Michael Gracie

I’m sitting on the side of a gorgeous stretch of river Sunday. Yea, I’m loafing - we’d been hiking and casting all morning long, and already had a dozen plus fish each - I was using “changing rigs” as an excuse to take a break. And while fiddling with my flies, I look over and see two curious shadows just below the surface about fifteen feet out and across. My buddy is bugging me - throwing jabs because I’m sitting on my butt. I tell him “shut up and go catch one of those fish lying over there!”

He thinks I’m kidding, but goes ambling cross-river and tosses out a cast. I watch as he throws again. And again…then, wham! A 4-weight rod doubles over, and all I can think is “oh shit.” Off goes a fish, bolting downstream like a bat out of hell. As I was the only one carrying a net, my break was over.

This 22 inch wild brown trout will live to feed another day (and yes, the photo is unretouched, so don’t give me crap about the slight overexposure):

There’s an epilogue too…

After the two of us scrambled downsteam chasing this beauty like monkeys in the circus, we watched a guy upstream from us walk off the river. We assumed he was miffed and leaving (that happens sometimes), but he showed up in front of us just a minute later. We had a nice chat, exchanged some flies, and wished each other good luck. Later, we bumped into another fisherman that commented on how all the fish on the stretch “were in the eight to ten inch range.” At first we chuckled - then we set him straight by pointing out some portions of the waterway he should check in on during his next visit. The lesson here: fly fishing is often called the “quiet sport.” I’d rather call it the “social sharing sport!”

Of course, people always seem to catch me when my back is turned (and my elbow’s up).

Professional investors (particularly traders, with emphasis on the upper tier of commodities fund managers) know how to cut their losses, and they know how to double down on their winners as well. Entrepreneurs and business managers can certainly learn from this (myself included, as decision making has often been driven by curiousity and passion versus pure quantitative logic - and that’s coming from an accountant.

I have learned it can work for catching fish: Two days in a row, same spot, same rig…

Same fish (identified by two unmistakable white marks on his back).

You’ve heard the saying “plan all the way ’till the end.” It’s a lot easier said than done.

Cheesman Canyon, CO - plenty of places to cast, but where are you going to land them?

Birthing ground of Cheesman - beautiful!

I just couldn’t let Cheesman beat me, and I am glad to say it didn’t. We packed in for a full day trip, donning several full Nalgene bottles, leaving pickup vehicles at both ends, and exploring the whole river (with emphasis on the upper canyon). Didn’t get a lot of pics, as most of the time our gear was hundreds of feet away hiding under boulders, but we did score some cute little browns - very healthy, brightly colored fish. And I am not going to say I have it dialed in - I really don’t, and Mr. Todd Pepin warned against making such claims on this place as it can come back to haunt you.

I’ll send a big thanks to Todd for hauling me in there. I won’t thank him for the soreness I feel today - we really slogged down that canyon, covering many miles with packs in tow. I’ll also thank Zoka’s Restaurant and Bar in Pine Grove, CO for pouring a great Heff (lemon or orange - your choice) and cooking a great gourmet burger, after the fact. I won’t thank them for forcing that chocolate truffle with rasberry glaze on me - I need to cut some poundage if I am going to continue doing trips like this!

Flies of the day were tan and red San Juans, trailed by RS-2s and Pheasant Tails (both smallish 18-) - best production between us was on the latter. One was taken on a 16 Prince, followed by a reddish caddis emerger, but I’m not counting it. The fish took me downstream and wrapped himself around the rig as Todd screamed from behind…”Where the hell’s your net!!!???” (it was in the pack, along with the camera). By the time I scrambled down three granite boulders the size of semi-tractors for a landing (all the while thinking that any second I was going to slip and tumble in), he had spit out the Prince (which was now snagged on the top of his head) and the emerger was stuck to his belly. No harm done (with barbless), and he scrambled off just fine - but we’re calling this one a double-foul hook just to keep things honest.

The other day, I was standing by a clear river tying on a fly when a colleague commented that I was carrying two fly boxes. Yes, I used to be a one-box fisherman. It was all about being minimalist - carrying as little gear as possible - and it extended to flies and boxes as well.

Unfortunately, I’ve grown older, and despite not feeling all that much wiser I’ve at least figured out that trout do not need to be handed any advantages whatsover. Now I carry two boxes…sometimes three. Gotta assume the weather might change, or that I will get lost and be forced to strip big streamers until sun-up (darn, that would suck, eh?).

My primary below deck box, usually found lashed to my lanyard and stuffed in a front shirt pocket:

Yea, there are a few dries in that one, but you get the idea.

Now, half dry, and half big and fast (but generally big):

People look at me funny when I tell them I have dries and streamers in the same box - they also carry like 12 boxes with them everywhere they go.

This one doesn’t follow me everywhere, but you must be prepared for monsters lurking in the shadows:

The latter two are handled carefully, as I don’t have them secured around my neck like the first, and I’ve been known to drop full boxes in Class 4 rapids.

Sometime down the road, I’ll open up my salty set, but meanwhile the question remains…what do fly boxes say about a person?

In my case, self-analysis says I’m a neat freak, in need of glasses, and broke!

Are your boxes talking to you?

This is a fish that knows they are about to be let go

Trout fishing isn’t usually about competition, but when you’re hot, you’re hot. This last Sunday, after briefly describing my morning to another fisherman - how I was hooking up on #16 Princes and #18 caddis pupae every other cast while others looked on in dismay - they noted:

“It’s a great feeling catching fish while others can only watch. Everyone on the river starts fiddling with their gear, switching flies over and over. Then, they just leave.”

Yes, it’s a great feeling.

Keeping your head, knowing it never lasts, is always the hard part.

Throwing dries to fish, while they try staying out of reach (not happening)