Back in the Saddle

Now that I've totally alienated my readership* by taking yet another prolonged hiatus, I figured it's well past time to get back on the blogging horse and provide some sort of update.  Things are starting to crank back up in Southcentral and it's already late May so I'll gloss past our epic snow year and stick to the fishing.

As I mentioned in my last post, this year was all about fishing--even in the dead of winter.  To that end, Sam and I kicked things off with some very early season fishing.

We turned down a powder day for this?

We both had hall passes from our familial obligations and met up with a bunch of friends the night before that had rented a house outside of town to catch a concert.  Suffice it to say that I can only pretend to party like I'm still 20 . . . and standing in 32-degrees water when it's snowing is a great hangover cure . . . even if the fish aren't cooperative.

* * *

Our first day out with the drift boat came sometime in April, and was a success.**  Grandma Jan was up visiting Mason and, once again, set the bar.  We ultimately tied into three fish that cold day, which was spectacular given the conditions and the short amount of time we were on the water, but only got one fish to the boat.

Jan, working on her grip-and-grin.

The Wife, taking advantage of Mason napping.

The Wife and I have been trying to think of a name for the drift boat.  Given the fact that Jan was about the only person on the entire river to catch a fish that day, and the success my mom had out of the boat last year when she came up to visit Mason, we might need to think about this developing trend as we consider our options.

* * *

Moving ahead in the calendar, not long ago I found myself down south a ways for work and had the opportunity to get out for the day.  It was classic Alaskana.  At various points we saw snow, rain and hail--and I still managed to get a mild sunburn.  We dodged humpbacks on the way out, chased steelhead in very skinny water all day, then had to evade a grizzly family on the way back.

Always fish the undercut bank.

* * *

The last real development is that I'm committing myself to spey casting for the next month or so.  I have a longer switch rod that I'll be using with the hopes of focusing on slightly different water than I usually fish.  It's early season, so you never know.

I've also been hitting the vise a fair amount this past week and tying up various tube flies, so we'll see how that turns out.  It's all new to me, but I came across this post and figured I'd give it a whirl.

Meet Mr. and Mrs. Sculpin.  The cones are separate from the rest of the fly.

* * *

So there you have it.  Now let's see, what got left out . . .

Well, for one thing, Mason now crawls and can't stay away from The Pooch's water bowl, which is constant entertainment--for Mason, at least.  I'm pretty sure he looked at me and said "dad" yesterday, but since he's only nine months old it was probably a coincidence. After all, "dad" sounds awfully similar to every other sound he makes.

I have a new job as of last week, which promises to be a significant upgrade as far as actually getting shit done.

And finally, The Blog is undergoing a bit of a revision.  Nothing formal, but if all things go according to plan you should notice a subtle change in content.  Although I take care not to specify where I fish, I'm a bit tired of providing the local fishing report so it's time to shake things up.  Stay tuned.
______________________

* Hi Mom.

** Hell, every day in the drift boat is a success--I could float circles in a mud puddle day after day and not get bored.

Getting Ready

Fishing, especially fly fishing, in southcentral Alaska is rough this time of year.  There's often open water, but up until today things have been especially cold and the local prospects just haven't been that appealing.  Dodging icebergs in waste-deep water while casting to a near fishless river when it's five below just doesn't sound like much fun to me.

. . . which is part of the reason why we're packing up the kiddo, joining a couple good friends, and going to Belize.

I've never fished the flats, and except for chasing salmon in tidewater have never really cast a fly into the salt.  Needless to say, this will be an experience.  Hell, I'm half temped to bail on the return flight and I'm not even there yet.

So, in the absence of appealing local fishing options, I've been working on the saltwater boxes.

Someone should have told me how easy flats flies are to tie.

Our gear list is a work in progress.  The reels all have new line--with Rio's Tarpon F/I Short on the 10-weight and Redfish Floating (The Wife likes the blue color, for those concerned with that sort of thing) on the 8-weights.*  I didn't own a single pair of serviceable shorts, so I had to buy two pairs (I hear it's warm in Belize).  I scored a pair of cheap flats boots.  And I now own decent polarized sunglasses that actually fit my big ole melon, which is a significant upgrade from my last pair that I had to modify to fit properly and ultimately succumbed to Karta's puppy chewing habits.  Oh, and the fly boxes are filling up...

. . . let's just hope something in there can catch a fish.

* Really though, as I said at the beginning, it's all new to me so take everything with a grain of salt.

Hair Extensions? And they're paying how much?

Back when I was in high school and had just started tying flies, I could never afford the highest quality materials.  Struggling to make marginal feathers work, my dry flies inevitably sank and my wet flies too often rode on the surface.  To cap it all off, by the time I finally got my hands on a nice high-end grizzly neck, my sixteen-year-old self left it out where the family dog turned it into a nice morsel.  I still have the sad ziploc bag full of half-chewed feathers.  

And now, as if fly fishing and tying wasn't expensive enough, there's a fashion-fueled run on saddle hackle jacking prices up even higher. 

Most fly tiers know this trend has been slowly growing for a while.  However, fueled by a recent post on The Rusty Spinner highlighting just how exorbitant prices have become, I have joined the fray and listed all my old unused saddle hackles on eBay.  I bought the whole lot for just over $60 back in the day and will update things as the auctions progress.  If things go according to plan, I'll sell these items now for a tidy profit while the prices are high and repurchase new capes in a few years after the fad plays out.

Since I've had these for years on end without using a single feather, I obviously wasn't needing them anyway.  After all, every Alaska fly is big and wildly colored, right?  I just wish I had a few full grizzly saddles laying around . . .

* * *

And a quick update: Just hours into the auction two of the capes have bidders and will put at least $250 in my pocket.  Ridiculous.

Update #2: Well, the auctions have run their course and I have $593.00 in my pocket to show for it.  The cream full saddle and grizzly 1/4 saddle were the big winners, with the other two 1/4 saddles also doing well.

For the curious, this would have been a 16% annual rate of return on my investment over the roughly 15 years I owned the saddles.  Of course, the true test will come when I have to purchase replacements...

Testing out the new net

It's always fun to throw back the suds and go on a fly tying bender, if however brief, which is exactly what Sam and I did Sunday afternoon.  After the prior day's flexible rod sampling, my fly selection was looking a bit thin and in need of some attention.  Of course, once my fly box is full, I'm compelled to go lose a few flies--and thus a vicious cycle is born.

The fact that I had just bought a new giant-sized net pushed us over the edge so The Wife and I set out Monday for a rare weekday fishing excursion.  The lack of crowds was a welcome change, although those 20ish inch fish don't look so big any more:

We caught a handful of fish but the highlight of the day came when, while seated at the oars approaching a bend in the river, I hooked into a nice fish and fully confirmed that I cannot, in fact, play and land a fish while rowing the boat and containing the puppy dog.  Karta had a grand time through it all.

Core shot

We've received a fair amount of snow this year.  Even so, things are pretty wind hammered and the snow can get thin in spots.  It's generally easy to avoid the rocks and stay afloat.  However, I found a couple thin spots part way down a tight chute on Saturday--long after committing to the line.  It was too tight to avoid the rocks and too steep not to turn.  Things got pretty interesting for a turn or two.

I didn't have my camera with me at the time, but this is the aftermath: 

These skis didn't have a single notable scratch on them before Saturday.  I'm not sure when skis become rock skis, but these must be pretty close:

Of course, one of the great things about skis is that enough p-tex and epoxy can fix almost anything.  Since the edges remained intact, with only one real core shot and a bunch of scrapes and dings, a couple evenings working in the garage and some down time waiting for the epoxy to cure put things back in order.  A little wax and we'll be back in business.  Here's everything (and a dog treat) post-repair:

Some people baby their skis and are afraid to take them out in the early season.  I certainly take care of my sticks, but recognize that skis are meant for skiing.  Even so, I might wait for things to fill in a bit before skiing that line again...

On fly selection . . .

The comments to my last post got me thinking about my evolution as a fly fisherman and tier.

When I started fly fishing I was a broke high-schooler who owned, maybe, twelve flies: an adams here, a hares ear or two there, a few box-store-bought woolly buggers (you know, the sort that come in a plastic and cardboard-backed container hanging on a hook at wally world), and perhaps a fewer high-quality flies stolen from my dad.

Once I figured out how to cast and where the fish were, I caught fish despite my poorly apportioned fly box.

Over time, I realized just how many different flies were out there, learned to tie, and had to carry a dozen of every type in various sizes every time I went fishing.

I caught fish, but not because I carried a thousand flies.  To this day, I'm still trying to lose the flies I tied during this period.

As time wore on, I began to realize that presentation was infinitely more important than fly selection, and I caught the vast majority of my fish on a small handful of flies.  The adams, hares ear and woolly bugger still had their spot in my box, but a well-placed parachute adams could do anything a Hi-Vis Knock-Down Dun could do and a sparsly-tied elk hair caddis could do anything a sedgehammer could do.  And the parachute adams and elk hair caddis are infinitely easier to tie.

Now that I find myself in Alaska, my box basically is down to two flies:

So, while there will always be a spot on fly shop shelves and in the new guy's vest for flies that catch fisherman, here's to the flies that catch the fish.

Midnight FMF, part deux

In an effort to not fall too far behind on my blogging, here is a series of pictures from the past couple days.  I normally prefer to sit down with a couple beers and wax poetic (is that what I do in this space?) about the day's adventures, good friends, or whatever else the six readers of this blog might find interesting--but it's after midnight on a school night so you'll just have to deal with a bunch of pictures.  Cheers!

Although the fishing has been slow, our good friends Sam and Liz joined us on the water yesterday.

Since we didn't even leave the house until 3:00, The Wife got to spend all morning gardening and still made the fishing trip.  "It's like having two days," she says.

This time, Josh grabbed a hold of the first fish.  Once again, it was the biggest by an inch or two.

The Wife's ubiquitous feet shot:

Couldn't get Karta to sit still long enough . . . although her stick is well represented:

After losing every Midnight FMF in our boxes, this evening was time to reload.

Getting ready for Oregon

Work is taking me to Oregon at the end of this month and, since The Wife and I haven't visited my family in what seems like an eternity, we'll be spending a few days down in Medford visiting the folks.  With the Rogue so close and my dad's drift boat spending far too much time out of the water, I plan to chase steelhead at least a couple days. 

My best days on the Rogue have always been in the fall so I'm not sure what to expect on the fishing front.  However, I'm doing my best to load the fly boxes and it'd be a shame not to get on the water.  After all, it's hard to beat a float even if the fishing's slow.

In other news, backcountry skiing is shut down.  It's raining at lower elevations and the warm weather and new snow/rain has made backcountry skiing on anything but the flattest slopes dicy, at best.  The slope I skied in the prior post has slid and three people (two snowmobilers and a skier) died in avalanches on Saturday.  All the reason I need to stay home and tie flies.

Belly up to the bench

Winter's in full swing and most things seem to be shut down around here.  The snow's a bit thin for skiing; the weather's a bit cold for fishing.  But, things are just right for tying flies.

Nearly every salmon I hooked last fall was on this guy:

But you better have a few of these in the box:

And the evening's haul:

Fishing with the Fam, Part 1

My fishing seems to have outpaced my blogging by a fair margin in the past couple weeks. As much as I enjoy posting to this blog, fishing > blogging--and it's not even close. However, as they say, it's time to get back on that horse . . .

My first two trips since the last post were exploratory missions that netted a handful of salmon and a bit more knowledge of the local rivers. I forgot the camera in the truck on both trips.

Since last weekend, my mom, dad and brother have been up for a visit. With fish on the mind and an unusual run of beautiful weather, we wasted no time getting out on the water. The big push of pinks and chum salmon are all but over. They still line the banks, but haven't been worth casting at for a while.*
With the whole crew aboard, we headed North out of Anchorage this past Sunday to search out a few trout and see if we could find any coho loitering around. It took us a little while to figure things out, but eventually worked our way into some rainbow and a few grayling.
The grayling were a new species for me. I had fished for them a bit in Idaho, but my past efforts always fell short.
Eventually, I worked my way into some rainbow. I never got the impression there were a ton of fish in the water, but the deep pools and runs each seemed to hold a fish or two that would move for a fly. This guy topped out around 18 inches or so. At the time, Josh gave me that the fish was 19 inches; but, a few days later, Josh isn't so generous any more.
Here's Mom getting after it, with Karta supervising.
After lunch, we decided to relocate to a new stream. Here's dad testing out the waters.
More Karta supervision, this time with me fishing over a school of ~50 coho. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't do anything to move these fish . . .
. . . and neither could Josh.
Dad giving it his all--an effort I've replicated many times before after a hard morning of fishing.
After losing a gazillion flies, it was back to the bench for Josh and I.
Oh yeah, for those keeping score at home, I've evened things up with The Wife. Nice.

* As an aside, bring your dog fishing at your own risk these days. They love rotting salmon.

Going to the bench

During our last trip, it became abundantly clear that the fish were keying in on a particular fly/color combination. With that in mind, The Wife and I just spent the past hour or so tying in anticipation of tomorrow's outing.
We'll let you know how it turns out.