GREENS AND STREAMS BLOG
Another Day in the Driftless
"What day are you fishing this weekend", she asked.
"Don't know yet, depends on the weather", I replied gruffly.
A few days go by, "Have you figured out what day you're fishing yet?", she asks again.
"Probably Saturday, if it's not raining. Let me check the weather. Figures as much, rain on Saturday, rain on Monday, so I'll go Sunday. Don't worry, I won't be late." I said.
This happens a lot in our house. Mainly it's my inability to commit to a solo day trip, and my fear of telling my wife I'm going by myself. A trip to one of my favorite streams in Wisconsin is exactly 190.4 miles from driveway to pull off. Depending on traffic it's normally a hair over three hours.
Up at four, quick brushing of the teeth and a coffee, and I was on the road. This time the drive up seemed different. It's been almost two months since I've been up last, which is a long time for me. Not much had changed, but it all seemed different. Up in to Wisconsin the weather kept getting cooler, and the fog that much heavier. Before reaching Madison, I could barely see about twenty feet in front of car - completely enveloped in fog. It was eery and pretty cool at the same time. As the sun came up and began burning off the fog, the anticipation began to develop.
To me, late summer in Wisconsin means a couple of things - it's hopper time and closing weekend will be here before I know it. With a batch of freshly tied hoppers, I was pumped to get on the water and start tossing some foam.
This stretch is one I've become very familiar with over the years. I've invested the time to know where the fish are and gotten to know the twists and turns and where the log jams are. I daydream of this stretch of water at work and before bed. It's one of my favorites. But this was the first time I've seen this stretch this year. And after the winter we had, rumors whirled this stream might have been struck by a fish kill.
As I scouted from the bridge upon my arrival, I looked up to see a cloudless sky, and down to see a slight stain and good pace to the current. Figured we'd get the day started with a scud and brassie. Both have produced here for me late in the summer after a rain, so I thought the day was looking up.
The third riffle I came to looked good and didn't disappoint. On my third drift through, I hooked what is to this day, the smallest brown trout I've caught. I preface this with saying, most fisherman will always exaggerate, and this fish was all of four inches. But hey, it knocked the skunk off and had me on the board.
As the day progressed, the wind picked up and the clouds came out, I thought this would be shaping up to be a great hopper day. As I swapped out the nymphs and tied on a hopper I noted a few risers up in the next run. As I took my first cast, I quickly realized I was standing on my line, which in turn set off a thirty five minute birds nest, involving about thirteen large mint bushes, plenty of thistle and my day pack. This string of bad luck and frustration seemed to bounce from pool to pool with me as my good casts were rewarded with short strikes or last seconds turn downs, and the day slowly started to head south.
I'm not a numbers guy, or a size guy. I'm just a guy who likes being outside, enjoying the fresh air and chance to be chasing trout. If I judged all my trips on numbers and size, I would have quit fishing a long time ago. But days like these - frustrating, hot, humid and full of misses are rough. By noon I had hooked two fish, missed more than a handful, and lost about a half dozen flies. Within eyesight of the car I thought about just calling it a day, running to the Citgo and grabbing an iced tea and heading home. Not sure why, but I decided to finally sit down and try to relax. I wasn't "worked up" but just a bit frustrated. I had really looked forward to this trip and now I was going home with little to show for it. As I sat, sipping a bit of water, I looked under the bridge and noticed a few rings on the water and thought it must have been a rise.
"What's the harm in getting up there, tossing a few casts before likely losing my fly?" I thought. I mean the cast looked impossible - one foot in two feet of water, the other on a rock just off the edge, throw it under the bridge, without hooking the forest of weeds lining the bank. Oh, and it needed to go about forty feet to have any chance.
First cast was long enough, but wide right. As it floats back to me, to my shock a fish comes out of the depths and hammers it! I set the hook, and nothing. Missed him. The next two casts I'll never forget. I had the same thing happen. Two wide casts, two more blow ups, two more misses. I was about ready to dive in and swim after them. Three different fish, in different places and I missed 'em all! I was livid.
I took a few deep breaths, sat down on the bank and waited. I couldn't go without giving them a few more casts. But needed to give them a chance to forget and me a chance to get my legs to stop shaking.
The fact that not only did I get the casts in the right spots, but that I missed three fish were killing me as I waited. Not another rise, not another sign of life from the hole they from where they came. "Worth a few more casts" I thought, "at least to say I went down swinging."
The next five casts produced over fifty inches in fish from my estimation. 3 of the best brown trout I've ever pulled from this creek, from the same hole. Fish kill? Doubting it a little right now. They started small - about sixteen inches, another around nineteen and then another around eighteen inches. Mind you, our average fish size is about eight to ten inches and twelve inchers are considered wonderful.
This day will go down as one I won't quickly forget. From a rough fishing day, to one that will go down as one of my best, I'm glad I stuck it out and decided to take one more shot. As I loaded up the truck and headed home, I held a special feeling of pride. I made the most of what became a tough day. And I even kept the wife happy, I made it home in time for dinner!
Coren's Fly Tying - The Group
Five years ago I asked Eric Heckman of Corens Rod and Reel if he’d like to host a tying group at his shop. Of course I don’t know if Eric knew what he was saying yes to, or maybe he did. I sure as hell didn’t.
So we made some rules: No elections, dues or officers. No watching. We do allow beer.
The format was simple, there’d be a leader who’d select the patterns, materials would be handed out and everyone would follow the leader to tie the patterns. No video camera, no long winded explanations, everyone ties. We’d tie two flies of every pattern, three patterns if we had enough time. We’d meet every Thursday and take up a collection/donation once or twice a month depending upon how much came off the walls. The two fly rule came about because few people tie a good first fly.
Five years later the rules are still the same. No watching allowed, you come to watch and we put a vise and materials in front of you. We still drink beer.
In the beginning there were three members. Now we have thirty on the mailing list. We have members who live in Alaska in the summer, one who lives in Montana, and ages ranging from 13 to retired.
So are tying groups any good? Sure they are. Just in our area there is Chicago Fly Fishers, DRIFT, NIFTY and ISA’s Bass Buggers.
We’re a bit different in our focus, but in any group, you meet new people, you learn all kinds of things, some useful, some not, but you wind up with flies you’ve tied. Some of which you fish with. Your skills improve and best of all, you don’t have to be an expert to join the group. Beginners are always welcome and appreciated, but if you’re thin skinned, just so you know, we do make fun of each other. So if you’re extra sensitive, let us know, we’ll only kid you a bit.
So what do we tie? In a year we’ll tie everything from deer hair flies, in our group is Cory Gale, an expert at spinning, stacking and whacking deer hair. We’ll have guides come and tie with us, Austin Adduci of Grab Your Fly Charters tied with us Craig Riendeau who’s had several articles published in Fly Tyer magazine has tied with us and members of the club have sat in the leader chair and wrapped feathers on a hook.
So in a year, we’ll tie about 40-45 weeks, or about 180+ flies. We work at keeping the flies varied and to challenge tying skills. We also try to keep things seasonal: steelhead and trout during the season, bass and bluegill flies and then some Pike flies just to keep things going. And carp, yes we occasionally tie carp flies for which there is no season.
If you’re looking for a place to tie, the group meets at Corens on Thursday nights: Official start time is 6:30 but I’m often there early. So we have a bonus fly that we tie when three or more are gathered with vises. We end about 8:30. We usually have enough beer to go around and enough stories to keep you entertained, but the rule, no watching allowed, is strictly enforced. If you don’t have a vise and tools, we have loaners. You don’t have to buy anything, but you do have to tie. It’s a rule.
Corens Rod and Reel Service:
6001 N. Nina Ave. Chicago, IL 60631
773-631-5202
Being a 9-5 Fishing Guy
I'm sure we're probably very similar. We work nine to five, fill out our time cards and wait for our paycheck. I get two weeks vacation, of which my wife would like to spend on a beach somewhere, sipping cocktails and basking in the sun. I on the other hand would love to spend it on the edge of a trout stream. To say it's a compromise is an understatement. For me, fly fishing is my passion, and definitely not something that's going to bring home the bacon.
With limited travel options and time, I find other ways to connect. To get my fix of all things fly fishing, I found myself becoming an avid rod builder, fly tier, photographer and interweb nerd - following everyone I can, oogling photos and trolling the forums. Thank goodness our IT guy is lazy because a quick look at my internet usage in the office might lead people to believe I'm "distracted".
Located in the Chicagoland area, most people might think we're limited to bass and bluegill. But few realize how well situated we are - able to fish either side of Lake Michigan, a couple hours East of the Driftless and some of the best trout fishing in the US (IMHO), and plenty of farm and business park ponds to choose from.
I love the term "finding the time", because as I get older, it never seems like there's a free minute. So how do you combat time, you keep a rod and a box of flies in the car, and you forgo a sandwich for an hour chasing blue gills and crappie? I've found some of my customers have some of the best fishing spots just outside their manufacturing facilities.
I don't know if I'd trade my day to day life for that of a guide. I have so much respect for guys who do; Austin Adducci, Jeff Hubbard, Steve Martinez, Kevin Morlock and all the others here in the Midwest. I love my job and what I do, but the wild card is always the people I deal with. The interactions are short, involve a few meetings, maybe some PowerPoint, but rarely do I spend more than about an hour with any of them at a time. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to spend a day helping them out, mentoring and teaching someone something that is challenging. Those guys have more patience and people skills than I could ever hope for.
I'd love to do more fishing and make it my life. But the way I look at it, it's become my escape. I'm happy being a guy punching the clock day in and day out, plugging away for another chance to wet a line, take a deep breath, and let my mind soak it all in. Because even when the fish aren't biting, there aren't too many places I'd rather be than by the water with a fishing rod in my hand.