A few weeks back now, as I drove onto the on-ramp headed North and to the river, I came upon a cleanly-dressed, middle-aged man on the side of the road.  I don’t as a rule pick up hitchhikers, but without blinking an eye, or checking to see where my wallet was, or if the S&W was in the center console, I stopped.  Something familiar about him, can’t remember what, but a warm and secure feeling permeated the morning air.

A brief introduction told this man’s story; his name is Steve, and while traveling to Oklahoma from Alaska between contracts working the oil fields, he stopped along the freeway to help a person with a flat tire – and was jumped by a couple of crooks who stole his car, his personal belongings – took about everything he had but left him with scars.  Scars and a bump on his head, and a lingering headache made worse by the situation he was enduring.  You’d think that an ordeal like that, waking up in a hospital with a sore head and jaw, would be enough to make you keep a good size bottle of aspirin in your pocket.  But, as we drove down the road, he had bigger things on his mind, and with empty pockets.  He had left Alaska a week earlier to drive to Oklahoma, to bury his father.

He began telling stories of fly fishing and hunting in Alaska, with the kinds of details about flies, rivers, and fish that made him credible.  And with a few grins listening to stories that fly fisherman tell about places they visit, and experiences they have, I listened intently, the time passed, and the lyrics of a Grateful Dead song came to mind, and I started to hum “Wharf Rat.”

Old man down, way down down, down by the docks of the city.
Blind and dirty, asked me for a dime, a dime for a cup of coffee.
I got no dime but I got some time to hear his story.

Steve was taken to St. Anthony’s for treatment, and after getting well enough, or at least well enough that the hospital wouldn’t cover his stay anymore, started walking towards Oklahoma.  I-90 was his safest bet, he thought, traveling East first, rather than heading South, although that’s the path he wanted to take.  Fish a little through the West.  Of course, he could find great fishing as he headed East through Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming.  He could make a little money working in the orchards along the way, at least more than he had in his pocket.  But his fly rod was stolen too, probably thrown into the woods by his attackers without a second thought.  My pockets were empty, and I sheepishly told him all I could give was a short ride down the road.  I was headed to the river, and coins or paper aren’t needed there; only a few wisps of thread, some line, and believing that the fish are there.  It’s hard to figure out what to give or share with someone who has little, but for a bag thrown in the back of the truck.  Maybe our goodwill further burdens those who appear to need it.

What I struggled to understand, as he told the story further, was how he was going to get further down the road without help from others.  He acknowledged that truck drivers wouldn’t risk it; insurance reasons he imagined.  He was going to have to rely on the goodwill of others along the road – the same road where his life changed as his life was changing ever more – the loss of his father was weighing on this man very heavily.

As I approached my exit from the freeway and down the off-ramp towards the river, then reluctantly let him out of the truck knowing that he was going to find quite a struggle ahead of him to get home, I realized that I cannot make this man’s journey for him, only listen and wonder.  I cannot replace what he lost.   He was not blind and dirty; his eyes were wide open and he still trusted people enough to put up a thumb on the side of the freeway.  A clean mind perhaps untarnished by the events that brought us to meet on a path of concrete.  I would have rather met him on a river, but as he waved goodbye, I gave him a card, and asked him to come fishing with me, if he would, on his way back to Alaska.  I selfishly wanted to hear the rest of the story.

The wooden staff that was used to beat this man was strong and thick enough to knock him down, but not so heavy and capable of destruction that it kept him down.  Steve spoke of fishing with his father, of the rods and gear back home that he was going to retrieve, and take back to Alaska with him to fish with, to continue living the life he left that was only on pause, but would never move forward the same.  To paraphrase a quote I read a while back, “…we never enter the same river twice.”  For as the water swirling around us not only has a path to take, but we as fly fishermen have paths that we take too.  We use staffs of graphite and carbon, lightweight and flexible in their form, and sensitive to the weight of deception – fooling the fish that are on journeys of their own.

When I told this story the day it happened, I spoke of being frightened, of trembling when I was alone in my truck, after departing ways.  I reflect now on why I stopped, what caused that split-second decision in my brain that quickly swept past reason and fear and the deep unknown, and how like a fish that is; that no matter what the water is doing, fish are deciding in those same split seconds what to eat, where to hide, how to survive.  Sometimes it’s the right decision, sometimes they are fooled.

I wonder if Steve’s story was all a lie, that I was fooled.  Maybe he was blind and dirty, used to hiding in the dark, scavenging to survive.  Maybe it was me, wandering around, just thinking about hanging out in the river, present in society but preferring to be hiding out on the water.  The Wharf Rat has other names, but curiously is the second most successful mammal living today behind humans- present on every continent but for Antarctica.

I’ll get a new start, live the life I should.
I’ll get up and fly away, I’ll get up and fly away, fly away.

Fly fishing, music, road trips – these things in life have great meaning.  That seems like an over-generalized statement, now that I read it inside my head and now start to think – “wow, great start to a blog after such a long absence.”  But this idea, the idea that these things are intertwined, are represented in the simplest of ways.  In how we express ourselves, what we pay allegiance to, which bands and brands we follow down the roads we travel in the pursuit of fish – well, we tell ourselves that we’re after fish, but for me, these journeys are about more than the fish.  There’s a song by the uniquely Southern band Southern Culture on the Skids whose lyrics for the song “My House Has Wheels” reflect a simple life -

My house has wheels, it roll with me
From the lakes, down to the sea
By mountain stream, or in a desert breeze
My house my home, it roll with me

Now, I don’t happen to live in my vehicle at the present time, but I do spend a fair amount of time in it – back and forth to the rivers across the Western states.  In the last two years of guiding, I’ve put 50,000 miles on my Toyota Tundra, and two sets of new tires.  Les Schwab knows me well.  But we’ve all, and by all, I mean the six people who will read this blog, have the same love affair with the road, with fly fishing, with sharing the river and the experience of fly fishing with others that creates that shared meaning, the “I’m with you and I can tell that I’m with you on your journey” because of how we get down those long roads, to those rich waters, carried there by the notes of hope, exploration, familiarity, excitement, and passion.  Is it with that, my reader, that we began the journey into understanding fly fishing culture as seen in the vehicles of the fly fishing fanatics – the “I fly fish, and you should know that” among us who paste every brand sticker we can get our hands on to our rigs – Fly Fishing Culture on the Rigs. They mean something, like song lyrics, like road signs, and like lyrics and signs, what we as fly anglers are telling the world says a lot about what drives us.  Sit down, buckle up, get your road pop ready, and read on.  Before you get too far down the road, let me share a quick note – fly fishing culture as expressed on the vehicles of those of us who shape it, is the subject of two great blogs (and trust me, they’ll be great!) and a planned event.  The three bloggers decided one day a few weeks back that we’d try something never attempted before, or at least in our minds, the greatest thing to ever happen to fly fishing blogs about stickers on our vehicles.  Well, two out of three ain’t bad.  Read more at the Unaccomplished Angler , or swing on over to Fishing for Words.  I’ve shared stories, rivers, and lies with Kirk and Patrick.

I eat, I fish, I oppose the Pebble Mine.  This angler’s vehicle is ready for the road.  The Drake magazine is like the Wall Street Journal to us, as soon as they start putting fish porn in it.

I’ll stop wherever the wild fish are, and I intend to keep Bristol Bay that way.  And, I’m ready to fish at the drop of a hat.  See the rods in the back?

I steelhead, and I want to make sure I can see out my back window.  And, I can sleep in the back of my truck if need be.  Some vehicles geographic locations can be determined by their stickers – a PNW truck for sure.  And thanks for having one of my stickers on your rig!

I’m really fishy, so my stickers are fishy too.  Oh, and no Pebble Mine.  Another Toyota Tacoma, classic fly fishing vehicle.

Really just looking to get you on the boat, and no Pebble Mine.  The author’s vehicle – I’ve always been a sticker nut.

Perhaps the best place to eat in Jackson, Wy.  Try the breakfast burritos at Down On Glen.

What we’re trying to say in expressing ourselves via the vinyl stickers on our fishing rigs, is that we are cultured, that we choose the lifestyle, that we care about what we do, where we do it, and in the process, create a visual brand of ourselves that is present whether we’re with our vehicle or not.  Favorite rods, reels, organizations and causes we support, it’s all there.  When you show up at the river, you’ll know the anglers on the water by the stickers on their rig.  We travel to amazing places, we hang out at fly shops, we make quick friends with fellow anglers (and especially product rep’s, which reminds me, my pro-forms need to get into the mail!) and anywhere worth saving – and we all care about wild fish and preserving wild places.  We’ve been there, and we’ve got the sticker to prove it.

What does your rig say about you?

My name is Pat’s Stone, and I’m a Frequent Flier.

You see, this all started when Fly Fisherman, Fisheries Biologists, Entomologists, and well, to be honest, Trout, began exploring rivers all over the world, and noticed me.  I like to summer in the Hampton’s, and overwinter in the Rocky Mountains; nothing too fancy, but I do like to stretch out, you know.  Good for the soul.  The trout just wanted a nice meal, can’t blame them.  The others, however, wanted to make something a little bit more out of me, the simple Stonefly.  Oh, I have many names, like Plecoptera if you want to get scientific – but for a while now, I’ve been known cordially as “Pat’s Stone.”

Here’s a picture of me back in ‘74.

Mustaches were really in that year.

I mentioned that I travel, right?  Recently, I’ve been spending a lot of time out on the river, getting a little fly fishing in.  You know, getting all snug packed into a plastic little box, or hooked onto a sheepskin patch to travel.  Loop a strand of thin fluorocarbon tippet around the ‘ol noggin, just to keep the wind off a little and to keep things straight.  Wait – don’t forget to latch on my buddy, WT.  WT – oh, that’s Wiggle Tail, but this is my story, not his.  The fun really begins with we get to swim and check out the underwater scenery.  Mossy rocks, downed trees, a few other smaller buggy looking buddies in that film up there.  They sure can’t make their mind up – am I gonna leave the shuck or not?  Whoa, did you see that rainbow back there, checking us out?  Let’s keep swimming, he looked a little hungry.

It's nice to see you again, gotta go!

I’ve really become used to that Thingamabobber up there, it sure does take a little strain off the ‘ol elbows.  Now I can just drift right above those rocks and logs, skipping along.  Nothing like it, it’s a pure rush – maybe bungee jumping.  Yeah, bungee jumping is a good way to put it.  I’m not sure what the heck’s been happening lately, but I’ve spent a lot more time up in the “friendly skies” than usual.  Normally, WT and me like to stay real low-profile like, and just hang out in the water.  Some body’s up to something.

I like to dabble in paranormal investigations, nothing real serious, but more than just the “UFO’s invade Pueblo’s night skies” stuff.  Pretty curious by nature, I guess.  Good to try new things.  But I get this feeling that I’m supposed to be on this “no fly” list of some kind (trust me, I get the irony in that one).  Why in the heck would WT, Thingamabobber, and me want to be up there in all that air?  The last time, I nearly got beheaded by that tin weight flying by.  Enough already!

We’ve decided that we’re going to settle down a little bit; maybe find some nice detritus out in the country, under a nice log home, and just hang out.  It’s awfully demanding to do all that travel – it seems like I remember the job posting describing “no travel is required” and we’re rather looking forward to starting a family, instead of all this air travel.  We’re going to take it easy, maybe look up our old buddy Roll Cast.  Roll Cast has gotten a little trickier in her old age, she’ll run at you from last Tuesday if you’re not watching, but the pace is right.  Smooth, drawing motion in a determined back cast, a pause to catch our breath when we’re as tall and light as that fly rod, then just enough of a rush and we’re head over heels headed right back in.  Thingamabobber lost his legs last week, but we got a new guy in, younger. Yellow size Medium I think his name is, good shoulders.  Water’s up, hadn’t seen a tin weight for a while but there’s more of them around lately, and it’s a little warmer too.

That’s better.  Who needs all that air travel anyways, when that sweet roll cast is all that you really need.  Well, but I’m just Pat’s Stone, and that’s my opinion.

The Good Life.

- Pat

“The truth will come to you at last, when all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll, and she’s buying a stairway, to heaven…”

I was inspired on a float down the river yesterday, when arriving at the confluence of my focusing thought and the humming of one of my favorite drinking songs – start a beer when the first guitar plucks start, what is that note – sounds like a warm E, but my guitar lessons are long overdue anyways and I’m looking forward to some instruction from a potential client. You’re supposed to finish your drink before the song ends, but somehow I seem to forget where I am, and end up, well, I digress. Led Zeppelin seems to be good river music, along with the whispering trees and the slurping fish, so that’s what got me thinking about the workhorse cast, the Roll Cast.

The truth is, you got to do those things the best you can. The Roll Cast is a work horse cast because it’s so commonly used, especially on a drift boat. It’s one of the basics; when times are tight, the seam is calling; you’ve got to get those double-bead flies and indicator over that faster water and the wind is blowing at you, and the overhead cast just won’t work, because at this point you’ve already fouled two new leaders and eight flies, and your patience is as thin as that 6x tippet – whew, it’s time for the roll cast.

The key to the roll cast is the anchor – being patient enough to slowly build that loop of line, hanging below your rod tip and laying on the water, and be purposeful with your motions. Too often, anglers try to roll cast with too much line on the water, and unless the end of your line is moving, those flies aren’t going anywhere. On a side note, see Steelheading.

When I’m guiding clients on the Clackacraft, it’s easy to tell who really likes to cast, and who doesn’t. Often, the people who love to cast will do it so frequently, that there is no way they’re going to catch fish. In a previous blog, I discussed presentation, and how that’s key to catching fish. Keeping those flies in the water gives them a chance to “fish” the water you’re in, and guides specialize in instructing you on the where, when, how long, and why – but there comes a time “and it’s whispered that soon, if we all call the tune, then the piper will lead us to reason” to cast and a time to drift. Experienced anglers understand the delicacies of overhand casting with nymph rigs, and often adapt their casting technique over time to counter for the difficulties; I tend to side-arm my roll casts, or across my chest sometimes, but in time, what holds true is the anchor. Prepare for it, move with purpose, be patient, then watch how those heavily-beaded “truck and trailer” rigs that your guide so artfully tied up for you arc through the air, landing at the top of that prime water, a quick mend, strike, play, and release.

Take those steps, and you’re on the Stairway to Heaven.

I have this thing for cutties...

Cutthroat are the state fish of Idaho and Wyoming, and some Western states call subspecies of cutthroat their state fish – Colorado, Montana, Nevada, New Mexico, and Utah.  I’m a big fan of the cutthroat, and I’ve lived in the Western US most of my life where this trout is abundant – I don’t think it’s a coincidence.  The fish in the photo above was caught on the Yakima River in March, on a windy day, using a mayfly nymph pattern.

Which is more orange - the hat or the slash?

This fish was caught on a streamer on the Yakima in March as well – after a cold, slow day, we settled into a large, deep pool and tied on a black Sculpzilla pattern (see mouth).

Lower Yakima Canyon fish.

Getting the picture yet?  The Yakima’s just feeding a passion for cutthroat, and this picture actually dispels a old fisherman’s tale about the color yellow – it’s supposedly bad luck and leads to a “skunking” on the river.

I think the reason why I favor the cutthroat trout is the memories of catching them seem to stick out more – those trips where a fish made a impression on me.  I’ve caught the very rare Greenback Cutthroat in Colorado, a fish that is fighting to regain it’s historical range.  That trip was special because my wife Annie and I were celebrating an anniversary with a overnight hike outside Colorado Springs, and as the sun slipped behind the mountain, and the silence filled the air – except for the elk hooves on round rock as they walked to the water.  I’ll remember that fish and moment forever.

I’ve recently begun fishing for coastal cutthroat (Oncorhynchus clarki clarki) in Puget Sound.  These fish don’t make the long journey from stream to open salt water, but stay close to home.  There have been a few people willing to share their favorite spots and techniques – tide information, patterns, and how.

Those trips are as memorable – as much as I enjoy creating memories with others when fly fishing, I really enjoy hearing others share their experiences and it forces me to listen.  It’s a recurrent theme in my fly fishing, and something that I try to impart with others when guiding – to listen. And not just with your ears, but with your eyes, your soul, and your mind.  Listen to what the water is saying, listen for your mind quieting.  Notice when you lose track of everything around you and have to remember to breathe, and the darkening night shows the frost in your breath on that high mountain lake.  You’re surrounded by trees older than you are, a moon larger than your hope of finding that fish searching for a quick meal, and calming that fear that your fly is right, the leader long enough, the knot tight enough.

Cutthroat trout hold a special place in my mind, and you can find them in pretty special places.

A question I get asked frequently while guiding is “Who was your worst client?”  At first, I laughed off the question and gave a fairly simple answer – you.  But that didn’t go over very well.  It was good for a short laugh, but the more I thought about the question, the more I found myself wondering about the question behind the question – or, “are there others like me who like to fly fish but are intimidated by it?”  So, short of this being a manifesto about being a guide, a la Jerry Maguire, allow me to share my thoughts about being a fly fishing guide.

I’m a seeker, always have been.  Fly fishing is all about seeking out what isn’t known.  Being comfortable with asking questions, not knowing the answers, working out some solutions, and then testing them.  I’m a natural problem solver.  Well, I’m also known for causing problems, too – but that’s another blog over on Dr. Phil’s site.

Fact is, I love to teach and share my knowledge about fly fishing, and find myself learning as much from clients as they learn from me.  And the honest answer to the question “Who was your worst client?” is fairly simple.  If you’ve chosen me as your guide, and you’re not learning something, having fun, or enjoying the experience – then it’s something I’ve done or not done.  The quickest path to a client/guide relationship gone wrong winds it’s way past the landmarks of being unprepared, not communicating, and foremost – not asking the person who’s made a substantial investment of money and time into learning from a guide – what their expectations are from the experience.

Jarrod K. and Derek on the Yakima in early Spring

On the lighter side, I find myself very willing to laugh at my mistakes – ask my client Bob and his CEO about the “flying rib-eye lunch special” on the Yakima River.  And clients make mistakes too – it’s part of learning.  If the world were full of perfect anglers, well, now that’s just foolish talk.  Point is, fly fishing is an experimental experience – you craft a hypothesis about fooling a few hungry trout and test it.  You learn, you apply, and you gain confidence.

A professional fly fishing guide is a teacher, a student, a friend, a trusted adviser, and a facilitator in your learning about fly fishing.  We know bugs, water, casting, and fish.  We know how things are connected, and we can help you discover those connections.  We know that you’re passionate about fly fishing, and we’re here to help you learn and gain confidence in your own skills – that you can pass along to a child, a friend, or just experiment all on your own.  But I bet you’ll learn that the most important aspect of fly fishing is just getting out there and learning.

And that is why I guide – yes, I have an enviable desk job.  It’s just that mine is made of fiberglass and floats on water.  It’s time for you to schedule a meeting.  Don’t we have some learning to do?

There’s something to be said for new things – and I’m going to say just one thing about this new drift boat I picked up from the fine folks down at Clackacraft.

Trout love it.

I really like taking road trips – there doesn’t even have to be a reason, but most of my destinations have cold water and the promise of trout. The promise of a road trip is what you know, what you don’t know, and what you’ll experience in the process. I hesitate to even call a road trip a “process” because that puts a label on it, something that defines it. The best road trips are beyond definition, but always undertaken with at least an idea of what’s coming.

What’s your idea of a great road trip?  Where have you gone lately?  Where are you going?

Being generally unimpressed with the “classics” in literature, I do however happen to find that a copy of my daughter’s book Pride and Prejudice to be quite relevant to fly fishing on the Yakima River in March.  If you’ve read the novel, you’re familiar with a Mr. Bennett- who, in a flash of insight, turns his wit on himself during a crisis with characters Wickham and Lydia — “let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough.”  I know the feeling, Sir, and you’ve inspired me to write about one of the critical aspects of catching fish on a fly – presentation.  It has also been said, and I paraphrase, that it is worse to know “where the fish are, but not able to present properly to them, than to be able to present properly, but not know where the fish are.”  Either way, your pride is going to be challenged and you may find fly fishing more intimidating than it has to be – so let’s focus on presentation in this month’s update.

Most of what a trout eats is under the surface of the water.  On a recent float trip through the upper river canyon, East of Cle Elum, I used my bug seine to collect samples of the food that was available to the fish.  There was an abundance of very small chironomids, or midges, present in the water.  Midges are a year-round food source on the river, as these insects are less susceptible to variations in water temperature.  Therefore, you’ll find that trout have food available to them when they’re hungry, so they’ve seen a lot of natural insects coming their way – enter the sure-footed and strong willed fly angler who is trying to imitate those insects – black, green, gold, and other colors all contained in a bug about the diameter of a #2 pencil lead, and about one-quarter inch long.  So, picture yourself standing on a drift boat watching the river course by, swirling and gurgling underneath you, or knee-deep in the cold water trying to balance your fly rod, your lunch, and scratching your head thinking “what are these fish eating, and how do I catch them?

Most fish on rivers that receive any degree of fishing pressure are wary to us and can be spooked easily.  That’s what makes presentation so important – you’re replicating a very small insect in swiftly moving water, trying to achieve the right depth and angle, and have that fly look as natural as possible.  When using the nymph form of the insect, you’ll need to be familiar with the term “dead drift” – meaning, casting your line and flies in the feeding zone and avoiding drag on the flies.  Drag affects the way the fly looks to the fish – and they’ll easily determine the natural from the imitation.

Don’t let the small food sources drag you down – warmer weather and more active fish are coming soon, and that means casting big, buggy dry flies.  You can’t blame the fish for not taking your midge pattern in March, but you can improve your presentation and save your pride at the same time.

The month of February signals the awakening of the Yakima River from its winter slumber – ice and snow covered banks, cold winter air, and only the heartiest of fly fisherman on the water.  It’s a good time of the year to get your fly fishing gear out of its winter sleep too, or perhaps ready the new rod, reel, or flies you got over the holidays.  For me, as a professional guide, this is the time of the year when thoughts about long, hot summer days melt into the excitement of another season of fly fishing on Washington’s only “blue ribbon” trout stream. We’re fortunate to have a resource like the Yakima in our backyard to enjoy all year round, so this month’s article will feature tips and tricks on how to enjoy fly-fishing between Easton and Roza Dam, deep in the Yakima Canyon.

Blue Ribbon Water

The designation “blue ribbon” means that the wild rainbow and cutthroat trout are protected by special catch and release rules – single-hook flies and lures only. At this time of year, the river’s water flow is quite low – anywhere between 500 and 1300 cfs (cubic feet/second).  Compared to mid-summer when the water is primarily used to irrigate farmlands in the Kittitas Valley and beyond – flows then are measured in the thousands, as high as 8000 last summer.  The river is generally considered unsuitable for fly fishing during periods of high flows.

Choosing Flies & Equipment

Fly-fishing is unique in that the flies used to catch fish are created to closely mimic what is naturally occurring in the environment.  There are five main types of food sources that are replicated in fly-fishing – mayflies, caddis flies, stoneflies, terrestrials (ants, grasshoppers), and other water inhabitants like sculpin, crayfish, or other smaller species.  Certain flies are used during specific types of events, or “hatches.”  The term “match the hatch” is used to describe when fly anglers are casting man-made flies that are very close in color, size, shape, and behavior to what is naturally occurring in the river.

In February, we see the first major event in the Skwala stonefly emergence – this is due to warming water temperatures.  Like mayflies or caddis flies, these stoneflies move from rocky, cold-water streams and rivers towards the surface, but Skwala’s do so as a nymph – then mature into winged adults out of the water.  Mayflies and caddis do so while in the water and in different stages.  Try casting both adult and nymph Skwala patterns (another word for artificial flies) into slower moving water near the river’s banks to effectively mimic the natural behavior of the stonefly.  A five-weight rod between eight and nine feet in length and a reel with an equal weight forward line, with a seven to nine foot leader tapered to 3x works just fine.  Use a “dead-drift” to present nymphs in a realistic behavior to sub-surface feeding fish, or cast the adult dry flies into moving water and give a quick “skitch” to mimic the bug moving on the water.

Water temperatures, nicer weather, and longer days mean that spring is coming, but don’t wait until then to fish the Yakima River for wild trout.  Hiring a professional guide who can teach you the intricacies of timing, location, and entomology (bugs!) is a good step in beginning or enriching your fly-fishing skills.

Tight lines!