I learned from a friend in Deer Lodge recently that my byline had hit the local paper. There was talk of that since Jesse Mullen, who own the Phillipsburg Post and Silver State Mail in Deer Lodge, took over the Bitterroot Star. Jesse and I are on schedules that have confounded a sit-down meeting, so word that my column had been syndicated, sorta, came as a welcome surprise.
We decided to call it my Flyfishing Journal for several reasons. One, the views expressed here, while not necessarily inflammatory or dangerous, are exclusively and unabashedly my own.
Second, as the title of a wonderful old book by Dana Lamb says, The Fishing’s Only Part of It. I know a few fly fishermen who are obsessed with numbers of fish caught. Most of us aren’t like that; they’re missing so much. And what they’re missing is often what I try to grasp in this column. A journal takes in all of it.
It’s about why we fish – not just how
Our interests include every need that might take us to the stream, everything we experience while we’re there, and everything we might store in our hearts and memories when the day is over.
There’s more to writing about fly fishing than reporting which fly is the hot pattern, or how far above your nymph you should set your bobber.
And a lot of that reporting, the modern folklore of our sport, just happens to be wrong. But I’ll get back to that later.
I might go on an occasional rant about conservation. Most of us treasure the fishery resources that nourish our souls, and the whole ethos of water, wildlife, and unspoiled natural habitat that sustains them. Most of us are committed to protecting them. I’ll try to help.
And sometimes, when there’s something that gets at the heart of why we fish, I’ll try to preserve the essence of that experience by wrapping words around it. And at that point, if writing is to have value, it must be shared.
If, in my words, you see chunks of my heart on my sleeve every now and then, that’s where they belong. That part of me has more to do with my flyfishing than the contents of my fly box. But I’ll share that, too.
If you’ve been reading this column for a while, you know what I mean. If you’re seeing it for the first time, welcome – and like the musician who sings and plays his song, this song’s for you. I welcome, value, and appreciate your feedback.
Old man Powell’s advice
One of my mentors was the legendary bamboo rodmaker Walton Powell. He could be downright abrasive, but was always direct. He once started a seminar by asking the attendees, “You wanna catch more fish than the other guy? Then fish where he doesn’t, when he doesn’t, and how he doesn’t.”
As we await the skwala hatch on the Bitterroot that’s sound advice.
Already the throngs of floaters are pitching #8 nymphs or dry-dropper rigs at the outside of bends, places that held fish last summer. Those lies might be running a little swift while the nondescript slower water on the inside, near the visible gravel bar, might be more productive.
But you have to approach it cautiously. Don’t disturb. No shadows. Comb it out carefully with your casts. Fish it during the pleasant part of the day – mid-afternoon can be the best time.
And as to flies – during the lag between press deadlines and the time you read this, the dry fly skwala stonefly fishing could come on full bore – but my nagging sense is that it won’t.
My young friend and accomplished fly tyer, Hudson Ruiz, captured a #14 nemoura stonefly recently. He took a photo of that fly next to his tie of this year’s nemoura pattern with UV dubbing in the body. Nemouras are out – and that fly will produce.
On the middle and lower river there are places up against the banks where you’ll find more nemoura nymphs getting ready to hatch than skwalas.
Word to the wise: While a dry-dropper with a #8 skwala on top and another #8 nymph two or three feet below will get you into fish, you might up your odds by going longer on the tippet, and trailing a #12 Hare’s Ear or Copper John behind the bigger nymph – or try a nemoura dry with a #12 or #14 nymph underneath.
You might catch more fish than the other guy.
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Column for March 17, 2021, intro, going beyond © Chuck Stranahan