Tricks of the Trade for Fishing Pictures

There was an entertaining article recently at Singlebarbed.com concerning fly-fishing magazine covers. The tricks of the trade that photographers use to enhance the apparent size of the fish have some funny side effects.

I was a bit embarrassed to find an example of my own.

Check out these two pictures of the same fish from my photo archive. I never realized my hand was so big.

Hatches and Fly Fishing Strategies

Here in this part of the world: acid rain and a naturally spartan environment mean the huge hatches that the legendary American and English streams are renowned for are not very common.

There are exceptions of course but for the most part fish are feeding sub-surface. When a hatch does occur it is often a mixed blessing. Because it is usually sparse, the fish will rise willingly for the naturals but do have more time to consider your imitation. On the positive side though, during a sparse hatch the trout remain opportunistic and will often not key in on only what is hatching.

Many times I’ve gotten lucky by just matching the size of a hatch even though the colour and pattern of my fly was way off.

The “go to” plan when the fish are starting to become selective for something I don’t have in my box is to tie on an ant pattern,#12 black or a #10 or smaller red. I’m not sure why this works but more often than not it does.

Another thing that is fun when in the midst of a prolific hatch that trout are focused on to the exclusion of your offerings is to put on a large Muddler, well doped up to float. Cast it parallel to the shore and in fairly close, then strip it back in short, splashy jerks. Let it settle then strip it again and so on.

The scenario I’m trying to portray, in my mind as least, is as if something feeding on the hatch, just like the trout, over-extended itself and fell in. Often you can see the “v” as a big old trout leaves his feeding lane and heads for what he must think is a bonus meal.

There is probably no better fly fishing moment than the surge of anticipation upon seeing the first fluttering of Caddis flies wafting across the river or the ethereal dance of Mayflies in the shadows of alders.

The Minutiae of Fly Fishing

What’s wrong with me? I’m as interested in the minutiae of fly fishing as the next fellow. Somehow though, I just can’t get too carried away discussing the entomology of a particular part of the county versus ours or the physics of casting.

Don’t get me wrong. I am curious about these things but in an internal, contemplative way. I might be struck by the subtle differences between a mayfly on one river and another, encountered only a few miles away. I may even do some research, tie a few flies and seek to understand what if any significance an extra wing spot or slightly different body colour has by way of eliciting a rise from an unusually wary trout.

I enjoy seeking answers and even more the finding of new questions. As an experimenter I’ll try anything that has even an outside chance of working. Usually though, a spectacular failure is more enlightening and certainly holds much better prospects for a good laugh.
Sometimes when I listen to the boys in my local tackle shop I’m reminded of a fellow called Stan Hudac.

I met Stan in British Columbia. He is an amazingly talented pianist who escaped the 1956 Soviet assault on Budapest, Hungary because he was in Rome studying at the conservatorium. When he was in town he would sometimes get me to play guitar in a jazz trio he’d put together for one or two dates.

One night, about an hour before the show, Stan, the bassist, and I were sitting in the Sandman Inn Lounge looking over some charts. A couple of young fellows came over and started to talk with us. It was all very civil and low key but there were a lot of references by them to obscure composers, elite instruments and high-end gear. When the time came we took the stage and kicked off with Duke Ellington’s, “Take the A Train”. As usual Stan improvised an amazing, beautifully tasteful solo. While the audience applauded, the bass player leaned across, nodded appreciatively towards Stan then whispered to me, “and that’s the difference between talking about music and playing it”

I don’t know why but sometimes when I hear one Ephemeroptera too many I think of Stan and his exquisite playing.

The Doc Spratley and Kamloops Trout

Doc Spratley fly

 The other day I was thinking about a fly called the Doc Spratley. The fly is named after a dentist who happened to be in the shop when the fly was being tied for the first time by Dick Prankard, who originated the pattern around 1949 in Mt Vernon, Washington.



It is a deadly pattern I first used in Postill Lake, British Columbia for Kamloops trout.

Kamloops trout are rainbow trout. They are well adapted to the clear, rich waters of Canada's west. They eagerly take a fly, fight with lots of jumps, grow to an impressive size and are great table fare too.

If ever "Intelligent Design" advocates need an example to prove their point, the Kamloops Trout sure seems like it was custom built for the fly fisherman.

I was just beginning my fascination with fly-fishing in those days and we fished the lake by trolling a black Doc Spratley slowly around the edges. We regularly caught a bunch of fish.

My main fishing buddy in those days was Nick Palmaruk. Nick is a great guy with a wicked sense of humour. At the time, he was the chef at a downtown hotel in Kelowna. One of the traditions that evolved early in our fishing trips was that we would take fairly elaborate lunches.

I only mention this because when I was in my twenties I'd regularly fish all day on a can of Pepsi and a chocolate bar. I'd barely stop for a pee, let alone for lunch. It was a completely foreign concept to me.

 A typical day's outing would involve meeting in the pre-dawn, loading the lunch and gear then heading up into the foothills of the mountains in my old Nissan pick-up. The narrow logging road was an adventure in itself. Every blind curve, of which there were plenty, could reveal a fully loaded logging truck barreling down upon us.

As a chef, Nick when it was his turn to provide the lunch, would provide an incredible feast, foi gras stuffed cold pheasant breast with an aspic glaze sort of thing complete with a three-foot baguette and a very good bottle of wine. Of course I felt obliged, when it was my turn, to at least match his effort so I'd get extra crispy on the bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and never diet cola, only the real thing was good enough.

Postill Lake BC

I remember one particular day as we were trolling along with mixed success. I was holding the motor control arm with one hand, eating a drumstick with the other and watching my rod tip carefully as I listened to Nick expound on the importance of good food.

Apparently this particular bucket of chicken didn't exactly represent the state of the art of culinary expertise, at least as practiced in the better restaurants of the day. I calmly finished my drumstick and carefully brought his line in hand over hand across the transom, cautious not to alert him to anything unusual going on in the back of the boat. As his fly came into my hand I hooked the well-cleaned chicken bone onto it and then, just as carefully, let the line back out. When it reached the end I gave it one good tug.

"Hello", he hollered and started an epic battle to land what he expected to be another good trout. The fact that it wasn't jumping convinced him that it was in fact a big fish, bigger than any I'd caught that day anyway.

That’s when I learned an important lesson about delaying the bragging until you have the fish in your net. Nick hadn't learned it yet so he kept up a steady stream of chatter until it slowly dawned on him that this was too strange and one-sided a battle to be a fish.

He fell silent and continued to reel in line until he was holding his leader. Dangling below his hand was the beautiful Doc Spratley fly with a well-stripped chicken bone firmly attached.

He slowly turned and gave me a cold stare. "Damn" he said. "He got my bait."



image of fly from www.thechronicflyfisher.com/HOME.HTML

Fall Salmon Fishing in Nova Scotia Means Big Fish

There is nothing like bragging about a big fish to almost guarantee getting one-upped.

Check out these pictures from H.R. Dobson of a fall–run salmon. This fish was caught last year.

Big Nova Scotia Salmon

He is holding the fly in his right hand but it is suspiciously out of focus. I can just make out a yellow tag but can’t see what the fly is. Darn. I’d be working like a demon at the tying bench this winter to put a handful of those in my kit.

A few days after he told me he’d caught this phenomenal salmon, knowing there were big fish in, I headed to the river.

None of the usual suspects could get away so I went alone. As usual I started fishing far above the pool, working the undercut banks. Taking a couple of casts then a step I worked my way along toward my favourite pool.

Fish on!

I was using the same rod and line set up I’d last used on a trip to Newfoundland earlier in the year. I was even using the same fly, still tied on from the last cast of that trip.

I know, I know; I should have tied on a new leader or at the very least checked all of the knots. I was just too impatient to get on the water.

So instead of a #4 Cardinal or Ally’s Shrimp, I was casting a #12 Blue Charm with just a couple of Crystal Flash fibers tied into the hair wing.

Within minutes I was firmly into a two sea-winter fish. I got one other as I approached the pool.

There were a few fellows working slowly into the main holding area so I just walked around them and went back into the river about a hundred yards past the pool.

The water was deep and fast as I gingerly shuffled along the bottom. I was searching with my feet for the submerged gravel bar that angled across the river making it possible to wade to the other side and fish the undercuts on this bank.

It was getting pretty deep.

As I became more buoyant my footing became less secure against the pounding current. I looked back to see if I had reached the point of no return or should retreat.

At that moment, out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw the back fin of a large salmon about five feet away, slightly above and in back of me.

I wasn’t sure it was a fish but I unhooked my fly from the keeper and with the just the line hanging out of the rod tip flicked the fly over the spot.

The fly landed sloppily and didn’t move more than a couple of inches when an enormous head poked out of the water and slowly took the fly.

Nova Scotia Fall Salmon

There was no turn or slashing strike, it simply engulfed the tiny fly then sank from sight. I couldn't believe it had really happened.

I didn’t set the hook, just held the line in positive contact with the fish.

I was in a bad situation. Barely able to keep my feet and Jimmy-legging my way along the submerged bank until mercifully, the water began to get a little shallower.

I was holding light pressure against the fish, feeding line as needed. As I felt my weight come back on my feet I re-tightened my drag and started looking for a place to play what had looked like the fish of a lifetime when he took.

About five feet from the shore with my feet well set on gravel I deliberately set the hook. Then remembering I was using a tiny fly compared to the usual fall rig, I set it again.

That’s when all Hell broke loose. The salmon roared up out of the black water and thrashed in mid-air before falling on his back with a tremendous splash.

His first run was short, ending in another nerve shattering jump. The fish played in short, powerful runs all ending in spectacular leaps. He never took me into my backing.

The runs gradually slowed. The leaps had less and less height until they were just swirls and boils on the end of the line.

I really didn’t have clue how to land this fish. I’d never tailed a lunker like this single handedly.

It turned out to be fairly straightforward. As soon as I got his head up I just raised the rod bringing the fish towards me like a torpedo. As he turned away from me I slid my hand along his back and the wrist of the tail was too big for me to miss.

The problem then was that I couldn’t reach the fly to un-hook and still hold his tail. I ended up having to grab the leader and pull the fish towards me until I had the fly in hand. A quick twist and he was gone.

I don’t know how big that salmon was, probably not as big as I think but it was an amazing experience. I climbed out of the water, vibrating with excitement and walked back to my truck.

That was enough for the day. I love Fall Salmon fishing in Nova Scotia.

New waders: refer to the quote from Koos Brandt

Garia Bay River -Steve and Gerald

I was recently fishing in Newfoundland on an amazing river that runs through beautiful but difficult terrain. The shore of the river is rocky. When I say rocky I mean a carpet of stones from golf ball sized to watermelon sized stretching for miles.

 There were few big enough to sit on comfortably to rest your feet from the pounding they took walking or standing on this uneven surface all day and comfort became a big factor to being able to fish effectively.

 I mentioned in a previous post that being comfortable is to my mind one of the biggest factors in not just fishing well but to enjoying your day a field. Fly fishing takes concentration and you can’t concentrate if you are distracted by discomfort. It doesn’t take much to turn a trip from a great outing into an endurance contest.

 Knowing from previous experience what this place was like and the challenge of walking and fishing for hours on the stony ground I starting thinking seriously about how to best deal with the challenge presented.

My last trip there I’d worn boot foot waders and boot foot hip boots. By the second day the soles of my feet were so tender that I had to be careful how I placed my feet; by the end of a week – ouch!

The fishing was fantastic and worth every moment but if I could think of a solution to the difficulty it would sure be worth it.

I started looking into stocking foot waders. The logic being that if I was just going to go hiking on that sort of terrain I’d wear the stoutest hiking boots I could find, not a pair of slip on rubber boots.

 That is one of the big advantages to stocking foot waders. The boots are separate. You can find a pair that fits perfectly and are rugged enough for the terrain you’ll be fishing. You also have the option of getting a second pair of wading shoes that are lighter or rubber soled instead of felt soled, for the different locations you’ll be fishing.

In a nutshell you are not confined to a single pair of waders that are designed to be pretty good in most situations. You can instead customize your waders to be perfect for specific locations.

 I remember a guide I met at Grandy’s River who used Wal-Mart sneakers as his wading shoes over a good pair of breathable waders. Grandy’s has beautiful, sandy shores and bottom. Sneakers are the perfect footwear for that location. Instead of spending the money on wading boots, he could buy inexpensive sneakers and get the performance he required for that location. The perfect solution to equipment challenges isn’t always the most expensive.

What I ended up getting was a pair of Cabela’s breathable waders and their branded wading boots with felt soles. The breathable waders were a bit expensive for my budget but after using them on this trip I think it was money well spent. They are so comfortable; it is more like wearing a pair of pants than waders. An added bonus is they are light and roll up into a very small bundle for packing.




The boots are like a good pair of hikers and just as comfortable. They were the right solution for this trip. It was a pleasure from start to finish.
The fishing was great too.

A random thought:
We are always trying to improve our skills when it comes to fishing, especially fly fishing. Luck is certainly a factor in success but what is the old saying, “The harder I work the luckier I get”?



Well that seems to especially apply to fishing. It could be as simple a thing as being willing to walk a mile further than the other fellow to get to places with less angling pressure or as complex as studying the minutia of the insect behaviors in your stretch of the stream.

In fishing, knowledge and effort are both rewarded.

Fishing dry flies for salmon in Newfoundland.

 Just got home from Newfoundland. What a great trip! It is not all about the fishing, although that was pretty good; it is more about the camaraderie, meeting new people and renewing old friendships.

 I love hearing the old stories retold with all of the same enthusiasm as if the events had happened that afternoon instead of many years ago. Its great to rehash the theories of why a salmon even takes a fly or how best to play them.

My brother offered a thought on why salmon don't feed when they come into a river to spawn. He thinks its nature's way of preventing cannibalism. There are lots of parr in the rivers when the salmon are running. If it were actively feeding, a grilse or salmon would do considerable damage to the next generation. An interesting thought. Now, as to why they take a fly....



The flies that were hottest for me were a brown bug during the day cast upstream and fished dead drift. In the evening, a small black bear-green butt fished by the patent method. By small I mean a number 12 or 10. It always amazed me as the light was fading to get a strike on that small a fly. What incredible eyesight or other senses those fish have.

Fishing dry flies for salmon is about as much fun as I've ever had fishing. The rises are spectacular and the take when it comes is stunning. Its like it all happens in slow motion. Most people are so amazed the first few times they see a big salmon rising under their fly that they end up pulling it away from the fish in anticipation of the strike.

Having raised a fish but not hooked it, a kind of buck fever sets in. It takes the conscious exercise of self discipline to make a good cast to the same spot and wait for what seems like an eternity as you see the fish coming slowly up, mouth agape, to engulf your fly. What a wonderful experience.

I released most of the fish, some intentionally, but kept a couple to use for a traditional planked salmon dinner later this summer. Hopefully the same people who were with me in Newfoundland will be able to attend so I can relive once more a great fishing trip.

"This planet is covered with sordid men who demand that he who spends time fishing shall show returns in fish."~Leonidas Hubbard, Jr.

The poor man's salmon

Fly-fishing for Shad has become a spring ritual for me. If you have never tried it I encourage you to give it a go.

I've heard them called "the poor man's salmon" and its true. When you are playing a big Shad they fight amazingly like a grilse. They don't jump as often but are great to tangle with.

A guy I chatted with at streamside said the other night "they are a great tune-up for Salmon season". I like to fish them because they are very forgiving about taking but demand all your skill to land.

 It is not uncommon to hook three or four to every one landed, especially in the first of the run. As you get more skilled and your gear tuned up, you'll see that ratio quickly reverse.

If you can comfortably handle one of these silver demons you can confidently fish with a fly for anything that swims here in the East.

Wait a second; I've never caught a big Striped Bass on a fly rod so I'll reserve my earlier comment. I have caught some small stripers, they are called 'schoolies' I think, about twelve or fourteen inches and very plentiful in mid-May in some of our rivers.

Getting started in fly-fishing

It is interesting how consuming fly-fishing can be. I've been at it for years and I still learn something new every time I'm out.

 Recently I've been fascinated by the pleasure of just making a cast. A young fellow at my work brought in his fly gear to show me. He is just getting started in fly-fishing. I looked it over and offered some comments on knots and terminal tackle. Of course we ended up out in the parking lot flicking a few casts.



What's funny is that two grown men spent about forty-five minutes standing in a parking lot casting with all the care and attention we would if there was a salmon lurking under every parked car.

The feel of a good cast is such a pleasure in itself. The only thing that took us back inside that day was that lunchtime was over and we had to get back to work.. I wonder if people would still practice casting if for some reason there was no more fishing allowed?

I remembered another quotation but I'm not sure who said it, "The only time I am really confident that I'm using the right fly is when there is a fish attached to it."

Fishing in general and fly fishing in particular

There are some wonderful quotations around the subject of fishing in general and fly-fishing in particular.
One I heard recently went something like this," The biggest fans of fly fishing I'm aware of are worms" another that I really like is from Thoreau. "A man has to believe in something; I believe I'll go fishing."