Stagecoach Money Holes

I started fly-fishing in Arkansas.  I learned to cast a fly rod in Arkansas Rivers, catching Arkansas trout, in Arkansas humidity, with a dip in my lip… because I’m from Arkansas.  Rivers are deep and wide, and the “perfect drift” might last as long as 30 seconds with the pace of the shoals.  There aren’t shoals so much as there are ripples.  Top water happens all spring, summer and fall, and you can rip brown-trout-lip all day pulling an olive wooly bugger (I say booger, because I’m from Arkansas).  It’s a blast and an incredible experience.  Moving to Colorado, however – I became a beginner again.  Rare is the deep, slow run, and scarce is that “perfect drift”.
 
Fishing Colorado water takes precision, accuracy and flawless presentation.  These fish have seen their share of flies, and a good drift might only be a 3 second run.  For a while, I would always continue the venture upstream to avoid those whitewater flows.  And, generally, that’s the best call.  No [healthy] fish will use its energy to resist tumultuous whitewater crests.  On the other hand, fish food is primarily in main currents where the water is moving, and moving quicker.  Often times, fish will be stacked up in the slack water, where the current swirls and is pushing back (upstream) towards the rocks creating the shoal.  Food from the current floats just on the seam of the fast and the slack water, and the fish will dart in and back out again, just quick enough to nab a midge. 
 
This was especially the case on the tailwater of Stagecoach Reservoir just south of Steamboat Springs, CO.  Of all times you would expect a river to be void of anglers -that time would be 10:30am on a Tuesday.  You would assume incorrectly.  After all, people don’t live in Colorado to work.  I didn’t have time to explore, and the only available spot to cast was just under the floodgates of the dam.  Naturally, this water was truly tumultuous… like, step in and get swept away.  There happened to be one small area, carved out of the bank, where the water from the roaring current pushed out and remained significantly calmer.  I got a hunch, tied a size 14 Red San Juan Worm with size 18 Black JuJu Baetis dropper – very weighted - and gave it a toss.  It was difficult to keep the flies in a natural drift without my line being swept in the roar.  But, using the high-sticking technique, I hooked up on the second cast.  Unfortunately, the current was so swift, the fish swept away and broke my line in an instant.
 
With a stronger leader, I landed a few throughout the morning.


Next time you think about jumping that rushing shoal, look for a small area of slack.  If the water is clear, watch for a few minutes – you might just see some daredevil fish riding the seams.  
 
If so... toss that fly.  

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LUNCH LINKS!!!

How about another round of linkage for you?!?!  Here's a little collection of what the world wide web had to offer TOSFly readers today!



And of course, your eye candy.  This one was caught on the Little Red River in Arkansas by Dean Rose of Gernmantown, TN.  What a fish!


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LUNCH LINKS!!!

Okay TOSFly readers, we are back to it, providing you with the best links on the web pertaining to fly fishing.  Hopefully you find some time in your day to sit for a minute and catch up on what is going on around the web when it comes to fly fishing.  Here are a few recent articles and links that you may find interesting:
Finally, a LUNCH LINKS post wouldn't be the same without a little eye candy, right?!  Well, here it is for you.  It's a little past due, but this beautiful brown was caught by our very own J-Ferg.  Enjoy your day!


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Slack Water - An Encouraging Word


TOSFly readers, please consider this a small word of encouragement from one impatient angler to others.  While fly-fishing is tranquil and serene, I often get very excited in the days, weeks, and months leading up to a much needed trip to the river.  That anticipation builds even before I decide to head to the stream.  It is building now as I look forward to the TOSFly annual retreat next weekend.  


I always assume perfect conditions, dream of my flawless performance, and lose count of the monsters I’ll catch just as soon as I slip on my Gore-Tex.  My wife is a mental health therapist, and I therefore feel I am qualified to diagnose myself.  I have a common fisherman’s illness called “Assumptive Bad-Assery Disorder."  You're probably familiar with it, and you may even have it yourself.  Fairly self-explanatory, this disorder leads me to believe I’m going to break every record that’s ever been imagined by any angler in the history of history.  It’s easy to build these 20-pound stories while I’m in the office.  The problem lies, however, when I make my first cast and a monster trout does not end up in my net.  “What am I doing wrong?”  I curse myself… I’m doing everything I assumed I should…

Typically, after my first five minutes of failure, I decide it’s the fly or the section of river – and I change.  I change something, or everything.  And the pursuit of monsters continues throughout the frustration-filled day, all the while I'm blaming everything but myself.  Of course, I’m awesome – a "bad ass" if you will."  Surely it can’t be my fault…

Assumption and anticipation are great things, but patience truly is a virtue.  While it may seem obvious, there probably are fish in that hole.  They probably will eat that fly – or at least one of the few I've set out for that day.  I've learned that I need to move less.  Lately, I've had more success when I fish the entire stretch of a river.  Starting in the shallow banks, working out towards the main drift, then across to #TheOtherSide (see what I did there?).  If that doesn’t work, try another shelf.  Put on another weight (or take some off), raise (or lower) the indicator, and experiment in the drifts.  Those fish are stacked somewhere. 


If you’re like me, and you’re tempted to move at a moment’s “loose-fly-line,” take a breath, and re-position your fly.  If they’re not holding in the main drift, they could be deeper.  If they aren't deep, perhaps they’re relaxing in the slack water.  It is much better to be skunked knowing you fished every inch of water than just a few “good runs.”  You may just end up with that monster… or at least end up less tired.  Just remember one thing - Cast to the Other Side!

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High Mountain Sculpin Lake, Colorado

Moving to Colorado, fishing was a primary motivator.  It wasn't necessarily the size of the fish driving me to the mountains, but the immaculate beauty of creation, and the challenge of the pure hunt.  In my four years of fishing Colorado’s freestones and tail waters, I've learned that catching a fish isn't as easy as tossing a kernel of corn in a slack water.  Having fished several of the main fisheries – Colorado River, Arkansas River, Big Thompson, Clear Creek, 11 Mile and Cheeseman Canyon… I’m always left with wanting more.

Since my relocation, fishing a high mountain lake has always been a pinnacle of dreams.  Again, it wasn't the size of fish that fed the dream, but rather the surrounding beauty.  Recently, I found it.  Just off I-70, on an unsuspecting exit, I found an oasis with clear-as-day water surrounded by daunting peaks and shadowing pines.  It was a peaceful and small lake, most assuredly holding fish.  Most-assuredly, because I watched trout hit top-water for a solid hour.  

Laboriously tossing dry flies, I decided to run the gamut on my fly box.  After hours of the same results, I pulled a streamer as somewhat of a last resort.   Streamer after streamer, still seeing fish feeding, still getting skunked.  I put on a very close resembling sculpin fly.  It was size 16 with dark hunter green color and distinctively beady eyes.  With only an hour of daylight left, 10 fish were caught.  Wildly successful compared to other scarce Colorado trips.  Perhaps it was the conditions, though ever-changing.   Perhaps it was the season, or hatch.  As I've often found in Colorado, however, it was just the perfect fly. 



I lost several sculpin flies, and resulted to the hunter green with brown hackle wooly buggers I tied years ago.  First cast, second cast, these flies landed fish without fail.  These fish weren't the trophy size monsters we all dream of, but with bright orange underbellies, white-tipped fins, and brilliant blue-surrounded-by-blood-red spots, these brook trout were the fish that inspire art - God’s art.  It was beautiful, and it was a perfect lesson of persistence in Colorado fishing. 

So what's the moral of my short story here?  Head to the high mountain lakes, and when you do, try everything.  Just make sure you have some spare sculpin flies in your box just in case.  And, as always … Cast to the Other Side.


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