Tough Country Cutts

The approach of Fall gives many fishermen an itch to get back on the water. Dog days of summer have passed and the trout are bulking for winter. Rico and Bow knew the time had come to get back out. Sweet creek seemed feasible, but recent rain blew out all creeks with clay. It wasn't quite time for The X, and Uintah lakes were too busy.

Earlier that season, Bows neighbor Greg explored the area around Scofield. Greg previously fished a stretch of creek full of 12"-16" browns, but didn't get to explore it entirely. One night after a few beers and reminiscing over lost fish, Greg invited Bow to his spot. That next day they packed up and headed down.
The remoteness gave Bow a good feeling, along with the lack of cars. As they walked down to creeks edge, rocks were littered with dragonfly nymph casings. Looking closer, mayfly casings also spotted the ground. Bow tied on a size 18 PMD emerger and sought out shaded pocket water. Greg pulled out a few 12" browns; Bow only managing a few missed strikes. He moved up and saw the occasional rise, but no major hatch. Unsure what to tie on, he turned a few rocks. Squirming scuds and  wriggling mayflies dripped off every stone. Bow had a simple realization: almost every stream and river he fished had scuds or sow bugs. It can be easy to get caught up in mayflies, stoneflies and caddis, as they are featured most in magazines, photos and spend part of their lives in the anglers' view. Scuds receive less attention but comprise a large part of a trouts diet. Accordingly, he tied on a size 20 rainbow scud and worked a deep run. 15 minutes passed without a strike. Everything in Bows body said this stretch held fish, he just had to figure it out. Putting on one piece of shot, Bow also lengthened his indicator and kept casting. Moments later, Bow hit something that seemed to simply drift downstream. Putting pressure on, the line darted up, giving him a much needed shock. A speckled 12" Cutthroat soon tired and greeted an eager Bow.

With a little more reassurance, he headed upstream. A few hours and a few more fish, Bow met back with Greg, keeping two for dinner. That night Bow was unhappy he couldn't pull more fish with the abundant insect life, but relaxed knowing he would figure it out with time.

Bow mentioned the trip to Rico and they both got excited for further exploration. With only two days left of summer, they started the trek.

They were a little hesitant as local fly shops said both sections would be blown out. Staying optimistic, they spent the two hour trip focused on the unknown stretches of stream. They rolled up to a creek filled with clear, slow moving water. The storms hadn't adversely affected it, and no others were fishing. Those present were readying for the elk hunt, but had information on the stream. Most bigger fish were caught well upstream, not near the mouth of the reservoir. Rico and Bow took note, but decided to fish near the inlet anyway. After four hours and Rico sticking only one solid Cutt, the two were surprised. With such good looking water, they wondered where the fish were. They retired back to camp, sipped some Wild Turkey and tucked in for the night.

Pouring rain, bugling elk and a chill greeted them early. Inching out of their sleeping bags, they hoped the weather wouldn't create muttled conditions. Due to yesterdays limited success, it was decided to hike well upstream. Many appetizing stretches tempted Bow, but Rico had patience to keep them both on trail. After a half hour of hiking over rocks, snakes and muddy trail the rain started coming with fervor, eventually accompanied by chest-rattling thunder. Minutes later the rain subsided to return as hail. With extra speed from the wind, hail took its toll, forcing them to hide their hands and face. Another half hour, rough weather subsided but the chill became more severe. Traversing became exceedingly treacherous due to slick mud, loss of coordination, and shivering. The only upside was an increase of good holes as they trekked further along. Beaver ponds spanned the entire length of the creek: one to four feet tall every hundred yards. A little after an hour into the hike, the creek split into two different canyons: this was the place they were looking for. Rico took right and Bow took left, a spark of competition putting extra speed in their step. Rico stopped Bow, pointing out a slow bend. Bow thought nothing of it, but cast to satisfy curiosity. A few short strips later he hooked into an 11" Cutt.

From that point on every hole was productive. Large leeches were the pattern of choice, veering the Cutts across current to hit them. They leap-frogged each hole, one spotting trout for the other. Fish kept getting bigger as they moved up, stretching into the 18" range. Bow anticipated trout every hole and took caution during his approach. One shallow pond didn't seem to have activity; Bow still walking slowly, looked well ahead. A large black spot caught his eye behind a sunken boulder. There sat a robust, rosy-cheeked Cutt, still unaware of Bows presence. He took two steps back, slowly pulled line from the reel and made a few false casts. He plopped the leech well above the Cutt and let it drift. Two subtle twitches and the trout turned to swallow the leech. Bow made the all important pause for the hook set and drove the point deep. Six strong runs and a few head shakes the trout laid over to come in. A twitch of adrenaline and a smile smeared over Bows face; this trout made the everything worth it.

They kept moving, Rico sticking seven from just one stretch. Bow came up to one hole with an overhanging bush and cast. Unhappy with the presentation he brought his fly back, skimming it over the surface. A gold flash shot from the depths but disappeared. Casting again, he stripped through the same area. The flash came once more, this time connecting Bow to a beautiful Cutt.

He picked it up for the picture and noticed what looked like a partially digested fish hanging out. Bow tried removing it only to have more and more expose itself. This wasn't any fish; this trout had eaten an at least eight inch snake. Browns get notoriety as the "eat-anything" carnivores, but this Cutt had eaten a snake over half its own length.

Several hours of solid fishing took the two well into the canyon. They noticed the distance traveled only when rain pounded so hard they couldn't hear what the other was saying. Assessing the numbness: they decided to bushwhack back down. The rain sent them into trees, and the cracks of lighting kept them there. Piles of bones were also found, giving them an extra incentive not to stay too long. Soaked but not spooked, they continued on to the other canyon. A few fat Rainbows were pulled, but the biting cold made even their retrieve difficult.

Further up the activity tapered off so they decided to call it. They hit a few pockets and ponds on the way back, but none held neither size nor numbers of the upper canyon. To their right, a dead pine cracked and slammed down, showing them yet again the country they were in.Finally making it back, there was no better feeling of long sweats, soft slippers and heat from the car. One of their most intense adventures, it was also one of the most satisfying. Working hard paid off with beautiful country and even more beautiful fish. Rico even found a lone Tiger, which would have traveled 4 miles up to get there. They still wonder why those trout were in only one area, reminding Bow of a quote from his grandfather: "Fish are like gold, it's where you find 'em."

One Week at The Ranch

Spring in Utah marks the peak of fishing in many waters. Temperatures increase, insect activity picks up, and waters have had a break from pressure during winter. 

During one of his first spring outings, Bow thought about throwing midges on the Middle, or dawning his waders to fish low water on the Weber. One Saturday while driving through town, Bow noticed a fair amount of snow on grassy expanses in parks, fields, and golf courses. One course had a stream flowing through. Bow instinctively pulled over, looking for activity. Sitting a few minutes, he saw many head and tail rises at the end of a long run. Generally speaking, Bow experiences difficulty obtaining permission fishing golf courses. He looked across the way to see a familiar car pull into a driveway. After further investigation, the car belonged to a girl Bow attended college with, and her dad was a member of the golf club. Fortunately, Bow was able to fish the snow-filled course as a guest and not worry about golf balls coming his way.

He began at the edge of the course, working his way upstream using a size 18 Copper John and a size 20 Beadhead Peacone Midge dropper. His excitement began on the second cast as his indicator dipped in a deep hole. He pulled an 11" brown, and proceeded to pin two more the same size. He moved upstream, watching trout bulge and sometimes burst the surface after midge clusters. Even in steady success, Bow was tempted to tie on the first dry of the season.

Sticking to what worked, Bow dead-drifted the double rig, picking up fish in a 50/50 manner between the two flies. After fishing only a few hundred feet through the course, the sun began to disappear. Sticking 20, landing 12, Bow marched through the snow with a smile firmly cemented on his face.

That night Bow stayed in a hotel with some friends by the river, and was able to hit it again the next day. Over night it had snowed considerably and Bow feared turbidity. As he drove down to rivers edge, his concerns were apparent. The water had clarity of chocolate milk, thus techniques would have to change. He first threw the nymph rig from the day before to see the degree of murkiness. After a few flat drifts, Bow changed his approach to a size 12 White Crystal Flash Bugger. He stripped it across, swung it down, and ripped it through every deep run and hole to be found, but with no result. After 6 hours wading through knee deep snow, Bow walked upstream to find a bend with feeding trout. Focused on activity rather than terrain, Bow slowly crept around a tree until he took one small step off the bank. Slipping feet first, he found the river bottom with a loud splash. The activity quickly stopped. Already soaked, he decided to continue wading up. He finally pulled one out of principle, released it, and headed back for the day.

After leaving for almost a week, Bow returned Thursday to light snow and stained water. Trout were rising steadily, again keyed on emerging and mating midges. This scenario was similar to the first venture Saturday, so he threw the same double nymph rig. Bow cast to the run, without getting so much as a sniff. He knew these trout didn't get much pressure, surprising Bow in their selectivity. He reeled up, snipped off, and sat back to observe. Some midge clusters were picked off and others ignored, puzzling Bow. Location didn't seem to matter: many trout moved well out of their feeding lanes to sip clusters. Bow focused on a smaller sipping Brown, looking for any pattern to its rises. Bow took note of every cluster. He found those ignored were moving on the surface less so than others. Bow thought for a moment and tied on a size 20 Griffith's Gnat. He tried a few times with a dead drift but couldn't move any fish. He switched to an across and upstream presentation, occasionally stripping a few inches, imitating natural movement. First cast a Brown darted and Bow finally hooked up. Using this technique, Bow pulled three more from the hole, even landing an uncommon Cutthroat.

Bow continued up, only stopping to tie a fresh Gnat. In one bend, a seam was made between a deep run adjacent to slack water. The Gnat was cast with a wiggle of the rod tip to the slack water with the rest of the line taken in by the run. This made the fly swirl in an "S" shape. Coming through its second curve, a 17" golden flash enveloped the fly. Quick on the trigger, Bow felt the fish's weight only a moment before having it spat back. A bit disappointed, Bow chuckled at his inability to pause for the full take. He pulled a few more in redemption and headed home.

The next day brought overcast skies, silty water, and no visible hatches. Bow went from the Griffith's of yesterday to the original double nymph rig. Fishing through a few holes without success, Bow reeled up and scoped things out. He picked up a few loose golf balls and saw an object darting in his peripheral. Looking over, there was a small Sculpin sifting through silt. Intriguing Bow, he tied on a feathery Sculpin and slung it to a deep hole. First cast, an abrupt jerk bent the rod but didn't hold. Second cast Bow let the fly sink deeper, stripping in slow twitches. He made a slight pause when the rod tip darted and line went taught. Bow cocked his wrist quickly for a solid hook set. Line peeled from the reel as Bow angled his rod around bridge pilings and loose brush. After a few tense minutes the fish tired and Bow caught a glimpse. A speckled golden Brown made one final dart for the brush; Bow luckily turned the Brown on it's side and brought him in. This was the only trout he managed that day, but a solid trout it was.

Bow knew he was on to something and returned the next day. Fortunately the sun was out and the silt disappeared, unfortunately the snow did as well. This would be the last weekend open to fish the course, so Bow dialed in quickly. Sporadic hatches, few fish rising, and harsh sunlight drove the fish deep. Bow knew aggressive trout would hit a swung streamer, so he dead-drifted along the bottom, stripping the end of each run. He skipped riffles and seams to focus on deeper runs and holes. His first attempts snagged bottom, but after a few adjustments he gained confidence. Casting to a run, he saw his indicator stop again. This time he pulled back to have his indicator shoot downstream. He made a second hook set and followed the fish. Bow brought the trout in sooner than was ready, getting splashed in the face as it bolted back in. Bow continued to power-fish far up the river as he pulled at least one 17" or better per hole.

He finally came to a rocky cascade pouring into three separate, deep runs. With the same dead drift, Bow pulled another brightly spotted Brown. Casting into the middle run, Bow's indicator stopped just as thefly entered. He pulled tight with excitement only to be stopped dead. Not wanting to lose this pattern, Bow walked above the snag to pull from a better angle. Bow continued to pull until it slowly gave, as if dislodging a log. Moving slowly downstream, Bow was unable to bring it to the surface. With as much force as his Winston could handle, Bow pulled the fly to the side until it suddenly popped out, flying onto the fairway behind him. Bow reeled up and inspected his fly, finding something surprising stuck to the hook point.  Bow looked at his fly, then water, then back to his fly, in awe of what the snag actually was.

Hoping for another opportunity, Bow stayed at the falls; casting repeatedly to similar currents. Picking up a few more Browns, Bow moved above the falls for an aggressive approach. He cast across and swung the Sculpin downstream. First cast resulted in a spriteful Cutt, followed by two more in the 14-16" range.

Putting in a few more successful hours, Bow called it a day and walked back down the course. He stopped for a few at the falls, hoping he would somehow see the fish he stole a scale from. To no surprise the river kept its secret, and Bow continued on.

That week at the ranch gave him the most diverse set of circumstances in which to fish. From weather, to water clarity, to fish activity, Bow was thrown something new every day. One almost getting skunked, and the next hooking fish every five minutes. Although the course is now inaccessible, he felt lucky to explore, and satisfied with his adaptability. Beyond soaked jeans, Bow took home two very important principles: Never judge the river in a day, and always make a solid hook set; that log might very well turn into a hog.

Supporting the Spawn

If Bow can think of one time of year he dreads running into other anglers, it's during fall spawn. It both surprises and intrigues him how much variance exists with fishermens' feelings. Spawn is a time where many trout move into shallow water to reproduce. They are fixed in one position, acting aggressively towards anything threatening the nest. The easily visible, "strike anything" trout are quite vulnerable and thus more appealing to some anglers. Others however, find it immoral.

Bow started fishing at a young age and remembers different phases he went through where certain habits were slowly outgrown. At age 9 he dreamed of such a situation. During that stage, even a glimpse from a fish would have made Bow's day. One spring day when he was 12, Bow walked to a familiar fishing hole in Oregon. To his amazement it was filled with pairing trout. He hid behind bushes upstream and swung a Wooly Worm. He was astounded when all 30 swarmed to slam the fly. While unhooking the first, the trout milted, Bow having no idea what happened. He caught many more from the hole, careful to not repeat his actions from last time. He went back home, did some research and found what the trout were doing. He knew of this behavior, but didn't think trout would brook so much risk in doing so. After hitting them hard, Bow let the stream rest a few weeks until the trout returned to their old runs. He moved to Utah at 18 and fished throughout summer, hearing blue-ribbon promises at The Provo. Although the river was packed and fishermen not always cordial, Bow had a great time watching and learning. Summer transitioned to fall and Bow noticed a change in both fish and fishermens' behavior. Trout paired up shallow, and other anglers seemed more interested in the end of Bow's line. Most walked by, happily discussing the good fishing. A few others looked at Bow's egg patterns, threw a caustic glare and walked down the bank. Puzzled by the negativity, Bow asked the boys at Western Rivers to explain. They described spawn as a good time for fish to rest from heavy pressure. People become very defensive about the fly, location, and methods used to "pick the low-hanging fruit". This defensiveness is derived from the stark difference in catch ability trout exhibit. Bow initially wondered why other upset fishermen were out there to begin. It was explained these anglers believe trout can be fished for if certain flies/methods are used. For example: those anglers used everything except egg patterns, not fishing anywhere near beds. When asked, everyone at Western had a different take: some believed only the use of Glo-Worms was wrong. The hook of a Glo-Worm is so large it can easily snag trout, even penetrating the brain when hooking smaller ones.

Fishing behind beds was acceptable to some, whereas others believed in staying clear of any spawning activity. A few found egg patterns acceptable, others stating the only moral way was fishing a dry fly. Hearing so many viewpoints from wiser fishermen than Bow, he wasn't sure what to think. Rivers like the Provo are grossly over-populated, so sticking these trout all day wouldn't be of detriment to the population. Bow instead focused intrinsically, reflecting on a quote, "fishing for trout on their spawning beds is like you making love and getting slapped in the face with a cheeseburger". This made him think of all other times during the year these trout are available, and provide a greater sense of accomplishment when caught. Bow discussed the issue with Rico, looking for a less disdainful perspective. "Being a bass fisherman, each year around mid April I headed to a small pond near town several times a week. I walked around the pond scanning the shoreline for bedded females. As the weather and water temperature warmed, I began to see more and more bass. The first I saw in the shallows were small males preparing nests. A few days later I saw the same males guarding their nests, accompanied by large females in three to four feet of water. During this period bass were easy targets. I simply took a large jig and crawled it through the bed, imitating a bluegill/crawdad attempting to steal eggs.  Both male and female bass did their best to pick up the jig and move it out of their nest. Much research has been done on taking bass from their nests, and whether or not it disturbs their mating cycle. It is believed pulling a bass from its nest is harmless, often times tournaments are held around this period. Years passed since I fished bedded bass and am beginning to feel guilt for my actions. Simply put: the large female makes herself vulnerable for the good of her young. Laying them shallow maintains proper temperature and sunlight, and she stays with them until they can survive on their own. I now feel out of respect to the fish, nests should be left alone."

After reflecting on thoughts of his own and others, Bow found middle ground. Instead of retiring the rod for a few months, Bow decided to target Cutthroat and Tiger trout. Cutthroat are active during fall to fatten up for winter, and Tigers go through spawning motions(including severe aggression)despite sterility. Bow personally doesn't mind fishing non-spawn trout in a large river as the Provo, but instead chooses the path of least resistance. If Rico and Bow can impart advice to assuage any guilt, it would be: fish however you like, whenever you like, and wherever you like, maintaining respect for others, the land, and of course, the trout.

Tyrannosaurus Tigers-Part 2

Rico and Bow settled in after a remarkable day of fishing. The sun was settling in the trees, and the two made their way back to set up camp. As twilight set in, Bow noticed gentle dapping at the surface and the occasional swirl. Rico was still paddling back in his tube, and also noticed the commotion. He tied on a size 24 green midge pattern and began casting to the rises. He was first ignored, but tweaked his presentation until he started steadily pulling in youthful Cutts. Bow still had his Spider tied on, and focused on larger swirls. It was difficult to anticipate the direction, as the bulges and splashes were random. He cast to vegetation edges, bringing the fly back with slow twitches until he noticed a wake from behind the fly. He felt a hard jerk and set the hook, only to have it whip past his face. Collecting his mistake from the bushes, Bow tried again, desperately wanting to see how big these cruising fish were. He saw another swirl and cast a foot next to it. The wake turned in the flys direction, but again Bow put the Spider back in the bushes. Rico was doing well not laughing at Bow's behavior, pulling in even more Cutthroats. By the time Bow got his gear out, the sun was down and the activity had stalled. Admitting temporary defeat, Bow walked back and set up camp. The two relaxed in the usual fashion: seasoned rice cooking over a camp burner, sipping wine from the bottle, and enjoying the inevitable discussion of religion. With full bellies and a solid buzz, they retired to their sleeping bags for the night.

                                         

The next day came with frost on the tip of Bows nose. He arose to see the lake again bubbling with activity. Putting on his slippers, Bow grabbed his rod and crept to the waters edge. Minutes passed with only rings from smaller trout rising. Keeping a close eye to the weed edge, he noticed a bulge and cast beyond it. He brought the spider back with a few small strips until another bulge came, and Bow's line went taught. Instantly, the fish buried itself until Bow could only feel a faint tug under the amassed weight. Trusting the 0X fluorocarbon and hopping out to a few rocks, Bow managed to free the fish enough to turn its head into open water. Expecting an exhausted Tiger, the trout instead ripped line from the reel, fighting a few more minutes. Surprised by a solid fight, Bow wasn't sure what to expect. A colorful Cutt greeted him, flashing its bright red slits with each breath. Bow cleared some of the weeds and let the fish back to recover. A quick high five, and the two started up the fire for breakfast.

They relished the last of their bacon fried rice and prepared for a promising day. Rico hopped in his tube, and Bow down the bank. Fishing a few minutes, the two noticed a bit of murkiness in the water. With the absence of excellent morning fishing, Bow walked over to the outlet and saw a great deal of detritus built up, blocking much of the water. Bow began removing it, instantly noticing an increased flow. A few minutes passed and the flowing water began to clear, bringing with it rolling snails, wriggling chironomids, and a few fat scuds. Bow continued, pausing to loose the scuds into the water. As he grabbed a large, dripping heap, a wave of water splashed his face and the entirety of his vest. Falling back, Bow was in shock with what happened. He looked in front of the outlet grate: three wide Tigers and a Cutt were picking up food as it came, completely ignoring Bow. Occasionally one would turn and attack the other, creating bulges and splashes in the shallow water. With the amount of work Bow had put in stalking these fish, it took some time to get used to a herd of 22" trout two feet from him.

 

Resisting temptation, Bow slowly backed away, knowing the inevitable guilt would overwhelm him from high-sticking these trout. As he walked along, there was a distinct dark stretch in the bottom of the lake, appearing to be a creek channel. With the improved visibility, Bow also noticed a submerged log-roughly two and a half feet-resting on the side of the creek channel. Seeing it as good cover, Bow cast the spider and let it sink in front of the log. As it was stripped past, the log proceeded to turn and slowly fade into the dark of the channel. Bows heart stopped, the reality hitting of what that log actually was.


After fishing a few hours with no success, Bow headed over to the inlet to fish the same area the Tiger was caught yesterday. Fishing up and down the length of the bank several times, Bow got strikes, but couldn't seem to pick up any fish with his spider. He switched to a still-fished chironomid and midge emerger presentation. Scoping for rises, Bow tried to lead the fish about 10 feet. He picked up a few small Cutts, but nothing big arose. He put down a long cast, at this point aiming randomly. As the flies landed, a huge splash erupted and Bows line went tight. Surprised, but not caught off guard, Bow applied pressure and prepared for a long battle. Spitting line off the reel, the trout dove to deeper water. As each second passed, Bow became increasingly nervous: the big Tiger from yesterday bent a 2/0 hook to a 90 degree angle, and today he was pulling against size 14 and 20 light wire hooks. He let up on the drag, giving the trout another 20 foot run. Fortunately the fish tired soon after, giving Bow a chance to close the 60 foot gap. As it came in, he could clearly see the vibrant transition of green to orange: another gorgeous Tiger. Bow removed the flies and noticed the tippet connecting the two had snapped, leaving only the chironomid stuck to a small piece of skin on the outside of its jaw. He took a quick pic and released the Tiger, hands shaking from adrenaline.

At this point the sun shone well above the peaks, and the fishing slowed thereafter. Bow rendezvoused with Rico at the outlet cove, still tubing and with fair success. Rico missed one as he was talking to Bow, shooting the length of line behind him. As he prepared to cast, his rod bent and a trout jettisoned to the surface. Both laughing, they decided that was good fish to tie up the day. The two headed home feeling accomplishment, pride and knowing: if there is a meaning to life, that trip was it.