Yesterday I went to what has become my favorite fishing
spot: The Owyhee! This river spoils a person to the point where fishing
for small trout in streams loses a lot of its appeal, which I guess is
depressing in a way. It can be fished year round, has healthy aquatic
insect life, and boasts tremendous amounts of large, wild brown trout. As
usual it did not disappoint, and several very nice fish were taken, some of
which required a break in the action to deploy my trusty Polaroid tripod that
hangs on my vest connected to my GoPro.
It was an interesting day all around: The forecast called
for 106 degrees, and it was certainly hot. There was an interestingly
orange hue to the air all day due to several fires in the area, as if someone
was watching from above and fiddling around with their instagram settings.
It was also interesting because of the diversity of flies that
caught fish: it never ceases to amaze me that there can be such a wide
range of insect hatches depending on where you are on the river: PMD’s and
caddis can dominate the scene in one spot, and a few short miles up the canyon
they are nowhere to be found. I fished through yellow sally, caddis, pale
morning dun, blue winged olive, and midge hatches all in the same day – and
managed to sprinkle in some hopper action at midday just to keep things
interesting (and was rewarded with several nice takes) simply by moving around
the canyon.
What I continue to find so interesting as I continue my
endeavor into angling competence is the focused effort that is required.
The water has a seductive quality that is almost unparalleled. The
cacophony of sights and sounds blend together to form the most calming cocktail
I’ve experienced: The blue herons and waterfowl flying overhead, the water
gently flowing around your legs, the audible gulp of a large feeding fish, and
the sound of the fly line as it gracefully soars overhead and hits its target
are all the ingredients. The ambiance lends itself to angling success from
the get-go.
Not once did I think about the workplace; not once did I
think about my never ending “to do” list there; not once did I think about the
ever-growing list of things that bother me. This is the great discovery of fly fishing - it's not a sport, but a retreat of the self.
So I breath. I cast. I catch fish. I
repeat. And yet somehow there are no “winners” or “losers” – there is
only a river.
Enough of that - flies that caught fish (in no particular
order):
Foam bullet hopper
Chernobyl Ant (my version)
CDC Griffith’s Gnat (#20)
Light Cahill (#16)
BWO Comparadun (#18)
“Trusty” Rusty Paraspinner (#16)
PMD last chance cripple
