Grandkids and Fly Fishing: and what really entertains them

Fishing Shop

Most that have crossed my path, at least in my younger years, would say that I am painfully organized. Some have even called me anal because of my penchant for having things in proper and predictable order. Now that I’m older and retired that seems to be a bigger challenge for me but there remains remnants of my ordered ways scattered throughout my life.

My shop is one of those remnants. Many have exclaimed when seeing it for the first time, “This looks like a Cabela’s Fly Shop!” Pegboards with fly tying supplies meticulously arranged according to type and color; cabinets with drawers and shelves arranged in the same way. Any good cook will tell you it not only helps but also is necessary to have all your ingredients arranged in such a manner. Recipes are numerous and varied and knowing where to find the necessary ingredients make creating a special dish efficient and rewarding without unnecessary frustration. Fly tying is patterns (recipe) and materials (ingredients) so just the same. It takes discipline to keep it that way but over time one learns the extra effort is well worth it.

My seven-year-old grandchildren have been curious about my shop from the first time they saw it with so many new things begging attention, most of them with verbal instructions not to touch because of one hazard or another. My own grandfather’s shop, a blacksmith shop not a fishing hobby shop, was the same for me…so many tools and accessories with so many questions on my part and so many warnings on my grandfather’s part. Recalling my own curiosity about those things and the trouble that got me into I make sure access to my shop for my grandchildren is only when I was present.

During their visit this summer one of the activities I had promised them was lessons in fly tying.  Seven seemed a bit young but they were eager so we gave it a try. The granddaughter caught on quickly and soon had produced three reasonable woolly bugger facsimiles pretty much on her own. Her twin brother, who had been patiently observing and waiting for his turn at the vise wasn’t bad either but not such a good study as his sister. That wasn’t a surprise. Over the years of attempting to teach fly tying the gals almost always caught on quicker to the many maneuvers of thread and materials than the guys.

So while spending extra time with her brother I get this question from his sister, “Grandpa do you have a box?” Without thinking of what she might need a box for I pointed her to the corner of the shop where she might find an empty box and continued on with her brother’s instruction. After finishing a couple of flies he was done with fly tying and now more interested in what his sister was doing. “What are you doing Amelia?” I asked as I looked into a box half full of fly tying supplies tucked under her arm. “Shopping” she said. “I want to shop!” exclaimed Everett. I was at the proverbial tipping point. Should I put an immediate end to the damage to the uniformity of my shop and have to deal with the “Amelia got to do it” rebuttal from my grandson or what?  The damage to the harmony on my pegboard walls was already done so my response was, “Everett here is a bag you can use.

The shopping continued while thoughts of “would my shop ever be the same” screeched through my mind like finger nails on a blackboard. Hoping to reclaim control over my avocation inventory I told the two of them that the store would be closing soon and they needed to complete their shopping quickly. Amelia’s box was almost full and she was ready to check out. Bringing her purchases to where I sat she handed me an imaginary credit card. I pretended to ring up the items in her box one by one. Her brother continued to shop from the now almost bare pegboard walls. We talked about her upcoming trip and how she would put her purchases to use. I thanked her for shopping at my store. This little lady was all smiles. I was scanning the horizon for a way to end this benevolently.

“Oh no” I said, “your credit card has been denied.” She knew what this meant because that had happened to me just before they arrived for their visit and she had listened to me complain to her parents about the grief that was causing me. “I’m sorry young lady you will have to put all this stuff back until the bank can work this out for you.” Silence, a concerned expression across her face and then, “Can we wait until tomorrow Grandpa, you promised we could watch a movie tonight.” “Yes, Grandpa, you said we could watch a movie”, chimed in her brother. I agreed tomorrow would be fine. On the way back into the house for the promised movie, Amelia grabbed my hand gently and looked up at me with those gorgeous blue eyes. “That was really fun Grandpa” I knew she wasn’t talking about the fly tying.

No More Miss Prissy

Magnum PI

For years a popper sold by Accardo they called the Miss Prissy was the goto popper for most fly fisherman I knew. Unfortunately that popper is no longer available. I have a few left from the last batch of fifty I bought a couple of years ago but after that it is all over.

The Miss Prissy did catch fish, which of course is why it was so popular especially with the "brim" fisherman. Frequently though this little bit of fish magic would attract a large bass and you would have to pray the little hook would hold in that tough bucket mouth.

For that reason I began toying with making my on versions of the Miss Prissy in a larger, bass size popper I called the Magnum PI (Prissy Imitation). Now that the Miss Prissy is no longer available this has taken its place in my popper box. It catches bass just like the Miss Prissy but the larger size gives you a more solid hook-up when the bigmouth does explode under it.

I'm not sure any popping bug will take the place of the Miss Prissy but its absence has stirred my interest and the interest of others in crafting my own popping bugs. A material resource that I had been collecting for years was wine corks. I felt sure I could make poppers from them but couldn't seem to find the time to figure out how. In the meantime my collection of purple stained corks grew from a small bag to half a garbage can full.

Stories from a fellow angler of catching monster bass on big poppers once again had me thinking of the wine cork poppers. I made a couple and gave them to him to try that Fall. It was downhill from there. That winter we cranked out three or four dozen poppers from the wine corks. Friends began to hear about the exercise and wine corks began showing up in my mailbox and on my front porch. So many that I suspected some of my friends might have issues with wine consumption. That concern led me to saddle the wine cork poppers with the handle Wino Poppers and that has stuck.

Wino Poppers, wine corks repurposed for a life of daring and adventure.

My popper arsenal is now made up primarily of the Magnum PI and the Wino Popper. Both are catching fish, maybe not as frequently as the vintage Miss Prissy but close enough to keep me cranking them out and getting them wet.

A New Year At Last

2016 at last! I thought it would never get here. There have not been many years that I wanted to say good riddance to but 2015 was certainly one of them. I said the same thing a couple of years ago and here I am making the same comments about the year past. Some of the reason are the same but some have a great deal to do with the new Apple computer I had to buy to replace my old Apple computer that failed again just before the holidays. Ironically I got the old one working again the same day the new one arrived which I should have recognized as an omen. That good fortune lasted a couple of days so I unboxed the new machine. At one time Apple was known for "plug and play" simplicity that made using a computer simple for the technically challenged like myself. This latest generation doesn't seem to follow that mantra. I've been trying to get it setup so that it is as least as useful as my old Mac for several days now. The more I use it the more I feel like I'm shooting myself in the foot and painting myself into the proverbial corner. Maybe it's because Steve Jobs is no longer looking over anyone's shoulder but damn this is the kind of stuff that made me leave Microsoft platforms in the first place. Tonight this new wonder machine had me in an endless loop telling me there was an issue, giving me two choices 1) log into my Apple account and fix the problem or 2) a button labeled LATER. I selected LATER because I had enough issues on my plate with this machine right now. Trouble was, the LATER button didn't work so I had to select the only other option. The trouble with that was after logging into my account the computer took me back to where this nightmare started. The error message was textual but just as cryptic as the old "bomb on the screen" which told you there was a problem, something you already knew, but outside that no information that gave you a clue as to how to begin to resolve the issue.

2015 wasn't all bad. I made new friends and old friendships grew stronger. Those will be carried forward to this new year along with all the lessons learned from both disappointments and successes. Thanks to all those that taught me something last year even if it was what not to do. Special thanks to those that added to my new knowledge, new interests, new adventures and new stories. I love stories and storytellers...the spice of life. Hopefully for you and for me this new year will be full of stories of success and happiness. Happy New Year to you, everyone!

Rainbows in the Rain

"The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain."*

Dolly Parton

I have been a Dolly Parton fan for a long time but I had no idea that her many talents included insight into catching rainbow trout. After a rainy trip to the Kiamichi Mountains this past April I recalled something she said about rainbows and the rain. It turned out she was dead on...at least for this trip.

A close friend and I had been planning this trip for almost a year. As usual work and other life events forced us to change the launch date several times before we finally drove a stake in the ground for the last week in April and actually pulled it off.

We arrived that evening in time to squeeze in maybe an hour of fishing. The weather that evening was cool and overcast; perfect for fishing but the forecast for the next several days included the possibility of significant rain. We resolved ourselves to the straw we had drawn and put the idea of a washed out fishing trip out of mind. By sundown we had caught a few fish, nothing spectacular but promising nonetheless for a fruitful few hard earned days on the river.

The next morning we rose early for breakfast eager to get on the water. The skies were dark and threatening but no rain. The lodge keeper informed us that the forecast still included rain. We packed up the truck and headed for the river hoping he was wrong.

At the river I discovered that instead of a 5wt and a 4wt back up fly rod I had packed two 4wts and a 3wt. I shook off the thought that this was a bad omen and rigged up the faster of the 4wts with my fingers crossed that it would be enough rod for the trout I hoped to encounter. Charlie rigged up in his usual methodical way but with one eye on the ever-graying sky. We were both anxious to be on the water before the rain started. One advantage to threatening weather, only the die-hard anglers show up...we had this popular stretch of river to ourselves!

I found feeding fish shortly after getting in the water but they were small and very selective. It was several minutes before I caught the first small trout. An occasional bantamweight trout accepted the zebra midge pattern I was drifting through the risers but not with any consistency. Charlie had already decided to look for greener pastures and moved on downstream. Then it started to rain. Fortunately it was just rain with only one distant rumble of thunder so I donned the rain jacket and fished on.

The rising trout had disappeared. The river's surface was dimpled by the cascading raindrops. What would trout be feeding on in the rain I asked myself...stuff that washes into the river maybe? I tied on a soft hackle pattern that had been successful on this river in the past. Three casts later I was connected to a trout of considerable greater proportions. I threaded it through the laydowns and managed to land my first rainbow in the rain and then another and another, all decent size trout.

The rain stopped, birds began their songs of thanksgiving for the rain, owls chimed in and the fish kept on biting. I fished downstream catching more rainbows and thinking I would find Charlie but he was nowhere in sight. I had this stretch of river to myself. I returned upstream to new water and continued to catch rainbows in the fifteen to nineteen inch class all on the same soft hackle. Charlie showed up just as I was recovering from the last trout of the morning, the nineteen incher that battled me like a gladiator champion with grand leaps and lunges to the end. This morning had been a gift from the fishing gods and one I would not soon forget...and sometimes, like Ms Parton said, "...if you want the rainbow you gotta put up with the rain."

For video of this mornings action click on the link below:

http://vimeo.com/93035444

Goodbye to a friend and a part of us all

Garden Friend

I accidently crushed one of my garden geckos this morning as I moved my smoker wood box across the deck. She fell through the planks so I did not have to watch her die. I am sure her wounds were fatal.  I felt really bad...really bad still. Some things change as you grow old. A greater appreciation for life, the whole of life, I think is one of those changes. At some point you can no longer deny that all life is intimately connected and we are all pretty much in the same boat. We want to believe that mankind can alter Nature without negative consequences for us and for all life but it eventually becomes evident that is simply not true. Interconnected from star dust to prairie dust you cannot change a part without changing the whole. Tread gently on your earth journey so that when you reach your exodus you can leave content and perhaps someday be asked to return.

Fly Fishing for Sand Bass

Myrone Crysops or White Bass

One of the reasons Spring is a favorite season is the sand bass run that occurs this time of year. Sand bass are made for fly fishing and can be a thrill a minute on a light fly rod. When the red buds start blooming and the crane flies show up look for tributaries to your local reservoirs that have running water and you will probably find these little silver rockets running upstream ready to spawn and eat anything that looks like a small shad or minnow. For more tips on fly fishing for sand bass check out my video Sand Bass on the Fly at this link. https://vimeo.com/92262430

If you liked the video and learned something useful consider leaving a comment to let me know to continue with this type of video. Oh and by the way this time of the year you need to keep an eye out for other things than fish as you walk along the creek banks...watch your step!

Speckeled Kingsnake

Goodbye to a Texas Trout Fishery?

17 1/4 inch Brazos River Rainbow

The Brazos River below Possum Kingdom Lake has for years been the fishery that filled the gap for me between fall and spring warm water fishing in North Texas. More than that I would have to say it is where I learned to fly fish for trout. 

I started fly fishing when I was twelve, bought my first fly rod from "Monkey Wards", taught myself to cast with a book under my arm and caught my first trout from the White River in Arkansas on a fly I made from yarn from my mom's sewing kit, a rusty hook from dad's tackle box and feathers from my pet parakeet. When I first brought the fly rod home dad asked me what it was and what I was going to do with it. He was pretty much a "anything that bites is big enough to keep" bait fisherman then and had no interest in fly fishing. Ironically my interests in trout and fly-fishing were spawned reading articles in the Field and Stream and Outdoor Life magazines he subscribed to.

Born and raised in North Texas I had never seen a trout in person until the White River trip. Fly-fishing for me until then had been hiking from one farm pond to the next with one pocket full of homemade squirrel tail flies or poppers and the other a peanut butter sandwich to sustain me until I returned to the farm house hours later. The quarry then was bass and sunfish not trout. After reading an article about the White River below Bull Shoals dam I pestered my parents for months to vacation there. I was surprised when they agreed to do that. I was the only one that was impressed with the river so we never went back. I recall on our return drive home we stopped at a fish farm somewhere in Arkansas that raised trout. There was a small stream stocked with trout that you could fish and keep your limit for two bucks or a pond where you paid for the trout you caught by the pound. I had no interest in fishing from the pond but really wanted to fly fish the trout stream. Dad said fish the pond or nothing, which ticked me off, so I cast my fly on the nose of the biggest trout I could see in the pond. It took the fly and cost dad about four times what letting me fish the stream would have cost him. That made me feel better about his terse decision.

Although the White was my first exposure to trout fishing, the Brazos as I said, is where the trout first educated me about their ways. I can remember standing in the river during early fly fishing adventures there watching trout rising all around me but could not for the life of me get one to bite. For many that is more frustration than they can bare and that is the end of their interest in fly-fishing for trout. For me it was a mystery that needed to be solved. I spent years listening to the trout there, learning from them and from the river. Some snub their noses at such put and take hatchery fisheries but this one became an old friend to me that I loved to become reacquainted with each winter. Each trip I brought more knowledge with me about the trout, the river and about the others that fished there ranging from guys with canned corn for bait to dads taking their kids on their first fishing trip, to fly fisherman so new to the sport they looked like a shiny Orvis store manikin perched in the water.

Time changes things though and I'm sorry to say the pleasures of this fishery these days are much diminished. The demise I think began several years ago when the federal government ended its support for the trout-stocking program on the Brazos. At that time seventeen to eighteen thousand trout were stocked each winter beginning in December and twice a month through the end of March. Today that has been cut in half with stocking occurring officially only once a month after the December stockings.

The bigger impact is the water flow. Power generation from the lake was stopped a few years back which meant the river flow is regularly low and high only during flood control. This plus drought in recent years has reduced the flow from an average of about 150 cfs to a trickle at 20 cfs, hardly enough to employ many of the drift presentations used in fly fishing. Low water flow has changed the distribution of the trout along the river. Before you could find trout for several miles up and downstream from the Highway 16 Bridge. This of course spread the fisherman out too giving everyone room to catch their trout in their preferred manner without crowding. Now everyone competes at the bridge pools for a tiny slice of river not unlike the trout fishing in the kiddy pool charade once seen at promo events. Gone too are the days when you could catch trout into the summer months. Packed into tiny stretches of the river the trout are removed quickly, sometimes legally sometimes not. Now most of the trout are gone before they can acclimate to the forage in the river and become a greater challenge to take.

Stronger flows created a diverse set of challenges as each section of the river had different structure and different insect habitat that one had to discover and understand to find and catch trout. The missing power generation flows have changed the ecology of the river. Predominant insects of years ago have diminished significantly. Different insects are showing up but in limited numbers. Even the landscape has changed as tons of limestone rock has been dumped along some of the high banks to fight natural erosion. Fishing this stretch of river with its high red banks dotted with mesquite and prickly pear was once something of a wilderness experience but now is like fishing alongside a landfill. I miss the challenges I once had on this stretch of Brazos. I am not sure if anything can be done to negate these changes but if not we may have to add to the John Graves lament "Good bye to a river and its trout fishery".