Labrador Ain't The Only Place...

Miles Driven: 500

Zip Car: $304

Food: $75

5lb Brook Trout: Price less

So apparently Labrador Canada isn't the only place to find trophy brook trout.  California fly fishing is a tough puzzle to solve, but these days she's starting to show me a little bit of skin. Whoever says California fly fishing sucks, just doesn't know her secrets and that is fine by me. Like my buddy Walt says; "leave if you're not willing to pay your dues." This is coming from a man that already has over 200K miles on a 2007 Toyota FJ Cruiser that only drinks premium.  Yeah San Francisco is "hella" out of the way from the beaten path for fly fishers, but heck - I live in a beautiful city that is conveniently positioned close enough to a variety of different types weekend fishing trips. With that said I'm going to start my story...

We got a late start on Friday last week because we were held up at a bar entertaining one of our international customers from New Zealand. Of course we crushed a few on his tab and talked fishing so I'm not complaining. This just meant a long trip ahead.

After climbing over a 9K ft summit pass through the Eastern Sierras in the Honda Civic we rented for the weekend, we pulled up to our trail head at around 1am. Under the cover of darkness we filled our packs  and embarked on our hike toward the hidden lake in the mountains. After starring down at our 15 foot illuminated radius for the past three miles, we finally arrived to our final destination at around 3 am.

The game plan was to set up camp and get our fishing gear ready for first light, but by the time we finished pumping up our float tubes, it was almost sunrise. Casey and I decided not to risk missing first light so we stayed up the extra 45 minutes we estimated while Alex slept in the tent.

Before we could see the other side of the lake, we could already hear the deep splashing sound of rising fish in the distance. This was music to our ears and was stronger than the most powerful of caffeine to wake us up. Excited by the activity, we paddled out in our donuts and forgot to wake Alex.

We fished hard until 11am before my body told me to take a nap. Got these two bad boys on a shrimp/scud pattern.

 

Sleeping was pretty much impossible with the sun overhead in such a barren landscape. I managed to doze off before Casey woke me up to go fishing again. 

We paddled out to go meet up with Alex at around three. The wind had picked up that afternoon so we hugged the tullies for relief. Alex got his first bite of the day and the fish damn near wrapped itself around my fins! I kicked a few time to scare it away from the shore line so Alex would tangle up. Trying to wrangle the fish, Alex moved away from the cover of the tullies to fight the giant in deeper water.  Just as it seemed like Alex had some control over the fish it darted back to the shore and broke off. I guess you gotta expect that to happen when you're fishing to 5lb obese brook trout with 6X! I don't know if he even thought to change to something a little stronger, but I shouldn't be making fun because immediately after I got farmed just as bad on 4X.

With two lost fish in that area, I paddled away from the tullies and tried my chance at fishing some deeper water. I gave my type 4 sinking line a count of 10 sec and stripped my seal bugger fast. Out of nothing, I get hit hard and the fish takes off. After a surprisingly long battle I finally land the toad Lahontan Cuttroat and it just maxed out the net.

 

After landing one more brookie I called it quits and went back to base camp to fry up some fish tacos and dink some whiskey. The next day we slept in and pack out to fish the East Walker...

Sorry no pics of the Walker but it was fishing really well despite the high flow. Every fish I pulled out of there was on average 17"-18" and I lost one of the biggest brownies of my life that day. 

The Eastern Sierra is my new favorite place to be in California for 48 hrs. Too bad gas isn't free, but I guess it kind of is when you rent a zip car...

Oregon Ode

Salmon Flies

Fat RedsideRainbow on a Bow and Arrow Cast

Cows Grazing

Mt Hood I think

Metolius

Little Redside Rainbow

Campsite view of Middle Deschutes River

Steelhead Falls, Middle Deschutes River

Awesome run on the Middle Deschutes River

pretty amazing...

A year in the business from Ben Paull on Vimeo.

Venture Out

[81435] from felt soul media on Vimeo.

The Petting Zoo

I started fly fishing last year with Jon Ng on the Trinity River. It was January and we were hunting steelhead, and as everyone expected, I got skunked. I slowly started to catch more fish as my love for the sport grew, but I was still catching mainly 10-14 inch fish. It was fun, but I wanted more. In April of this year, I decided that I ought to go on a road trip for my spring break from the University of Montana in Missoula. I had no real plan, but figured that I would visit my brother at his dorm in Boulder and stop at my uncle's ranch, on River X (sorry). I packed up my gear and headed East. After two days of driving I finally got to the ranch house. I told my uncle that I had checked the fishing reports, bought a bunch of midges and 6x, and “should I bring them?”. He laughed and said, “not if you're planning on catching anything”.

My uncle has a name for each spot on the river. “Bay of Pigs” and “the Petting Zoo” are two that I remember. These are not playful names; they accurately describe the fish living in his stretch of river. That first afternoon, my uncle started up the ATVs and we headed down to the river. I caught a nice rainbow on a nymph and was real happy, but as we headed back to the house for dinner, he apologized for the size of the trout. I assured him that I was quite satisfied with it. He told me we'd try again the next day and he'd put me on something bigger.

The next day the weather was a little gnarly in the morning so we used his truck to get down to the river. It was snowing slightly but it wasn't uncomfortable since we had an abundance of gear. We rigged up and he stood by my side in the river and told me where to cast and when I had a “fishy drift”. Inwardly, I chafed a little under the instructions because I fancied myself an alright fly fisher by then, but I knew that was just my ego and his forty years of experience could help develop my nascent fly fishing passion. I caught a couple decent fish, easily among the biggest I'd ever caught, but struggled each time I had a trophy size trout on the line. I started to get a little frustrated, but he calmed me down and we tried spot after spot. I hooked up a ton of times with what felt like huge trout but lost them because I was used to horsing in small fish quickly on my Sage 9' 6 weight z-axis, and I actually had to have skill to land these big guys. I lost them quickly, before I could see the silver rising out of the snow dappled depths. A storm started to move in and he asked me if I wanted to go back. If you're reading this blog you know the response I gave. We fished for a couple more hours, and then took a break for lunch.

When we were back at the ranch house eating lunch the weather took a turn for the worse. Several inches of snow had accumulated in the time it took me to eat a bacon and cheese sandwich and the conditions were nearing blizzard levels. Since the snow had gotten so deep during the day, we had to take snowmobiles down to the river. After a couple hours of fishing the weather became even more of an issue. We could hear thunder overhead and the snow was flying sideways. It was a driving, piercing snow that turned my hands so numb it became an ordeal to tie on flies.

After fishing for a little while in a new spot, I felt the biggest tug I'd ever felt. I was using a streamer, and when I set the hook, the fish was so strong that I had to use two hands on the rod when the fish went on a run. I narrowed my focus and felt like I was doing really well. Each time the trout went on a run, I let it take line, and when I felt it turn its head I countered it (with more skill than I knew I had). Eventually, I started to gain ground. My uncle, standing a little deeper in the river, saw it before I did and yelled “you're not gonna believe this”. Then the rainbow breached the surface. It looked like a fucking shark. I was honestly a little scared that it would swim toward me and try to eat me. I fought that fish for I don't know how long, but it felt like forever. It was my first real battle. I fought that bow with a mixture of confidence and fear. Finally, I brought it within a few feet of my uncle, and right when he put the net in the water to scoop the fish up, I felt a release. The line had broken. I felt like I was going to throw up and had to put my hands on my knees. My uncle smiled a smile that told me he'd felt the same way many times. I tied on a new fly and casted again.

We fished a lot more that weekend, and I caught some amazing fish, but there was nothing that tested my fishing prowess the way that hog did. The bigger fish I caught later were the result of him taking me to a slow spot in the river that he knew held big fish, but it wasn't as dynamic and didn't feel as true as when I was in the middle of the rushing, obstacle laden main flow. Every day I fish now, it's with the goal of getting my skills to the point where I can go back to the ranch and meet that bad boy once again.

3 Weight Paradise

 

Ok-California is freaking amazing! I went to a mini New Zealand this past week minus the 10 pound browns. I used an old school Sage SPL Center Axis 3wt 7'3" and had absolute blast catching these 4-8 inch wild rainbows on dries and swinging streams under a 5 foot sink tip. Thanks Josh for letting me barrow it for the weekend! 

The fish were small ~ really small. Some of them couldn't even fit the feathered hooked morsel into their mouth. Normally I wouldn't think twice about fish of this skimpiness, but this place was different. Everything was on a miniature scale, sight casting to an 8 inch trout was all of a sudden like fishing to an 18 inch brown on the East Walker. This type of fishing was eye opening and was almost like fly fishing therapy because of its simplicity.

These fish were naturally more grabby than other fish that I have cast to in California, but that is just because they don't see a lot of fishing pressure. Although naive by nature they did not eat everything we served them. They needed a well presented fly within the realm of cuisine they were in the middle of dining on. A stealthy approach was necessary considering the gin clear water they live in. 

There was one fish in particular that I know I will remember forever as dorky as it sounds. Photographed on the right, obviously I wont remember her for her size. What made her stand out from the rest were the steps that it took to land this picture. I skated my way over the uneven stream bottom to cross the river to get to a bolder the size of a mini school bus. Not knowing what watery terrain lay on the other side, I carefully hugged the massive rock and peaked around its corner to scan the water. Starting from right to left, I studied the gushing white water that gradually calmed itself into small deep pool that teetered over a water fall. Looking deeply into the sunlit pool I spotted this solo fish holding in a pocket just before the drop off.

I watched as she effortlessly swam against the current rising up and down the water-column to snatch the tiny insects that drifted overhead. Carefully, I unhooked my fly from its keep and pulled line off my reel to cast. I dropped the fly just far enough ahead not to spook her and not too far away where the current would affect my drift.  My size 16 Royal Trude was lined up and she turned up to suck in my fly. To my excitement I set the hook too soon and pulled the fly away before she could get a hold. Upset that I might have blown my chance I waited to see if she had spooked. Fortunately she continued to to feed. 

Knowing that my previous cast was well presented,  I dropped my fly in the same spot and let the current take control. She posted up to my fly once again, but this time she wizened up and refused the false meal. A slap in the face.

I tied on a trusted size 14 Parachute Adams and made the same cast for a third time. Knowing that a new fly would certainly spark her interest I anticipated for the take and watched as she swam up to the surface to grab my fly. Waiting a split second longer, I watched her swim down with the fly until I placed my set. I couldn't help but feel nervous as I danced the fish against the current to avoid certain doom if she were to be swept away over the drop off. She darted back and forth across the pool before she surrendered to the palm of my hand. After a quick photo shoot, she was quickly released back into her world.