Tyrannosaurus Tigers-Part 1

    Around the fly fishing community, Autumn is peak time to hit some of the best, most controversial fishing across Utah. Water levels are lower, fish are fattening up, and many have started the spawn. With productive fishing everywhere, Rico and Bow wanted to hit somewhere with larger fish. With the desire to avoid crowds, they headed out in search of Tigers. This subspecies of trout/char is known to become extremely aggressive, brightly-colored, and kype-jawed during the spawn. This, coupled with faster growth rates and sterility creates the perfect scenario to hunt Fall fish without coming under scrutiny of other anglers.
                                  

    4am came quickly after three hours of sleep, but no coffee was needed. Bow packed his gear and headed to pick up Rico. The sun was far from up, but Rico's smile could be seen from his driveway. Rico decided to bring his float tube this time, anticipating the trout to be deep most of the day. They headed on their way, discussing what they heard from fellow anglers, and speculating where the Tigers would be feeding.

    A few long hours and dirt roads came and went before they finally pulled up to the lake. The sun was barely creeping over the mountain top when Bow and Rico were able to make first cast. Throwing big streamers, Rico and Bow imitated the smaller trout present in the lake. Within the first ten minutes Bow hooked into a Cutt, and shortly thereafter heard an odd noise followed by Rico's laughter. Focused on his own fishing, Bow headed down the bank looking for a rise. Nothing seemed to be active, so Bow headed to the inlet to meet up with Rico. Upon asking about the laughter, Rico pulled out his phone to show a fiery, long-jawed tiger he hooked on a brown bugger. This was Rico's first big Tig, and Bow was happy to see the excitement he felt when he landed his in May.  

                       

    The two headed down the bank, seeing subsurface swirls. There were also a pair of tubers cruising along the shoreline. Upon seeing Rico and Bow, they paddled quickly to hit the spot first. Not liking this, Bow prepared to cast at the tubers, indicating space was needed. Rico instead started conversation with the two, getting info, and telling them we would wait for them to fish through. Bow was not happy about this, but kept his mouth shut as he walked down the shore from where they were fishing. The tubers pulled out two smaller Cutts as they passed by, further increasing Bows blood pressure. When all was finally clear, Bow cast a Platte River Spider, imitating a small cutthroat. Retrieving his fly in short strips, he paused, hearing the whoops of the tubers pulling in more Cutts. He began again with an especially hard jerk, only to have the fly hit something solid and unmoving. With an aggravated sigh, Bow tried to free his fly, until the snag started pulling line from Bows hand and breached the surface. Hearing the loud splash as the trout landed, all eyes went to Bows bent-in-half seven weight. Hoping a good hookset was made, Bow fought anxiously as Rico scrambled over. Seeing the fish's size first, Rico told Bow he would jump in at the word. Several agonizing minutes passed until the trout finally rolled over and came in. A long, lightning-sided Tiger greeted Bow, with the biggest teeth he had seen on a trout. The Tiger looked exhausted, so Bow took ten to make sure the fish would swim away under its own power. Reeling up to check his fly, Bow saw the hook bent, sticking out from the feathered body. Retiring the fly, Bow re-tied and continued to fish the rest of the weekend.

     Bow was entirely shocked he hooked and landed this trout. Once the excitement wore off, he realized this trout may not have come to be had Rico not been there to stop him fishing in front of the other people. Maybe good Karma, or just a little bit of luck, Bow holds this trout as testament to polite and respectful actions towards other fishermen, regardless of circumstance.

Big Patience in Little Cottonwood

 There really isn't any discrete way to tell when you've become a good fisherman. One day you walk up and pin every fish in the river, the next, you can't seem to sight fish an eight-incher. So much of day to day fishing relies on variables we as fishermen have no control over. When the day is almost over and there is nothing to show for it, questions start popping up. Was there a cold front that passed through? Did this stretch get hit by someone ten minutes prior? Did that child walking on the path just spend five minutes throwing rocks at rising trout? So much of these unknowns can be all but mentally overwhelming when the fisherman can't seem to connect. Such was the case at Little Cottonwood. Rico had never fished up the canyon, and Bow wanted a taste of gin clear water, tall pines, and big granite boulders. He was excited to see how the runoff changed the structure of the stream, looking for new and different pockets. They tied on size 18 Humpys and Royal Whulffs, imitating the grasshoppers and ants surrounding the stream.  

With the water low and clear, they approached a shallow stretch downstream and away from the bank. Looking for any movement, they finally spotted a slow bulge in the surface: a plump rainbow taking an ant from the surface. Bow made first cast and buttered the Humpy down the middle of a small run. Frozen with anticipation, they watched the bushy dry bob downstream without a single rise. Bow cast again, but still, nothing. On his fourth try he was able to whip it under an over hanging bush, rewarded with a subtle sip of his fly. Reacting just a moment too late, Bow missed the trout and gave Rico a go. Keeping a low profile, he crept a bit upstream to the top of the run, placing his fly in the pocket water adjacent to a boulder. A few anxious seconds passed by, when a plump rainbow came up and snatched his fly. Once landed, Rico and Bow marveled over how fat the trout was, despite hearing the stream was unhealthy. They continued up, hitting pocket after pocket, run after run, but the trout just didn't seem to be there. Looking in the usual and unusual places, Bow took his time walking upstream. He spotted a small hole in the shade of a cottonwood, and sat down to observe. Along the back side, water slowly picked up speed before it cascaded over a few granite stones, making it a smooth, rounded overflow. Bow looked a little longer to see sporadic bulges-but no fish- in this smooth part of the water. His trout sense tingling, Bow went to his knees to get a few casts in. The water below made a drag free drift almost impossible, but once he managed three seconds, a thick, pot-bellied Rainbow swallowed his Humpy. Feeling much better landing his first fish, Bow continued upstream, taking his time. When he took a break to meet up with Rico, his fish count was one, compared to Rico's three. They continued up, but Bow headed into the woods to get a different view. Feeling too much pride to ask, Bow looked on as Rico hit the same holes he had prior. Rico stayed at each hole longer, throwing cast after cast. With half the holes hit, he would end up landing or rising a trout after 10 minutes. They continued on, looking for familiar holes from last season to hold more sizable Brookies. A stretch of three deep pockets appeared, again they looked for signs of trout. A few minutes went by without a rise, so Rico and Bow leapfrogged each pocket. When they met at the final hole, neither had pulled any fish downstream. A little flustered, they joked at their skill, or seemingly lack thereof. They came to the end of their path and spotted a few feeding Brookies under the surface. Staying very aware of their profile and fly placement, they were each able to fool one more fish before calling it a day.
 They headed back, letting intuition and the smell of burning brakes guide them to the road. Despite scratching their heads from seemingly missed opportunities, both Bow and Rico were pleased to see the health of the stream in a stable, prosperous state. Bow read a number of passages on the Little Cottonwood, painting a morose picture. The canyon suffers from the tailings of mining from the early 1900's, as well as hugely fluctuating water temperatures and levels. Despite this, all trout caught that day were exceptionally plump, and spotted in high numbers throughout the stream. It is considered a "put and take" fishery, as it is stocked with smaller Rainbows. However, Rico spotted trout 1.5" and under in some of the slack water to the side of the stream. Trout this size aren't mature enough to be planted, indicating the trout are replenishing their own population. The current condition of this stream is much better than expected, with many tubby trout taking terrestrials with alacrity. However, the nature of the streams size and location make it extremely sensitive to angling. This in mind, Bow only ventures through this area once a year in September. Also being the time of Oktoberfest at The Bird, they wasted no time spending the rest of their day deeper in the Canyon, for a cold stein and a game of Cornhole.

"Rain, hail, sleet or snow, up the mountain I will go."- Bow

The weather was questionable to proceed with Friday's plans for an overnight trip to Red Pine Lake and the idea of heading elsewhere for the weekend briefly crossed my mind after viewing the weather forecast.  A strong storm from the south was scheduled to hit the Salt Lake valley sometime Friday afternoon and remain through the weekend.  I informed Bow of the forecast around noon and asked if we needed an alternate plan but he simply replied, "Rain, hail, sleet or snow up the mountain I will go."  At this response I understood his determination to proceed with the plans to chase high alpine trout.
The weather was clear when we arrived at the White Pine Trail Head but showed signs that things were about to change.  With the nights gear on our back we began our hike to the lake and towards the storm.  The rain held off for most of the hike and the cool temperatures made the trek very enjoyable.  With only 1.5 miles remaining, rain began to fall and continued through our arrival and camp search.  We settled on a site on the east side of the lake with adequate cover and over 200 ft. away from the water as required by the Forest Service and Watershed rules.
Because of our camp's location was higher on the ridge we started the next day at Upper Red Pine Lake.  I had been informed that this lake holds a steady population of large Bonneville Cutthroat and after seeing the lake's depth and large amounts of scuds and caddis I understand how this high alpine lake could sustain large fish.
The storm held off for the period of time we fished at the upper lake but high winds made it difficult to cast and locate fish.  We ventured down the drainage to Lower Red Pine Lake to continue our search.  Arriving at the inlet, our hopes were high and we quickly began casting but the rain began to fall. Our efforts resulted in several strikes but none landed..  With our gear quickly saturating and temperatures dropping we made the painful decision to leave the lake and its illusive Bonneville Cutthroat.  We were a little disappointed with the fact that the conditions kept us from pursuing the trout but we understood the risks when we left the trailhead and continued for the sake of adventure.
On the way back to the trailhead the rain briefly stopped and we noticed a small outlet stream at the bottom of the canyon.  We set down our packs to have a look in hopes of spotting a trout.  As we approached a pool, several scattered and we quickly unpacked our rods and set up to fish.  We split up and Bow headed downstream with a midge pattern and I upstream with a caddis pattern.  Each pocket fished provided a strike and several cutthroats and one brook were landed. 

Up Sweet Creek

Most outdoorsman similar to Rico and Bow like to think they're completely prepared walking into nature with a fly rod, backpack, and plenty of ambition. Generally everything works out, with nothing more than a few bruises and scratches suffered from the trip. There are those rare occasions where mother nature gets bored and decides to throw a mix of wild animals and inclement weather at the fisherman. One such case happened to Bow and friend Cody. Late last October in the backwoods of eastern Utah, many were out hitting the last of the elk season. Cody found a stretch of stream during one of his youth group adventures earlier that year. He saw slow curves and serene holes, tipping him off to big fish. He wasn't equipped with his rod, but took note of the spot. Bow was fortunate enough to receive an invite, and they headed out that weekend. This being an experimental spot, their female counterparts joined the adventure. As the red rock turned to granite, a look of nostalgic excitement came over Cody's face. He pointed to a pullout and they hurried to get the gear out of the car. Every five seconds was a hasty glance at the water until the rods were up and the flies on. Bow tied on a bushy, black bunny leech, adding a pinch of lead at the head. At this point the girls knew what to expect, realizing camp would either be set up by them, or in the dark upon Cody and Bows return.

They slowly made their approach, and with the nod of his head, Bow signaled Cody to make the first cast. Bow looked on not knowing what to expect, when a flash of gold came from the depths. Cody's line went tight, his reel whined, and his rod bent in a beautiful arch: the first fish was on. The fight was kept deep until Cody was able to get his line over a submerged log. He was rewarded with a beautiful golden cutthroat, looking as though it had never been caught before. With two big grins and a high five, they crept down to the next bend. Bow unhooked his leech and made a long cast, letting the fly sink. Three small strips later he felt the rod jerk from his hands as a Cutt came from below. Bow fought the fish to the shallows only to see three others following close behind. Cody and Bow looked at each other, wondering how many fish could populate such a small stream. From there they leap-frogged each bend, pulling out eager Cutts with each cast. The sun was almost set, so they headed back up looking forward to warm tents and a calm night.

Bow woke up with the hair standing on the back of his neck. Still pitch black outside, he looked out and saw five large, black objects surrounding the campsite. They weren't making any movement, but Bow wasn't any less tense. After several, eternal minutes, one of the black objects inched closer to his tent. Bow reached for his knife and calmly woke up his girl next to him. Quieting her whimpers, he assured her things would be fine. Ready to unzip and scare whatever was outside, a familiar smell hit him. Something very similar to manure wafted through the tent, confusing yet comforting Bow at the same time. The large black object revealed itself to be none other than a dairy cow. Bow unclenched his knife, and laughed a little as he caught his breath. And although taking the better part of an hour, he was able to fall back asleep for the night.

The next day came with much anticipation as Cody and Bow rigged up for round two. Despite the warm weather the previous day, there had been rain, and frost on the tents as they woke up. Undeterred, they rigged up and made a game plan. Giving the original stretch  a break, they headed upstream and split the radios with the girls. The same promise of downstream held true on the venture up: every hole filled with Cutt after Cutt. They neared the end of a fishable section when static started through the radio. Muffled cries came through, and Cody made out the word "moose". Realizing the seriousness of the situation, they reeled up and ran back down to camp. The girls were huddled behind a tree, but there was nothing else around. Looking at the them perturbed, Bow asked why they were crying. They pointed to the ground, then the creek. Two sets of large moose tracks ran through the campsite not two feet from the fire pit, and the creek was muddied right where they led. A bull moose and  cow  had been spooked from the gunfire and sprinted through as the girls were cooking. After things settled, the trout called Cody and Bow back upstream. Landing two more, they heard the girls again over the radio. Not hesitating, they ran back expecting to divert the attention of angry moose. When they came to the camp there were no moose, but instead a pacing black bear across the creek.

The bear seemed curious of what was cooking, rather than those cooking it. He wouldn't cross the creek, but made everyone afraid to even break eye contact. The bear became more restless, and Bow thought on any experience he might have with this situation. He knew black bears were generally skittish to aggresive behavior, and he remembered his girl brought her .380 just in case. He had Cody yell at the bear while he quietly made his way toward the tent. The bear stopped pacing, with a dead-lock on Cody. Bow hurried to ready the pistol and chamber a round. He took a few steps toward the creek, trying to fight the shake from his aim. As much as Bow didn't want to shoot a curious animal, he didn't want to be in the newspaper with his three friends. Steadying the barrel he took a few more steps to the waters edge, minimizing the number of shots necessary. When he and Cody made it to this point, the bear put it's head down, paused, and slowly backed away. There was no hurry, just a slow meander away from the creek, as if nothing happened. Shaking, Bow scanned the area, finally ejecting the round. After calming down, Cody and Bow decided to bring both gun and girls this time upstream.

They broke through the brush with a little more hesitancy, but the fear made the fishing that much more desirable. There were smaller holes and a few shallow riffles, but no possible honey holes in sight. They trekked over dead fall and through marsh, keeping an eye far downstream. Before long, they ended up in a small clearing with dark water and a beaver dam. The two looked at each other, knowing this hole would make the trip. Paying his respect, Bow again gave Cody first cast. Not two seconds into his retrieve, Cody had a jolting hit, but couldn't keep it pinned. A few more casts and an excited woop from Cody signaled a big fish. One of the most exciting 45 second periods of the trip, Bow did everything he could to direct the girls, aid Cody in the fight, and finally get a picture. The biggest smile Bow had ever seen from Cody happened as he held up a gorgeous, golden, kype-jawed Cutt. And despite a tinge of jealously, Bow was ecstatic to see this fish pulled out. Cody released the trout, watching it saunter back to its hole.

The two landed a few more fish, then headed back to camp before any animals joined them again. They were all a little wary when they broke down camp, even jumping when chipmunks scurried by. Mother nature gave Cody and Bow a reality check they would remember, embellish, and tell to all their friends. They would forever realize: wilderness is a lot closer than you think.

ATST 2

One of the more important techniques to learn, reach casting is quite useful. This cast not only involves reaching, but angling with respect to you body. This is used for difficult cross-currents, overhanging trees, and drifting around large boulders.

2. Reach Casting: The standard cast is parallel to the direction the fisherman is facing, with line shooting horizontally, and falling vertically. When trying to avoid an obstacle or ensure a drag free drift, often times the cast needs to be made at the right angle to get the fly in the feeding lane. This portion of the reach cast  is easy once there is comfort with the basic cast, only requiring practice. The second part of this cast has to do with  line turnover. Depending on how much power is put into the cast, the line can make a "c", placing the fly around an obstacle, or avoid line drifting over the fish.

American Fork Canyon

                                   
Last weekend TGTAF traveled to American Fork Canyon to scout its lakes and streams.  The first stop was Silver Lake Flat.  Rico and Bow spent two hours at the inlet of this high alpine lake enjoying the views and landing a few fish.  The most effective method of taking trout was to slowly retrieve a size 16 Bronze Collared Midge. TGTAF then headed down the canyon to Tibble Fork Reservoir.  Though the reservoir was recently planted with trout, Rico and Bow passed on fishing there due to the crowds.  The duo then tried their luck in both the middle and lower sections of American Fork Creek and connected with just one trout, a small brown trout on a Bronze Collared Midge.  The fish total for the day was 1 brook, 1 brown and 3 rainbows. 

 

All the Small Things: Part 1

Fly fishing for a number of years can make you oblivious to so many small things that make the difference in an angler of experience, and one just starting out. Fly size, placement, action, method fished, tippet length and diameter, reading water, mending line, and etiquette are all part of an anglers train of thought while pursuing fish. So much of what we do and take pride in as fishermen comes not from the gear we have, but how effectively we use it. Most of these things require time, patience and curiosity, or at least fishing with someone who does. Bow has read over 20 books relating to these aspects of fly fishing, and found a few that can be described to help those pursuing better technique.

Mending Line: Always seeing professionals do it so smoothly, and only reading simple ways to accomplish it, Bow settled for mediocrity in his mending. One day, a tough cross current that held thick trout was not allowing a natural enough drift to pick up any fish. With trout bulging at the surface, Bow had enough, and chose  to focus his energy on making smooth, subtle mends to extend his drift into the trouts' feeding lane. 
1. How To: When the belly of line forms from the differing current, a mend must be made to keep the drift natural. It is always beneficial to do this proactively: The less of belly there is, the easier it is to mend, and the more slack there is to prevent pulling the fly out of position. The physical act of mending should use the wrist and entirety of the rod. Pointing the rod tip where the line enters water (taking any slack), the line should be gently lifted, and smoothly accelerated rotating the wrist (as if flipping over a cup without splashing water). The final note should be made to flick the rod tip during this process to help carry the line. When it comes to practicing, instead of memorizing the details, focus on the phrase, "point, roll, flick".  It took Bow years to effectively do this, and is still improving.

Being Part of The Backcountry

TGTAF has joined Backcountry Hunters and Anglers in support of their effort to preserve aquatic ecosystems in Utah and throughout North America.  Backcountry Hunters & Anglers "seeks to ensure America's outdoor heritage of hunting and fishing in a natural setting, through education and work on behalf of wild public lands and waters."

Green Snow on the Weber

Sunday started at 5am with a cruise up Parley's, weighing the pros and cons of the Middle bwo's, or the Weber caddis. Due to inconsistent water levels and the inevitable elbow to elbow fishing, they kept on I-80 for the smaller Weber water. Bow noticed some frost on the hillside and looked at the temp. gauge to see it was a surprising 28 degrees. Bundling up, Rico waded out and threw a large Copper John. He sunk into a few good whitefish, but wanted browns. The water was low, and the sun high, so they focused on deeper holes. Around eleven, Bow noticed rocks along the bank thickly spotted. Upon closer inspection, those spots were size 16 Mother's Day Caddis. When noon came, the bushes vibrated with insects, and Bow noticed about 40 resting on his jacket. No luck from the San Juan nor the Platte Spider, so he took natures hint and tied on a green, size 18 caddis emerger. By 1, the air was full of green fluttering flies, hitting Rico and Bow in the face like Little Cottonwood snowflakes. At that point breathing through the mouth was risky, and the occasional caddis found his way into a nostril. As much as Bow loved their presence, he couldn't help but succumb to the distraction. Reeling up to shake off as many as he could, he also noticed Rico was the landing pad for about a hundred of them. Undeterred, Rico kept casting, waiting for his first brown. Crawling up to a few holes, Bow was able to get two smaller fish. And further up, the river bordered a large Alpaca farm. Being respectful of  the landowner, Bow stayed within the high water mark and spotted a good hole. At it's head were boulders 6-12 inches apart, requiring precise placement. Making a few false casts to dial in angle and distance, Bow noticed a white, bushy animal running towards him. Too small to be an Alpaca, but Bow was intrigued. He made out a head, tail and soon straightened up when he heard barking. It was not slowing, so Bow picked up a large stick. Stopping three feet away, a huge, puffy white dog barked and snarled. As much as Bow wanted it unconscious, he knew it belonged to the landowner, and didn't want to lose access for everyone over something he could walk away from. However, determined to catch a fish, he held the stick in one hand and his rod in the other, with much more attention to fly placement. Three casts later his indicator stopped just past a boulder, then made it's way back upstream. Setting the hook, line started zipping off his reel as the trout headed back behind the boulder. Now shifting both hands to the rod, Bow yelled at the dog while trying to get the fish back to open water. Rico heard all the commotion and ran up to help.
 He managed to scare off the dog long enough for Bow to land the thick, healthy brown. This trout made the effort worthwhile, so Rico and Bow headed back downstream for less stressful fishing. Still without catching a trout, Rico was determined to break his whitefish streak. He saw a bulge in the surface and made a few casts. Bow, being much less patient, headed downstream only to glance back and see Rico's rod bent from a dancing brown. He brought in his first one of the day, breaking the spell and subsequently landing three more on a caddis emerger before heading home. With the hatch this good, Rico and Bow are sure to be back this week with plenty of caddis patterns, and a few dog treats.

A Guide to Fly Shops

When Bow was a child, he became ecstatic when it was time to go to the fly shop. As luck would have it, good report cards came, and Bow would get to pick out a few new patterns. Growing up, Bow still gets excited, but for more than just flies. Most shops are inundated with copious amounts of  flies and gear for any situation, with guides happy to get to know your fishing level, and advice for the trip out. A good thing to look for in a fly shop doesn't relate to gear, but those selling it. Depending on your level of experience, 90 to 100 out of 100 guides know more than you, as it is their job. Furthermore, any shop in today's world without a friendly, knowledgeable staff doesn't stay in business. If you walk through the door and someone greets you with a smile and a hello, that's the first step. They generally ask one of two things: "Where you been fishing?" or "What can I help you find?". If you are given the first response, chances are you've stepped into the right shop. The initial question dictates whether they are sales focused, or customer focused. By asking where you've been fishing, this adds to their pool of general info which eventually ends up coming back your way. On the other hand, asking what they can find for you implies just making a sale. Bow and Rico have worked at  the same sporting goods store, being in both situations.

The more they focus on the fishing aspect, the more you can trust they want to get you into fish, not your wallet. In Rico's and Bow's experience, Western Rivers Fly Fisher is a solid place to get everything from sound advice to a hot cup of coffee. Of their employees, the more notable ones are Bryce, Nick, and Matt for their knowledge, friendliness, and enthusiasm for the sport. If fly fishing is new to you, the rivers to fish and flies to use can be overwhelming, so it helps to stop by the shop for some direction. The general rule applies as: Any specific info they give on hatches, rivers, or flies, you should pick up one or two small items (i.e. tippet, flies, indicators). A definite sign of appreciation and respect, and helps keep them in business for tomorrow.

The Hunt for Tigers

With the warm weather and most of the snow gone, Bow and Rico decided to head into the boonies in pursuit of something different. Over the past 8 months Bow researched the best places for Tiger trout throughout Utah. After narrowing down the options, he and Rico made the 3+ hour trek to one high desert lake. They arrived to see only one other car, and a number of trout sipping the surface. Viewing the submerged weed beds, they discovered a healthy amount of scuds and Chironomids. They also saw trout cruising the shoreline, perfect for sight fishing. Big, bright bellied Tigers slipped through the weedbeds, occasionally arching to pick up an emerging midge. It was fascinating how such big trout keyed in on the smallest of prey. Bow tied up a few Chirono patterns the night before, going off snips of info from friends and guides. Although carrying flies specific for the occasion, neither Rico nor Bow managed to hook one the entire morning. They broke through the sagebrush, wondering where the people were from the other car. Coming over the ridge, Bow spotted a familiar hat and dark hair. The gentleman turned around and it was none other than one of the fishermen from Outsmartingfish.com. Being greatly respected and experienced in the fly fishing world, Bow wasn't sure how to react without making a fool of himself. As it turned out, he was very friendly and forthcoming with information on the lake. He discussed popular patterns, techniques, and times of the year for this body of water. It was refreshing to meet someone who was so knowledgeable and equally humble. Rico and Bow fished a few more hours before the sun drove the fish down deep, and they stopped by Sweet Creek for the afternoon. Evening rolled in and the surface action started picking up. Bow hucked a size 12 Chironomid emerger, and Rico stripped in a grey, size 20 scud. Performing a slow, one fingered retrieve, Bow managed to hook into his only fish for a total of 3 seconds. Heading home frustrated and a little disappointed, Rico and Bow had the determination to come back soon to prove they could nail a Tiger. The weather wasn't as nice this past weekend, but the company was. Bow went out on a solo trip and met two gentlemen from FishGear. They were by far the friendliest and most accommodating people Bow ever fished with. It was a crippling 22 degrees, and they were right there to offer hot chocolate and hand warmers. In addition to the cold, Bow forgot one of the oars to his pontoon boat, and luckily the other gentleman let him borrow their spare. Bow strapped up his boat and headed along the east side. An hour of paddling produced two strikes but unfotunately no fish. Returning to camp, Bow made a tuna circle and noticed his Scott dipped into the water with his reel spitting line. The smoothness made Bow assume it was snagged, so he picked up the rod only to notice this snag was moving. Fast. He positioned himself to have the wind blow him to shore, but the trout would have none of it. And never having caught a Tiger, he was praying it so. He drifted close enough to shore to jump out and hopefully beach him. Five minutes and six runs passed when he finally was graced with a glimpse: yellow belly, green back and classic Tiger stripes. This was the fish Bow had been dreaming about. Seeing the commotion, the two others ran over with a net to help the landing. During the battle, Bow lost sight of everything but the fish, and his Toon had drifted out from shore. With rod tip up and water filling his waders, he retrieved his boat and put focus back to the fish. Steely-eyed with determination, Bow finally tired the fish and unhooked him, shaking with excitement. A few quick pics were taken and the Tiger was released to get even bigger for their next encounter. Relishing the moment, Bow sat back, sipped his hot chocolate, and marked another check off his bucket list.

City Creek

City Creek is a quaint, brushy little stream few people know holds trout. It is home to an abundant, yet delicate population of Browns and Cutthroats. The DNR stocks around 60, 4" Cutts monthly during the first part of the year, whereas the browns are self-sustaining. Rico and Bow frequent the area in Memory Grove Park and at the entrance of City Creek Canyon. Over the past year and a half there has been much reconstruction of the creek to control flooding. This (not surprisingly) had an adverse effect on the trout. Large amounts of silt from up heaving the stream bed killed many aquatic insects and flora. Slowly, the wash down from upstream re-established a fair amount of midges, caddis, worms, mayflies and a few stones. The resident beaver has also managed to survive in spite of the intrusion. In Bow's four years of fishing, small black nymphs consistently produce, dead drifted or emerged. During the summer, fish go Rambo over Wullfs and Licorice Ants. Much of City is narrow and tight, making bow and arrow casts the only option. The fish are also surprisingly wary of human presence, making every 6 incher feel like an accomplishment. The final aspect of City creek requires the most patience. Being so close to downtown, the creek gets a lot of attention from mountain bikers, dog owners, and fair weather fisherman. Most mountain bikers respect your presence and wont wash off while you're fishing. Dog owners will often have their loved ones off-leash, and dogs to water is inevitable. Other fisherman generally give a wide birth, waiting until you are done. However, there are always those days where you'll be crouched behind a bush when someone with a red, Hills Brothers coffee can full of worms comes up and chucks out five feet from you. After catching five, "with enough extra to feed these two to my cat" he chuckles and casts out again, not realizing how he has affected the stream. And despite how badly you want to catch that gentlemen in the nose and release him off a precipice, you smile and walk away. These frustrations are all part of fishing within city limits of a metropolis such as Salt Lake. Overall, if you enjoy catching energetic fish, and don't mind other people, City Creek is a nice retreat close to home. 

                                                                           Wilson

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Rico in a Midge Shell

Rico has been fly fishing for approximately 1 year, building up almost 20 years experience spin fishing. He comes from Arizona, right at home with desert state waters. He explores much of Utah through his work, building and restoring hiking trails. He enjoys nothing more than being outside, sticking trout and soaking up sun. His optimistic, laid back style provides a nice balance to some of Bow's elitist, type B tendencies. Rico used to carry a 45 dollar Eagle Claw special, often times out-fishing Bow and his four figure Winston setup. Below are a few of Rico's better trout from Arizona and Utah.

Spring at Strawberry

Yesterday Bow ventured out to hit what he hoped was the ice-off. Unfortunately, he was told the banks started to show last weekend during the Expo. Staying positive (just happy to be out) he tied on some Cutt Candy and went to work. Focusing on areas with high crayfish, weedy banks, and close ice, Bow was able to stick a 20" Cutt in the first ten minutes. Several hours passed, and he encountered nothing but high winds and heavy snow. He cast to one last spot and got a call from Rico. No sooner had he answered, his fly line decided to move left ten feet. Putting priorities in order, Bow pushed speaker, dropped the phone, and set the hook. A small Rainbow, but mentally a much needed fish. Noting the depth the last trout hit, Bow hucked it out and waited. Ten seconds passed and snap, there went fly and fish. Mentally, it's one thing to play a fish long enough to exaggerate his size, but something entirely different when you don't even get a chance to set the hook. The possible size of that fish will gnaw at Bow until he lands at least a 25 incher. Some lessons are learned the hard way, but next time he'll be packing the 15 lb. fluorocarbon.

Cutt Candy© 

Flies

      Grizzly Gilled Matuka©  

Shuck Midge Emerger 

            Beadhead Collared Zebra Midge

 

Cutt Candy©  

Wet Candy 

 Gold-Ribbed San Juan Spike       

 Bronze Collared Midge

Mid Provo Midge Hatch

We went out Sunday, March 18th to hit Lunker Lane. Historically, Sunday morning clears up a lot of bank space for those who don't go to church. Rico and I were able to hit the spot with only one other on the opposite bank. It was cloudy most of the day, but spotty midge and bwo hatches were coming when the sun broke through. The trout were keyed in on the midges (black, size 20-26). They were looking up, but only at the emergers. I was able to pick up a few on a small midge under the film, and Rico did fairly well drifting a warrior. The highlight of the day, however, was the fisherman on the opposite bank. In the four hours of fishing, we saw him pull out 52, yes, 52 browns ranging in size from 8-16".Feeling both frustration and curiosity, we finally asked what he was whipping. A size 22 brown midge emerger with a white shuck. I then proceeded to go home that night and tie up a dozen or so variations. I have since fished these and had surprising success. No lunkers from The Lane, but still a great day.

Anticipation

Rico spotted his first Hopper of the season. A good sign for hot terrestrial action come summer.

Helping Out

Trout Unlimited is a well known, highly respected conservation group. Bow met a gentleman at the Wasatch Fly Fishing Expo this past Saturday. This group donates time, money, and man power to help preserve Utah's waters, and 87% of the donation goes directly towards this conservation. Along with continued threats to the Green River approaching, Bow decided to join. He received a hat, calendar, box of flies, subscription to a newsletter for the year, and peace of mind from helping the cause.

Bow's Here and There

Bow is an aspiring Trout Bum, fishing mainly California and Oregon. He has ventured to distant farm ponds fly fishing for bass, weed beds in Montana for pike, and Kodiak to hook into Kings. He has accumulated more than a decades experience in fly fishing and tying, and almost twenty spin fishing. He prefers fishing pocket water in small creeks, with Brook Trout being his favorite species. These are a few of the places Bow has been in and near Utah, along with a few better fish caught there.

Big Cottonwood Brook

Strawberry Bow

Colorado

Strawberry Cutt

The All Important Release

Frosty Craw

Manti-La Sal 

Little Cottonwood Brook

Lower Provo Brown

Middle Provo Brown

Middle Provo 19'' Brown

Sweet Creek Cutt

Bow's Sweet Creek Cutt

Strawberry