It "Seams" Simple

In the words of the Fresh Prince, it's summertime.  The heat and thunderstorms have had the river clarity all over the map.  When the ovaltine starts flowing, I find them along the banks.  I'm out for the trifecta: a good seam (conveyor belt of food), a decent size boulder or structure (shelter) and some fast water (oxygen).  If you find these three things in one slot, you will find a fish or two.  Foam lines always gets a few drifts.  As the temps come up, proper handling is even more important.  When the water hits around 68 degrees, I call it a day.

 

Bugs are out in big numbers in the mornings and evenings right now.

 

 Lorquin's Admiral hanging out on the banks.

Cicada?  Robber fly?  Any guesses? (post a comment if you know)

Strong little bow smashed a tungsten-head 20"er stonefly.

Swim away chap.

Had a few recently take the "Ragdoll".  A new stone pattern from Jan Nemec.

 

Light and dark.

This 18" cutt-bow had 2 spots down his entire body.  Bizarre looking fish.

I've been taking a few friends out to show them why I love this thing called fly-fishing.  Cory got into a few planters and began to understand.  He also caught one with his bare hand against the bank.  NBD.  He was gifted a rod from his Dad too, so I think we'll hit it again together.

 

Downtown Lunch

Got out last week for a lunchtime session in west Reno with a quality dude, Matt Gilligan Koles.  No monsters but plenty of action and some gorgeous fish.  Always amazes me how productive the river can be in town.  Gilligan makes his living showing guys how to get into the fish of their life, so it was enjoyable to cover a good stretch with a guy that spends a lot of days in the river with no rod in hand.

Two things of note:
#1.  Hooking a hefty rainbow in the same run Gilligan pounded for 10 minutes is not the same as landing hawgs all day e'ry day but it feels pretty damn good.

#2.  Under no circumstances should you ever grab the leader of another man's line.  Never.  As in, not ever.  Not even when that man is a guide you respect and has a fish on that charges you in the river and wraps around your legs...on a Tuesday.  Ya know, hypothetically speaking.

Yes, he still landed the fish. 

The heat wave is here so dust off your summer tactics.  Big heavy stones and caddis pupae have been getting it done this past week.  Lost a couple more beasts on the run.  Not sure at what point I am no longer paying my dues and just paying my respects.

Private Water Dream

An old friend of mine is part of a ranching family with more acres in CA than I can count (actually it's about 7,300).  An existing stream feeds a series of two dozen ponds and on rare occasion I get to break out there and harass catch and release those trout a bit.  The surrounding area is gorgeous, off the grid, and has a wildness about it.  This small home is losing a battle against the earth, hardly even recognizable if it weren't for a window peeking through.

We pulled on to the ranch around 7:30a to see someone had already been working for hours.  That speck in the center of this picture is a John Deere 4440 getting some baling done.  Cause that's what you do.

 

If you're fortunate enough to get asked back to the ponds, you know what awaits.  An intense anticipation rises from your gut making it tricky to tie your own shoelaces.  The fishing pressure here comes from birds of prey and bears.  The property owners are always around and armed which is strangely effective for keeping trespassers off their land.  The record in your head starts playing as you begin the hike:  You're about to catch a crap-ton of healthy, angry trout that have rarely seen a fly before. 

 

We usually stick to the first three ponds, but I had a PB&J and a walkie-talkie so I was feeling particularly untethered.  We hiked up to pond six, and heard violent thrashing in the water across the other side.  A large willow blocked our line of sight.  The splashing continued, like a family of children playing at the beach, minus the human voices.  Finally, we split up and worked our way around each side.  The mystery sound-makers revealed themselves; a family of adult river otters.  An otter scouted me slowly, approaching while letting out short breaths above the water repeatedly.  It sounded like a human cough, over and over and over.  Notice my friend doing his best bigfoot impression across the pond.

The fishing was unreal.  The wind was howling already at 8am, so the thought of angrily pelting streamers in the wind felt like a poor choice.  I switched between a fly rod and spin rod throughout the day.  Throwing a "metal streamer" was the ticket.  I landed and released 20-25 fish, most in the "that's a good fish on the Truckee" range.  If you could get a streamer or lure swimming parallel to a reed bed, angry flashes would explode out to attack your offering.  A few shots of our day:

 
 
  

 

We ended up going back a second day, and local guide Jan Nemec (pictured below) joined us.  Unfazed by the winds, Jan did well on a massive streamer.  Actually we all did great, once we realized that the fish weren't against the banks anymore, but down in the deep stuff.

 

Embarrassingly, I managed to lose a fly-rod on this trip.  But that story is for another day.  For now, I will only say that the stories you hear occasionally about people losing rods in ridiculous fashion are not only possible, but plausible.

A Very Special Hatch

This is truly a special time of year; the aluminum and glass hatches are upon us!

These aluminum and glass nymphs pictured below will soon emerge as adults, distinguished by their lazy appearance right on the surface, usually in clusters with other adults atop bright yellow flotation devices they inflate with a mix of carbon dioxide and Coors.  Remember, they have been busy preparing for this time.  They typically have about 20-40 pounds of extra girth around their mid-section, acquired from heavy alcohol consumption through the winter.  No known predators.  Amazingly, disoriented adults can wander as far as a mile away from the river, commonly carrying their flotation devices with them.

Important:  if you hear any of the following signature calls:

1.  improper use of profanity, wrong verb tenses (ex: "Ouch, my ass are hurt! What the shit, man!")
2.  asking where Carl is

3.  a punchline to a joke repeated 3 or more times at 120 dB 

...than you can be sure aluminum or glass adults are close by.  Be warned, as they aren't particularly good swimmers and can't be expected to change course, even if they spot you 100+ yards upstream.  This hatch runs strong from now until fall, when temperatures drop below where they are comfortable exposing sloppy tattoos.  Take comfort in knowing your view of them topside is probably better than what the fish see all summer.

 

Here's to Carl getting home safe.  Like local guide Arlo says, bring a bag and snag what you can.

Rain or Shine

Lots of quick stops on the river this month.  I know all the usual suspects have been slaying it, but I've honestly been working hard for the money.  Lost my biggest fish to date a couple of weeks ago in some heavy water near the state-line on a "Twenty-Incher" stonefly.

I'm convinced that for fish to get huge around here, they have to be discerning of their food and have a plan in place for the occasion they get hooked.  This guy did for sure.  I am determined to land my first big brown this summer...but it takes more than determination.

Below is Jan Nemec from Mimic Fly Fishing.  He's back up and guiding now...highly recommended.  Generous to the core, and doesn't ever make you feel dumb for not knowing everything.

Buggers. Check the detail on the stonefly husk.

Healthy bow.

Some fishy conversation.

 

Drop shot (see what I did there).

Hit Mogul with Brandyn this last week.  Our last trip was a hard act to follow, but this time out was particularly tough.  Got a few exploratory grabs, and not much more.  We were working our way up to Verdi with lightning in the distance when the pressure dropped and it started pouring.  It was raining so hard, a fish could swim straight up into the sky.  I found a large flat rock leaning eight inches past vertical, giving just enough shelter to keep me out of the deluge.  Thanks Bear Grylls.

 The whole time I was waiting it out, Brandyn was working his way up the river.  As in right up the middle.  Ain't no thang.

Best action of the day happened while I was moving down the bank to go home.  Knee deep, I stepped off a shelf and ended up mid-chest deep.  At some point in the 2.7 seconds it took me to look down, adjust accordingly and look up.  Line was screaming off my spool.  Off balance, I tried to slow the run by applying pressure to the reel, but the moment I did, my stonefly popped out of whatever big mouth found it.  No second chances on the Truckee.

Laughing with my kids, date-night with the wife, and making music with friends are a few superior activities, but a slow day on the river beats most other things.  Like so many have said before, it's strangely spiritual, deeply refreshing, and the adrenaline rush is always an instant away.