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Michael Gracie

Let’s close this trip out on a good note

INTREPID PHOTOG (WITH THREE CAMERAS, FOUR RIGGED RODS, FIVE LENSES, AND A SIX PACK OF MODELO IN TOW): This looks like a good spot for closing out this trip. I need a really good shot, so don’t splash up the pool when you step in. You’ve been fishing that same fly all weekend … sure you don’t want to change it up? How ’bout a dropper?

YOURS TRULY (WITH ONE PARACHUTE ADAMS, TWO FEET OF 6X TIPPET, AND A THREE WEIGHT RADIAN IN HAND): I’m good.

INTREPID PHOTOG: If there is anything here, it’s gonna be sitting on the right edge. Deeper over there. Sun’s at your back, so watch your shadow. Be careful of that big log behind you. Wanna cast this rod?

YOURS TRULY: Got it. Nope.

Thirty seconds later …

INTREPID PHOTOG: Dude, where’s your fly?

YOURS TRULY: (Sigh)

Another minute goes by …

YOURS TRULY: Satisfied?

MG signing off (because it felt like work, but business was good)

Photo credit: James “You Really Need A Dropper” Snyder

Angler credit: Michael ” No I Don’t” Gracie

Not a drop of whiskey was spilled during the production of this fishing report

Cap-Lures - The Future of Fly-Fishing

The Future of Fly-Fishing (click)

Winds in excess of 35 mph battered the motel room window – we woke having consumed barely an hour’s sleep each as a result. The weatherman declared the speed of the moving air would subside instantly after 9am. The optimistic one reminded the crew that the suffering would soon end. Swung weighted flies across from a slate wall barrier until 10:15, and while marching to open ground thereafter the breeze hit a solid fifty and stayed that way. Worse, it was now coming from all directions, simultaneously. Draw a circle? Lay down a “D”? Lob a poke? It didn’t matter – by lunch countless flies had hit the back of the head. The tally was one grab.

Moving upstream didn’t help matters – the banks were crowded under the same guise – and before the sun had even shown intentions of setting we were charging towards less stressful circumstances. Still wadered up from the ride, we picked up a meager supply of fish before dark, thoughts of pizza, booze, and bedding consuming us (and soon visa versa) thereafter. A dessert is discovered, bellies are filled, and whiskey (which is purchased in quantity because of county tax differentials) is taken down in moderation pending concoction of some arbitrage play. Still, couldn’t stop thinking about the potential efficacy of swinging Cap-Lures.

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Fly fishing the Grey Reef on Easter weekend

fromthedam A couple of buddies and I hit the Grey Reef this past weekend. Easter weekend to be precise. The flush happened just the week before, and there was a full moon last Thursday/Friday. Those with families pulled teeth (i.e. begged on hands and knees) for the chance to escape. I just had to find a dog sitter, and drive. The stars were aligned, and everything worked out just dandy.

theprofessor Craig “The Professor” Berg and I shot down early Friday morning and were in the water by noon. As would turn out to be the case all weekend, we started off very slow. After a few hours I took it upon myself to get friendly, and netted a neighbor’s fish that had gotten a little too far downstream from him. He returned the favor by spilling the beans – the fish had been feeding on the color red for days, and he pulled out his camera to show me the nine-plus pounder he’d picked up on a red Copper John just the day before. We thanked him for the tips, and proceeded to tie black flies on.

The rest of the day was markedly improved – Grey Reef trout love those little Red Rock Worms. Craig picked up a couple of fish, and then we moved cross dam to a vacant stretch of water. I turned up the heat, and by the end of the day we had about fifteen netted between us, caught on a combination of red worms and CJs, as well as little (like #22) black UV-winged emergers when a sweet midge hatch popped up.

Satisfied we had the place somewhat dialed, we popped by the motel to drop off our gear and then headed for grub. Our first mistake of the trip – ordering the ultra-super-hell-fire-and-brimstone flavored wings – was followed by a couple of Bud Lights each and a pizza we ate but didn’t really enjoy because our taste buds were burned clean off. Later that evening Corey “Check out those ducks…damn I wish I had a 12-gauge instead of this fly rod” Christensen arrived, and quickly declared us schmucks. In other words, there was no beer in the fridge and Corey wouldn’t stand for it – a jaunt to the drive-though liquor store solved that problem. We wound up the evening doing twelve ounce curls and introducing our Australian professor friend to UFC. He still thinks rugby players are tougher than those fighters, and we still think he has some kind of island nation inferiority complex. That issue would soon resolve itself too.

duckhunter Saturday morning was much of the same – cloudy and cold in the morning, with sun breaking through just long enough for us to thaw our hands and tie new flies on. Corey jaunted off on his own, we think to scope out the bird hunting opportunities (he was certainly dressed for the occasion) while Craig and I tested some of the same pools/runs that had produced for us the previous afternoon. It started off slow despite our switch from black to red, and by noon it was time to grab some burgers. We stopped at the little diner across 220 from the Reef access road and got our chow, along with a pretty interesting discussion with the great lady serving us about all the ghosts that haunted the restaurant, the highway, and the river. By the end of the day we had a couple of dozen fish released between us – that which goes bump in the night turned us to that which goes bump on the fly – and the fish thankfully weren’t spooked. I got a chance to piss the crew off too, with a eight fish run topped off by a roundabout 6.5 pound rainbow, just before quitting time. It was all good, as I lost the sleeping arrangements rock-paper-scissors game for the second night in a row soon thereafter.

Our last day on the water (Sunday) reverted to friendly competition once again. By lunchtime Craig had hooked up four times, while the Duck Hunter and I were empty handed. The Professor tried to keep his cool, but by the time we were halfway through our sandwiches the cockiness was beginning to show through.  Post-meal didn’t seem to be faring too much better either, with Craig picking up two more before we’d even wiped our mouths.  We’d been neglected by the Easter Bunny, and it was high time we filled up the baskets on our own. Corey and I positioned ourselves on each side of the flow, near the tail end of a slow running pool. The next hour was spent giving our furry little friend the middle finger…

easterbasket
Screw the chocolate rabbits – I’ll assemble my own basket…full of rainbows

Even though some of the crew were a little miffed that they could fish a hole for a half hour with no luck, then turn it over to another member (we won’t name names…wink wink) only to watch in disgust as six sum odd fish were pulled out of the section in the next half hour (using yellow scuds), we are all still friends (at least I think so, but it’s still subject to interpretation). However, should “the Professor” ever need help finding a new hobby, I’m suggesting he become an outdoor photographer – I’ll happily take the role of subject matter. As responsibilities back home won out over the clock, we were left wanting for more of the Reef. But we took with us lasting memories of an outstanding weekend, exemplified by a parting shot from the master cameraman…

endingthedayonagoodnote

MG signing off (to plan next year’s trip to the Reef)

Editor’s note: for those interested, there are more photos in this gallery.