First installment

Timeliness is inherent in the idea of blogging- it is, after all, a web log in concept and writing about things past, unless inspiring a current thought, is contrary to the idea of a "log". That's not working so well for me right now- here we are in duck season,  past our big game hunts and nearly to quail season, and I'm going to talk about September, when so many good things start. Regardless, and getting back to the last post, a while back A, Dad and I headed up to Alaska for another week of silver salmon fishing, as suggested in the post below.

If you hit the "fishing" label on this blog you'll see accounts of other trips or thoughts inspired by those trips, and I'm not sure I have too much new to say. The area is lovely, the air clean and crisp off the spruce forests, glaciers, and sea. The people are generally friendly, the town small and visiting fisherman apparently a welcome supplement to the income from commercial harvest. Traveling a couple thousand miles to catch fish is considered perfectly reasonable if one is so unfortunate as to not live a stone's throw from the ocean. This year we ran into a couple of groups from Sweden, who presumably live within a relative stone's throw of an ocean, just not one with silver salmon.

We arrived on the tail end of a big rain event. In a place where precipitation is measured in scores of inches (or multiples of feet), that means quite a bit of water. A few years ago, we saw seven or eight inches in twenty-four hours, but this was bigger. Fortunately, as we got there the streams were coming down and full of fish. The first couple of days saw rain, and sideways rain, but our last three days were nearly completely sunny, unprecedented in our ten or so years up there for the season. Further, the streams had dropped considerably and still had plenty of fish in them, so we did well.

One interesting thing about fishing for silvers is that there is a cycle in terms of the size of fish, apparently much like grouse or hares cycle in population. Last year, the fish ran the smallest we had seen them and it got me worried about things like the commercial herring harvest, and long term effects of oil spills and purse seines and all sorts of other things. All that bears watching, but this year the fish ran large, nearly the largest we've seen in twelve years.

A caught a limit, 3 fish, that totaled 38 pounds in the round- two thirteens and a twelve. In terms of sport, this translates into fish that can pull you around the river and that require some care in playing and handling.

That's my Dad with a fifteen pound silver, which is a conservative weight, as it bottomed out a fifteen pound certified Boga-grip, so there may be some change involved. Second biggest fish any of our parties have ever caught up there and Dad's only fish on that tough day. Still, a bright fifteen pound cock with sea lice on him goes a long way toward beating a skunk. Here's a closer look:

Damn big fish.

Wait- what's that? A moose by the side of the road? Must be up North!

We had a couple of good hikes, one of which came after I mis-remembered the trailhead necessary to take us into a particular stretch of stream.

We managed to get on the right trail and to get into some fish.

Mostly, though, this trip was sunny skies and fresh silvers just up from the salt water.

Weasel!

This curious little fellow came out of the alders to check us out at close range. With any luck at all, we'll head back up there next year. I still haven't caught enough silver salmon on the fly rod.

Two Months

I've  now spent two months in one small region of Alaska, a week at a time, in eight trips spread over ten years with each trip occurring between mid-August and late September. In this way, you get to know a little bit about a place, at least in a particular slice of season. In much the same way, I feel I know a particular series of ridges in western Colorado, based upon eight or nine fall hunting trips spread over twenty-some years. For that matter, I used to know a particular mountain in western New Mexico and I have a fair idea of a particular basin in the northern end of that state, along with a few other spots.

 I've mentioned  before some of the various trips we've taken to fish for silver salmon (see here, here, here and here). Consequently, I don't have much new to say, more of a report. This year saw a little bit of sun and also a fair bit of rain. Over one 48 hour period, about 7 1/2 inches of rain fell. It felt like more to me, but that's what the web says fell for those days, and I'm sure the web wouldn't lie. I don't really have the experience to grok that level of rainfall, as less than that has fallen in my slice of New Mexico for the last 18 months. In any event, the rain brought all the rivers, creeks, and sloughs up quite a bit and rendered them unfishable. We ended up on some of the smaller tributaries and got to wade through some waist-deep water in head-high alders.

The fishing was pretty tough and most of the fish ran a bit smaller than we're used to, lots of eight pound fish instead of tens and twelves. For wildlife, apart from the usual ducks, geese, cranes and swans we had some river otters swim right up to us. No bears, apart from one little black bear right in town.

This portion of Alaska strikes me a lot like the Grand Canyon- photographs, at least my snapshots, never capture the scale of the country. It feels a little bigger than the already big Western landscapes that I call home.

Thinking about the near-annual, one-week-only connection with a place over 2,500 miles from my home, I'm reminded of the conflict between local and visiting interests and the power of conservation movements. I've put a bumper sticker (only one that actually says anything) on my truck that addresses an issue local up there. Driving on a high-desert highway, I've had occupants of an overtaking vehicle honk and wave thumbs-up in apparent agreement, again, thousands of miles from the scene of the issue. I like to think that hunters and fishers are more than regular tourists- that if a place special to us is changed for the worse we just don't find another spot and move on, because our time in those places is more significant, that we'll invest a little more and fight a little harder for them. In the meantime, we'll head up there with friends and family as we can, enjoying the cool clean air and the rain, the scenery, and the salmon. One of the best weeks of the year.

Panfishing

We're a week into turkey season in New Mexico, with the Glorious 15th (of April) being the usual start. A and I considered going out last Sunday, having scouted out a few likely locations earlier in the spring. However, the day before the season the wind howled, and roared, and blasted across the plains. In my experience, turkeys don't call in the wind. So, rather than a 3 a.m. wakeup for a long drive and a dark walk all likely to be assayed in futility, we went fishing. In this part of the state, there are some warm water reservoirs and rumor had it that the white bass were starting to run.

The wind did in fact come up with the dawn, making us feel good about our guess that turkey hunting was a poor proposition. Once up at the lake, we found a small arm tucked away from the wind and, after a while, picked up a few fish. While the action wasn't fast (not surprising in cold and very murky water), there was enough going on to keep us interested and the variety was kind of neat. The stringer ended up being a smallmouth bass, a black crappie, a walleye, and some white bass, all caught on jigs or spinnerbaits. Just enough for a mess for two.

That night, fresh fillets dipped in cornmeal and fried crispy, here divided up by species. We'd never had walleye before and the flavor was fine but the fine-grained texture of the meat wasn't my favorite. I'll take white bass or crappie for choice.

 It has been quite a while since I've tried to catch fresh water fish besides trout and it was a lot of fun using an ultralight rod and bouncing a jig off rocks for whatever might come after it. This weekend is dedicated to chores, garden, and work, but if the wind will cooperate we'll try to find a gobbler next weekend.

AK again

Well, back from Alaska- another trip chasing coho salmon. Back in '07 we ran into a low water situation which kept a lot of fish from heading up stream during the period we were fishing, this year was something of a repeat of that. Consequently, it was another tough fishing (or, ha ha, catching) year.

Still, we did catch fish, mostly by hiking up one stream until past most other fishermen, then finding a pool holding fish that wanted to bite. Some just didn't. Others would offer to chase a lure or fly and then you'd get a strike.



Beautiful, sunny weather with little or no wind. Warm. I brought too much fleece and not enough t-shirts. Next year will probably be different. More black flies than before.

Great views, what with all those curtains of rain, drizzle or fog between you and the scenery.






A little brown bear kept showing up on one stream, but he wasn't aggressive towards fishermen.



I hope that he doesn't get enough salmon bits that he associates with humans to change that.

In addition to the silvers, there are some dolly varden in the streams, too. Every now and then one will whack an egg sucking leech. Egg flies will get more strikes.



I'm looking forward to a chance to get back up there.

Silver season

Fishing not blogging.

Perhaps a little bragging:



A silver salmon on the fly is probably right at the maximum level of fun.

Alaska:

robalo

Snook have always been a fish of some romance in my mind.
Like Charley Waterman, I think their Spanish name, "robalo" sounds better then the oddity of "snook", which sounds like something that happens to someone on a felt-covered table, or an object of derision. Tell someone not fairly involved in the outdoor world that you'd like to fish for snook and you're liable to face the same expression as if you'd said you were off to hunt snipe. On the other hand, robalo sounds racy and a bit powerful, more fitting for a beach front cruiser and ambushing predator. Webster's traces the name "snook" to Dutch for a type of pike-fish. Fair enough.

Growing up and fishing a bit in South Texas, snook were rumors or memories, as they, along with tarpon, had pretty much disappeared. Fortunately, both have come back to some extent. Cold snaps like recent ones in Florida and Texas are hard on the populations, though. I'd read of snook in stories about Costa Rica and the Florida Keys and other warm waters. Heck, even Travis McGee fished for them. They lay under mangroves and docks and would cut you off in a minute. In the fall they'd run the beaches and passes. Mouth like a bass, strong, with razor-sharp gill plates. Those were the things you read about snook. My first couple trips to the tropics didn't lead to any snook, though. Bonefish and tarpon (sightings) along with seeing and throwing at permit were all plenty of excitement. The first snook I saw was a baby caught by a friend in the South Texas surf. Neat as a novelty, but not quite the explosive gamefish you read about, not until it added another foot of length or so.

I won't complain, though, because a few years ago, six now in fact, I caught my first and to date only robalo.

We headed down to Baja for a couple of days. It was our second trip and we stayed in San Jose del Cabo, which was busy sprouting condos where only a couple of years before nothing but beach existed. After some slow panga fishing, Dad and I took advantage of our mid-morning flight time to slip out to the beach at dawn on the last day, walking along and throwing plugs with spinning outfits. Fishing on the beach at that time is always exciting, the low light is flat and you can't see much, so it's easy to imagine lots going on out there even if bait isn't being chased to the surface.

I was using Dad's light travel rod and a reel with ten pound test to cast a chartreuse Top Dog out past where the waves were breaking. The beach was quite steep so we'd follow a retreating wave, cast, then back up before the next wave and start working our plugs. As my plug climbed the back of a breaker just yards off the beach it was suddenly sucked down by a mouth I could put both fists into. An interesting struggle with a couple of half-jumps later, I had her up on the sand and removed the plug. A quick picture, wade her out and revive her, and it was time to rinse of the gear, pack our wet clothes in plastic for the flight home, and leave on what for me will always remain a high note.
Hard to top:






Funny, growing up I don't think I ever daydreamed anything better.

Cohos

I didn't make it up to Alaska this year for the silver fishing, but I hear the guys that did had a good year. I'm glad they got into them.

Here's a video of my father and I messing around a bit last year, catching fish more or less at will:

Fish not for dinner

Apart from speckled trout and redfish, time spent on the Laguna Madre will usually yield encounters with some other species. This last trip was notable for hookups with some unpalatable but fun fish, such as a few crevalle jacks, which are occasional visitors to the bay:



One of the Spanish nicknames for Jack Crevalle is "toro", a tribute to their strength. These ran right at ten pounds, which is about as big a jackfish as you want to tangle with on light gear. Much bigger than that and they'll just tear you up.

One day we spent nearly the whole time throwing topwater plugs and getting into the occasional trout as well as large numbers of skipjacks, or, to use the less local name, ladyfish:



While lots of fun to catch, they take a toll in gear. Sharp gill plates and abrasive mouths lead to cut-offs, even with a bite tippet. Poor man's tarpon, they jump off the hook about half the time, which is perfect- exciting strike and jump and no lost plugs.

More unusually, A got a hit on a topwater plug that led to a strong, fast run and stubborn fight. It turned out to be about the largest needlefish I've ever seen in the bay:



It's rare to hook one of these fellows, given their bony jaws and impressive dentition:



Note, too, that huge eye- the better to see you with, my dear- to be followed shortly by employment of all those teeth. Most the times, the needlefish you see back in the bay are about half this size.

One of the great things about fishing salt water is that you never know exactly what might turn up on the end of your line.

dinner post

First you catch a fish:



Spotted seatrout:



fresh fillets:







Can't hold a candle to fresh fillets fried medium.
Fishing, not blogging. Irregular connectivity for a while.

The Old San Juan

While I've mentioned fishing the San Juan river in northwestern New Mexico a couple of times before, I haven't been over there much in recent years. When I first started fishing the river and figuring that fishing out, it was one of my primary destinations and I'd spend ten or more weekends up there every winter. I quickly learned that I preferred to fish winter and early spring when cold temperatures and higher flows, respectively, keep the crowds down. In recent years the spring flows have been low and some of the winter flows really low, down to 250 cfs, rather than a more-normal 500 cfs, so I've stayed off the river. However, the last couple of years have benefited from more normal flows, so the fishery should be in a little better shape.

I can't say that the fishing has exactly palled, but it has changed a bit for me. Ten years ago, if you'd have told me that I'd go over a year without spending a weekend on the San Juan I'd have thought you were kidding. Guys that I talked to in the fly shop that "just don't get up there any more" struck me as oddly spoiled- not go spend a weekend catching two pound trout? Now I'm one of those guys. The river is still worth a trip.

The fishery on the San Juan below Navajo Dam is pretty famous. The water flows at a constant 42 degrees F, thanks to the bottom-draw dam and deep reservoir behind it.




The constant water temperature results in year round growth of aquatic insects and the trout that feed on them. Because the water is quite cold, there isn't a great variety of insects (at least from a fly fishers perspective), mostly midges and annelids. However, cloudy days in the colder months will frequently see a blue winged olive hatch, particularly about halfway down the catch and release section, so you can get some dry fly fishing every now and again.




While there is only limited natural reproduction in the river, the New Mexico Dept. of Game and Fish stocks fry and the population is quite dense, with the average trout caught running about fifteen inches and over a pound. The upper portion of the river is also primarily a catch and release fishery, with the limit being one fish over twenty inches and the culture strongly against keeping that.






Because of the large numbers of big trout, the river sees incredible pressure. Fishermen from around the country and around the world travel to the San Juan. All those fishermen result in a crowded situation and you have to adjust your concept of personal space a bit and not get offended if someone comes fairly close to you, much closer than you would be happy about if on a more remote river. One way to get away from others is to fish the high spring flows. Once the river gets above 2000 cfs, the number of people fishing it goes down substantially. At 5000 cfs, you can have decent stretches all to yourself and the fish have a lot of current to beat you with. Of course, you also have to wade very carefully and generally stick to edges and backwaters. The wading up there is complicated by a very healthy growth of bug-feeding moss, which renders the cobbles and especially the occasional sandstone stretches quite slippery. Don't walk on the black-colored moss- if you do you'll almost certainly fall and that cold water just about requires a trip back to the truck for dry clothes.

I think that a five-weight is about the lightest rod you should use up there. Some of the really fast, high end rods rated as four-weights would also be fine, but a five or a six is generally better. Because it is a catch and release fishery that sees tremendous pressure, it is imperative to get the fish in quickly, in the best shape possible, and release it with as little harm as you can. If you get a fairly hot fish, there's no way you are going to muscle it on a three or four weight. Of course, the other limitation is you tippet. I try to fish top quality 5x, which lets you put quite a bit of pressure on your gear. With flies smaller than size 20, I have to go to 6x. I'd rather break a few fish off getting them in quickly than leave a wake of doomed trout behind me, so I lose quite a few more flies with 6x. I know of guys who use 7x or finer, but I won't do that up there.

The basic rig is a nine-foot leader, to which you tie a dropper and point. For a 5x leader, I use a surgeon's knot to tie a sixteen inch length of 5x material to the end of the leader. You want the tag end of that added length to be about four inches long, but no more than that. You tie a San Juan Worm up there, and the short length keeps it from tangling too badly. Down on the point end, you tie a small nymph imitation, something size 18 or smaller. A couple of inches above the knot, crimp on a split shot, then, about a foot down the leader from your fly line, attach the strike indicator of your choice. You'll end up changing the shot quite a bit, adding or taking it off, as you want the flies to dead drift in the current just above the bottom. They should hang up every third or fourth drift. If you never hang up, you aren't fishing deep enough and you're missing a lot of fish.

You can do pretty well on the river with a pretty basic fly box. The one fly that I've most consistently caught fish on up there is the Chenille San Juan Worm in a dull orange color. Tied on a #14 nymph hook with no weight, you cover the hook shank with red thread (6/0), then cut a piece of ultra chenille about 1 1/4 inches long, which is tied in at the back of the shank (keep the tie in narrow), the thread spiraled up to a bit behind the eye of the hook, then tied in again. You whip finish under the chenille, then use a match or lighter to melt the ends of the chenille to points. You need a lot of these flies, as the chenille becomes floppy with use and once it starts folding back on itself the fish don't like it much.

For days when they just don't want a chenille worm, you can try TJ's Sparkle Worm, in orange or red.

For smaller stuff, it's pretty hard to beat a foam wing emerger. You want to tie them in chocolate brown, black, and grey and in sizes 18 and 20, perhaps 22. Personally, I think a tail of two or three evenly spaced muskrat guard hairs is important to this pattern, as it helps the fly maintain a natural orientation in the water.

Small thread-body nymphs are also good, try wrapping the thread body with a single layer of clear flashabou on a few and use a single turn of peacock herl or a tiny bit of dubbing for the head. Tie them in 20 and 22.

Last, you also want a few size 8 to 12 black woolly buggers or rabbit hair leaches. Some days they don't want the worms, or the water is a bit off color, and the buggers or leaches do really well.

Still scenic, especially during the months with fewer people:



The latest edition (available in pdf) of the New Mexico Wildlife Federation's journal reports recent problems with the San Juan, which they link to the vast increase in oil and gas drilling since the days I was spending a lot of time on the river.

In a raft

This last week I headed north to meet a buddy on a river famous for a holiday hatch of caddis flies, one of the most prolific aquatic insects in the Rocky Mountain region. Although too early for the famous hatch, we had a good day on the river.

Headed north, there looks to be a pretty good snowpack on the Sangre de Cristos, though signs of spring are showing up lower down.



I met up with Chris, who'd suggested the trip, and the next morning we joined a guide for a float trip.

Our ride:


I'd never fly fished out of a boat on a river before and found it to be pretty challenging. There wasn't any time to size up a lie or the best drift. Rather, you had to anticipate the water ahead, throw a quick cast and, if it wasn't good, pick up your fly and hit the next spot as it came rushing by. I've never really thought of myself as a deliberate fly fisher, but the fast pace required by float fishing proved otherwise. Being woefully out of practice didn't help my casting or line management.



We started the day nymphing, tying on golden stonefly nymph imitations trailed by small emergers. The first couple of fish proved to be typical of the day- nice brown trout running from twelve to about fifteen inches.



We saw bigger fish. The largest of the day to come to hand turned out to be a seventeen inch rainbow.



At one point in the afternoon, the clouds rolled over and Blue Winged Olives started coming off pretty well. More importantly, the fish started rising to them, so we switched to #18 and #20 dries with emerger flies trailing behind them in the surface film. After only half an hour or so, the sun came back out and the hatch petered off, although we saw rising fish- usually making the head-and-tail rise associated with emergers- for the rest of the day and caught a few fish on dries. A bead head pheasant tail in size 14 worked pretty well and probably would have been a good choice for the point fly all day long. All in all, it was a very good day. Good company, good outfitter, nice fish, and a new experience.

Of course, the next morning dawned cloudy, foggy, drizzly, and generally the sort of weather that Blue Winged Olives prefer to hatch in.



I'm sure the guys who stayed on the river had a great hatch to fish. In the meantime, the road home led through the storm.



Any gain in elevation, snow thickened and my speed dropped, but any moisture is more then welcome.



Nice to be able to steal away for an early season trip.

fly fishing declining?

From Operation Delta Duck, to Trout Underground, to Michael Gracie, who has a post up about the declining trend in fly fishing. Anecdotally, my favorite fly shop changed hands last year, but the saltwater guru shop guy that I've gone to for advice many times before has moved to a local and independent sporting goods store with a good fly fishing section (and higher prices). I'm still waiting for that flood of garage sale gear that was purchased after the movie, used once or twice, then hung up.

If you don't get around to Gracie's archives, at least check out this short conversation with Lefty Kreh.

Fishing trip

Well, back from another week on the Copper River Delta fishing for silver salmon. As always, it was a very good time. The fish were in and running large for the most part. They were also picky and a few days were slow as a consequence. The moody nature of salmon seems to make up a bit for their abundance, in terms of fishing difficulty. Frequently, they're also fairly challenging to land and my strike-to-landed fish ratio was not great.

A couple of young bull moose:


The closest we came to a bear- these tracks were about four hours old, as the tide had this area covered with water until that time:



It doesn't look like a huge bear, but he's got a decent sized track:



A 14 1/2 lb coho, my largest to date and the first fish of the trip for me:



Sunrise at the Cordova Rose Lodge, where we've stayed these last half-dozen trips:


The Rose is very fisherman-friendly and a comfortable place to stay.

The trail into one of the fishing spots:


Now its time to think about birds and big game.