Not All Carp Species are Equal

Steve, Cinda and I couldn’t travel far from the big city today because I had to do my presentation for Desert Fly Casters tonight. That didn’t hinder our fishing at all because the lakes in and around the city limits of Phoenix Arizona have plenty of fish. Most of them have bass, sunfish, crappie and various carp species. It’s the grass carp (white Amur) that I like to fish for. Grass carp are Asian fish frequently stocked throughout the southern United States to trim aquatic vegetation that often grows in lakes. It seems the hotter the climate the quicker vegetation grows so almost every lake in the Phoenix area has a population of grass carp.

Grass carp (I call them grassies) are very hard to catch on the fly unless you have experience with them. I remember speaking at the ISE Show in Phoenix over ten years ago and noticed the peculiar looking fish in  a pond behind my hotel. I had a 5-weight with me (I always do) and thought I’d waltz right out there and catch one. Fat chance! I fished them for five straight mornings and only landed one. He was worth it though as he would have topped 15lbs and was the grassie that got me hooked on the species for life.

With few exceptions, grass carp fishing is all sight fishing. You must creep along the edge of these lakes and hunt them. Grassies are extremely spooky and will sink to the deep if they see you. If you are lucky enough to see them first, observe them. Happy grass carp ease their way along inches below the surface and rise to almost every piece of plant life they see. With that in mind, greenish dry flies work best. Being that plant life comes in every shape and size imaginable, I don’t get too concerned about the pattern itself. I have done excellent with olive grasshoppers. Once I know the direction my grassie is traveling in I try to land my cast about 6 inches in front of his nose. I want him to see it land and think a leaf just blew out of a tree. There are definitely times when the grassie spooks but often they move to it ever so slowly. Now for the part you won’t believe. While some do sip the hopper like a trout, be ready to watch the grassie nibble on  a leg and gradually work the rest of the fly into his mouth. Don’t set until you’re sure the hook is in there. As soon as you see that, strike hard.

We got up around 6 am today and made our way to a group of lakes that have plenty of grass carp. I could hardly wait. These particular lakes are also stacked with koi and have few common carp. I rigged up my 5-weight Ross with a floating line and a 12-foot 3X Rio leader. I tied on one of my green grasshoppers and walked out to the first lake. These lakes are true urban lakes. They all have sidewalks and houses completely around them.

At first I stood and looked around. The one thing I didn’t want to do was spook a grassie by hastily walking down the sidewalk. Right away I noticed some koi mulling around. The koi rarely rise to a dry fly so I gazed  beyond the koi still hoping to see a grassie. Steve and Cinda made their way to me and saw that I was rigged for grass carp not koi. Steve dropped a cast with his nymph to the nearest koi. The koi looked but then slid into some deeper water where we could no longer see him. We walked this pond together and continued to see many koi and a few common carp but the grassies were hiding. Perhaps it wasn’t hot enough yet. Steve and Cinda got numerous shots at koi but most were not participating. Finally, Steve hooked and landed the first fish of the day, a very lightly colored common carp. By the time I snapped a few pictures of Steve and his fish Cinda hooked up to a koi. That was it. The bite was on. Due to the lack of a grass carp sightings I took off my hopper and tied on a nymph. The three of us proceeded to catch numerous koi in every color imaginable during the next three hours. I even caught a strange looking fish that may have been a koi/common carp hybrid.

Gradually, we began to see some grass carp. Grassies don’t eat the nymphs anything like the koi do so to catch one I had to change back to my green hopper. This was a tough thing to do because koi fishing was red hot and a lot of fun. I made the change though and then like you’d expect, I couldn’t find another grassie to save my life. I walked five ponds in the next two hours and never made a single cast to a grass carp. Meanwhile, Steve and Cinda kept reeling in the koi.

I was about to give up and switch back to a koi rig when Cinda suggested we walk to some spots where she recently saw some nice grassies. By now it was easily 95° and very windy. Weeds and other debris often accumulate on the windy sides of these lakes and attract the grass carp. Sure enough the first spot we went had a pod of grassies nestled under such debris. The problem was there was so  much debris I couldn’t land my fly where the grassies could see it. It was useless. We kept walking and at last we spotted several grassies floating high and happy. Cinda generously stepped aside and let me have at them. I landed my hopper just in front of a cruiser and he moved to my fly. Then just as I thought his mouth was going to open and take I my fly he spooked by exploding at the surface. I think he freaked out because he knew at the last second it was a fake and realized how close he came to being caught. I was extremely disappointed assuming he likely spooked every grass carp around. But luckily that wasn’t the case. Two more grassies were slowly meandering my way looking for their next meal. I picked the larger of the two and once again dropped my fly six inches in front of his nose. Again the fish moved to my fly only this grassie opened his mouth and chomped it. I waited for the huge mouth to shut the door on my fly and  struck with authority. Mr. Grassie was on!

Grass carp are not only hard to fool. Once hooked up they put up a battle. It would be nice to have a 7 or 8- weight rod for this part, but heavy rods just can’t provide the finesse needed for the initial presentation. So you just take your time, steer them from any structure that they could snag you on and hope they give up. That’s exactly what I did and eventually I was lifting a quality grassie from the pond. Success!

Tomorrow we are bass fishing so I’m thrilled that I landed my grass carp today. These guys really are a favorite of mine and being that they like the heat, we don’t have them near home. Shortly after the fun catch, we packed it up so we’d have time to clean up and set up for my presentation for Desert Fly Casters.

My presentation was called “Fly Fishing Through Midlife Heaven” and was a collage of my top fishing trips that have occurred since I left my day job at the fly shop last October. This was a new show for me and I’m pleased to say the show went great before a large crowd. If any of you ever need a presenter for your club or Trout Unlimited banquet keep me in mind. I offer numerous presentations that you can choose from my website and there are instructions on how to book me. Keep an eye on the presentation list as I’m always keeping it up to date. Soon I’ll have a great one on how you too can succeed with the various carp species on a fly.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

Wildlife Viewing Turns to Fishing

October 5-6, 2010

Granny and I had big plans of doing a two day float this week. However, the weather called for cold temperatures and a mix of rain and snow. That’s not exactly fun floating and camping weather so we bagged it. We decided to do our annual fall trip to Yellowstone National Park earlier than normal and perhaps in two weeks Indian summer will return so we can do our two day float.

Despite great fall fishing in Yellowstone, our fall trip is really about the wildlife. I always pack a rod but it’s a great time to watch and hear the bull elk bugle and observe a grizzly or two fattening up for hibernation. We left the house late yesterday and didn’t even enter the Park until noon. We entered through Yellowstone’s South Gate and made a quick stop on the banks of an old favorite river of mine to eat some lunch. At this point the weather wasn’t so bad. It was overcast with a light drizzle but the temps remain unseasonably warm so we broke out the camp chairs and ate on the bank of this great river.

When I used to fish this river religiously, fall fishing was never worth it. I rarely found risers and that’s what is what this place is all about. But naturally as we chomped away on our sandwiches I instinctively watched for rises. Twice while I was looking away I thought I heard one. My head turned quickly and the surface was broken. But on this river, thermals, common in Yellowstone, often create these sounds and appear like a rise. I wasn’t sold that this disturbance was a trout.

I kept a watchful eye and sure enough I witnessed the disturbance. Indeed it was a rising trout. Naturally I had to try and catch him. This place is tough to fool a trout on a summer day with high water. In October the water is low and clear and yesterday the surface was like glass. Granny saw me stuff my last four bites of sandwich in my mouth as one and as I trotted to the car for my rod she rolled her eyes and told me I was wasting my time.

Getting humbled by a trout has never been a waste of time. If I failed I’d only be better next time. It was warm enough I didn’t need my waders and my 4-weight Ross still had the 18-foot leader and Mahogany Dun fly from Friday on the Henry’s Fork. I was ready to go with hardly any effort needed.

On still water like this, the trout has all the advantage. One bad cast or even a hasty false cast for that matter will send the trout running. With that in mind, I measured my distance with some false cast far away from the occasionally rising fish then crept into position. Then as I held my fly with the line stripped off ready to cast, I waited for the trout to rise one more time. He did and with one swift false cast I landed my fly exactly a foot above the rings of the rise. I held my breath as my fly drifted to the trout’s location and sure enough he munched it. I lifted gently and the battle was on.

Granny seemed very impressed and quickly fired up the camera. We had it handy because I was taking some pictures of October caddis flies during lunch. Then after a several jumps and a solid run I beached the sizeable brown trout. I was really surprised. A lunch break turned into a one cast one fish deal on a normally difficult river. Very cool stuff! After I released him I plopped back in my chair for desert, dark chocolate.

That was the only fish we saw from the lunch spot and being that fishing was not our priority I didn’t look for anymore. Instead we continued our journey north towards Lamar Valley and Cooke City, Montana, our final destinations for the day. Of course we did peek at a couple more rivers along the way. One was the Yellowstone River at the once called Buffalo Ford area. For more than twenty-five years I’ve never drove passed this spot without stopping to look for rising Yellowstone Cutthroats but yesterday there were none. Unfortunately the Yellowstone River in the Park has its problems these days and can often resemble the Dead Sea.

An hour later we made our turn from the Tower Falls area up towards Lamar Valley. Five miles into it after navigating through herds of bison you pass the turn into Slough Creek. This is another spot I don’t drive past without a stop. We drove the dirt road up towards the Slough Creek Campground and stopped at every spot where you can see the river. It was close to sunset. The temperature was dropping and there was a stiff breeze. It was far from ideal conditions for seeing rising fish. Then, unexpectedly we viewed a pool that had several feeding fish in a sheltered slick. There was just enough sun poking through the clouds that you could see we were in for an amazing sunset. Granny wanted to set out the chairs to watch it so I opted to wader up.

My rod was still rigged perfectly so I set out. Like the fish at our lunch spot, Slough Creek trout don’t give in easily in October. They have had tons of pressure and are skeptical of even the real bugs hatching from the water. Nonetheless, yesterday was obviously my day because on my first cast I hooked up. My fly simply bobbed in the wind chop for about five seconds and then got devoured by a nice Yellowstone Cutthroat. I landed him while Granny watched and shook her head with a smile. Wow! I released him then cast it out again and to my disbelief hooked up again. This time I landed a big cuttbow (cutthroat/rainbow hybrid). That was it. Three casts and three great fish. No sense in pushing it. I reeled in and grabbed a seat next to Granny for the sunset.

We finished the day by watching a black bear forage amongst some logs and then during the last glimmer of daylight we watched a grizzly sow and her cub along Soda Butte Creek. We grabbed some dinner at the Miner Bar in Cooke City then camped just outside of town. Due to the numerous grizzlies in the area there is no tent camping allowed so we slept in the back of the truck.

We got an early start this morning in hopes to view some wildlife but it was so foggy we could barley see the road. The morning remained foggy until 11 and by then we were long past Lamar Valley (our favorite bear area) and all the way to Gibbon River meadows. This is another favorite haunt of mine so I parked and walked out to the river. I couldn’t believe it. There was a blue winged olive hatch and fish rising everywhere. I ran back to the car and for a third time grabbed my already rigged 4-weight and headed out for a few fish.

I fished for about two hours. I must have caught twenty gorgeous little brown trout all on the same Mahogany Dun I’ve used all week. It was some of the best dry fly fishing I’ve had all season long. Granny and I finished the day with our three hour drive home through West Yellowstone and down through Idaho. In case you didn’t know by now, I’m a hard core baseball fan and the drive went quick as we listened to Roy Halliday's historical no hitter. Sometimes it’s the unplanned fishing days that are the best. Not just the fishing but everything that occurs during the day. This weekend was a prime example.

Expect me to be idle the next few days as I prepare to speak at Desert Fly Casters in Arizona next week. The good news though is that I will be fishing while in Arizona and should have some good bass, carp, crappie and etc fishing stories and photos to share soon.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

One Huge Rainbow, One Huge Patch of Weeds

October 1, 2010

I worked in a fly shop for twenty-three years. Most of my fellow employees worked a season or two to experience Jackson Hole Wyoming then moved on with their lives. If you add it up, I probably worked with over 100 different people during my time. Amazingly, I’m still good friends and keep in touch with more than half of these great people. Most of them are “grownups” and have families and don’t spend much time fly fishing anymore. However, when they make it through Jackson, we always try to squeeze in a day of fishing together. This week Chris Reinking of Atlanta, Georgia was in range and we met at the Harriman Ranch on the Henry’s Fork. Reinking worked for me during approximately 1997-1999.

Chris fished with another former employee of mine, Mike Patron (now from Bozeman Montana), on Monday. They fished on the upper Ranch just below the log jam and although they caught small fish, the big ones that bring you to the Ranch weren’t around. I’d had slow fishing on the upper Ranch last month so we decided to try mid Ranch and access it through what it called the Mail Box.

Whenever you fish the Ranch look forward to more than just fishing. Usually in the fall you hear bugling elk and expect a moose or two to cross the river while you cast to a fish. Today we had not only that but we ran into some cowboys herding cattle. Reinking and I were rigging our rods at our cars when we heard a stampede heading our way from the forest behind us. We kept a watchful eye and sure enough out came hundreds of head of cow fleeing from six cowboys on horseback. What appeared like total chaos to Chris and I was completely organized by the skilled wranglers. One cowboy left the pack and bravely stopped traffic on the busy Route 20. Then in less than five minutes they forced every single cow through the tight Mail Box entrance to the Railroad Ranch.

Needless to say it was a dusty walk to the river through the noise of hundreds of mooing cows. It was hotter than a normal day in August and there wasn’t an ounce of wind. This has been the hottest fall I can remember. When we got to Cattleman’s Bridge we opted to cross and walk downstream to where I saw several big fish way back in June during my Marathon. We grabbed a seat in the tall dying grass and observed while we caught upon the happenings in our lives. Slowly, the Henry’s Fork came to life. First just a couple Mahogany Duns appeared. Then before we knew it there was a steady flow of them. I love the Mahogany dun hatch because they are easy to see. After months of tiny PMD’s and Trico’s down to size 22, Mahogany Duns seem huge.

Numerous small rainbows began to rise. Then the occasional medium size rainbow showed and disappeared. A medium size rainbow in the Ranch is in the 14” to 16” range. While a great fish, on the Ranch I rarely get up to cast until I spot a fish that I think is 18” or over. Reinking said screw it. He doesn’t have time to watch a bunch of fish rise and he wandered out and set up on some medium size trout. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore either. I was just about to make my first cast with my CDC  Mahogany Dun when out the corner of my eye I saw a huge head break the surface on the far bank. Then I saw the fish again. I could tell from the size of his nose and the push of water he created when he rose that this was the fish I was here for. The massive rainbow was slowly moving upstream feeding on every dun that drifted his way.

I waded right over the top of the medium sized fish I was going to fish too. Many times on the Ranch, these big fish feed aggressively for a few minutes then disappear. I wasn’t waiting around. I wanted to make my first cast on him within the minute. I came within inches of flooding my waders twice before I was in position to make a cast. Once there I delicately placed a cast upstream to him with my 4-weight Ross. Casting upstream over the top of a rising fish is risky business. You must have a long leader. My typical Ranch leader in the fall is nearly 18-feet long! And you never want to cast so far that your fly line goes over the trout. While a delicate leader usually goes unnoticed, even the light weight of the tip of my Rio Double Taper Trout LT line can be enough to send the trout running.

My first cast was on the money and I collected the slack from my leader as my fly drifted towards me. I knew the large rainbow was looking. Then I saw the water below my fly displace and as I took a deep breath expecting the trout to break the surface and eat my fly, he refused it. S . . . I thought to myself! Not only did he refuse my fly but I didn’t have another on me to change to. My flies were on shore in my pack all the way across the river where Chris and I were hanging out. If I took the time to go back and get them, surely this trout would be gone. I had no choice but to keep presenting and hope I could force feed this selective giant. Over and over I dropped my fly while the fish dodged it and rose to every natural that went by. It was unnerving being so close to this hungry brute with the wrong fly. I was just losing hope when he refused my fly again. This means he’s still thinking about it and if you keep up what you’re doing the trout eventually gives in. I knew it was just a matter of time. Sure enough, twenty casts more and our standoff ended when he gently sipped my fly.

My tippet was a mere 6X. Thank goodness Rio 6X Powerflex is a heck of a lot stronger than tippet was in the past. Still, rather than a violent hook set, all I had to do was raise my rod and the game was on. At first the rainbow thrashed and made some short runs. That lasted about 30 seconds before he was off and running upstream. The biggest fear now is getting broke off in the weeds. Like most spring creeks, the bottom of the Ranch is an entanglement of vegetation. Fighting trout love to go under weed beds and out the other side and then the same in the next patch. Your fly line and leader have no choice but to follow. Usually you get tangled and the trout breaks you off. This fish was unwisely staying high in the water column. As he charged upstream I followed keeping as close as I could. Finally he used the weeds to his advantage and everything stopped. Somehow I felt he was still on. I was sure the trout himself was buried in the weeds. I reeled and waded to exactly where he was. There was my leader and tippet leading right into a thick patch of weeds. I reeled to within a foot of my leader butt and stuck my foot in the weeds  where my tippet led. He was there. While creating slight pressure by pulling the leader by hand and shuffling my feet in the weeds at the same time, out came the monster rainbow. He was easily 20 inches and he was tired. I let go of my leader and lifted my rod tip to bring the trout to the surface where I intended to tail him. That’s when he let out one last surge. This time I wasn’t so lucky. The amazing rainbow that I could have touched seconds ago took off down stream and through the weeds again, this time he broke me off. Dang!

It would have been nice to have a photo of the rainbow trout of the year up on the blog today, but it doesn’t always work out that way. Although I came close, the usual happened and I got weeded before I could celebrate. Reinking was just heading my way with his camera in hand when he stopped to hear my words of dissatisfaction. Then I followed those ear  burners by shouting, “Beer Break”. No matter how the fishing is there’s nothing better then time with old friends. Chris had his own chance at a nice fish later but he too lost the battle. We each caught a handful of little guys and at sunset we headed for Trout Hunter for dinner and beer. No fishing for a few days, it’s time to get some work done.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

Big Ugly Trout Need Love Too

Dede and Barb have been fly fishing in the Jackson Hole area since the 70’s. I met them as a young buck working in the Jack Dennis Fly Shop in Jackson, Wyoming in 1987. They came in the shop, asked me some questions and quizzed me hard. I was the new kid in town. Fortunately I knew enough that they accepted me and we’ve been friends ever since. For years we never fished together. It’s typical if you work in a fly shop. Your customers become friends but you rarely ever fish with them. It’s because you never have time to fish with all your customer/friends. There’s so many of them and you only have a couple days off a week. But sometimes it works out. Luckily ten years ago it worked out that Granny and I fished with Dede and Barb on one of their secret waters. We had so much fun that we fish together at least once a year ever since.

Kubswin Lake isn’t really one of Dede and Barbs secrets. Anyone who chases big trout about knows Kubswin has some of the largest browns in the entire west, but because it’s a lake they rarely go there. When they go, it’s usually a one time thing because they get skunked. These trout are very hard to catch and as a rule anglers walk away shaking their heads wondering if the lake has any fish in it at all. Granny and I and Dede and Barb have certainly had these days. Nonetheless, that’s where we spent Tuesday and Wednesday

Monday night Granny and I drove to stay and have dinner at Dede and Barbs. These gals take great care of us when we stay over. We brought down some steaks and wine and they cooked it all up with some fresh veggies. Morning came fast and after  some quick coffees we drove to the lake. The weather continues to be as good as you could ask for. Despite Kubswin sitting at over 7,000 ft there was little to no wind and temps reached 80º each day. When we arrived at Kubswin it was almost calm. This sounds good to a rookie lake angler but the truth of the matter is that trout are so spooky under a placid lake that when your cast hits the water all nearby trout retreat to the deep. They think and eagle or an osprey is diving for them. I ran into this repeatedly when I was walking the shoreline and casting to cruisers. All but one took off just from seeing my fly line in the air. The one that stayed around followed and refused my fly.

We all spend more time fly fishing on lakes than the average trout fly fisher and we each have rigs and vests we only take to lakes. My rod of choice is my 6-weight Ross Essence FC. To match that rod I use the Ross Airius Reel and I have five spools to go with. Each spool has a different Rio fly line. There’s a floater, Midge Tip, Intermediate sink, Slow Sink (Type 3), and a Fast Sink (Deep 7). With those I can cover top to bottom of most lakes simply by changing spools. The line I use the most often is the Intermediate which in Rio lines is called the Aqualux.

We each carry a wide range of flies. Most of your once a year lake fly fishers simply pound away with various streamer patterns. Streamers definitely provide some success but I find that most of my catches  are made by patiently sight casting to risers with dry flies or slowly twitching nymph and midge patterns just below the surface. The speed and way you move your flies makes all the difference in the world. Lake fly fishing is extremely challenging and if you haven’t fished them much there’s lots to learn. I enjoy the challenges lakes present me with and especially the chance at catching huge trout. I also find them rarely crowded like many of our best rivers.

It wasn’t until about 1 pm on Tuesday that one of us hooked up. I was daydreaming while retrieving each cast and chatting away with Dede. Then she hooked up. It was obviously a big fish because her reel sang as the beast headed for the middle of the lake. Barb and I reeled in while Granny, who opted  to observe this weekend, came running with the camera. The fight lasted a good five minutes before she netted an obese 23” brown. Fat probably wasn’t the best word to describe this enormous trout. This amazing brown trout was an absolute monster and a perfect example as to why we like the challenge of lake fishing. And rather than eating a huge streamer, this brown ate one of Dede’s small nymphs while she was doing a very slow strip down near the bottom.

Our fishing remained slow both days but was very rewarding. We only landed a total of five fish, but the smallest was 17 inches. Dede caught four of these and three of them were over 20 inches. All the ones over 20 inches were impressive to say the least. One was impressive not only because of his size, but he was one of the ugliest big browns I’ve ever seen! His bottom jaw protruded so far out past his upper it was ridiculous. It’s a wonder he could even eat with this obscurely shaped mouth.

I only landed one but he too was a monster. This brown trout ate an olive bead head leech late in the day  and schooled me out into the lake. I rarely need backing when trout fishing but this fish required about thirty feet of it! It was another great weekend. Next for me will be back to the Harriman Ranch on the Henry’s Fork for the last of the Mahogany Dun hatch.

Our fishing remained slow both days but was very rewarding. We only landed a total of five fish, but the smallest was 17 inches. Dede caught four of these and three of them were over 20 inches. All the ones over 20 inches were impressive to say the least. One was impressive not only because of his size, but he was one of the ugliest big browns I’ve ever seen! His bottom jaw protruded so far out past his upper it was ridiculous. It’s a wonder he could even eat  with this obscurely shaped mouth.

I only landed one but he too was a monster. This brown ate an olive bead head leech late in the day and schooled me out into the lake. I rarely need backing when trout fishing but this fish required about thirty feet of it! It was another great weekend. Next for me will be back to the Ranch on the Henrys Fork for the last of the Mahogany Dun hatch.

as ridiculous. It’s a wonder he could even eat with this obscurely shaped mouth.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

The Grind

September 12, 2010

Day 2 in the Jackson Hole One Fly is where you need to make things happen. With our team in 2nd place we wanted to make the move forward and win the One Fly. Realistically, all each of us needed to do was have a slightly above average day. This sounds easy, but isn’t. Out of four anglers one could simply lose their fly, pick the wrong fly or just plain and simple, have an off day. I had pressure on me to perform. I drew the South Fork and it typically produces higher scores. While average on the Snake River is about 250 points, average on the South Fork is about 350 points. I really needed to make sure and break 400.

Deciding what fly to use was difficult again. Originally I planned to fish a streamer, but streamers are risky. Indeed the streamer paid off yesterday, but risk wasn’t such a factor as our team wasn’t in 2nd place yesterday. You can easily snag a streamer on unseen sunken tree branches or a rock and your fly is gone. The other thing about streamers is that when the fish aren’t on them, you could get skunked. Either way, if I didn’t come back today with a full card I’d hurt the team.

I arrived at the South Fork Lodge for breakfast at 6:15 am. This is where our guides and boat mates meet up for the South Fork. I had breakfast with good friend Mike Lawson. Mike too was in the One Fly and was also spinning about what fly to use. He also scored well on the Snake River yesterday and knew a good South Fork score would help his team and perhaps move him into high individual standings. Taking the pressure off us, we both decided we’d leave our fly choice up to our guide.

When my fly fishing guide Mike Bean arrived at the breakfast table he didn’t exactly tell me what fly to use. He too was torn. He’s seen me hammer fish on streamers and would do anything to see it today, but today the weather was crisp and clear and temperatures were expected to reach 77º. Streamer fishing on the South Fork can be slow I such conditions. With a small Pale Morning Dun dry fly he was sure I could fill my measured fish card. That is if I could keep the fly all day without losing it and hope that it didn’t fall apart. Both are major concerns with a small fly. Then we met my boat mate Scott. Scott was set on fishing a small dry fly. That was it; I too would go with a size 18 Pale Moring Dun Parachute Cripple.

Mike Bean is one of the best South Fork River guides and he had a plan. He pushed us away from the Spring Creek Boat Ramp at 8:15 and rowed like a mad man so that we would be in a good dry fly spot at exactly 8:30. Like yesterday, it was cold as heck and thick frost blanketed everything. When we got to Mike’s spot it was too cold. Not a fish stirred and even blind casting to where we knew fish lived did not entice a rise.

Fortunately, as the sun rose so did the thermometers. Today was going to be another September day of dreams. Scott and I simply had to be patient with our small flies. If the trout weren’t awake yet there was no sense in casting them to the banks and risk loss and add unnecessary wear and tear. With the exception of a few riffles we relaxed, held our flies and waited for the first insects to hatch.

It took longer then we expected. At 10:30 neither of us had one point on our score cards. There were no bugs and no rising fish. It was plenty warm enough by now. I was in shorts and a t-shirt and I was hot. Where were the fish? Mike remained cool and rowed us to his next spot. Sure enough there was our first  rising fish of the day. Scott and I were rotating the front of the boat each hour and it happened to be my turn. I studied the fish’s rises for a minute then delicately landed my cast. My presentation was poor compared to a normal day. The reason being that I was attempting to fish my tiny dry fly on 2X Rio Powerflex Tippet. On any normal day of fishing I’d have a size 18 dry fly attached to 4X or perhaps even 5X. But this was the One Fly Contest; I wasn’t going to risk fishing with a light tippet this early in the day. I flipped a couple mends in my fly line to help my stiff looking fly along and to my delight up came a gorgeous Yellowstone Cutthroat to consume it. I set the hook and like a normal day in paradise the fish was on and I brought the 16” trout to the net. Yes, I had my first fish of the day.

I was set to measure the trout. He was easily 16 inches and would score me 60 points, but Mike had bigger fish in mind. Somehow he talked me out of measuring the fish and accepting him as a mere 2 pointer. Wow! I was hesitant, but I picked the fish from the net and released him without measuring him. Then I plucked my fly up from the net and was just about to drop it and roll cast it out again to start fishing when I saw my PMD was not attached to my leader. My tippet had broken in the net! My heart dropped and a feeling of near disaster overtook me. When I told Mike what happened he nearly went into shock too.

I had work to do. Somehow I damaged my tippet earlier in the morning and didn’t know it. I cut the entire piece off and carefully tied on another with a triple surgeons knot. It took much longer than normal as my hands were shaking. Then I leaned back in my chair with my fly tightly clenched in my left hand and took a breather while Scott made some casts to some more rising fish. That was a close call.

Ten minutes went by and Scott wasn’t getting it done. Several fish rose to his fly but he missed each one. Mike asked me if I was finally ready. I was still rattled, but I made my cast and quickly hooked up. I landed another gorgeous 16” cutty. And once again, Mike talked me into taking him as a mere 2 point fish. I was a little uneasy letting these 16 inchers go without measuring them for bonus points. I knew all I needed was 400 points to help my team. What if now after I let these guys go I didn’t fill my card, or worse, lost my fly?

I missed the next three quality fish that ate my fly. It seemed my luck was taking a turn for the worst. It was after 11 when finally I hooked up again. Although I was relieved, this wasn’t a gentle fighting cutthroat but rather a scrappy rainbow. The bow leaped twice and then took off for the middle of the river and dove for bottom. I had little control. I knew he was down deep looking for trees to snag me on and rocks to grind my tippet against. It was really gut wrenching. At last, the fish gave in and Mike netted the rainbow. Enough is enough I said to Mike, measure that fish. I was just too uncomfortable without a bonus point fish on the board. He measured the rainbow and sure enough he was 16 inches on the nose.

I continued to miss fish but managed to pick up two more bonus point trout so that by 1:00 I had two 16 inchers and a 17 incher on the measure card along with several two point fish. I had three more hours to reach 400 points. Unfortunately Scott still sported a zero. He just wasn’t connecting at all. When Scott returned to the front of the boat Mike worked hard by coaching him while he fished to a pod of risers. It went on for fifteen minutes or so while I patiently watched from the back of the boat. It just wasn’t happening for Scott. Then in one swift move Mike spun the boat and said Jeff take a shot. I whirled a false cast straight up in the air as not to hook anything in the boat and as I went forward I felt my fly burry into  something high above us. It was a cedar tree branch dangling a good 30-feet above the river. Disaster had struck.

As the three of us tracked my fly line and leader up to the cedar branch there was dead silence. It was worse than initially thought. The branch was a snarled mess of twigs and needles high above the boat. You could follow my leader with your eyes but the fly was buried out of sight. By now Mike had the anchor dropped and was heading up the bank as if to just climb the tree and undo the mess. But it wasn’t so easy. This was a big tree extending off a cliff like bank and the first branch to grab for climbing was 10-feet up.

I handed my rod to Scott and headed up to the base of the tree where a bewildered Mike Bean stood with a very sad look on his face. I simply asked him for ten fingers and up I went to where I could grab that first branch. Using complete adrenaline, I swung my legs up and started to wiggle my way through closely knit branches high into the tree. Once I thought I was at the branch my fly was on, I asked Scott to pull tight to my fly. Soon I was scaling my way out over the river on this branch. But there was no way. I was out as far as I dared. The branch dipped down and swayed side to side as if it were about to snap. If the branch broke from under me I’d fall 30-feet onto jagged river rock. All I could see was my 2X Rio Tippet tightly wound and snagged deep in a cluster of branches about 8-feet from my reach. I was absolutely screwed.

Our first move was to try to reach it with the net. Mike threw it up to me and even it got tangled in the branches. This was not the tree to mess with. At last I got it and pushed it towards the end of the branch where my fly was. It was a useless operation. As I sat there uncomfortably and discouraged as you could be, I gazed at the anchor rope in the boat below me. That was it. If it was long enough I could tie it to this branch and from the ground we could pull on it until it snapped. It was a long shot, but the only shot.

Mike and Scott had to be shaking their heads by now, but Mike went through the trouble to disconnect his anchor. I hung like a monkey from my knees and Mike threw me the rope. I wrapped it around the branch so we had two ends of the rope to pull on and our last hope was underway. I climbed down and stood in the boat with my rod while Mike, a good sized man, pulled the rope. At first the branch was like a rubber band, it just wouldn’t break. Mike was actually getting tired of bouncing on that rope. Then without any hint at all the entire 300lb branch came crashing down on Mike and I. Once we realized no one was hurt we cheered and laughed. We had made a historic fly rescue.

My fly still wasn’t easy to find. It was tangled in there so bad that we never could have retrieved it by pulling my tippet. I was drained. I was scratched up, stressed out and plopped in the back of the boat and drank a beer. Now I had less than two hours to catch at least three more measurable fish. And poor Scott still hadn’t caught a single fish. Worst of all the trickle of a hatch we had earlier was all but gone. Things were ugly.

I felt terrible that I put my boat mates through such drama. I drank another beer and just sat and watched as Scott drifted his PMD along the bank while Mike back rowed. I wanted to fish but Scott needed to catch one first. There were absolutely no randomly rising trout. About then Scott buried his fly in the back of my neck. I let out a yelp. I don’t care what you say; even a small fly in the neck hurts. The One Fly is a barbless tournament so I reached up and carefully grabbed it and attempted to jerk it out. Unfortunately the flattened barb wasn’t flattened all the way and the skin on my neck stretched out an inch and snapped back putting the fly deeper into my neck. It was in there good. Scott felt terrible. I told him no big deal and Mike pulled over and with his forceps made a nice clean rip and the fly was out. Mike said it was time to check on his pets so while I soaked up a little blood with my t-shirt off we went to the cliffs of the South Fork Canyon.

There’s always a few cooperative fish at the cliffs. Scott tucked a cast into the first cave and wham, he had his first fish of the day and it was 15”. I was glad to see Scott on the board. As they measured I snuck my own cast back in the cave and I landed a 17” cutthroat. Things were looking up again. I only needed two more fish of 16 inches to rally for 400 points.

Let’s just say the last hour was a grind. Scott all but gave up on the day. It was hot. There was no hatch. Most of Mike’s pets were hiding. Things were bleak. I felt I didn’t deserve it, but Scott gave me the front of the boat again. For the last 45 minutes or so I made risky cast after risky cast. Sometimes I tossed my tiny PMD against the willows in fast water while other times I side armed so far back under trees that if I got hung we’d never find the fly. And it paid off. I went on to fill my card and my measurables included three 16” and three 17” trout. I also had sixteen two pointers and by miracle, kept my fly for another 25 point bonus. It was one of the toughest competition days I can remember but I grinded out 460 crucial points.

My poor boat mate landed only one fish. He wasn’t alone. Although there were a few fantastic scores on some fancy ant, many on the stretch did not fill their cards. This included Mike Lawson who hooked and lost a nice fish in the last minutes of the contest. When I arrived in Jackson after my near two hour drive from the South Fork Canyon, the scores were in. The Good Times Team had dropped to fourth place. Gary lost his fly before catching a fish today and our other anglers had a tough day. There was some good news though. Gary’s big 23 ½” brown from Day 1 earned him the big fish trophy and my grind of both days earned me third place individual. All our practice earned us something. It was a great One Fly and next year perhaps we can take the next step and the Good Times Team can win it all.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site

Uncle Jeff the Fishing Guide

August 23-25, 2010

My nieces Sammy Currier, age 8 and Montana Currier, age 6 have been fly fishing a lot longer than most kids of the same age. In fact, Sammy has been around fly fishing since she was 3 years old when she spent an afternoon reeling in the fish I hooked. They aren’t proficient casters yet but they understand rivers and where fish live. They can also help you choose a fly and if it’s a dry fly, they will watch it like a hawk and tell you when to set the hook.

My brother Greg and his family live in Massachusetts. Once a year they make it out to visit Granny and I and we camp, hike, relax and of course fish. The last few years Sammy and Montana have fallen in love with a place we camp at up the Gros Ventre River. The Gros Ventre flows gently here and the girls can swim on their own and whenever they feel like it, fish with their Uncle Jeff.

These past two days was our annual Gros Ventre camping trip. Granny and I met my brother and his family at our scenic site on Monday night. We wasted no time and began the weekend with a hot fire and cooked up some delicious burgers. As the sun set temperatures plummeted for the first time since spring. We were shocked at how cold it felt and accused ourselves of being wimps. Once it was totally dark wolves howled from a distant butte. Then another pack answered back. Surprisingly, the only other times I’ve heard howling wolves was camping in the boonies of Mongolia. It’s a spectacular sound and we listened and hoped for more but they were silent.

Sunrise couldn’t arrive soon enough. Granny and I shivered most of the night in our summer sleeping bags. It wasn’t just an unseasonably cold night, it was flat out freezing. It turns out we aren’t wimps. We awoke to thick frost and frozen water bottles – it’s August for crying out loud! Thankfully the sun warmed us fast and by the time the coffee was flowing the temps had risen to the upper 40ºs and it went on to reach the 80ºs by afternoon.

You know how kids are; they’re immune to the cold if they want to play in the water. Unsurprisingly, Sammy and Montana were ready for a swim with Uncle Jeff before the temps reached 60º. This weekend is all about hanging with Uncle Jeff so I had to think fast or make the frozen plunge. Being the quick thinker I am, I turned a stroll down to look at the river into a one hour hike. The hike was a thrill for the girls as we found cool rocks, water striders and water beetles, a dead moose not completely cleaned to a skeleton yet and some amazing wildflowers. Then we finished it off by summiting a butte with a view of the Teton’s that even six year old Montana appreciated.

Normally the girls fish with me for about an hour in an entire weekend and we end up swimming and goofing off the rest of the time. However, while I was sitting in my camp chair drawing up some trout tattoos for a friend that works for RIO and watching the girls play in the Gros Ventre, Granny strung up a rod. I noticed as she hiked to the pool above where Sammy and Montana were swimming they stopped playing and followed her up. Granny  began fishing and the girls watched attentively. Then Granny missed a fish that ate her dry fly and I heard Sammy give her some instruction so it wouldn’t happen again. I chuckled and then headed on down to join the fun.

Sammy and Montana weren’t just amused by the fishing but rather they loved it. I arrived on the scene and the girls asked Granny to give me the rod. I nailed the first cutthroat. Then a second. And in less than an hour I caught at least 10 cuttys and a few whitefish. Some were very nice size. The girls took turns reeling each fish in. They posed for pictures and giggled unstoppably when they released them. It was great fun for all.

We fished at least three hour long sessions in the pools around camp just on Tuesday. Then the minute we finished breakfast today the girls had Granny and I fishing again. They loved catching and playing with the fish. They just couldn’t get enough of it. Between hook ups they played in the river, rescued minnows and collected rocks and busted up shotgun clays.

It was hard to beat the fishing but there was more fun to be had. I really was drawing up fish for tattoos. Naturally the girls were fascinated and before I knew it their camp chairs were parked next to me and their sketch pads were out. For hours we nibbled away on our projects until finally even Sammy was done. Then we posed for a picture with our masterpieces and it was back to the river.

Fishing with kids is something we all need to do more of. This summer I’ve done more than ever. Watching my young pal Cooper Eckman become a deadly angler and now my nieces is about as cool as it gets. The good news is that my sister and her family visit next week and there will be more fishing with kids for the Currier’s – good stuff. What a summer!

Normally the girls fish with me for about an hour in an entire weekend and we end up swimming and goofing off the rest of the time. However, while I was sitting in my camp chair drawing up some trout tattoos for a friend that works for RIO and watching the girls play in the Gros Ventre, Granny strung up a rod. I noticed as she hiked to the pool above where Sammy and Montana were swimming they stopped playing and followed her up. Granny  began fishing and the girls watched attentively. Then Granny missed a fish that ate her dry fly and I heard Sammy give her some instruction so it wouldn’t happen again. I chuckled and then headed on down to join the fun.

Sammy and Montana weren’t just amused by the fishing but rather they loved it. I arrived on the scene and the girls asked Granny to give me the rod. I nailed the first cutthroat. Then a second. And in less than an hour I caught at least 10 cuttys and a few whitefish. Some were very nice size. The girls took turns reeling each fish in. They posed for pictures and giggled unstoppably when they released them. It was great fun for all.

We fished at least three hour long sessions in the pools around camp just on Tuesday. Then the minute we finished breakfast today the girls had Granny and I fishing again. They loved catching and playing with the fish.

Jeff Currier Global Fly Fishing web site