Klamath River Club

FullSizeRender 3

 

Talk about a weekend getaway! Dax, Marlee and I had the opportunity to spend some time with dear friends and clients Anthony and Tom on the middle-lower Klamath river. Situated on a side road off the State of Jefferson highway, it boasts river front property with epic home water for swinging flies.

While the river was high and turbid, we still went for a leisure float and checked out some new water. After all, we had just towed their new raft down from Medford. “Betty” as Anthony christened her, needed to take her maiden voyage. After being baptized with a Sierra Nevada beer (of course!), we pushed off.

One thing is for sure, with all the high water, there are quite a few more braids and side channels! It was a short float, and aside from crazy hydraulics and reversals, there wasn’t much in the way of technical water. However, for all of you who are thinking of floating somewhere, be careful! We did see some big rapids in certain sections of the river while driving. Most of the West coast rivers have a lot of run off at the moment and can be very dangerous! Proceed with caution.

The rest of the weekend was spent; cooking amazing cuisine in the commercial outdoor kitchen (which is set under a sweeping pavilion), reveling in great company, and delighting in a bonfire for our last evening.

While Tom describes his property as a work in progress, I quite frankly see it as the perfect weekend retreat. A great place to bring friends and family for some quality time outdoors. From the amazing kitchen and bathrooms (see photos), to the fully appointed wall tents with porches and string lighting, KRC truly is camping with an upscale comfort and polish that is rare to find.  Thank you again Tom and Anthony for hosting us at your amazing camp! Can’t wait to make it back there soon.

IMG_1437

A room with a view

FullSizeRender 16

Chief Anthony hard at work!

FullSizeRender 5

River view shower? Yes please.

FullSizeRender 4

Steel plate window coverings, perfect for the zombie apocalypse….

FullSizeRender 7

Reclaimed wood, modern fixtures and historic photography adorning the walls give the washrooms a rustic feel

FullSizeRender 6

Extremely thick steel doors stand sentinel to the kitchen when not in use.

FullSizeRender 9

Cheers to next time!

Half full or half empty?

This past week I took a trip to the Lost Coast to fish some of my favorite coastal water. There’s something magical about those rivers. Their color-modulating blue-green waters, old growth trees covered in moss, perfect swing runs and spell binding ocean sunsets make me long for endless days of winter. Not to mention, a dime bright winter steelhead caught mere miles from the sea is a reward all in itself.

 

One of infinite perfect coastal sunsets

One of infinite perfect coastal sunsets

 

 

Sadly, this trip was cut very short. As I lay dreaming of mist lingering above beryl waters and fish yet to be caught, my rig was being burglarized. Discovering that every bit of steelhead gear I owned,  hip pack, dry bag, waders and all, had been plundered away in the night was heart rending. It was less about the possessions, than the sentimental value many of them held for me. Items handed down from my dad over the years, my first spey rod that Bill Lowe taught me how to cast with, all the hand-tied flies I’d spent hours carefully crafting; the sense of violation was staggering. Not to mention, as a guide, some were also tools of my livelihood.

 

I’ve rarely used Facebook as a platform to vent, but seeing red, I took to social media and proclaimed my fury. It had been enough for me to simply rant to the great unknown of the interweb that I was furious. Frankly, I was taken aback by the number of comments my post generated. So many friends and acquaintances in the fly fishing community reached out to me, offering to help in any way they could. Mike, the proprietor of the Eureka Fly Shop, upon hearing what happened, even helped me get a few of my items back when a nefarious character came into the shop trying to peddle a couple of my stolen reels.

 

What I had witnessed was a community of fly fishers rallying to a comrade in distress. On one hand, the violation of having my property stolen shook my faith in the good nature of people. However, the kind gestures of so many in our small, but tight knit community restored it.  I still choose to see the glass half full and keep on smiling. I would like to thank everyone who has ever lent a hand to a fellow fisher in need. Your goodwill and generous spirit help make the sport of fly fishing truly remarkable and cathartic.

 

When life gives you lemons, drink a beer ;) Thanks again for reading and being awesome!

When life gives you lemons, drink a beer 😉 Thanks again for reading and being extraordinary!

Just in case…

After a long day of work, I’m gazing at my laptop screen again; my mind eases back to my last adventure. It started in Denver. I was there on business for a few days and I couldn’t wait to wrap things up and escape into the Rocky mountains; trading the city lights for those of the Milky Way. Many of the river reports I had read reported high flows due to run-off on most of the rivers. I’ll have to fish the Gunnison on my next trip. Trouts Fly Shop in Denver gave me some pretty solid advice, in addition to the advice I got from all of my lovely Coloradoan followers. The day after meetings were wrapped up, I was on the road to the South Platte River.

Wine and camping....pure bliss.

Wine, fishing and camping….pure bliss.

An hours drive out of Denver, Deckers, CO was much smaller than I had expected it to be when I’d looked at it on a map. I absolutely loved it. A place where cell phone reception doesn’t exist and there are 4 shops in town, one of them being a fly shop. After buying my Colorado fishing license and sharing fishing tales at Flies and Lies, I headed to find a campsite and fish. Whipping together my tent with the efficiency of an expert and haphazardly tossing together my bedding, camp was set and I was ready to fish within the hour. The flows were about 250% above optimal fishing levels, but word on the river was the nymphing was still productive. Typically, I like to drive and hike a bit to find fish that haven’t had every fly and the kitchen sink thrown at them, but the water by my campsite looked too good to pass up. I waded out in a few hundred feet from my tent and made a few casts. The river bed was a very yellow color, with lots of fine gravel. Despite keeping an eye out, I didn’t see any fish. Until I looked directly below my feet. I had two big rainbows following my wake just a few feet downstream. My pet fish. Avoiding the temptation to thrown on a San Juan Worm and fish by my feet, I continued to fish upstream, sans indicator. Frank and Ethel (Yup, I named my pet fish) kept me company until I caught my first fish by dead drifting a salmon fly nymph. They scattered as I landed the first rainbow of the trip; a fat well-fed 16 incher.     The rest of the afternoon went by with only one more fish caught, another similar sized rainbow in a riffle upstream from camp. As twilight crept over the canyon, I looked across a the river to a promising bend in the river. The water was too fast to wade out very far, and fishing from the other side wouldn’t give as good of a presentation; a conundrum to be sure. Unless you happen to have packed your spey rod, just in case. I jogged back to camp and set up my graceful 13 foot Anderson Custom spey rod. Second cast out, a few feet into the swing, I felt the familiar jolt lightening through my rod, waited a few beats to make sure the fish has eaten the fly, and then set the hook. Immediately I could tell this fish was bigger than the ones I had caught earlier in the day. My reel screamed like only a Hardy can as the line zipped off the spool. And a few minutes later I was netting a beautiful 21″ rainbow I caught on the swing. Not bad. I knew there was a reason to lug the Spey set up halfway across the country, despite a shortage of space in the car.     It just goes to show that when the fishing is a bit slow and the flows aren’t cooperating as much as you would like, there is always a way to productively fish a river. Fishing is a combination of knowledge, observation, skill and creativity. A bit of imagination and thinking outside the box can truly elevate your fishing experience to the next level.

Updates: Part Deux

 

 

With my first camping trip of the spring/summer season, it occurred to me that steelhead season is officially over. Aside from swinging streamers from time to time, I’ve pretty  much hung up the two-handed rod until steelhead season is here again. My first season wielding a spey rod was a huge success and I will be anxiously waiting to whip it out again. While the weather was fickle and didn’t always cooperate, I still got a huge amount of satisfaction being out on the water and learning how to cast a two-handed rig.

 

 

I had the immense pleasure of learning casting techniques from Bill Lowe, Travis Johnson, and Simon Gawesworth. While no where near perfect, my casting has improved by leaps and bounds since that first time I struggled to assemble that awkwardly long, 13 foot rod. I even caught that first, addictive fish on the swing.

 

 

As some of you may know, the legendary Bill Lowe recently passed away. Bill was my first spey casting instructor. That first lesson with Bill was what inspired me to keep practicing and improving. With a laid back attitude and epic sense of humor, Bill taught me more than just casting; he emphasized the joys of simply being out on the water, fishing. A lesson I will never cease to forget. Thank you Bill for being such an inspiration, you are honored in each Snap T and swing of the fly.

 

 

A trip up to Oregon to fish the Sandy with my Dad and take a class from world-record spey caster Travis Johnson was another highlight of this season. What a beautiful river! A deep emerald green and full of perfect swing runs. We didn’t catch any fish, but spending the time with my Dad and passing on my spey addiction was an experience of a lifetime. Travis was a great teacher and had may useful insights into steelhead fishing and life. I’m hoping that this will become an annual trip I can enjoy with my Dad.

 

 

 

Finally this spring, I closed out the spey season with Spey Day on the American river. This was an afternoon filled with testing out different Sage and Redington model spey and switch rods, demoing a wide range of RIO’s Scandi and Skagit lines, and epic tutorials by Simon Gawesworth, Bill Lowe and Mike McCune. With all this info, my brain was forming new neural paths at an alarming rate and laughter was always on the tip of my tongue. I was in some pretty legendary company, and I am grateful to be invited. I learned so much in a single day, met heroes and made new friends. The perfect way to close out the spey season. The only question I have left is, “Is it winter yet?”

Updates: Part 1

Well it’s been a while, and I must say that I haven’t done nearly enough fishing in the past few months. Firstly, let me apologize for the absence; just because my fishing time has been lacking doesn’t mean I can’t entertain with written prose on all topics fly fishing. Rest assured, I am back with nose to the grindstone and I’ll be adding new content on a regular basis again. To get the ball rolling, here’s a bit of an update on what I’ve been up to.

 

Talk about a hike with a view!

 

At the beginning of the new year, my wanderlust got the best of me (again) and I decided move to the North Coast near Redwood Creek so I could be minutes away from fishing where fresh, hot, chromey steelhead are the reward. Just as I began to settle into the rustic cabin a few miles away from the coast, the Department of Fish and Wildlife made the right choice and closed many of the coastal streams due to low water levels.

I hear salmon as I fall asleep running up the creek in my backyard

While I was ecstatic that the fish wouldn’t have to deal with the stress angling can inflict with such low flows, a tiny fissure in my heart started to form. I was desperately missing the pre-dawn bustle of waders, coffee and the promise of another day on the river. I immersed myself in my other passions; surfing, hiking, yoga and running but still the fissure in my heart refused to mend. I spent many days wandering around the lush green redwoods, abandoned sea shores and steep waves immersed and awed by the breathtaking beauty, but it couldn’t replace the days spent with a rod in my hand and Marlee in tow on the river.

 

Hefty sets coming through as I peep over the cliffs

 

One morning, running along the beach it hit me. I could try my hand at surf fishing. The only downside to awesome winter surfing conditions are the big waves, epic, exhilarating and terrifying for riding; not so ideal for fishing in the surf. I was under equipped with the wrong line and half the time my fly was washed to shore with the beach break. Still, it felt amazing to be out amidst the crashing waves casting a fly rod again. Oh how I had missed the flex and load of the rod; the zing of the line speed.

 

As with all types of fishing, the weather doesn’t always cooperate. I often have to stop myself from wading out into waves far too big for fishing, but ocean fly fishing is still a viable escape into a world that soothes my soul and quiets my mind. With the winter swells slowly dying down for the spring, I look forward to conquering the surf not only on my board, but also with my fly rod.

Gotta love a North Coast winter sunset

Gotta love a North Coast winter sunset

 

 

Stay tuned for part two of the update; my adventures as I delve deeper into the grasps of two handed fly fishing. 

 

 

Oh the places you’ll go

OH, THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself
Any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And
you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll
decide where to go.
You’ll get mixed up,
of course, as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up with
many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great
tact and remember that
Life’s A Great Balancing Act.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)Dr. Seuss

The Truckee River, so many memories

As I drive back into town from my long journey, I look around at the familiar sights. There is nothing quite like a California sunset. It’s not quite dark as I drive through town, so I head down the the river across the street from my childhood home and take a walk. I notice small things that have changed since I was here over two months ago; the long grass is tall and I can run my fingers through it as I walk, the flows are lower and the water is warmer. A bit of the bank here and there has given way to erosion as well. But mostly it has stayed the same; an ever constant in my life.

I sit on the bank and just watch the river that nurtured me and taught me so much in my early days of fishing. So much was accomplished here, so many things learned. Lessons that had taken me on the journey of a lifetime. As I soak in the orange and pink sunset and then the moonlight,  I reflect on the places I had been all summer, the great people I met, the time I spent flying solo and what I had learned about myself.

On my own for the majority of the trip, I enjoyed a quiet bliss that is impossible to explain, but easy to regonize in others. There were also moments that I was terrifed of the unknown and isolated by my singularity. But cliche as it sounds, the more I fished and explored, the more muted these feelings became and were replaced by a silent calmness and acceptance of living in the present.

Always a challenge for me to not dwell on the past or worry about the future; fly fishing has taught me to rule these faults and enjoy the moment of each cast and fish at the end of my line. Before I embarked on this trip, I had expected to catch tons of fish and meet wonderful people. I wouldn’t have imagined that I would be one of those people I became acquainted with among the streams and mountains.

The majestic Grand Tetons

With my return to the real world and responsibility, I have found that the calmness starts to slip away, first slowly and then in a rushing tide. My arrival back home signaled to me that it was time to start another adventure. Now it is time for me to find a new place in the world. Leaving much of my old life behind, this fall and winter I go in search of steelhead and a place where I can fish every day and even surf ocasionally; return to the wild places that sooth my spirit.

San Lorenzo River, I shall miss this place where I fell in love with steelhead.

The San Lorenzo River; home for such a long time! I shall miss the place where I fell in love with steelhead and surfing.

Paying it forward

A few days before I headed into Ennis, MT for the Fly Fishing Festival, my fishing buddie Annie stopped by Beartooth Fly Fishing just outside of town. She came back to the ranch later that evening with rave reviews of the shop, their personel, and one of the guys’ phone numbers for me to call when I got into town. She’d mentioned I would be passing through and one of the associates she had talked to, Dan Greene, offered to take me fishing on the Madison while I was in town.

After shooting him a brief text explaining who I was, Dan and I meet for a beer to chat and arrange fishing plans. We schedule to meet early the next morning at the shop to float a section of the Madison.

A lovely sunrise greets me on my drive to the shop

A lovely sunrise greets me on my drive to the shop

My alarm beeps at me and after a few sleepy yawns in the pre-sunrise dawn, I pop out of the tent and put on the coffee. After all, there are fish to catch, so I’m not inclined to linger over lost sleep. Twenty minutes later, I am on the road to the shop. I head inside and am greeting by fly fishing mecca (custom rods, flies galore, gear…) and a dozen or so smiling faces; its hardly seven and these people are all fully awake. One of these days I will learn the art of being a morning person. Until then, I will just have to rely on copious amounts of coffee; the fish aren’t going to wait for me to sleep in.

It’s a misty morning, and there is not a fish rising or a bug hatching. I gear up with a few nymphs and load into the boat. I hook into a few fish almost immediately, but they don’t find their way into the net. It’s already turning out to be a great day. While we drift down river, Dan tells me about his passion for fly tying and shares his adventures of extreme skiing in Big Sky and all the bones he’s broken; a tail bone here, a disc there…. nothing too serious. Lol. It amazes me that he is still fully hooked and amped on the coming winter season. An adrenaline-junkie fly fisher, who would’ve thought?

A healthy brown :)

A healthy brown 🙂

 

 

We put in the anchor at a bridge to wade, and both Dan and I land some nice fish. We hop back into the boat and push off again. Another rainbow downstream, we decide to stop for lunch. Dan made some pretty awesome turkey sandwiches and we sit on the bank and watch other drift boats float by as we eat.

Such a pig, look at that belly!

Never met a fish that had rolls before. What a pig!

While we sit there, I thank Dan for taking his day off and going fishing with me. His reasons are simple and the philosophy behind it makes me smile. A) He’s been fishing new places before and people have offered him advice, fishing tips, and taken him under their wing; he thought it would  be nice to pass along the favor. B) he laughs that another day spent on the water is a good day. You can be sure that this has inspired me to pay it forward next time I happen upon a fisher in uncharted waters.

Not expecting to be floated down the river all day like the queen of the nile, I offer to row the boat after lunch. I’ve never tried it before, mainly because I haven’t fished many rivers where I was on a boat. A few zig-zags down the river and some unavoided rocks, and I finally start to get the hang of it. Rowing a drift boat is seriously fun. A bit of a work out, but made enjoyable by the breath-taking vistas and near proximity to fishing.

What a view!

 

Nice work Dan!

Nice work Dan!

 

It is near dark when we pull into the boach launch, and I smile at a great day spent fishing from dawn til dusk.

Thanks Dan for being such a positive, stoked guy and taking this gal fishin’. You have a friend and fishing buddy whenever you make it out to the West Coast 🙂 Until then I won’t forget to live life large!!

Crashing guides’ day off

I certainly have been fortunate to meet some wonderful people on my journeys. This past week, I enjoyed the fly fishing festival in Ennis, and met some pretty awesome people. After my arrival into town and checking into camp, I decide it’s time for a bit of dinner and a cold one. I meander down to the local watering hole, the Gravel Bar. I recognize quite a few fishing folks who must be in town for the festival; identifiable by the fishing shirts and hats with various fishing logos.

I’m too late for dinner, but an ice cold PBR hits the spot. The vibe is divey with a hint of country. The live music in the background starts peoples’ feet a tappin’ and soon, quite a few people are dancing. Sipping my beer and enjoying the local vibe, I’m content to catch up on emails, listen to the music, and watch the swing dancers swirling and twirling around the room. I walk up to the bar to order another beer and one of the guides comments to me how us “kids” are always on our phones these days.

Reluctantly, I put the phone down and look up to see the commentator is not much older than myself. All the usual pleasantries are exchanged, and am soon I am cracking jokes and sharing fishing stories with Dario, Jordan, and the rest of their motely crew of fishing bums. A small world, it turns out that Dario is originally from Reno, about 20 minutes away from the town where I grew up. Impressed that I’m out here on a solo trout bum mission, they invite me to fish with them the following day. Hmmm, I’m supposed to work the next day, but I’m sure I can manage something.

The gang is headed to a concert in Virginia City, 30 minutes down the road, and invite me to tag along; but its getting late and if I’m going to figure out a way to fish and work tomorrow,  it’ll mean an early morning.

I walk back to camp, and fall instantly asleep. The blaring of my alarm wakes me at 6 am followed soon after by gun shots. Drawn in by the tasty willows, a mama moose and her calf have wandered into camp. The game warden scares the moose off with a few warning shots.

My boss kindly agrees to let me work a halfday, and then finish my hours later in the evening when I’m done fishing. Dario and Jordan to pull up as I close my computer; looking a little tired (hungover), but ready to fish.

On the drive to Wade Lake, I am regaled with tales of the previous evening at the concert. Apparently I missed a pretty good time. Quickly launching the boat, we get ready to head out and fish. The three of us and three dogs. It’s a full boat, but the more, the merrier! As we’re pushing off, Jordan waves to the boat next to us. “Hey man, you missed a good concert last night!” “Dude, I saw you there!” he responds.  Oh man, I did miss a good night!

 

Gorgeous!

Gorgeous!

 

The water out on the lake is clear and turquoise. I can see the bottom easily in the flat shallow section we will be fishing; I also spot fish cruising. The clearness of the water and the technique of spotting fish from a distance and casting to them bring to mind fishing the flats for tropical fish. The first few casts, and wham, double hook up! Both Jordan and I haul in two nice fish!

 

IMG_0240

 

The rest of the day the fishing proves to be slow, but guides day off still manages to be a success. After all, when the fishing gets slow, that means it’s time to crack open a beer and enjoy the sunshine. Thanks again dudes, for taking this gal fishin’!

 

Dario and Jordan are guides for Wild West Fly Fishing out of Bozeman. If you’re in the area, take a trip with them, and tell them Gal Gone Fishin’ says hi 🙂

 

Gals gone fishin’!

I am still behind on keeping y’all updated on my fishing adventures, but I’m going to skip ahead for a bit and tell you about one of my more recent experiences as it has been very uplifting and memorable.  Not to worry though, I’m not skipping anything, simply going out of order.

I recently was lucky enough to meet a fellow fly fishing fanatic who is also a woman. I see photos of women who fly fish quite often these days, but I rarely ever actually see one on the river, much less get to fish with one.  Annie Waltz Kubicka had found my blog and saw that I was going to be in Montana at the same time as her; and as fate would have it, I got to make a wonderful new friend and meet a kindred spirit.

I arrive at the ranch where Annie has been living all summer; this place is gorgeous! Located outside of Twin Bridges the panorama of mountain ranges and wide open spaces boggles the mind. It’s early evening, and the Montana sky is putting on a spectacular display. The scent of delicious food fills the air, Annie cooked me dinner!

We sip delicious cocktails made with homemade raspberry simple syrup and mint as the rest of dinner is prepared. After being on the road and eating lots of cup of noodles and pb&j’s this is a rare treat. She is the head chief during the winter at a steelhead lodge in Washington; as you can imagine, dinner is superb!

Later, her landlord “Fink” a friendly middle-aged cowboy from Ohio, makes us a bonfire. The evening is spent full of laughter, talk about fly fishing, and our steelhead addiction. The next day is designated to work so the day after can be spent fishing. Thundershowers fill the afternoon as I sit in the cabin plugging away at the reports on my computer. Searing flashes of energy jolt down accompanied by booming thunder; I love thunderstorms! I can think of worse places to work from. I grill up burgers for dinner and we enjoy a good glass of bourbon around the bonfire discussing where to fish the next day.

We decide to fish the Beaverhead around Dillion. Annie hooks into three nice browns right away. Man, can she fish! A downward cast to swing a streamer with a nymph trailer seems to be doing the trick. I switch from my dry with a dropper and wham; a big brown chomps the nymph.

Yeah Annie!!!

He's a hog!

He’s a hog!

The rest of the day is spent exploring parts of the river that neither of us have fished before; we are rewarded with lots of fish; they eat dries, nymphs and streamers throughout the day. Just as we are about head back to the car, the fish start to rise more frequently. Neither of us can resist making some casts at these fish. We laugh because it is such a common fishing mentality,  “one more cast….” which never turns out to be just one more; more like 50.

Fishing with a woman is a different experience than fishing with a man. There is no pretense, no sense of competition, just an easy-going sense of camaraderie. One of the things I love about Annie is her independent spirit. Like myself, she often times fishes and travels on her own. She has been doing it for longer than I have and offers me a ton of great advice. It is rare to meet someone who understands the immense happiness and serenity derived from driving to wild and beautiful places by ones’ self.

It was beyond awesome to meet a new friend who can sit and talk about fly fishing for hours; not that I can’t do this with my male friends, but it’s just nice having another gal around who knows her fish talk.

Thanks again Annie for being so darn awesome! I am beyond lucky to count you as a fishing buddy. 

Pinch me, I must be dreaming

Ahhh, back on the road again, exploring new waters and absorbing the grandeur and brilliance of the new places I visit.  Along for the ride with me for a bit is none other than Jordan Romney: guide,  conservationist, fellow fly fishing enthusiast and undoubtedly one of my favorite people to go fishing with.

Jordan with a giant brown

Jordan with a giant brown

I drive through the night and we arrive in the early hours of the morning at a river I had never heard of, and one which I have been sworn into secrecy not to share; the river who’s name we shall not speak. All I can glean through the darkness of the night are steep canyon walls silhouetted against the starry sky and the sound of a river nearby. Its late and the moon has already set; camp is quickly thrown together for a few hours of sleep before the sun rises and it is time to fish.

I awake to the sound of birds and bright light pouring through my tent. I open the flap and am momentarily rendered speechless. It’s as though I have been transported to a different dimension. I know we had headed north but the landscape brings to mind the canyons and shearing rock formations of New Mexico or Arizona. Red earth, steep canyon, a brilliant sunrise and amazing rock formations carved into the canyon meet my gaze and astound my still sleepy thoughts.

The savage desert beauty is still assaulting my senses when it occurs to me that I’m going to be fishing in a desert canyon. Fishing in a desert? Ok, sure, I’m game; there is always a first time for everything. As we grab our gear and head down to the river I’m not sure what to expect. And then I see it; the river.

I feast my eyes upon a plethora of noses slurping bugs off the surface. I am immediately taken aback at the size of these fish!  Then I see the way the fish swing their tails out when they eat and I know not only are these big fish; these are big browns.

Next stop brown town

Next stop brown town!

It turns out these fish are gorging on Tricos, scientific name Tricorythodes, which are a small crawler mayfly. In my experience, Trico hatches are a pain in the ass; trout get picky and the tippet you must use  (6x-7x) can be the difference between landing a fish or breaking it off. Despite the frustration of the Trico hatch (aka the white winged curse), I still catch a fish on a beetle. Ha, take that Tricos’.

The hatch is over by around 10 am, and then the fishing becomes more versatile. While at this river we caught fish on terrestrials (ants, hoppers and beetles), PMD’s (late afternoon hatch), and various nymphs.  Different from fishing most rivers in California, all the fish I caught were good-sized browns. Not a single rainbow to be had. Also not a small fish to be had.

I can’t believe a place like this exists: the abrupt, jutting architecture of the canyon walls, the vivid colors of the landscape  and insane fishing. It’s juxtaposing contrast of cold water and hot dry air along with the astounding scenery is the stuff of fly fishing dreams.

Jordan, thank you for sharing this amazing spot with me; thanks for also putting up with me two energy drinks deep and then exhausted the next day after a crazy long drive. Such a trooper 🙂