My weekdays have been consumed by work and school lately but when Friday evening hits I transform into what one might call a Weekend Warrior.
I had a default plan in place to fish by myself on Saturday morning but that changed when my good buddy Nick texted me on Friday.
The suns they were a rising as Nick and I made our way to the stream. Neither one of us had fished this stream before but I recently received some intel that it's been fishing well.
And fishing well it is; Nick caught this trout on his third cast.
The morning fog had not yet lifted.
Rays of sunlight burst through the trees.
I casted my Conehead Muddler up into here and stripped.
A small Brown Trout couldn't resist.
Spider webs were everywhere.
And the river flowed.
We took turns fishing since the creek was small.
Nick always thought it was his turn to fish so I just took pictures.
This was a nice little riffle.
Nick made 14 casts up into here. I sat there and counted his casts.
9:17am is traditionally the start of dry fly time.
This trout knew what time it was. The trout were rising to something. My strategy of fishing dry flies usually involves tying on a Caddis and crossing my fingers.
Nick is the master.
Another Brown down at the hands of Nick.
Nick and I had an excellent morning. Eventually we fished another another river and had good luck fishing dries there as well.
Troutstock festivities were in full force Saturday evening at the Gas Lite campground in Trimbelle. It was good to see my friends from DriftlessTroutAnglers.com.
Storms struck the area in the early morning hours of Sunday. When I woke up to my alarm at 4:30 am I looked outside and there was lightening and hail. I didn't think I would be doing any fishing that day. I had to drive my car out of this new lake when I woke up.
The Trimbelle was chocolate milk. What a ripoff.
I assumed that every stream within 60 miles was probably blown. But then I received a series of texts from Shebs that changed my life.
In less than an hour I was floating merrily gently down a stream.
Eventually this water makes it's way to a sea.
I found this dead Sculpin on the river bottom. Sculpins are a good sign of a healthy river. Except when they are dead I suppose.
I found a cold water feeder and decided to check it out.
Fern.
It was flat and shallow for a while but the cold water made me want to explore further.
Finally a nice riffle.
And a Brookie.
Then a deeper bend pool.
And a bigger Brookie.
Couldn't resist the Olive Rubber Legged Bugger.
I would find Browns as well. I thought about keeping them because I don't like Browns in Brookie streams but I didn't have my creel and my pockets were small.
Then I came to this spot. Spots like this used to be tough for me until I figured out how to fish them. I took a few tries but an aggressive Brown kept attacking my Bugger.
I finally got him. Catching fish in challenging cover is especially satisfying. I often revel at the degree of fly fishing badass which I have become.
I was so happy.
Nice to end the day with a Brookie,
This one goes out to all the other Weekend Warriors out there.
I made the trip out to Clearwater Creek this morning. I wanted to make sure that nobody had been fishing my spot this year and while I was there I figured I should probably fish a little myself.
As I stood at the back of my car putting my rod together I noticed a small swarm of Stimulater Flies nearby. This made the choosing of my starting fly very easy. While most fly fishers know that the Stimulater Pattern was designed to imitate the Stimulater Fly they are unaware of how the Stimulater Fly received it's name.
In the spring of 1680 Father Louis Hennepin was exploring the Mississippi River when his group was captured by a Sioux war party and carried off for a time into what is now the state of Minnesota. While spending time with the tribe during his imprisonment he could see the warriors mash flies into a paste which they would then rub on their sore muscles and joints as well as other body parts in need of stimulation. Later in his memoirs he would write, "It appears these natives had discovered the Flex-all 454 of the New World."
It wasn't long before I had that Stimulater tied on and a trout to hand. "One trout in the hand is worth two in the creek".
A few casts later and a slightly larger specimen.
Then I found a frog.
A nice little frog.
He was quite the poser.
Soon I would switch to the bugger in order to match the hatch.
The green worm hatch.
He had about five of these in his mouth when he chased my bugger down.
It was evident that high water had rushed through here recently.
Last week when I was fishing with Mark he said, "These purple flowers always remind me of Memorial Day". This brought back a flood of memories from when I fished with Mark last week.
We cleaned house that day.
Mark was getting them on crawlers and spinners.
I was catching them on streamers.
I was so happy.
Awakening from my daydream I found myself staring at a huge rock cliff.
And a beautiful creek gurgling it's way through the canyon.
Slug city over here.
This is called small water. Just because it gets really small doesn't mean that there aren't deeper pools upstream.
Like this one.
What a special place.
Mossy rock.
And another small brook trout on the Brown Bugger.
A spider hiding under a Burdock leaf.
This dead tree was supporting a living tree.
Talk about a legacy.
At 1:30pm I met up with the St. Paul Fly Tiers and Fisherman's Club for lunch in Martell. I joined this group last year. It was a good lunch with great friends.
Afterwards I visited another place and caught a couple like this guy.
I stumble across the strangest graffiti at times. I want to find these kids just to tell them, "It's not the trout that suck, ........".
Upon arrival to the river I was going to fish today I discovered that it was running high and dirty. Maybe fishable but a little too dirty for my liking and PLAN B seemed like an enticing option so I opted for PLAN B.
Exploring new water is one of my favorite things to do and sometimes new water just happens to be on private land. Staying in the water can be quite treacherous especially when you encounter deep mucky sections so I was glad I had my kayak with me today.
I paddled upstream in search of trout. I saw that there were cattle around so I proceeded with great caution. Cattle can be dangerous creatures especially when there are calves around. There are way cooler ways to die than being gored by a cow.
I noticed some Royal Wulffs coming off the water so I tied one on and was immediately rewarded with a Brown Trout. After hardly fishing dry flies at all the last few years I have a lot of catching up to do. It sure is fun to see them hit the dry fly.
This was a productive little run.
When I am not sitting in the kayak I break the paddle down and store it in the rod holders. I then attach the kayak to my belt with a long strap.
I'll take a Brook Trout any day. Especially on the dry fly.
American Badass.
It opened up into a great meadow. I caught a glimpse of some guy on a four-wheeler but he never saw me. I mentally prepared myself for a confrontation but one never happened. I turned around when I saw cattle too close to the river for my comfort.
Another pretty place. One thing I enjoy about fishing by myself is that I never need to rush. I sat and watched this run for 10 minutes before I made a cast. The Diet Coke I drank while standing there tasted excellent.
Eventually I switched to a Woolly Bugger when I came to a deeper bend. This guy chased it down and swiped at it twice before hooking himself on the third swipe. I thought about keeping him for dinner but ended up releasing him,
At one point I had to pull the kayak through the branches of a tree that fell into the river.
This place looked very fishy but no luck. It was getting close to noon at this point. Trout don't like the sun.
I drove around aimlessly for a while and thought about my life. Then I found another creek that looked cool. Mount up.
Creek Chub on the Brown Bugger.
Little waterfall.
Shiner?
This was a pretty section. I'll probably take some fly fishing models back to this spot when I do a spread on the Driftless for Outdoor Life magazine.
Up close on the little waterfall.
Man made waterfall.
On the Parsnip Farm we used to say, "Head High by the fourth of June". Some things never change.
