Time well Spent

Every year a group of friends reunites on the banks of New York's Salmon River.  As we get older and hopefully a little wiser these trips become more about our time together and less about how many fish were or were not caught.  This year I'm glad that was the case as fish were hard to come by.  In years past one could pretty much count on 1-3 pulls for 10 hours on the river.  This year it was more like 1-3 pulls for 24 hours on the river.

Instead of being discouraged I found myself doing the only thing I could, enjoying the time with my friends and fishing each run as carefully as I could.

That being said I didn't land a fish, although I did encounter a couple, but I got my ass handed to me, which was fun in and of itself.  The nymphers in our crew fared a little better, but not much.  Unfortunately I wasn't with them when they hooked fish so I didn't get any chrome pics.  Despite the slow fishing many laughs were shared, tales were told, we caught up on each others lives and shared some great meals.

Looking back at our time on the water I can't imagine a better way to spend some quality time with friends. 

Working the run

Cheese

Post lunch riverside siesta

Heading out at first light

It's Called Fishing for a Reason

My last two outings have been unusual in that it has been more fishing than catching, a lot more.  While fishing is much more than about catching, I for one love to photograph the the beautiful creatures that I'm after.  Lately, things haven't worked out in that regard, but it has provided other opportunities.  Here are a few of those opportunities from my last two outings.

 

 A good D loop

 Ready to launch

 

 Gaining wisdom from an elder

 Fish on but no pics, it broke the leader before we could get a picture

 Technically it's a fish, but not what I was after.

The First Snow, A Side Trip

I'm interrupting the tribe series to post about a recent weekend of swinging flies. A group of friends made our annual excursion northward to the shores of the Great Lakes to chase steelhead.  The company was excellent and it turned out to be a much needed break from my recent busy stressful work life.  We fished hard each day, ate well, got plenty of outside time and slept early each night. Fish were caught, time slowed down and life became simpler at least for one weekend. My batteries were recharged and I get to relive my time via the pictures that I took.  They don't sum up the entire weekend or even accurately represent what took place, but they are another form of fishing; fishing for images.  Every time I'm on the water I fishing for fish and images, for me it makes it a rich time. 

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The Spey Tribe-My Introduction

I have to say that I entered this tribe kicking and screaming the entire way.

The first time I'd ever seen a Spey rod in action was on the Deschutes River in in the late 80's. For those of you who don't know the Deschutes, it is a huge river especially by eastern standards.

 
                                           The big water of the Deschutes


I went steelhead fishing for the first time in my life with two brothers, one of whom I'd met at a Kaufman's Streamborn fly shop outside of Seattle.  His brother had guided in Alaska with the same group of guys that I guided with a year or two prior to my time up north.  We hit it off pretty well and they invited me to fish with them for three days in October.  One of the brothers fished a spey rod.  I'd heard of spey rods, but I have to admit that at the time I thought it was ridiculous to use such a rod when I could double haul an 8 wt. all day long for three days and not have my arm fall off.  Let's just say that youth brings with it lots of flexibility physically, but not necessarily intellectual flexibility, at least in my case.

                                           The first Spey rod I ever saw in action.

In order to reach all the productive water they had this small rubber dingy.  The three of us crammed into it crossing this huge river.  When I looked down I could see 20 or so feet deep into the river.  If we had tipped over, all of us would have drowned.  This mode of transportation freaked me out a few times. 
 
I got this shot because I wasn't crossing the river with them this time.  I fished on the unproductive side instead and didn't have a coronary crossing the river.
 
We didn't always have a ton of backcast room but we fired long casts all day with our single handers.  We sure worked hard for our casts. 

We fished hard for three days with nary a bite.  I had a lot to learn about swinging flies for anadromous fish.  After this outing my confidence in this method was just a tad weak.  After guiding in Alaska all summer one was supposed to catch fish lots of fish, not three days of casting practice. Oh well it was time to go to New Zealand and I didn't think about swinging flies for two more years. 


My next opportunity to swing flies was in Nova Scotia.  My buddy Steve and I headed north at the end of September for a week of fishing. We brought tents, rods, tying gear and clothes.  Mind you only single hand rods, as that was all that we had.  We ended up fishing the Margaree River, which is beautiful, easily waded little river.  There was no need for two handed rods.  In this neck of the woods the only acceptable manner with which to fish is to swing flies.   If someone is in the run you want to fish, just wait in line at the head and jump in when it's open.  Everyone works their way down a step at a time.  Just leave enough space between you and the person below so your line doesn't get near them and life is good.  It is a great way to fish and one can feel very relaxed about access as everyone gets a turn. 

There is a salmon museum on the banks of the river.  When we went there, I saw a fly that reminded me of a pattern we used in Alaska for silvers.  That pattern was like crack to the silvers.  The Alaskan flies were weighted which was a big no no in Nova Scotia so we tied up some unweighted versions and hit the river.  Low and behold we started catching fish on the swing.  We didn't really know what we were doing so we tried everything, casting slightly upriver, casting down river, mending, not mending.  Beginners mind can be a beautiful thing.  One of the things that I learned on this trip was to believe that a fish is going to hit my fly.  Having a positive attitude is more than half the battle when swinging flies for migratory fish, at least that what I came to believe.  We had a blast and the salmon were not shy about letting you know they wanted the flies as they hammered them.  One fish broke me off on the take and I was using 15 lb. maxima!  

One can see the fly stuck firmly in the nose with the hook point coming out above the fly and the thick brown maxima.  

This one was hooked perfectly in the corner of the mouth.

                                                      My best Salmon at 36 inches.

                                    Those males with the big kypes are stunning fish.

                                                    Putting the wood to one.

After two falls of fishing up there opportunities to swing flies didn't happen anymore.  My buddy Steve moved to Montana, I entered graduate school and life took me in a different direction. For a number of years fishing took a back seat and the fishing I did do was all local in western Massachusetts.  Up next my Spey awakening. 

It Ain't Easy

Made another trip northwestward to try to entice some fish to chase my swung flies with a couple of buds the other day.  We had a stretch of river in mind and found ourselves firmly planted there for the entire day.  While we were after fish we found ourselves surrounded by more than just fish.  We saw a pair of eagles chasing each other just down river, dozens of ducks, mostly Buffleheads flew up and down the river throughout the day, heard chickadees singing in the woods off and on.  The net effect was that we felt like we were in a little cocoon on the river which wasn't pierced by any others for the entire day, a real treat on such a fished river.  The fishing was typical winter steel-heading in cold water.  One had to be prepared for the weather and water conditions and to play the odds fish wise.  It pays big to be persistent, to work the run repeatedly, and to stay positive.  The rewards weren't easy to come but the rewards were there to be had. 

                     Geoff holds a small brown and proves that he isn't just a hand model anymore.

  
                                                           The results of a perfect hookset

                    

                 I like the effect of this one, too bad the head of the fly was so big in it's mouth.

                                                            My buddy Matt working the run