Roll Cast: Zone II Brown @ Beavers Bend by Wes
A summer brown trout landed by Wes over the 4th of July weekend in Beavers Bend.
Click to Continue the Story......
Monday, July 6, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Single Haul: Happy Father's Day
Helping Dad land a rainbow trout on the Lower Mountain Fork River in the fall of '08.
Happy Father's Day,
-Parker
Click to Continue the Story......
-Parker
Friday, June 12, 2009
Double Haul: New Friends
Met some good folks/new friends last weekend in Beavers Bend. Eugene had taken his grandson, Hunter, fly fishing for the first time and we made our acquaintances along the Lower Mountain Fork River. And for the record...Hunter did quite well for a first time fly fisher.
Eugene even landed himself a very interesting albino trout and he kindly allowed me to take a photo.
It was great meeting yall and I hope we cross paths up there again. Thanks for the flies Eugene!
-Parker
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Wind Rows of Foam
If you remember back to the post on the 24th of April around midnight, I let everyone know that Kyle and I were on our way down to Key Largo for a short stay at the Key Largo Inn before we were to meet up with our guide early that morning to fish out of Islamorada. We were excited to say the least and our goals were set high with thoughts of tarpon and bonefish...and just maybe a shot at a permit. Little did we know we would be up against it with terrible fly fishing conditions and only less than a handful of chances at a tarpon.
That Saturday morning we were up and ready to go around 6:15am. As we drove down from Key Largo to Islamorada we could not help but notice how the fiercely high winds were whipping the palm trees and flags around. We kept our spirits up with the static sounding tunes from US 1 Radio (104.1 FM) and ignored the gusty winds.
We met up with Davey Wilson, our guide, at the Lorelei around mile marker 82. After the introductions and friendly morning banter we boarded his skiff in route to Indian Key for some wind protected casting tune ups and casting instruction. I really believe he just wanted to see what we had in our "casting bag" and had what it took to fly cast in the Keys. We shot through some mangroves on the path to Indian Key and along the way my hat blew right out of the boat because when we arrived I could not find it anywhere. Luckily Kyle had an extra one for me to wear in his back pack.
We both kind of sand-bagged on our abilities at Indian Key but he was complimentary of our casts and informed us we had what it took. This made us feel pretty good however Davey kept reminding us it was going to be a tough day with the winds.
Davey anchored the boat at Indian Key along the west side of the small island for a good three hours or so. It protected us from the wind and the water along the west side of the island was safe from the choppy breaks of the Atlantic. Plus he said he had some luck with some tarpon rolling through this area on guided trips from the past. All we saw was a couple of sharks and a few rays in between a barracuda biting through Kyle's leader and one tarpon I tossed at that had little interest in my fly.
So we loaded up for a drive to the Gulf side where Davey had some flats lined up that may give us a better shot at a tarpon and/or a bonefish.
Davey tried his hardest but it just was not in the cards for us that day. He was calling other guides constantly in an effort to find out if they were having any good fortune and attempting to pole us through some rough flats...
...The wind was absolutely ridiculous. It was howling between 20-30 mph as seen here ripping through my shirt and pants...
The strong winds caused a chop on the water that not only made it difficult to site cast but ol' Davey had his own difficulties steering the boat as he poled and motored the skiff from flat to flat. And if choppy waters were not enough to try and see through, wind rows of foam started to form on the water's surface, adding to the difficult clarity of spotting a tarpon...let alone any type of fish.
We tried a number of different flats but the conditions were just not favorable to a couple of fly fishermen. Poor Davey had so much trouble poling that he eventually just started anchoring up his skiff with hopes of positioning us in a location where tarpon would pass by as we casted from the back of the boat. I had about 3 shots at some tarpon when he adopted this method but by the time we saw them cruising it was way too late. I had to make a precise cast to a fish going in the opposite direction that was more concerned about going from point A to point B than taking a fly. Most of the time my fly line would get wrapped up around the motor or the poling platform.
Toward the end of the day with Davey we knew our chances of hooking up with a fish were not going to happen. He had informed us about half way through the day that he "normally doesn't fly fish when it's this bad in the Keys." If that was not comforting enough for us, he broke his three-piece 21 foot poling shaft at the first segmented section and lost it to the sea. Kyle and I felt terrible for the guy because we knew he was embarrassed and really was not sure what to do. It was not like he had an extra 21 foot pole laying around his skiff.
We tried one more flat on the Atlantic side but with every jarring bounce of the boat and splash of cool water to the face on the ride over, our motivation for fly fishing was falling by the wayside. Davey was not exactly feeling it either and we could tell that his old bones were getting tired. After giving it a short shot at the last flat with his anchoring method, he finally asked, "Would you boys be upset if we were to call it day and head back? It has just been too tough out here today." We agreed without hesitation and made our way back to the Lorelei.
We tried one more flat on the Atlantic side but with every jarring bounce of the boat and splash of cool water to the face on the ride over, our motivation for fly fishing was falling by the wayside. Davey was not exactly feeling it either and we could tell that his old bones were getting tired. After giving it a short shot at the last flat with his anchoring method, he finally asked, "Would you boys be upset if we were to call it day and head back? It has just been too tough out here today." We agreed without hesitation and made our way back to the Lorelei.
The day was rough. I had a few tough shots at some tarpon, we did not see one bonefish, and Kyle's only real excitement came with the 'cuda that made short work of the leader with his razor sharp teeth. Luckily for us, Davey was more than kind enough to give us a break on the guided-trip fee because of the tough conditions on the water.
With the disappointing day of fishing behind, we jumped back in the car and headed further south down US 1 to the Conch Republic...
With the disappointing day of fishing behind, we jumped back in the car and headed further south down US 1 to the Conch Republic...
...Key West, that is.
After checking into the hotel and cleaning up, we treated ourselves to a grand dinner at Red Fish Blue Fish and enjoyed a few laughs about our day on the water. We joked that we were like Captain Rich Tudor and Tom Rowland recapping their fishing day on each episode of the Salt Water Experience...only we had no fish landed to speak of!
That evening we took in all the sights and sounds that Mallory square has to offer. Plus we saw a neat sunset over Sunset Key...
We walked around the docks doing a bit of sight seeing before we committed ourselves to all the fun bars along Duval Street...
Sunday morning came early in Key West thanks to a headache and the feral roosters roaming the streets...
We had planned to hit some accessible flats we knew of around Key West in the morning but the weather conditions for the day were going to be the exact same as Saturday's. Instead we decided to stroll around Key West since we had only seen it at night. And seeing it night does not really bode well to our memory because we are usually a few cocktails in when we are enjoying the sights of Duval Street...
Captain Tony's (home of the original Sloppy Joe's)...
...and where Ernest Hemingway spent some time when we was not fishing or writing in the 30s.
The new Sloppy Joe's...
We even ran into Papa at the Key West Historic Memorial Sculpture Garden that honors 36 Conchs that have made a positive influence on the Island.
After our walk-about, we got back in the car to head North to Miami so we could catch our flight home. We made a few stops along the way...
...one of which cost us a little over five hundred bucks.
It is almost too embarrassing to tell, but for the sake of a good laugh and a picture of a fish from our trip, I'll share. Kyle and I were clipping along US 1 making good time. As we approached Islamorada it was about 4:30pm and we came across an accessible flat we fished before. The last time we were here we had a shot at some bonefish and at this time of day, the tide was just right for us to work the flat. We decided we would try it again and figured we had some time in order to do so. At this point during the day, we thought our flight left at 8:45pm. I asked Kyle what time we should be back in the car driving to the airport and he said, "About 6:00pm." Focused on rigging my rod I agreed without clearly running the numbers in my head.
We worked through the flat twice. The first time through at the tail end of the flat, I saw what appeared to be two ghosts of the flats and sent a cast their way. I over shot them a bit and as I stripped the fly ever so gently they spooked in a flash. This little sign of life gave us the urging to walk back around to the beginning of the flat and work our way back down a second time.
On this second trip through the flat, I turned a fish and had him finally take my fly after I had stripped it in to about ten feet from me. I had no clue what was on the end of my line, but he ran quite a bit of it out racing across the flats. When I finally had him close enough to land and the fight was drained from him, the sight of him made me a little apprehensive to pick up immediately...
It was nothing I had seen before...
...and I treated him like some sort of poisonous alien fish that freaked me out as I tried to work the courage up to pull him out of the water and retrieve my fly.
After what seemed like forever, with Kyle giving me the business to get tough and grab the dang thing, I pulled the oddly shaped peculiar looking species out of the water for a photo op. Now you will see what I mean by alien looking fish...
See what I mean? I believe it was some sort of Boxfish but not entirely sure as most of my experience is relegated to freshwater species or the popular and well known salt water species. If someone out there knows exactly what this is, please feel free to let me know.
But back to story of getting to the airport. If you remember, we felt that if we were on the road by 6:00pm, we would be in good shape to catch what we thought was our 8:45pm flight. However, when we got back to the car and looked at the clock, it read 6:21pm...YIKES! Islamorada is about two hours from Miami but that is on a good day with less traffic. On an end of the weekend Sunday with everyone leaving the Keys heading back to the mainland and being South of Islamorada proper, we knew there was about a snowball's chance in you know where of catching our flight!
Nonetheless, I jumped into our compact SUV driver's seat and we made our push to Miami International. I tried my best Ricky Bobby driving skills to go fast, but with all the traffic on US 1 there was no way to make up the time. We also learned along the way that our flight actually left at 8:35pm...not 8:45pm, so those ten minutes hampered our chances as well. Plus we still had to drop the car off at Avis and then catch a bus to the airport. We arrived at the airport at about 8:20pm and still held out a small glimmer of hope we could catch the plane. However they kindly informed us we were late and would not allow us the opportunity to sprint through the terminal to our gate. We had to be there at least 45 minutes before our flight.
So, we were stuck in Miami for one more night. There were no other flights heading to DFW that night and our best option was to catch a 6:30am flight Monday morning. What was going to be an economically friendly recession trip to Keys just got a bit more expensive. You see, we used some miles for our flight but because we missed our return flight the earliest flight we could use our miles on was at 11:30am. And the other point we had in planning this trip was not to miss any work time from our respective jobs. But if we were to take that later flight with our miles, we would have missed more than half a day of work. So we sprung the cash for the early morning flight and one more night at a hotel so we could make it back in time for our jobs.
It was beyond stupid on our part to miss that flight, but the thoughts of a bonefish from an accessible flat in the Keys impaired our judgement. It was a costly mistake in time mangement we hated to make and it is best summed up in that classic Mastercard commercial way...
Monday's One Way Ticket to DFW for Sunday Evening's Missed Flight...$383
...one of which cost us a little over five hundred bucks.
It is almost too embarrassing to tell, but for the sake of a good laugh and a picture of a fish from our trip, I'll share. Kyle and I were clipping along US 1 making good time. As we approached Islamorada it was about 4:30pm and we came across an accessible flat we fished before. The last time we were here we had a shot at some bonefish and at this time of day, the tide was just right for us to work the flat. We decided we would try it again and figured we had some time in order to do so. At this point during the day, we thought our flight left at 8:45pm. I asked Kyle what time we should be back in the car driving to the airport and he said, "About 6:00pm." Focused on rigging my rod I agreed without clearly running the numbers in my head.
We worked through the flat twice. The first time through at the tail end of the flat, I saw what appeared to be two ghosts of the flats and sent a cast their way. I over shot them a bit and as I stripped the fly ever so gently they spooked in a flash. This little sign of life gave us the urging to walk back around to the beginning of the flat and work our way back down a second time.On this second trip through the flat, I turned a fish and had him finally take my fly after I had stripped it in to about ten feet from me. I had no clue what was on the end of my line, but he ran quite a bit of it out racing across the flats. When I finally had him close enough to land and the fight was drained from him, the sight of him made me a little apprehensive to pick up immediately...
It was nothing I had seen before...
...and I treated him like some sort of poisonous alien fish that freaked me out as I tried to work the courage up to pull him out of the water and retrieve my fly.
After what seemed like forever, with Kyle giving me the business to get tough and grab the dang thing, I pulled the oddly shaped peculiar looking species out of the water for a photo op. Now you will see what I mean by alien looking fish...
See what I mean? I believe it was some sort of Boxfish but not entirely sure as most of my experience is relegated to freshwater species or the popular and well known salt water species. If someone out there knows exactly what this is, please feel free to let me know.
But back to story of getting to the airport. If you remember, we felt that if we were on the road by 6:00pm, we would be in good shape to catch what we thought was our 8:45pm flight. However, when we got back to the car and looked at the clock, it read 6:21pm...YIKES! Islamorada is about two hours from Miami but that is on a good day with less traffic. On an end of the weekend Sunday with everyone leaving the Keys heading back to the mainland and being South of Islamorada proper, we knew there was about a snowball's chance in you know where of catching our flight!
Nonetheless, I jumped into our compact SUV driver's seat and we made our push to Miami International. I tried my best Ricky Bobby driving skills to go fast, but with all the traffic on US 1 there was no way to make up the time. We also learned along the way that our flight actually left at 8:35pm...not 8:45pm, so those ten minutes hampered our chances as well. Plus we still had to drop the car off at Avis and then catch a bus to the airport. We arrived at the airport at about 8:20pm and still held out a small glimmer of hope we could catch the plane. However they kindly informed us we were late and would not allow us the opportunity to sprint through the terminal to our gate. We had to be there at least 45 minutes before our flight.
So, we were stuck in Miami for one more night. There were no other flights heading to DFW that night and our best option was to catch a 6:30am flight Monday morning. What was going to be an economically friendly recession trip to Keys just got a bit more expensive. You see, we used some miles for our flight but because we missed our return flight the earliest flight we could use our miles on was at 11:30am. And the other point we had in planning this trip was not to miss any work time from our respective jobs. But if we were to take that later flight with our miles, we would have missed more than half a day of work. So we sprung the cash for the early morning flight and one more night at a hotel so we could make it back in time for our jobs.
It was beyond stupid on our part to miss that flight, but the thoughts of a bonefish from an accessible flat in the Keys impaired our judgement. It was a costly mistake in time mangement we hated to make and it is best summed up in that classic Mastercard commercial way...
Monday's One Way Ticket to DFW for Sunday Evening's Missed Flight...$383
6 Hour Stay at the Hilton for Sunday Evening's Missed Flight...$95
Additional Dinner Meal at the Hilton for Sunday Evening's Missed Flight...$39
Catching ONE fish on your economically friendly recession Florida Keys fishing trip and having no idea what it is...Priceless.
Catching ONE fish on your economically friendly recession Florida Keys fishing trip and having no idea what it is...Priceless.
-Parker
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Single Haul: Photo Op (3 of 3)
And the final installment of the three part series of Single Hauls.
Click to Continue the Story......
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Greetings From Florida!
Greetings from Florida! Kyle and I made an escape from Fort Worth for a quick weekend getaway in the Land of Sunshine. We had an itch to hit up the saltwater flats of the Florida Keys and figured April was as good as time as any. Hopes are high as we arrive in Miami during these midnight hours and make our way down to Key Largo for a short nap at the Inn we booked. We will be up before the sun for a short drive south on Highway 1 to meet our guide in Islamorada and begin our pursuit of some prized fish of the flats. In the meantime, enjoy some artwork from Guy Harvey that illustrates the sought after lofty goals.
Hopefully I will be back soon to share some real photos of what was achieved and report if the grandiose objectives were met!
Good Night...
-Parker
...and Godspeed,
...and Godspeed,
-Kyle
Click to Continue the Story......
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
As if the first shot was not close enough...
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Double Haul: Size 22 Cream Midge on 6x Tippet
...not an April Fools' joke.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
First Time Fly Fisher
Usually the time around the first of March, for me, is reserved for a comfortable place on the couch, a big screen TV, and the end of season conference basketball tournaments in the NCAA. It is the eve of the Madness that is March and I enjoying watching all the games while bubble teams played for their tournament lives. This year though my lil' Aggies were bounced in the first round of the Big 12 Tournament and my thoughts drifted to the river. With no motivation to watch the games the rest of the weekend and high hopes that the Aggies would get their invite to the dance on Sunday, I packed up the gear for a trip North to the Lower Mountain Fork River.
At the urging of a friend/coworker, I decided it was okay for him to tag along...even though he had never thrown fly rod, let alone fished in freshwater. I figured I could cover the basics and get him on some trout.
Most of Saturday morning was spent going over the cast, how to set up a nice drift, and retying his set up when it ended up in a jumbled mess. Michael was getting it down but I could not get a fish to take the rig I had set up on the end of his line.
While he was fine tuning his cast and drift, I was tying on fly after fly until I found the golden ticket. I never knew how many knots I could tie and I began to worry I might run out of 5x tippet. There were a few times where I thought I had it figured out because I had some takes and landed some fish...
...like those above. I would pass him the rod I was using and tell him to throw it. But as luck would have it, the trout were turned off that fly in a matter of minutes.After wearing out a hole that I was certain he would pull his first trout from we ventured further down river. We came upon this section of the river where two creeks come back together to form the river. The trout were stacked deep and it was back to figuring out what they were taking. I was trying different sections of the river, working my way in and out of fly fishers in attempt to find the perfect place for Michael. As I explored, Michael would occasionally hook up with a fish and the fight was on. I would rush back to help him land his first trout and as I was coaching him on what to do, the trout would unhook himself for a long distance release. This occurred three times before the stars aligned.
I was finally able to get Michael into another favorite spot of mine after some fly fishers left the spot complaining that there were no fish in there. Like an ant on sugar, I jumped in immediately and signaled Michael to come on down.
I was finally able to get Michael into another favorite spot of mine after some fly fishers left the spot complaining that there were no fish in there. Like an ant on sugar, I jumped in immediately and signaled Michael to come on down.
A few casts later, he was hooked up and by this time had an idea on how to fight the trout.
And for a guy's first trout in Beaver's Bend, it was a fine one.
After that, he had it down and landed five fish in about twenty minutes. The last one being his best...
We fished Evening Hole through lunch and when it finally slowed down we made the trek back to the FJ via Lost Creek.
Mike had to take care of some personal business behind a tree and while he was tending to the matter, I decided to throw into a nice pocket of water. With my first cast, I hooked up with a so-called "contract trout." I landed one in the exact spot when I was up there during Thanksgiving with Chris and have always had some luck right there.
I landed the trout too quickly and he was more than squirmy for the photo op but Michael got a nice picture.Right before I handed the rod back to him, I threw back into the water and I hooked up with another solid fish.
...and Michael officially joined our club by slipping on a rock to take his inaugural dip of the waders into chilly waters of the Lower Mountain Fork.
I had no idea the kid could move so fast but I guess the feel of frigid water running down your back all the way to your toes will make you do superhuman things in a effort to stand up quickly. I could not help but laugh all the way back to the car. Wes got a kick out of too and welcomed him to the club.
After drying out his gear and regaining feeling in his lower extremities, Michael was back at it in Evening Hole. By mid Sunday morning his cast was effective and he had realized that the longer he could keep his fly in the water with a realistic drift, the more opportunities for trout would be had.
And of course, by the time I handed the rod back to Michael the trout that were here were no longer interested so we headed back to the car.
As we were making our way out of the park after packing the gear into the FJ, we were crossing a bridge and I was pointing out to Michael an area that is usually pretty good to fish. Just as I was talking about it, I looked out across the water and saw a familiar profile wading in the waters. Sure enough it was Wes and we spent the rest of the daylight fly fishing with the Dude.
That evening, Michael, Wes, and I formulated a game plan to hit up Zone II in the morning. Zone II always gets me excited with the opportunity of catching some of those German trout. Plus the waters are a little more wide open and the scenery is real nice. But for whatever reason Zone II just does not produce for us like it has in years past. And this year in particular has been disappointing for me down there with only enough trout landed to count on one hand. Nonetheless, he thought we could buck the trend.
Well, the trend continued. The only excitement came when this crane landed near by...
...and Michael officially joined our club by slipping on a rock to take his inaugural dip of the waders into chilly waters of the Lower Mountain Fork.
I had no idea the kid could move so fast but I guess the feel of frigid water running down your back all the way to your toes will make you do superhuman things in a effort to stand up quickly. I could not help but laugh all the way back to the car. Wes got a kick out of too and welcomed him to the club.After drying out his gear and regaining feeling in his lower extremities, Michael was back at it in Evening Hole. By mid Sunday morning his cast was effective and he had realized that the longer he could keep his fly in the water with a realistic drift, the more opportunities for trout would be had.
We made the decision to head back to Zone I, after the slow morning in Zone II. It was a good choice because the fishing was great to close out the weekend.
Michael and I scored a nice double at one point during the day which lead to some chaos on the river. I saw that he hooked up with a big fish and I was making my way down to him to help him land it. As I made my way down, I threw my fly out for fun. Just as I was about to get to Michael, I had a take and embarked on a fight of my own. Our lines crossed a number of times but somehow we both managed to land our trout.
I am confident my was bigger, but Michael's was not too bad at all.
But our glory of the biggest trout of the day was short lived. Soon after, Wes hooked up with a healthy trout that sent him running down the river trying to keep up with it.
This trout has some splendid acrobatic moves out of the water but lost points from the Russian judge on his entries to the water...the splashes were too big and cannonball like.
Finally, Wes was able to turn the trout's head and bring him in for his photo shoot.
It was indeed a fine fish and easily the biggest of the day.
After it was successfully released, we all agreed that was ender. We made our way back to our cars to pack up for the ride home and enjoy a cold beverage. Reflecting on the weekend, we all agreed it was good time. Wes decided to stay another day but Michael and I needed to head back to Texas. The drive home is never as exciting as the drive there and there are always thoughts of wishing to stay another day. This drive however was not too bad when I replayed the weekend in my head. As we slipped back into Texas across the Red River, the sun was setting and I could not help but feel good about introducing a friend to fly fishing and helping him land his first of many rainbow trout...no matter the record breaker number of knots I tied and 5x tippet I burned through. Plus, I got word the Aggies received their invitation as a #9 seed to the NCAA Tournament.
Michael and I scored a nice double at one point during the day which lead to some chaos on the river. I saw that he hooked up with a big fish and I was making my way down to him to help him land it. As I made my way down, I threw my fly out for fun. Just as I was about to get to Michael, I had a take and embarked on a fight of my own. Our lines crossed a number of times but somehow we both managed to land our trout.I am confident my was bigger, but Michael's was not too bad at all.
But our glory of the biggest trout of the day was short lived. Soon after, Wes hooked up with a healthy trout that sent him running down the river trying to keep up with it.
This trout has some splendid acrobatic moves out of the water but lost points from the Russian judge on his entries to the water...the splashes were too big and cannonball like.
Finally, Wes was able to turn the trout's head and bring him in for his photo shoot.
It was indeed a fine fish and easily the biggest of the day.
After it was successfully released, we all agreed that was ender. We made our way back to our cars to pack up for the ride home and enjoy a cold beverage. Reflecting on the weekend, we all agreed it was good time. Wes decided to stay another day but Michael and I needed to head back to Texas. The drive home is never as exciting as the drive there and there are always thoughts of wishing to stay another day. This drive however was not too bad when I replayed the weekend in my head. As we slipped back into Texas across the Red River, the sun was setting and I could not help but feel good about introducing a friend to fly fishing and helping him land his first of many rainbow trout...no matter the record breaker number of knots I tied and 5x tippet I burned through. Plus, I got word the Aggies received their invitation as a #9 seed to the NCAA Tournament.-Parker
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
The Missouri River from Holter Dam to the Wolf Creek Bridge
I have had the good fortune of being invited up to Montana the last few years to fly fish some famous rivers like the Smith and the North Fork of the Blackfoot River. Most trips are made solo and I return to Fort Worth with tall tales of wild trout in majestic backdrops. In fact I come back with a strong urge to only fish dry flies and Wes had never seemed to understand why. That is until he finally made it up there this past August.
My family was invited up and our family friends who have a spread in Wolf Creek, once again, encouraged me to invite some of my fly fishing pals. The stars aligned this go-round and Wes and Stu were able to make it. Now Stu worked out a trip where he flew into Jackson Hole, spent a view days exploring (when on a 14 mile wilderness hike in the Tetons) then rented a car and made the drive to Helena to meet my parents and sister. Wes and I were leaving a few days later and had been counting down the days to trout once we scored our plane tickets. Everything was arranged from lining out guides, securing drift boats for our own float, menus for dinner, etc. Mom even dubbed this trip as the New Age Corps of Discovery and anointed each member a nickname from Lewis and Clark's crew and their adventure in the early 1800s.
I arrived at the DFW Airport to find Wes giddy with excitement as he sat at Cousin's Barbecue. Ribs were a solid choice before we departed but a terrible storm in Denver delayed our flight and hopes of catching our connecting flight were quickly fading with the Texas sunset. We finally boarded and after running the numbers in our head, we realized that our connecting flight would be leaving right after we were to land in Denver.
We made it Denver with about 5 Jack and cokes in our systems and no time to spare to catch our flight to Helena. We made like Usain Bolt in a dash across the airport and I had never seen Wes move so fast. He was just a flash and darted in and out of airport patrons. I was bringing up the rear and slowly coming to the realization that our flight had left. We finally made it and the lady working the ticket counter was a bearer of bad news. The flight had left 10 minutes before we arrived at the gate and the earliest flight was not leaving until 6:50 the next morning. On top of that we would have to fly to Salt Lake City, catch a connector with 45 minutes to spare, then arrive in Helena around 11:45am. Bad words ensued.
Once we arranged flight plans for the following the day, we caught a bus to a hotel Delta arranged for us. No big deal...I just called Mitch (our guide for Thursday) and we worked out a game plane where he would pick us up at the airport so we could just drive straight to the river to fly fish that afternoon. Our bags would be rerouted and the only thing we had to worry about was catching the bus from our hotel the next morning around 5:45am.
Well, the wake up call never came and we rose in a panic around 5:30am. He hustled around the room, gathered what little we had, and made it down in time to catch the bus. My big worry was getting my boarding pass for the plane because the night before I did not realize Wes was getting what he thought was a new one. Fortunately the line was not too long when we arrived at the airport and I got my ticket fairly quick. We then went down to go through security and it was nothing more than a carnival. The lines reminded me of Wal-Mart when 578 people are trying to check out when they only have 3 registers open. I finally made it up there and they pulled me aside for a special security check since my ticket was less then 24 hours old. Wes on the other hand was denied because what he thought was a good boarding pass was not. At this point in the game it was close to 6:40am and Wes had a long haul back to the check in counter. I just nodded and did what every friend would do...proceeded through in an attempt to catch the plane.
Now with the luck we were having you would think that the terminal was close by. When I finally looked at the ticket I read that the gate was in concourse C. If you have not been to the Denver Airport it is HUGE. As you will see below, I had to catch a train and head North as I was starting in the South Pole of the airport (connect the blue dot to the red dot).
My plane was simple. I would delay the ticket taker at the gate to give Wes time to catch up. I had no idea where he was but I was going to make every effort from my end to get him on the plane. Well my attempt to delay the plane was quickly denied when the attendant kindly stated, "If you want to go to Salt Lake City, you'd better get on this plane!" Head down, I slowly handed her my ticket and took a quick glance at the Timex...6:48am.
I took my seat slower than a turtle and held out hope Wes would make it. I tried calling Wes but in his mile and a quarter sprint-train ride-sprint to the gate he did not have time to answer. Then when all hope faded as the flight attendant began to speak through the intercom, Wes came barging in at 6:51am. Relieved, I tried to lead the plane in a slow cap but nobody shared are joy. I am not sure how he did it or where he found the energy to make the mad dash but after talking with him he was able to save a tad bit of time by running up the down escalator!
So we made it to Helena and Mitch was there, drift boat in tow. He said things were looking good on the Missouri River and the trout were feeding.
Our only problem was our bags never made it to Montana. They were stuck in Denver. I took all my fishing gear in a carry on, but Wes' reels (he's a right handed retriever) were in his checked luggage. He would be stuck using Mitch's left handed retriever reels for the day.But after he landed his first few wild trout below Holter Dam he was not too concerned about the reels anymore.
As for me, it took me a little longer to get in the mood of catching fish. It must have been jet-lag, because at one point we saw a trout take my indicator ten feet underwater and he no doubt swallowed my fly whole allowing it to pass entirely through his digestive track. My efforts were weak to start the day but I finally got on some and landed my fair share.
Wes with his backwards set up.
As the Montana sun was setting on a fun filled day on the water with Mitch, we pulled out the caddis flies and stalked feeding trout in slow moving water. Wes set up some sweet drifts right into feeding trout and took in the glory landing trout on a dry fly.
As we approached the Wolf Creek Bridge our long day was coming to an end. My cell phone had run out of battery and my Dad was calling Wes to find out where we were. Wes handed me the phone, I put my rod up, and gave Wes the front of the boat.
Soon after, Wes sent one out and a swirl that made me think it was a beaver that took his fly. I told Dad I had to go because Wes just hooked up with a monster and we would be home soon!
As the Montana sun was setting on a fun filled day on the water with Mitch, we pulled out the caddis flies and stalked feeding trout in slow moving water. Wes set up some sweet drifts right into feeding trout and took in the glory landing trout on a dry fly.
As we approached the Wolf Creek Bridge our long day was coming to an end. My cell phone had run out of battery and my Dad was calling Wes to find out where we were. Wes handed me the phone, I put my rod up, and gave Wes the front of the boat.
Soon after, Wes sent one out and a swirl that made me think it was a beaver that took his fly. I told Dad I had to go because Wes just hooked up with a monster and we would be home soon!Throughout the day Wes had landed some nice fish but he never had to put them on the reel. He probably should have, as the fights would have been easier but he just fought'em with his hands. Now this fish he had on was definitely one you needed to put on the reel.
However Wes could not make his left hand reel the correct way and he hand fought this thing for a good seven minutes or so. At one point, Mitch turned around to me and and quickly whispered, "It's a BIG fish, isn't in?!" Wide-eyed, I just nodded yes and crossed my fingers because I did not want to jinx Wes in this epic fight.
He finally got the brown trout and he was a sight to behold.
His face says it all.
It was a fine trout and a perfect way to end a long two days. The good news was we were in Montana and Friday morning would be coming around the corner rather quickly for another day of fly fishing on the Missouri River. Wes could hardly wait to throw some more dry flies.
-Parker
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
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