I’ve moved from fly fishing purgatory straight to heaven over the last few weeks. Reports have been posted, and it’s time for the roundup. Why now you ask? Colorado River tributaries have been smoking, and most of my regular cohorts have now had a shot at them. The spawn is over, hence it’s too late for you to do anything about it. It’s the way I’ve gotta roll if I’m to ensure an ongoing free supply Jack Link’s Teriyaki Beef Steak Nuggets.
I’ve fished the Williams Fork four times in the last three weeks. The crew caught plenty of big, healthy (and extremely pissed off) brown trout the first outing, and even more brown trout
in need of anger management counseling just five days later. Every angler of noteworthiness netted at least a dozen trout, and a few extremely lucky bastards exceptionally skilled fly fishers had days in the mid-twenties to low-thirties. Flies of note included orange and yellow eggs (go figure), Rainbow Warriors, Juju Baetis, and Mercury Baetis.
On the last two occasions, rainbows ruled the roost. I suspect the majority of browns were winding up their sexcapades, and the bows were probably moving in to raid the hen house. I fished the stretch on a Saturday with the infamous Luke Bever, creator of Beve’s Better Buckskin and catcher of large carp on drowning grasshoppers. We each posted numbers in the mid-twenties, and Mr. Bever essentially napped on the bank for the last few hours of the day. The trouts’ affinity for eggs notwithstanding, we picked up a significant number of fine finned friends on baetis and caddis patterns. I returned on Sunday with master angler T. J. Marek and occasional carp wunderkind Trent Clifton. It was another outstanding day, although it was particularly good to one certain angler because they sucked up their pride and threw on a buckskin.
The last stop occurred this past Friday – the Blue River below Green Mountain Reservoir. Water management officials, oft considered the Magneto to Gracie’s X-Men, took it upon themselves to drop the flow from guaranteed death while wading level to somewhere between bring several first aid kits and don’t forget to pay your health insurance premiums on the gauge. A group of four charged downstream, along with a full parking lot of fours who arrived just a wee bit earlier. Fishing was tough, as expected. A mysterious individual, however, picked up ten or so on Graphic Caddis and Two-Tone Olive Humpbacks, and if that particular fly fisher hadn’t been so lazy with hook sets would probably have climbed close to twenty. This outlier had an excuse though – he who shall not be named (because people think he is a decent driver so they fill up his tank with glee) generally considers this section his spring season home water, and has fished it at these flows at least two dozen times in the past few years. And as you know by now, he’s prone to keeping his lips zipped until after the fact, although he did open up his fly box to all.
Alas, this past weekend was spent
playing stuffed animal tug-of-war with the Collie dog toiling away at the keyboard, part catch-up on a project leaking slightly behind schedule (who’s fault…cough…cough) and part insidious delay tactic in providing fishing reports.
You’ve now got the goods. Go into hibernation, as they’ll be worth something twelve months hence.
MG signing off (to find another fishing spot he can clean out before Christmas and not tell you about until Easter)