat down I almost missed why I was there in the first place.  It was a faint flash.  The fish I had spotted moved.  For the first time.  It moved out of its way and ate something.  Then I saw another.  SHIT!  I had the wrong fly on.  Like a noob I rigged up my dry rod first.  I grabbed my nymph stick and put on a nymph that I still use today.  A single golden stonefly nymph lightly weighted, under a small yarn indicator about 3 feet for this section.  So I missed those first few feeders…but what came after my hurried run down the bank into the river, was by far something amazing to witness and be a part of.  Literally…every fish in that side channel was eating.  Every where I looked there was a flash.  I looked into the river and there were stoneflies…everywhere.  The pre-hatch…the migration…the time of the day when you put up the numbers.  The light was just starting to hit the river.  Early…cool…my feet were cold.  Each flash caught the morning sun and each trout was eager to eat.  Not every cast…but pretty close.  Didn’t even need the little yarn indicator as I could see the fish eat everything.  By the time I was done with releasing one fish I had another one to deal with.  This went on for a good 20-30 minutes.  I lost count after the first 12, like I usually do.  Big and little, cutties and bows, fat and healthy, hard fighting with super charged turbo boosters.  I could see the others spook when one would run through them, and then reset immediately after the commotion died down.  The food was there…they were hungry, they didn’t care about anything else, the conditions were as close to perfect as they were gonna get…and I knew…this was just the first part.  The fish go into that trance like state of feeding and an angler matches it with every cast.  A single nymph…sight cast to feeding fish in gin clear summer water…utter bliss for 30 minutes.

Then it stopped.  The flashes ceased.  The fish were done.  I spent the down time moving to my next spot.  Carefully thought out ahead of time, knowing that when the hatch starts this spot had the best opportunity.  All those things I spent the winter delving into, my mentors words, it all was resonating in my head after being jacked about some stellar fishing that I was just part of.

The next spot.  Water had dropped a little.  Excellent.  Didn’t need as long a cast.  The Purple Chubby, not a hand tied I know, but cutthroat are stupid for purple and a good starting fly.  I waited.   An area on a bend with brush and trees close to the bank, slightly shaded this time of day, known to hold large fish under the root wads and junk submerged.  Not a good spot to nymph, but a place where stoneflies crawl up after hatching.  (The Golden Stonefly in the upper Yakima hatches like a drake mayfly.  Many times you will see them together.  They pop up out in the middle of the river making all sorts of racket as they hatch.  Fish holding in deep fast summer flows are known to shoot up through several feet of water and explode on these big yellow insects…like a big trout twinky!)

Then I saw it.  The first of thousands.  Like Salmonflies on Rock Creek MT, they appeared.  Big fluttering buttery colored morsels.  They were everywhere, coming up off the river, coming down from the trees.  Just all of the sudden popped.  I cast.  No shit…didn’t take three feet…fish all over it.  Nice 12 incher just wailing on the fly.  Another fish chasing it as I brought it in.  The hair on the back of my neck bristled.  Aggressive fish…was this it…was it about to happen?  I could feel it…its sound corny but its true.  I cast again…closer to the bank…another fish.  Another cast, another fish.  Then…they started to rise.  I couldn’t keep up.  All of the sudden there were slashes at bugs all over the river.  There were fish rising in places I didn’t even know fish would be!  I stopped fishing.  I watched.  One after another…10-15 rises all within a few moments of each other, looked behind me down river, same thing happening.  Bugs…everywhere, flapping by, hitting my face, falling from the trees, the ones that hatched yesterday oviposting, the ones currently hatching not standing a chance, the birds…good god the birds dive bombing the sky, darting above my head taking stoneflies out of mid air…a few trout doing the same to oviposting females.  Literally the entire section of river alive, moving, breathing, everything in sync…a new fly…and then I cast into the fray.

When I say every cast…I mean it this time.  I would spot a trout rising…cast 2 feet ahead of it…catch it.  Release…see another rise…2 feet upstream…boom.  Release…another near the bank below an overhang…skip underneath the limb…BOOM! Release…repeat.  Then I started targeting the bigger rises.  The ones that made a big gulping sound or a violent slash when they broke the surface.  Big fish…the bigger, and biggest fish.  In the foamy seam sipping heavy,  1 inch from the bank, in the eddy literally chasing down skittering bugs, in 8 inches of water in the shade of a downed log, behind the big rock in the fastest run, hit the rock and drop the fly, boom!  Every fight hard, no fish left behind, every one hooked and netted, every fish that I saw eat I cast at.  Every fish that I cast at…ate.

My mind was blank, or at peace I guess.  There was just me, this stretch of river, and this wondrous event unfolding in front of me…and I was playing in it.  Like a nerd.  It was awesome…it was Epic.  Everything that I thought it would be…before it was even over I was satiated.  I knew what to look for now.  I knew that all the time studying lead me to this day…and if I kept at it…I’d get more days just like it.  At the end of it all, walking back to the truck, the day I had been searching and waiting for finally at an end, success on the fly fishing front…my mind turned to my soon to arrive son.  The drive home I was able to think about being a dad to a son clearly, the stress of the ‘what ifs’, am I ready, all those questions and more…they just faded away.  They didn’t matter.  I was having a son, and if we get to share even a piece of the moment I had just experienced I knew things would be good.

That’s what I got out of, “A day when all the fish that will eat. Eat.”  I was there, I saw trout, river, wildlife, all of it come together…and do what it does best…just be there…ya know…doing…it.  Life.  That’s life, the struggle of the stonefly to pass on its genetics, the struggle for trout to feed and survive among their brethren and the wilds and stresses of their life in the river, the connections the birds and other wildlife have to these moments of life on the river where everything works together and happens the way its supposed to.  The snows that had to fall to get the water just right, the days leading up to this day that brought the insects, trout, and river all together and aligned.  The time I spent learning it all, getting to this point, seeing everything that my mentor lead me towards.  What followed in my fishing career just opened that world to me even more.  Life happens, you just need to get after it.  Sometimes getting after means hooking every one of those trout that rise and enjoying life no matter what it throws at you. (Are you the stonefly ormm the trout so to say.)

That day and many days since, I have left the house to ‘Slay Trout’.  I figured out the code, I understand the solution and how to arrive at it.  After that day angling took on a new path for me.  I chased fish, and those moments when life presents itself and I get to be there and witness it, I became addicted to it.  Chasing those days when everything aligns and you see it.  Something happens to me now when I am there.  There is a connection to that event when a trout eats your fly…a connection I have a hard time disconnecting from.  Fly fishing is different for everyone.  But to me its life, in every sense of the word.

I rarely leave the house for a day of fishing with the words ‘Slay and Trout’ in mind now.  I’ve done it.  Its fun, I do it from time to time now.  Its more about exploring those moments with others now, including my son.  But when I see a trout rise or flash, and I know all the things it took for that to happen…and I cast to that trout…and I catch it, I remember those days I’ve had and look forward to ones I will have.  I appreciate each day on the river more than my younger self because I understand what To “Slay Trout” really involves.  Remember that when you catch a trout on a fly next time, a lot has to happen for that to work.  You get to play in the original playground, and share it with people, enjoy and witness it together.  Never shirk off the awesomeness of it all.  Pass it on and don’t doubt that there is more to fly fishing than just tricking a trout with a fly and a good cast.

 

Tamarack

Respect.  Something my generation has a hard time with.  We don’t get a whole lot of it, and we demand too much of it, it seems.  Respect is earned.  It does not grow with age, you can be a royal asshat and be old.  Respect is earned through action, how you speak and treat others…including trout.  Respect is important to me, because for the 11 years of my adult life I have had very little in many things…except fly fishing.

I fish a lot.  Put more time on the river both professionally and personally than most.  I have high regards for wild trout above all others.  And the West Slope Cutthroat holds a special place in my heart.  They possess me, wild trout, all that they encompass possesses me, intoxicates me, I hold them in awe.  Interacting with them, angling for them, it brings me into their world.  I get a taste of that wild raw nature that so many of us seem to yearn for but never truly connect with.  I facilitate that connection professionally, and I chase it constantly personally.  Respect has been given to me in the angling community because of my passion.  And fellow anglers receive that respect from me because of theirs.   Respect doesn’t mean I like you, there are plenty of people in the angling community that I don’t like…but I respect them as guides and anglers.  Which is why you will never see me arguing, fighting, or otherwise being an asshat on the river.  No matter how crowded or ridiculous it gets out there…and the past two summers were not free from tense encounters with other people on the river let me tell you.

I don’t always get to pick who I fish with.  Many times my clients have no idea what they are getting themselves into with me.  The big, loud, beardy dude who knows too much about fish for his own good, who gets more excited for fish on flies than his clients, the guy who spends most of his free time fishing, snorkeling, working with these wild animals.  For those who have went with me, its an experience, and no matter how many fish hit the net, its fun.

But there are days, when I do get to pick who I fish with.  And I am very selective in who I choose to spend my personal river time with.  Many times I spend it solo, as a lot of the time I am the only person I can stand to be around riverside after days and days of new faces and skill levels.  Other times its my kids, my lady, but not often enough as I tend to be very selfish when it comes to my personal fishing time.  But there are days when a fishing companion is what I am after.  There are less than 5 individuals I call on a day off to come fish with me now.  They know who they are.  I’ve stopped fishing with many people this past year.  Mostly because when you fish enough with someone you start to learn more about them as a person and sometimes you learn that they just aren’t the type of people you want to share the river with.  Some people change when they go from river to home, others don’t.  People, just like trout, can be finicky persnickety bastards that are just hard to figure out or deal with.

I fish with people who respect the trout.  Maybe they don’t respect trout for the same reasons I do, but they have a respect and awe for them that mirrors mine in some form.  I don’t go on the river in my free time to slay trout.  I don’t need to slay trout anymore…I did that for years, and realized that catching all those fish didn’t satiate me.  Then I started exploring more water, targeting different fish, learning everything there was to know about my quarry.  The connections of the ecosystem that I use as a playground all started to show themselves.  And respect for wild trout and their homes grew and became an integral part of me as a person.

I fish with people that respect life.  You won’t see me out on the river on my day off with the other guides that don’t share the same passion I have for the river and trout.  I’ve stopped fishing with people who use fly fishing as a way to lie to their loved ones, skirt responsibilities, or make every riverside adventure one that is fueled by beer and drunkenness.  I’ve used fly fishing to escape life…but at the end of it, I find myself with a clearer perspective of things.  Every major decision I have made in my adult life can find fly fishing at it’s root.  Some people fish just to catch fish…I don’t and there is more to fly fishing than that.  I don’t wanna spend my free time fishing with people like that.  That’s what trips are for.  Whether I use fly fishing to relieve stress, to think, or just to unplug and connect to something wild and natural, fly fishing and chasing wild trout has been a constant for the past 11 years in my life and it means so much more to me than just catching fish.

Respect is earned from people and trout.  I used to catch all the fish…like all of them.  Before instagram, facebook, youtube, gave the world ‘proof’ of the fish you caught, there was a scruffy young adult chasing trout and catching every single one he could find.  Big, little, didn’t matter, if it rose or flashed, I went after it.  I got really good at it.  After a few years of it…I got bored.  It wasn’t until then that I started to see the other things that make fly fishing so unique.  The places anglers get to see, the tactics used, the science, the bugs, the life that needs to be understood to really become a through and through fly angler.  Sometimes you gotta look up from the river, take your eyes off the fly for a second, see what it is that you are really doing.

It is something I see every one of my clients strive for.  They ask all the questions that let me know they are thinking about it.  That Zen State of Fly Fishing that so many look for.  When the catching becomes easy.  And let me tell you, its not the fly you use, its not the perfect presentation, none of that matters in the end.  That Zen State comes when you understand it all.  You can’t reach Zen without becoming Enlightened.  I spent several years working towards that ‘Enlightenment’ and you can see the results when you fish with me.  Both personally and professionally.  Some think I am different in the boat when I’m not with clients…they’d be wrong.  I don’t need an audience to be excited about trout, its not a show, its real, organic, I can’t control it.  Sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it until someone shows me the video of it.  That comes from a place of deep respect and understanding of what is going on when I cast a fly to a trout.  Its amazing in every sense of the word when you get a wild trout to commit to a hook tied with feather and hair.  Amazing…tricking a wild animal into thinking something is real but it isn’t.  Its not like hunting, not like skiing a big run, not like climbing that summit, or making that long distance trek, fly fishing is incredibly unique in its very essence.  Its not a method of fishing to feed oneself, its a completely useless endeavor that so many seem intent on chasing.  Why?  Its fun first and foremost, and tricking a wild animal appeals to my primal instincts.  Fighting a trout and releasing it only makes me want to do it more.  Understanding the how and why that trout decided to eat that fly is part of the path to that Zen state.  Its roots are in respect, education, and skill.  But at the end of the day…you have to be open to the corny and cliche notion of…”Hey man, this is really cool.  The river, the trees, the fish…ya man…I can dig it.”

That respect for the trout and their home is a large part of that Zen state.  Understanding how it all works together, from the weather, to the hatches, the water temp, the season, the species of fish, everything and more come into play to make that trout eat that fly.   To me…that shit is really cool.  Some days luck is a factor, but more often its knowledge and a little skill that put trout in the net and smiles on faces.  What is more fulfilling than figuring out all the intricacies of something and seeing the results come to fruition?  Every cast, every rise, every trout to the net is a step into that wild world that we as anglers always seem to be trying to get into.

As a guide, I can take someone who has never cast a fly rod or even seen a fly before, and lead them into that world.  As a guide I get off on it.  One of the only ways this sport challenges me is to work with new anglers and get them to that point.  And let me tell you, there isn’t much that is sweeter than a rising trout to a fly, a gasp from a new client, the look on their face when the rod bends and that wild animal says hello, and the client meeting that trout face to face.  Even some of the experienced anglers I have taken out have similar reactions to these wild fish here.  Clients that show that raw and unfiltered passion for this sport and the animals it engages garner my respect and I earn theirs.

A handful of people get calls from me to fish and it doesn’t cost them anything.  Some of them were clients at one time, others met just walking the river bank on a Sunday afternoon.  I’ve lost some angling companions as well, some because they would rather drink than fish, others because they lied to their loved ones about what they were doing.  Some because they saw me as a free boat trip to get some photos for their facebook.  Some that have left a void in me that can never be filled no matter how many trout I catch.  Those that I do call now I have the utmost respect for in terms of fly fishing.  They may not be the best anglers, they may not catch very many fish when we go, but they get it…and if you don’t get it…then you don’t get it.  It can’t be explained, it can be shown, and some people see it and others don’t.

A lot happens on the river…its my opinion that too many people are missing out and that’s part of the problem.  The river slows everything down.  It makes you think about things.  Some of the best conversations and discussions I have had in my life have been in a driftboat casting flies to trout.  We need more of that; more respectful and meaningful conversations and discussions with a slow pace, cool heads, and the sound of a river and a rising trout in the background.

 

Hope to see ya riverside.

Tamarack

I’ll be tying and talking about stonefly dries and showing off the Foamy McTwitchy Pattern that did really well for my clients and I this year. Swing by the Facebook page at 2pm tomorrow to check it out. 

So…for some the end of the world is nigh, for others…its no surprise, to some its the lesser of two evils, for others its a notice its time to get a passport.  But no matter what, today…right now we are all Americans….so f’ing act like it.  And that’s all we are gonna say on the matter.

Because politics and trout fishing should never mix….like ever.  I am so relieved that I no longer have to dodge that conversation in my boat.  No matter what side you were on, I was in the damn middle, listening to it while trying to enjoy fishing.  I didn’t like it, and now that part is finally over for me.  The only issues I care to discuss in the boat are those that have an effect on trout and where they live.  I don’t care what party you support neither side is doing anything close to right for the environment and I would like my kids to still be able to breath and have places to hike and fish when they have kids.  There are a few unwritten rules of fly fishing…one of them is…No Politics or Religion on the river.  If a trout doesn’t care about it…neither should you during the act of fly fishing…leave that shit at the car.

This all being said…it would be nice if Election Day wasn’t Nov. 8th, and was in freaking July or something…at least then it would happen right in the middle of trout season.  Now I am forced to think and contemplate things while playing video games.  Not exactly the most constructive way to do any critical thinking.  While I could go fishing this time of year…I don’t really want to…which brings us to the real reason for the blog.

The boredom has set in.  It is now the offseason.  We are into the month of Novembeard, mine is doing fine by the way, and the winter is coming in.  Leaves are gone, downtown Cle Elum smells of wood fire smoke and burnt coffee beans.  The days are short but bright.  I enjoy the late mornings on the stoop, with a smoke and a just as bored dog at my side.  It takes a little getting used to; being off river and at home every day.  I had over 200 days on the water this year.  I have spent more time out of the house on the river in some form this year than I have at home.

Fly tying is on the agenda.  Although I am slow to get to it.  The trout season burned me out.  Especially the last part.  I stacked trips from August-October.   I cashed out right on time with the river though.  I fished everyday once I stopped guiding…the fishing slowed progressively each day.  You can go catch a few still…they might smack something on top down low but you can trick them with a worm, pats, or midge nymph pattern.  Fish the slow deep stuff.  Hope for trout but expect a whitefish 6 times out of 10.  Winter conditions.  Other than that I really don’t have much to say in the way of fishing.  This season was f’ing spectacular.  But most people know that from my FB, Instagram feed, and this blog.  No…I am fished out…with little or no desire to chase a trout now.  I caught a lot of really nice trout last month.  Both guiding and personally.  I am ready for snow.  I am ready for a slow pace to life.  Just not ready for the boredom that usually accompanies it.  I have plans to combat it.  Getting my tying stuff up and going strong.  A lot of books picked out to read once the snow falls.   Video games, my only other hobby really.  Chasin’ some mountains on the snowshoes and skis this winter after a long hiatus.  And getting ready for next season.  There is a lot happening next year, I’ve already got bookings on the calendar.  It’s shaping up to be a good winter so that should mean a good year for water and trout.  If next year improves over this year….whooo….shit ya.

The blogs will start to come more regularly as the boredom settles in.  The flies will start popping up on Instagram more.  Enjoy the offseason my friends.  You might even see me over on one of those coastal rivers this winter swinging for steel for the first time in a long time.  Hope to see ya riverside.

 

Tamarack

I’ll be back at the blog here in the next week. I’m enjoying the offseason and catching up on some video games. My son has played them all and keeps spoiling them. 

I’m gonna be doing a lot with tying and flies this offseason so check back. I’ll be getting one more float in this week before putting the hog up for the winter.  Already got my skis and  snowshoes out along with all the winter gear to play in the snow with the kids. 
Thanks to everyone for a fantastic season. Over 130 trips for the year!  Could not be living this dream without the support of fly anglers like you.  Thanks again and I look forward to seeing you riverside after the thaw next year!  

Tamarack

Well, I could go into a lengthy blog about the adventures I’ve had the pleasure to be a part of this season.  The fish caught, the stories told, the good company.  But there are so many this season I don’t know where to start.  I am thankful for all that have come to chase trout with me this season.  I have a trip this afternoon so I figured I would squeeze in a quick post before I head to the LC for a big cooperate float for one of the outfitters here.

 I have not had the opportunity to fish myself as much as I would like this season.  I have had to live through my clients and the experiences we have shared on the river this year.  However, there was one day where I was able to venture out on foot alone for the majority of the day.  Nothing special mind you, no large trout feeding cautiously that I stalked and tricked, no wildlife to flirt with, no major hatches coming off.  In fact the day I recall was pretty uneventful save for few trout that were tricked by my cranefly.

No the day was just a regular day.  The sounds and smells of autumn and the river enveloped the senses.  The smells of the trees, a slight fishy smell of the decaying salmon, the sound of a quick riffle, the faint singing of frogs, a raven calls, the thicket shifts from a critter within, the distinct sound of a fish rising slowly on the surface.

My attention of course focuses on the trout.  I watch intently, seeing the small cutthroat rise on occasion for the small BWO Mayflies that are sporadically hatching out of the riffle above the wild animal.  My thumb taps the cork of my fly rod rhythmically, as if I have a tick that develops every time I see a trout feed.  I want to cast to it, but I have the wrong fly on, the fish is on a slow easy feeding rhythm, and a part of me doesn’t want to bother this particular trout for some reason.  Content with just watching this fish, I lay my fly rod and net down along a fallen log covered in damp moss.  The clouds above are heavy with moisture, the moment is quiet, save for the riffle and the trout dimpling the surface ever so slightly.  I sit along the bank, enjoy a smoke, and it is as if the trout knew I was there and was not a threat.  It began to feed more aggressively.  With slashes to the surface and showing its small head from time to time.  The flash of neon orange from its cutts and the chartreuse shimmer of the tail as the trout moves about the feeding lie with ease.  My hand twitches again but I stay it, relaxed and enthralled by this small wild westslope cutthroat no more than 12 inches or so.

There are days, especially this season, when I forget about the wild places I work in.  I have to remind my clients to look up at the scenery and wildlife all the time.  I have to remember to heed my own words when I walk the banks of my homewater.  This life connects you to the wilds, and those of us who stop and listen from time to time, we learn things about the world that surrounds us but also about ourselves.  This feeding trout is just a part of the puzzle.  So much has to come together just for that trout to be there and be feeding actively.  Even more has to come together for an angler to trick said trout.  But this day I was content just observing that which was before me, without invading it, without making my presence known, just there, in the moment, watching a trout…do what a trout does.  Wild and free, nothing but a few insects to eat, and a trout eager to eat them.

I am looking forward to the offseason.  It has been a long season for me, with over 220 days on the river with guiding, fishing, conservation work, and snorkeling.  My mind and body are ready for a type of hibernation.  As are the trout as my boat and clients have been putting some hurt down this season.  For the first time in a few years I long for snow covered peaks, the quiet of snow falling, and the cold and solitude that winter brings.  After a season of telling the same stories, listening to many new ones, meeting hundreds of new people, and introducing them to hundreds of wild trout, a complete change of pace is something I look forward to.  The sound of my skis as they run the snow between the trees, the crunch under my snowshoe, the snow covered landscape, devoid of people but full of quiet resting life.  As I see the larches change, and feel winters frosty tendrils creep ever closer, as the river slows its pace…so do I.  The mountains and woods are calling to me, as the river begins its long winter slumber.  I hope to see everyone again next season.  Meet new anglers, hear new stories, and enjoy this river and the wild trout within.  As this season comes to a close, I am thankful, supporting my family with this gig and living this lifestyle is all I have ever wanted and it doesn’t happen without those who enjoy fly fishing and chasing trout with me.

I’ve got a good run of trips to finish out this month, I will take a week or two off afterwards to settle back into the life of being at home.  Blogs, new website updates, some business expansion, and flies galore will pop up throughout the offseason.

Hope to see ya riverside before the snows fly.

Tamarack

The end of the season is nigh!  Expect a Fishtober blog early next week since I finally have time to blog. 

Tamarack

Alright!  Fishing is really turning up for the fall season.  This next week the river will settle after the flip flop, the salmon will show up in greater numbers, and the hatches will begin to come off on a schedule throughout the day.  The time to come fish the Yakima River is upon us.

There are a lot of options, from Full Day floats, Half Days, and the Walk and Wade, which is my personal favorite.  Walk and Wade trips during the fall season on the Yakima are really fun, cost less, and give anglers who want to DIY a chance to learn access points and wading and fishing techniques that will up your game.

I have 10 days still available in September as of today.

Friday the 9th just became available.

I have the 11th-14th open still, and these four days are looking to be prime fishing weather.  Possible peak of Crane Fly hatch and start of shortwing stones.

The 23rd and 25th, and the 28th-30th, October Caddis should be showing up buy these dates.

 

The summer is over.  Autumn fast approaches.  Already I see leaves turning in the highlands.  Soon the nights will be chill and biting in the mountains.  The larches along the high alpine will beam yellow against the cold granite backdrop, a beacon of the shift of the seasons.  My favorite time of year.  The river becomes her true self.  The way I envision the Yakima before man built dams across the river systems of the PNW.  She is as free as she ever can be during the fall.  Mostly because no one cares what her flows are.  Irrigation is done, the few cfs that is controlled is for salmon spawning.  The flows fluctuate with the rains, the river is cold, clear, and the fish are more inclined to act like their wild selves during this time of year.  It is as close to a wild river the Yakima will ever get…the fall season.

Some would argue spring runoff is pretty wild, but they control and hold back the torrent and true power of this river during the early season.  If the Yakima ran free during runoff, most of the lower valley would be underwater.  Those flood planes are there for a reason.  We grow crops and put up houses in them now.  Look at the Teanaway March 2017…that river will rip that valley a new one come next season if the winter is anything like they are predicting.  At one point this last spring the Teanaway was over 6000 cfs.  It flooded the entire upper end and ripped tons of new trees into the river while making new gravel bars and destroying old ones.  Times that by 2 or more and you have the Yakima.  Even the lower yak hit over 10,000 cfs this spring…that’s nothing…we only had 86% snow pack this year! Anyway…back on track here.

The late season, fall, autumn, or Septober, is the best time to fish the Yakima River.  The late season has the most consistency of any other time of year.  Roughly 60 days of damn near perfect trout fishing weather, cold water, low flows, and 5 major hatches.  Frankly, if you haven’t fished the Yakima River after Labor Day…you haven’t fished the Yakima River.  This is especially true anywhere above Ringer Loop on the yak.  The lower 24 miles of river really just isn’t that great in low water.  I just get bored down there really.  But for the angler that likes to wade fish and read water the lower river just isn’t that interesting.  Lots of boulder gardens, sharp basalt rocks, and big wide shallow sections of river.  Also, a little known fact…the fish move upriver a lot during the late season…they follow salmon.  We see it all the time, some out there don’t believe me, but I see it when I snorkel….those fish gotta come from somewhere.  When the lower river drops the fish run out of places to hide next to the bank and all those overhangs, undercuts, and grass lines are inaccessible to the trout.  So they head to the deep shelves, big runs, and pocket water in the boulder gardens.  This can be fun, but when fishing from a boat you find these very devoid sections of river that you have to get through to get to the fish.  Plus the take outs and put ins on the lower river are designed for longer floats, which become harder to do when the river drops.  I find myself rarely floating the LC because I end up having crummy rhythm during the day.  Where the upper offers everything that the lower doesn’t, plus it holds cutties, and the majority of the salmon are up here.

Let’s touch on the salmon really fast, and get it out of the way.  We have Chinook and Sockeye Salmon that come into the river here.  The majority of the spawning grounds are above Ringer Loop access.  There just isn’t a whole lot of gravel in the LC.  Its a lot of basalt.  So the salmon come up near Thorp and Cle Elum.  The Chinook go near the hatchery too, the Sockeye head for the lake instinctively but are also trucked into the headwaters until new fish passage is completed.  This means there is a massive protein source migrating up river.  If you were a trout, wouldn’t you follow all that food up river so you can chow down and fatten up for the winter?  Damn straight you would.  All wildlife key in on salmon.  From the raptors, the bears, the wolves, the trout…they all show up to feast on this seafaring nutrient rich fertilizer we call salmon.  It is the lifeblood of  PNW rivers, which means its the lifeblood of this entire region.  Something we are learning more and more about every year those salmon numbers dwindle.  The Yakima is a river that is trying to rehabilitate an extinct run.  To its effectiveness I cannot say…but the trout like it and really…if these wild animals are good with these salmon…then so am I.  Do trout eat eggs patterns here…yep.  Should you fish them…if you wanna catch trout you should.  Do trout eat flesh flies here like they do in the wilds of Alaska?  Yep.  Should you slow strip flesh flies in the upper stretches…only if you wanna catch really big fish.  These salmon have also helped boost our bug populations and increased our hatch activity.  Which brings us to the hatches of the late season.

Right now, August 31st…the craneflies have started.  They aren’t prolific or poppin’ yet…but they are here…and the trout are all over them.  So let’s start there.  The Crane Fly is a wicked awesome bug.  The gangly things hatch in the river unlike the ones that hatch in your yard.  These are aquatic.  Slightly smaller, tannish or reddish colored here on the Yak.  It is my favorite hatch next to March Browns.  It usually comes off in late morning, 9-10 am.  It’s usually what I fish after throwing big stonefly dries in the early morning.  I love tying the flies just as much as I love slinging them.  It’s a simple hatch, and a simple technique to fish them, and fish are eager for them.  It’s like the perfect bug for trout.  Trout eat them two ways…dead drifted…or my personal favorite…on the skate.  Everyone comes to fish the October Caddis hatch and skate big flies for troots.  But I cannot tell you how many times I run into anglers on the river that are seeing trout rise all around them, but they can’t get them to eat an orange stimi.  I hand them a crane…and boom….mind freaking blown.

Already these trout up here are keyed into the cranes.  I have had several fish the last three days chase and smack crane patterns.  It’s glorious.  There is nothing like drifting the fly along the seam only to think that the fish just didn’t want it…but then as the fly skates along the boulder and out of the drift…the trout shows itself, like a f’ing shark!  And with one last heavy stroke of the tail, the trout lunges onto the fly enveloping it legs and all.  A tight line, an air catching wild rainbow, and a rush of adrenaline!  Dude…whooo…ya…that’s my shit right there.  It gets even better with wild cutties peeps.

They may not fight as hard as their rainbow counterparts…but they take the cranefly better than anything else I have ever seen.  There are days, you can catch those wily cutties in the air.  They literally jump out of the river and snatch cranes out of mid air.  Especially later in the hatch when the females come to ovisposit.  Holy crap is it cool.  The larger females have a heavy abdomen swollen with eggs.  They dab like a caddis, but the clumsy bugs have big wispy legs that stick to the river surface.  This creates a very unique indentation on the meniscus and the trout know this.  A pattern that represents this perfectly is hard to come by in the fly shop.  But my personal hand tied…has been doing a damn good job in some shape or form for the past several seasons.  It’s all about the legs.  They gotta stick and lift lightly, but also get mangled as this happens when the naturals get rolled and they become sunk or crippled.  To mimic the oviposit, skate that fly…I’ve seen the biggest cutties in the river turn and burn off the bank for these things at Mach 10 and just hammer the shit out of them to the point that literally all the angler has to do is hold on.  It’s wicked, and you are usually knee deep wading the river when it happens, with overcast skies, a good warm flannel on your back, some warm tea or coffee in the boat or on the bank, and the colors of autumn all around you…come on…tell me what’s better than that?  Oh…Shortwings Stones…October Caddis….Mahogany, BWO, Cahills….there is no shortage of awesomeness when it comes to hatches and the late season.

Shortwings will arrive here in the coming days they are nocturnal typically.  Hatching in the evening up to the early morning.  It’s how I start my trips in the fall.  With a big stone fly dry.  It’s a smaller almost Sqwalla sized stonefly and a short lived hatch like the sqwalla albeit typically more prolific if not the most prolific stonefly hatch on the river.  The males are flightless and small, females large with big wings, like a summer stone.  Fish them like any other stonefly dry.  Next to overhangs, boulder gardens, and grass lines.  That’s where they hang out, and fish do to.  October Caddis…think regular Caddis, only instead of a size 14…it’s a size 10 to 8 and freaking orange.  They hatch later in the day…usually 3-4 pm in the late season up here.  You end your trip with them…just like regular Caddis.  A big stimi in orange works just fine.  I like a lower riding one…but I keep it simple and fairly traditional.

Mahogany Duns are a small size 14-16 mayfly that is a burnt rusty color or sometimes peachy red.  Think fall trico.  Fish like them a lot.  Especially pods of rainbows below riffles.  Look for feeders below riffles and in back eddies and that.  They hatch in the afternoon, and like a damp morning.  Just like BWO’s.  These blue winged bad boys will start hatching once the temps stay below 65, and especially on overcast and rainy days.  I’ve had some of my best fish on a drizzly fall day and a good BWO hatch.  Again target riffles and slack water where they congregate.  Don’t ever be afraid to throw flies in the fast water.  Fish eat them in the fast riffles up here.  Especially when the water temps are 52 ish.  Like turbo charged torpedoes these wild trout love that cold fast water.  The Light Cahill is a type of sulfur.  It’s a size 14-16 creamy peachy colored mayfly that usually hatches around 3 pm on the Cle Elum river below the dam in late September early October.  I am usually fishing them in between the crane and October hatch if I don’t feel like slinging eggs or stripping streamers.

Streamers are always good in the fall.  Think small, like size 6 and 8 cone head buggers in white and black, black and olive, and black.  Swing and strip those streamers on every shelf, drop off, log jam, and boulder garden you see.  Nymphing, look for the green water, the drop offs, the shelves, the pockets.  Think deep on the big runs and go for the fast water and big mends.  I like October Caddis pupa, cranefly larva, and smaller pats stones for big subsurface flies.  I like small hares ears for the little nymphs, and Copper Johns…in whatever color you fancy, size 16.  It’ll work…I’m partial to red and blue ones.  Chartreuse is also a particular favorite of wild cutties.  Swing nymphs too.  And I also like a good soft hackle October Caddis swung underneath in late October…especially in the mornings when the last few female Caddis come to ovisposit.  When nymphing…think in anticipation of the hatch and fish nymphs accordingly.  If the cranes are coming off at 10 am, fish crane larva under an indicator at 9:30 am.  I hold up in the spot I want to dry fly fish, nymph for a bit, catch a few trout.  Hang out for 10-15 minutes, drink some tea, swap stories with anglers, take a selfie, then when I see the bugs show up and a few trout rise.  I sling the dry.  Just break down each hatch this way…and you’ll put more numbers in the net.  I mean…it works for me and I am so stoked to finally get to do it here on the yak.  Last years drought and lack of rain just made the fall crap.  Not this year!

 Boom…just broke down the hatches and how to fish them for ya this late season. Once the temps settle, these things can come off any day of the season really.  Shortwings usually quit by the 3rd week of September but the rest are around until it really starts to freeze in late October early Novembeard.  The BWO’s hang around until mid November.  Then it’s midges and winter fishing.

For trips in the fall.  I pick shorter floats in the upper, between 4-8 miles.  I usually make hot tea or coffee on the river at the first stop.  It’s a more laid back day, with intense moments of awesome.  Full days we have 8 hours to enjoy 5 or so miles of river…its amazeballs dudes.  Just working the river, the fish are all podded up in the troutiest freaking water you will ever see on the Yak.  Lunch is usually pulled pork sandwiches or french dips with ajus sauce.  Maybe a hard cider or two.  We get out of the boat a lot, and walk and wade sections of the river, walking a few hundred yards from the boat sometimes.  I like my clients to enjoy the late season for what it is.  A slower paced, fish rich experience, that is unlike any other time of year on the river here.  This fishery in general is pretty unique in the late season.  Just days where you are knee deep in a run, leaves orange, yellow, and red, falling off the trees periodically.  An overcast sky, a morning where you can barely see your breath.  A pod of Sockeye chilling in a pool next to the log jam.  A rising fish just below the riffle.  A long cast, an aggressive take, a firm hook set, the ferocious head shake of a wild trout.  Cold water on the hands, a feisty trout in the net, quickly releasing it, because the next one you are going to trick just rose out of the corner of your eye…yes…the late season is here.

I only have 16 days of availability left in September.  They are filling up quick.  October will be soon to follow.  If you book before Labor Day I’ll swing ya a discount for your late season trip.  I hope to see you riverside this late season.   It is already shaping up to be one of the best we’ve had in a few years.

 

Let’s Chase Some Trout

Tamarack