Everyone around these parts is hankerin’ for some Arkansas River caddis action. The Salida Citizen offers a preview:
The fish that we did catch seemed to be concentrated heavily in the feed lanes and foam lines, rather than up in the pockets and riffles. Further down river, it seems to be the same story, with reports of caddis hatching en masse around the Canon City area as far upriver as Parkdale. While it is spectacular to be in the middle of the hatch, it is usually the case that the more bugs there are on the water, the more fishermen there are thrashing the water trying their best to imitate them. For this reason, I usually like to avoid the hatch proper. It may lead to catching less fish, but makes for a more relaxing time, which is what its all about, after all.
Hayden Mellsop also noted that the intermittent spurts of trout frolic are what beer and coolers are for. I don’t generally drink on the river, and you can call me a girly-man for it if you like. I’m oft described as
anal-retentive and in need of significant amounts of psychotherapy analytical and methodical while fly fishing, and boozing it up mixes with my wading skills like tractor trailers full of fresh cow manure and icy mountain back roads. Ugly.
Further, I consider fly fishing serious business, and must pick a bone regarding the whole bit about relaxation as a result. I hit the water, fly rod in hand, with one goal in mind: wholesale slaughtering (a.k.a. dishing out mass helpings of embarrassment at your expense). Stay in your hole when you see me coming, because the moment you leave I’m known for hopping in and picking the joint apart. I’ll tell you what flies I used after you take a dozen plus picture of ME having the time of MY life. This is how I roll.
Right about now your probably wondering why this Gracie character is talking so much smack before a trip…”the guy is always the epitome of reservedness, is he not?” Well I’m headed Salida way in a few short hours, and plan on spending the weekend showing the finned denizens of the Arkansas River who rules the roost. There will be case upon case of [cheap domestic] beer chilling back at the ranch, and at the end of each day I’m expecting my compadres to gather around me seeking whatever tidbits that may come out of my trap they can use to improve upon their success. And handing me tasty golden beverage after tasty golden beverage, so I don’t have to interrupt the knowledge transfer for a trip to the fridge.
In other words, I’m setting the stage for a weekend of a hootin’ and a hollerin’. In reality, I stand a good chance of getting skunked.
MG signing off (to pack my bags)