October 29, 2012 Middle Provo Report: Went 0-4, oh, so close!

The early bird doesn't necessarily get the worm when it comes to fishing on the Provo in late October. From 8 am to about 11 am, the fishing was fairly slow. Managed to catch smaller browns, until the sun peeked over the distant Uinta Mountains and the bigger fish became much more active.

For dry-fly guys, with the sun and warmer temperatures, the duns were much more active and sizable fish were sipping and splashing all around in the tail-end of deeper runs. I meant to catch a few duns and post pics for future reference, but no cigar.

For nymphing guys, the action is still as hot as ever. I hooked into a hog and we fought it out for 24 minutes, before my damn tippet snapped. I was nymphing the middle section of one of my favorite runs and a huge hog took my bottom nymph. I can't compare this fish with the others in the past, but I have never hooked into a fish that wouldn't give an inch over such a lengthy period. To demonstrate how long the fight took, an angler had walked and began to fish two runs up from where I was. As soon as he started to fish that run, the huge brown took my nymph. While we fought, the angler had managed to thoroughly fish the run he was on and decided to head back downstream. It takes a little while to go up and downstream, because of the brush and smaller trees, and he managed to pop-out at the trail leading to the run I was on. He looked at me and nodded and then proceeded to fish the run downstream from me. The huge brown and I continued, and the angler thoroughly fished the smaller run. By now, my fish began to take the fight downstream and there was nothing I could do. There still was not an ounce of give and I felt more like a scientist tracking a whale's behavior via sonar, than an angler with a nice fish on.

Eventually, the fish headed towards where the angler was fishing and he offered to net the Brown. Until this point, I had only been luck enough to see the bright flash of brown's side as he shot past me in during the initial stages of our fight. The fish was certainly up there with the other trophy browns that I have caught, but later into our fight, I can't remember any fish in all my angling days that fought for as long as this fish did, without tiring in the slightest. At any point in our fight, if I would have pushed the issue and tried to force swing the fish, something would have failed.

So, the angler kindly takes my net and wades to the middle section, where it's fairly shallow. I am trying to get the fish towards him, but its holding it ground and we both slowly close in on it. I'm a little behind the angler shoulder, but he gets a great view of the fish and mentioned something to the effect that this was a monster of a fish. Says over 20 easily, but again, the fish is still submerged and it's hard to gauge much. Well, that's where the story ends. I am guessing that while in the shallower run, my tippet suffered some abrasion with the rocks and it weakened it enough to no longer handle the weight. I can tell by studying what's left of the tippet, that this loss can't be chalked up to a poor knot or another reason.

I wish I could say that this was my only sob story for the day, but I went 0 for 4 in being able to land the big ones--caught plenty of smaller and mid-size browns. In another instance, I was angling from a bank and hooked a large brown, who was holding in the slower water behind a large rock. We were battling for about 5 minutes and he managed to jet across the river to some slower water, opposite of the bank. The river bends into the bank where I stood and it's a little shallower and slower on the other side. Somehow, the fish managed to wrap my line around the butt-end of a submerged and very secured stick. I was forced to find a way down from the bank, cross the river, and untangle my line, while fighting this brute. Amazingly, once I freed my line from the stick, the fish was still on. Between all of the steps that I had performed, which included a half fall while forging across the river, there were periods where the fish had a lot of slack. Once the line freed, there was some more fight before the fish freed itself from my hook. Sad.

A series of failures sweetens eventual success, and nothing illustrates this more than when fishing. Still hurts to go 0 for 4.

October 26, 2012: Middle Provo Fishing Report: New Benchmark Set!!!

After a week of not fishing, trying to make up for lost time on current work, and the whole drama between IQ, his fiancé, and my wife, I desperately needed to get some alone time on the Provo. On Thursday night (October 25), I went to Sportsman's Warehouse and picked up a pair of neoprene waders (cheaper ones) and some nice Korkers wading boots. I can see how these major upgrades are viewed as necessary items for most anglers, but it still felt like I was cheating on my first and second string river shoes and my cargo shorts, which have several flies and a nymph permanently embedded in them--I believe that one of the shoelaces of the second string pair of river shoes also has a fly embedded in it.

Healthy Brown 

After picking up the new gear and getting my rod all set-up, I was pretty eager for Friday morning to arrive. In hindsight, there's really no need to start fishing so early, as the fishing improved noticeably in the late morning, but I enjoy the winter morning's nipping my face and hands. Thursday night, as a I lay in bed, I had a tough time falling asleep and did a bit of self-reflection--about fly-fishing of course. I realized that for me, angling the Provo represents an inner struggle to feel connected to what made me happy and who I wanted to be growing up. I begged my grandparents, mother, father, and whoever else had a car, to drive me out to my grandparents' house on the East Fork of the Lewis River, and let me loose. Because this blog post is not about my childhood nor my motivation for fishing the Provo as much as possible, I'll end on this final point:

It's important to recognize the underlying value that fly-fishing and the pursuit of fish represents to one's self. Don't skip over this value representation. Also, keep your gear simple...don't be afraid to switch out your wading boots for your first string river shoes, it will increase your awareness of the underlying value.

On that note, I arrived Friday morning earlier than need be, and it was just me and the river--a few others arrived about 3-4 hours later. The river levels on the Middle Provo are as good as it gets--especially compared to my last outing. The water temperature has not dropped enough to cause fish to leave the riffles for the deeper and slower sections, but several of the large browns that I caught seemed a little more lethargic than a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps this is due to their post-spawn activity.

The fishing started out a little slow, I managed to catch several small to midsize browns--I think there's a photo where you can see some snow in the fish and my hands. My line and the guides were collecting ice and I was fortunate enough to have remembered my lip balm, which help to stave off the build-up of ice. Sometimes in our haste to just fish, we forget to study our surroundings--at least I am guilty of this. The slow fishing helped me to take a step back and breathe in the frosty scenery and the snow-dusted distant mountains.  I was able to take several nice photographs--I apologize for not being a better photographer.

 

Once the weather warmed up, the fishing went wild and the quality of total fish caught is only one of the new benchmarks set. The other being a new personal record for the biggest overall brown caught on the Provo. Though he measured in a hair under 20 inches, his overall girth was impressive. One of the interesting occurrences of fishing the Provo so far is that I have met more interesting people than I have in more orthodox social settings. While hooked into this beautiful fish, I had not noticed that a young man, who is from Montana, observing the whole thing. I managed to net the fish--thank GOD!, and he came over and asked if I wanted a photo-op. Though the photo didn't turn out all that well--the sun was right to my back and created a horrendous glare, it was a very nice gesture on his part. Most of the time, I barely manage to get a half-decent shot of anything that I catch. He mentioned that what ended up being the fish taking my nymph, he thought for sure that I had snagged a submerged stick or rock. He realized that I had a huge brown on and had to come see the fish for himself. The fish proved to be a great fight and I am grateful that I was able to land him, get a video, and meet Montana.

Last Fish of the Day 

I managed to hook and land another large Brown, which offered a perfect out to the end the day. It is very difficult to gauge the size of the fish that I am catching from photos and videos, but the fish in the picture is actually not as long nor as thick as the fish in the video, which is my new benchmark.

Throughout the day, I saw plenty of anglers using streamers and according to Montana, he watched quite a few of them fish and hadn't seen them have much success. I talked to guy in Sportsman's Warehouse and he says that he's had success with green and purple colored streamers lately. Take it for what it's worth. Streamer fishing is suppose to pick up in the coming days and I look forward to giving it a go. Until then, it's nymphing for the win.

First video--largest fish. In video, I short change the fish by two inches.
Second video--another very large brown caught. I honestly can't remember its measurements.

IQ's Stay, Vegas on the Fly, and the Provo on my Mind

This last week has been a trying one. In all of the years that I have known IQ, this was the first time that I have spent a week straight with him. IQ is a walking jinx. Him and his girlfriend--now fiancé (proposed in Vegas) were trouble as soon as they arrived. Because of a work-related obligation, I was unable to meet IQ at the airport and so the plan was for him to check out a rental car and I would meet him at the house. During the meeting with a client, I looked down at my cell phone and noticed several missed calls. My client graciously waited while I checked in with IQ, who answered the phone sobbing. This wouldn't be the first time that IQ sobbed during his stay--I counted four different occasions. Apparently, IQ is on a do-not-rent car rental list and his fiancé, is a pizza delivery gal with no bank account and no car insurance. In hindsight, I wish I would have handled the car rental before IQ volunteered all of this information, as under normal circumstances amongst normal people, this would have been very awkward. Fortunately, neither IQ nor his Fiancé are normal and they seemed very comfortable.

So IQ and his new fiancé were quite the handful and my wife has ruled out a possibility that both of them can stay at the same time. Mind you, the airport/ car rental fiasco and a series of other unfortunate events all happened before the four of us, plus my wife's friend, drove down to Vegas. A bit of a side note, but I have always wondered who in their right mind purchases those bags of popcorn that they sell in gas stations. Apparently IQ does. He purchased a bag of popcorn and when asked if he wanted some on the trip down to Vegas, he nonchalantly replied, "It tastes soooooo much better if you let it age for several days." I thought to myself, hadn't it already aged several days.

Notable road trip quotes:

Fiancé-- "I love truck stops"

IQ-- "That's the coolest gas station ever. You can pet a zebra."

IQ-- "Is this where Cortez's gold is hidden?" (x 10).

Once in Vegas, IQ and his fiancé were anxious to get their gamble on. In fact, IQ partly cheated and played some slots at a gas station while I fueled the car. By this time, the vulgar looks my wife was giving me because of IQ, forced me to don sunglasses. As far as gambling goes for myself, I typically play poker or will do some sports action. When it's just the wife and I in Vegas, I typically forego poker because it's somewhat of a selfish game time-wise. With the wife's friend in Vegas too, I was able to get some poker downtime and made the most of it. IQ faired as you'd imagine.

While it was nice to have IQ visit, we were somewhat relived to drop him off at the airport last night. With his parting, I have a lot of work to catch-up on and the Provo-river is on my mind. I still seeking some revenge on a particular run that I have had some bad luck on. It rained hard Monday and I expect that the river will be running faster and that the fishing may suffer some, but that's the breaks sometimes. I am interested in swinging some streamers, which I admit is an area of fly-fishing that I am looking to improve on.

   

Lamson Konic 1.5 Reel Product Review

Photo from Flyshopcloseouts.com

As a guy who loves to research the nuances of products before forking over his hard-earned cash, I came to the conclusion a long time ago that when it comes to fly fishing, a reel's comparative value belongs towards the bottom of the list of gear that matters most. Your line, rod, tippet material, flies, and so on, all matter more than the reel, at least in my way of thinking. As a result, I have long delayed replacing my old, American made Pflueger Medalist Reel. While I love this reel and it holds deep sentimental value, having to constantly tighten the screws on the outer frame, worrying about bending the frame from a fall, or its overall impressive weight, left me looking for a replacement.

After some research, I stopped in at Cabelas and picked up the Lamson's Konic 1.5 model for less than a $100. Lamson's Konic represents everything my Pflueger isn't. It's:

·         Lightweight

·         Modern looking

·         Simple drag system

After a week's worth of outings on the Provo, I have some mixed feelings for the reel.

The good:

Combined with my Sage VXP 5W 9' rod, it balances well.

I like the design of the Konic and its pop-off spool approach. Makes it easier to clean and inspect.

According to their site, nearly all of the parts are from the USA and South Korea. All of the parts are assembled in Idaho--a great State!

Price. Do guys really pay hundreds upon hundreds of dollars for a simple fly reel, whose main job is to just hold the line? This reel goes for $100 or less. 

The bad:

At the lowest setting, the highly "acclaimed" drag system has only been useful when playing the LARGEST or feistiest fish on the Provo. Many decent-sized fish don't give enough pull to trigger the drag and that's with the current factored in. In my book, this is a significant strike against the reel. Unless you manually let out line, it's you versus the fish and often that doesn't play out well. If the drag could be loosened a bit more, it would be ideal and would seem to meet its intended purpose (4wt/5wt).

 Removing the spool. For me, it's not that difficult, but I have read from a number of online reviews that many individuals struggled mightily.

***November 28, 2012 UPDATE****
The reel's drag system has broken in some. Whereas within the first couple of weeks, only large browns would activate the drag system at its lowest settings, I now find myself having to increase the drag setting when playing larger fish.

Final verdict: A so so  buy overall. Would be a GREAT buy if the drag system allowed me a lower drag setting.

Originally a so-so buy, but with the loosening of the drag setting at its lowest point, I'd say that the reel qualifies as a  great buy! 

October 14, 2012: Middle Provo: Fishing Still Decent

We experienced some rain over the last week, which raised the Middle Provo's water levels some. On the middle section, there's quite a few banks where the river bows and cuts into them. With the increased levels, the river was starting to hit some of the looser earth, causing the overall visibility to drop some--again, copared to last week's optimal river levels. This seemed to slow the fishing down a little, but it was still a great day overall and fish were still taking nymphs. Weather-wise, minus the heavy morning fog that hung over Park City, it was sun and blue sky. 

As the fish go, I honestly have a tough time keeping track of the total number of fish caught. Typically, I'll be able to keep track until I manage to hook into a large fish, then I'll manage to lose count without realizing it later on in the day. If I were to estimate the total number of fish, I'd say the total was between 12 and 15. It was much harder to present nymphs in the deeper sections of my favorite runs (with the rain), where the bigger brows seem to reside. 

In the way of fish, the biggest browns I caught were around 13-14 inches. I managed to hook into a nice sized brown and a guy fishing just downstream from me was nice enough to net him. The biggest fish of the day was a white mountainfish that was just a tad over 17 inches. This fish must have been hanging around cutthroat the way it jumped and splashed around. Once landed, I could see why it gave such a powerful fight. The girth on this guy was impressive. I have mentioned over the last few weeks to several anglers that I have caught 3 to 4 whitefish and they always react a little miffed. I don't have the same history on the Provo as a lot of anglers do, and I wonder if there's a healthy population of whitefish in the river. In many parts of Washington, anglers are encouraged to kill whitefish because of their effect on importance stream food sources for rehabilitating trour populations. 

So that's the scoop. Rain raised the river levels noticeably, causing things to be a tad more challenging. For one of the few remaining sunny and blue-sky days, especially for a weekend, the fishing pressure was fairly light. 

Hoping to Fish Sunday and the introduction of IQ

Trying to finish as much work as possible today, in order to fish all day tomorrow. Not sure if I will head to the Middle Provo or will fish the Lower. I really like the Middle and there's plenty of great runs to fish. Hoping the weather stays overcast, colder, and a little rainy--should cut down the weekend traffic.

On Monday, one of my close friends, "IQ," will be visiting me for a week, which will include a Vegas trip and showing him around. IQ is not coordinated nor patient enough to fly-fish. Growing up in Washington, he was an only child/ city-kid who my brothers and I rescued and introduced him to the great outdoors. Mostly, the invites, which over time became less of an invite and more of a sales pitch, masked our underlying selfish intent. You see, IQ's parents owned an indestructible fiberglass canoe, which we also adopted.

IQ was is the type of individual who can't start a campfire in the middle of summer, but on a whim, could cause a forest fire in the middle of winter. Perhaps nothing illustrates IQ's luck in the outdoors better than several fond memories. After convincing IQ that he was needed to even out the teams for a game of capture the flag on a summer night, we headed towards a field near our mutual friend's house in Hockinson. The field required us to cross over Chinaman's ditch, which separated the road from the field. During the winter, Chinaman's ditch resembles something in between a creek and river, whereas in the summer, the ditch is filled with stagnant muck.

While still dusk and at the start of the games, the group had crossed over Chinaman's ditch using a scrap 2x4. After the games had finished--11 pm or so, we searched a short distance for the 2x4 and couldn't locate it. I suspected that my friend's older brother may have removed it. Nonetheless, we were forced to jump the ditch, which was certainly possible and it quickly became an extension of the games we had just finished. Some of the more athletic types, such as myself, my friend, and my brother, Brian, jumped first in order to show some of the less athletic guys that it was easily possible. Each of us knew that it was more like  a 50% chance that one of the others wouldn't be able to clear the ditch. One-by-one, each guy managed to clear it and though somewhat sadistic, some of us started to feel a little disappointed.

Then, one of the guys observed that IQ still stood on the other side of the ditch. With a flashlight, we shined it on IQ and prodded him to hurry and get it over with. He kept looking up and down the ditch for a scrap piece of wood, but eventually came to terms that he'd be force to follow suit. As we had done, IQ got a running start and managed to clear the ditch. However, he also managed to land on a family of opossums.

We stood in awe as IQ tap danced in the middle of weeds and long grass, while the beasts made terrible noises and lashed at IQ's pants. Given the size of the group, where we jumped, and where IQ jumped, the possums must have decided that they were going to make a last stand, which meant that IQ had managed to land on the one spot the group hadn't. IQ escaped relatively unscathed, though his escape route included Chinaman's ditch.

What's truly amazing about IQ, Chinaman's Ditch, and the family of possums is that it fits within protocol . It is the reason that my brothers and I still request the presence of IQ whenever we are looking to create an outdoor adventure.

October 10, 2012: Middle Provo: You just can't make this up.

For starters, if you read the FYI at the end of "Fisherman beware: A lot of bells and whistles," you'd know that I planned on getting some revenge on an infamous run on the Middle Provo. I have lost a lot of trophy or near trophy size browns in this run--some due to equipment failure, personal failure, or just a poor hook setting (small nymphs). Well, this particular run didn't let me down. It's always the first run that I fish because of its proximity to where other fishermen will park and access the river. So this morning, I started out nymphing with my usual set up and managed to hook into a nice brown. Hard to gauge its size because it was not on long. In my double and triple checking knots last night, I am confident that I managed to weaken a section of my 5x tippet below my split-shot and the first nymph. Despicable.

The action was consistent all day and I managed to hook and land a good many browns before the trip really turned interesting. By the way, I tried shooting several videos while playing two, VERY large browns. I will post the videos and I apologize for their not being longer, but it is damn near impossible to do 3 things at once, especially when an 18 inch plus brown starts to go on a run--you'll hear my reel start to scream, I'll admit that I just dropped my net in the river, and the video will end abruptly. I am thinking about investing in one of those head video cams that people wear when they ski and snowboard--would be heaps easier than holding onto my iphone and juggling everything else while balancing in the river.  

Well anyway, I mentioned that my day gets unbelievable and there's an odd irony to what I am about to share. While on the same run as you'll see in both videos, I managed to hook into a brown that I am certain was over 21 inches. How do I know? I'll tell you shortly---yes, this is a dramedy. I am at the mercy of this brown and I am silently praying that I have hooked him good enough to land and that I won't do anything stupid to mess this up. I am doing good managing him and directing him away from the central current, which was mostly successful until he got the urge to jet across the middle to the opposite side of the river. On this run, the river bows away and cuts into the bank, creating some earthly shelter for browns to hide under. There's long grass on the ridge of the bank and the erosion from the flow of the river has exposed some of the grass roots, causing the long grass to partly fold over into the river. The large brown makes it to the undercut and proceeds to go a little upriver, causing the line and tippet to tangle some in the grass. At this point, I am thinking, here's another lunker lost to unfortunate circumstances. In hindsight, to have lost him then would have been much better than how the rest of the story plays out.

So the brown is in under some of the grass and my line is caught up some, but not too bad. I am somewhat expecting to lose him because of where he's at--again, in the undercut, amongst the grass, and on the opposite side of the river, which means I have to reel him across the main channel. Well, what I think initially is a small miracle ends up really complicating the situation. The brown manages to leave this spot and my line is somehow freed too. The Brown confidently starts downstream with no indication of changing his direction. Now, I have the weight of the fish and the current to contend with and my reels howling and I realize I need to move downstream NOW! I can see that the fish is not swimming naturally and I realize that while he was in the grass, or during his leaving that hiding place, he must have tangled himself in the section of tipper between the first and second nymph. Essentially, the brown has transformed himself from a fish into a hefty log and now I am stumbling as fast as I can to keep up with his drift into the next run down. I realize that the journey is not going to end here and the both of us head towards the next run down. At this point, the original location of where I hooked him is completely out of sight due to the river bend. Where we'd end up is completely out of sight due to the river BENDS.

We're heading towards a longer run, in which there's a deeper holding pool, where the fish takes a moment to recover. My SAGE VXP is still signaling that I have a huge brown on, but my arm is able to recover some. I am also able to reel in a little bit of the line that had been let out, which is another indication that he is hooked good and is wrapped some in my tippet.

I see that a man--who we'll call Bob (really looks like a Bob), is fly-fishing the tail end of the run where we are currently located. This is one of the longer runs on this particular stretch and as the fish resumes its downstream trek, I am able to get a closer view of Bob.. I see that Bob is an elderly man and that he is wearing chest waders and is looking the part. I believe that Bob saw me before I saw him, and I can tell that he has just observed my descent down the river, which was anything but graceful (I didn't fall in). I see that Bob also has a net and I yell out, "sir, could you net this guy for me?" Bob drops his fly-rod, grabs his net, and makes his way towards me. The brown is tired and netting the fish should be a shoe-in. I direct him to Bob, who is ready with his net. The brown is right next to Bob and he's got his chance to scoop him right up. Again, it is important to note that the fish is still unable to fully swim and so it is still drifting downward, though it's still thrashing mightily. Bob misses the fish and instead of letting me delay the fish's drift, he GRABS THE TIPPET! SNAP. FISH GONE.

I am... Numb...Delusional...Dumbstruck...Hopeless.

I am also out of breath, which I hadn't realized up until now. Bob is a very nice man and he feels horrible. He's apologetic and I try to put into words what had happened. Bob and I shoot the breeze, but I can't recall exactly what we talked about. I think I asked how he liked his Simm waders and how long had he owned them. I think he made a comment about my favorite river shoes, which are an old pair of Nikes. I think I told him that river shoes are a family tradition and that my brothers and I grew up on the East Fork of the Lewis River and are accustomed to navigating rivers in a controlled chaos fashion courtesy of our river shoes. Probably mentioned that we have a very low rate of tumbling into the river, which is remarkable considering that recreational river crossing goes hand in hand with fly-fishing. I know that I told Bob that I had caught the 18.5 incher (pics on blog) from the section he was fishing. He asked what I was using. I doubt I made any sense and I'm confident none of our conversation flowed. I was certainly disjointed.  

Before the day's end, I hooked and landed many more browns---mostly small to midsize ones and on occasion a really nice one. Since hooking into trophy browns, I have a tough time remembering how many total fish I caught, unless the day is particularly slow. Twice after my downriver expedition, I had two much larger browns take a nymph and on both occasions, it was much to do about nothing and both fish were off before I could get a good look at them.

As I started to head back to the car (around 5 pm), Bob had finally made his way up to me and commented that he saw me catch a good size brown. I mentioned that this was the same hole that I had hooked the Brown that broke free. I don't think he believed me, considering he had just witnessed firsthand the distance upriver I had been from where he had been earlier.

It's not likely that Bob will ever read this blog. If you do, Bob, don't feel bad and know that I made the same error within the last week. It was a hell of an experience and as cliché as this will sound, strangely, a part of me would not want the series of events to unfold in any other way. Though, a part of me would.

Fisherman beware: A lot of bells and whistles

A certain someone that I know routinely asks what am I using. Typically, it's the first question I get after showing him some pictures or videos of a nice Provo River brown. While I have seen feeding trout rise up to closely inspect a dry fly, only to snuff their noses up at it,  there seems to be a little more leeway with streamers and nymphs, more so in faster moving water.

Baetis Nymph--Photo from flycurrents.blogspot.com

Perhaps, this certain someone is like many other fly-fisherman, who when preparing for a fishing trip, they head to Sportsman's Warehouse, Cabelas, or their local shop. Today, I visited Sportsman's to pick up some more split-shot and could not help but notice the lengthy list of recommended flies to fish on the Lower and Middle Provo. Truth be told, taking the board's advice verbatim would send an unknowing fisherman into a Noah's Ark shopping spree, purchasing two of each fly and enough to represent the dry, wet, nymph, and streamer families. I really recommend doing some basic homework before heading into an outdoor dealership and your pocketbook will thank you later. Case in point, yesterday's "October 8th" trip featured the use of only two types of flies for the entire day: a size 20 baetis nymph, which trailed a size 18 sow bug. That's it. Of course, admitting that just a few flies is all anyone really needs would threaten the industry's overhead and therefore, the misinformation of the whiteboard was invented to cause unsuspecting fisherman to buy WAY more than they really need. 

FYI: another trip is on tomorrow's horizon and I will be seeking revenge on a specific run in the Middle Provo. I have hooked into three trophy browns out of this run but have been unable to land any of them, including the one featured in yesterday's fishing report. I will be triple checking knots, tippet, and leader tonight. Tomorrow will be different! Hopefully pictures and videos to come. 

In Remembrance

Nearly four years ago, my grandfather passed away from Alzheimer's. I idolized him and we spent many hours on the Swift Reservoir fishing for rainbows. He was responsible for my first King Salmon on the Columbia River at the age of 11.

One of the oddities of death is how people decide to remember you. At my grandfather's funeral, many family members stood up and spoke of how religious my grandfather was. As I sat and listened as people tried to paint him as a devout man of faith, I wondered whether my grandfather had fooled the masses, or whether they ever had a chance to really know him. He was spiritual, but not in the orthodox sort of way. In fact, I remember being his alibi on several occasions, and the two of us managed to skip out on church.

I was going over files on my old laptop and came across this short poem, which I wrote to convey who he truly was. He worked hard to become a successful businessman and he spent his free energies in the outdoors. He hunted elk and deer near Indian Heaven (Washington), fished steelhead on the East Fork of the Lewis River, fished for salmon on the Columbia River, and fished Alaska several times. He was an instrumental figure in my becoming an angler.


Untitled

Trout are the Israelites of fish.

Their creeks, rivers and ocean are the Promised Land.

Water is the bible,

All that are in it are its words.

Church occurs daily.

Earliest is the best service;

Each sermon is transparent and lucid,

Captivating and holding its audiences.

Men stuggle on the water

Because they are not spiritual. 

They forget how to obsorb the water 

And digest its words.

October 8: Middle Provo: Some Fish Tale

Tail Section of the 18.5 inch Brown Trout

October 8: Middle Provo: Some Fish Tale 

Arrived at the Middle Provo around 8 am. Water-levels are optimal for locating big browns, bows, and cutts. I am able to dictate my own work schedule and prefer to work over the weekends in order to fish prime time water on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. Sometimes this plan backfires and a Wednesday morning can be as busy as a Thursday or Friday morning (can't say that I have ever fished the Provo on a Saturday or Sunday). Needless to say, I was spoiled and had a good many runs all to myself.

Within the first 15 minutes of my fly hitting the water, I hooked into a trophy brown. During the last couple of trips I have hooked into 3-4 large browns (18+ inches), but have struggled to land them due to tippets snapping, self-inflicted mishaps, or not being able to hook the fish well enough to fight the fight--if you have ever caught a trophy brown on a 4 or 5 wt rod, you know what I am referring to. Needless to say, after 8 minutes or so of helplessly standing bye as the brown did whatever it wanted to my line and pole, the beast finally started to tire. Between zigzagging and running north south, I was worried that my 5x tippet would 

exhaust before the fish would. It's hard to get a true sense of time when fighting an extraordinary fish, but I'd be willing to wager that shortly after the 10 minute mark, I knew I was near my chance to net him. While wet-wading in the river and managing to semi-direct the fish upstream from where I was standing, with the hopes that I could swoop him up as he made his way downstream of me, I positioned my net, held my fly-rod high, and hoped for the best. The result was opposite of the best-case scenario. While he made his pass downstream of me, I was able to get half of my net on his tail-half, and he managed to slip out. Instead of continuing to rely on my rod to handle the tension, I grabbed the leader with my hand and attempted to coax him a little back to me so as to slide the net underneath. "Snap!" my 5x tippet broke at an undisturbed section above my split-sot (no knots, kinks, etc.). I watched helplessly as the bruiser drifted a little downstream of me, before darting away with my two nymphs, split-shot, and tippet in tow. In short, this was the worst case scenario for the both of us.

It's hard to resume fishing after a self-inflicted blunder that prevents being able to net and admire a trophy brown. Though I have been able to consistently hook into huge browns, I can't help but think that the brown that got away could have been the fish of lifetime on the Provo. This is nonsense, but it conveys my mental state after a close but no cigar series of events. For a short period, I sat on the bank numb, replaying the events that had just transpired and going through the what-ifs.

Fortunately, I was able to recover quickly and managed to catch and LAND several good-size browns--nothing huge, before I was able to redeeem myself. While dead drifting a nymph along a section of ripples about thigh-deep, that bit into a steep bank, I caught the flash of trophy brown and pulled up on my rod, setting the hook. At first, the fish seemed somewhat unaware that he'd been hooked, before my real squealed and he made a powerful run downstream. Over the next 15 minutes, he and I battled back and forth before he tired out enough that I was able to scoop him up. Thanks to a handle measuing tape that attaches to the handle of a net, which I found a few days back while walking along the middle provo, the Brown measured 18.5 inches. I was able to snap a few photos on the iphone--tough to know what you're getting, before releasing him back. Wish I could have taken more phontos, or reviewed the ones I took before releasing him, but I wanted to return him to a pocket of water where he could recover ASAP. 

Before the day's end, I was able to catch another 8 or more small to midsize browns and was also rewarded with a beautiful and plump cutthroat.

Comments and river observations--

First, I have to give my hat off to guys who are able to fish solo, take great pictures/ videos of their catch, and manage all without a hitch--though there may be more to their stories.

Secondly, there seems to be a lot of careless anglers on the middle lately, which has its pros and cons. In the last two outings alone, I have found an expensive net in the middle of the river, two packs of 3 leaders, and box of flies. The cons being that fisherman are leaving a lot of garbage, beer bottles, and line along the shore.  

Until next time...hopefully Wednesday!!! 

Mid-sized brown released back 

Middle Provo Sept. 24th- Oct 4th

Impressive number of adult caddis flies awkwardly swarming around. Observed some mayflies and am kicking myself for not taking photos, or samples of both. 

Still struggling to present dry fly imitations of both to the many trout who are active in the mornings and evenings. I am not sure if they are skittish because of micro tension or if the selected dry-flies that I have used are tripping up their radars. In deeper, slower sections of water, I observed browns rising towards my fly only to dive back down after a closer inspection. 

I managed to catch a smaller-sized brown with a darker, size 16--can't be sure, caddis fly in a section of riffles. 

Dead nymphing has been a huge success. Instead of using a traditional leader, I have been using 9 ft worth of tippet material, which seems to sink much faster, though it raises the casting difficulty. The first and longest section of material is 2x (roughly 2/3). The second main section is 5x (1/3). At the end of the 5x section, I tie my first nymph. From the fly, I tie on a 8 to 10 inches of 6x and add another, smaller nymph. Trickiest part of the set up has been selecting the appropriate amount of weight to add. I have an assortment of reusable and non-reusable split-shot sizes to choose from. I have had more success adding 3 to 6 smaller non-reusable split-shots than one or two larger sizes. Still looking for a reusable product that cinches down on the tippet without sliding so much, or creating more surface to catch on rocks and debris--would be nice to adjust easier. I fasten the split-shots so that they are about 8 inches above the first nymph. Positioning the indicator has varied based upon water depth and I have read from many sources that 1.5x the water depth is appropriate. I have noticed that flow of water also changes things and I have had to adjust higher than 1.5x to get down to the bottom. 

I have caught all of my fish, except for one, using this method, which is probably more of a reflection of my dry-fly skills. I am amazed at the size of fish that I have hooked with the set-up, which includes the huge brown caught on the lower provo. 

Water levels and weather have prevented me from giving streamers a serious look, though I will try streamers when the weather changes and if the water clarity changes some. 

Why the Blog?

In the last two weeks (September 24th - October 4th), I have spent more time fishing the provo river (lower and middle) than I have since relocating from Washington to Utah--about 4 years ago. I have also caught 20 times more the total number of fish in the last two weeks, including an 18 inch brown, a 15 in cutt, and a number of very healthy browns. I have also hooked into a number of very healthy fish, causing me to quikcly realize that I need to improve my ability to play fish and net them--purchased my first net within the last two weeks because of preventable losses.This is not to say that fly-fishing is a recent hobby that I picked up since my moving to Utah, but rather, fly-fishing on the Provo is heaps and bounds different from my past fly-fishing adventures on Washington and Oregon's more remote streams. Whereas selecting a size 16, general dry fly from the box and blindly casting it to the middle of a mountain stream yields tremendous success, Provo River cutts and browns are considerably less forgiving for obvious reasons.

I'll be the first to admit that the Provo River knocked me down to size quicker than a college grad after his or her first day working in the real world. Shamefully, it wouldn't be until year 2.5 of my being here that I managed to catch my first brown. It happened on a tepid--ha! afternoon in February on the lower provo. After applying anti-line freeze solution to the eyes of my fly-rod, I managed to take a humble-size brown--the only fish of that day, who must have had a hankering for a more exotic meal--another shameful detail that I will spare the reader.

Though my first fish on the Provo is a lot like more hunters' first buck (yearling), it created the spark on my journey to improving myself as an all-round fly-fisherman, and not one who only enjoys success on Washington and Oregon's mountainesque streams.

The purpose of this blog is threefold: 

First, instead of logging my fishing reports into my blue legal notebook, which I have lost on more than several occasions, I will post my reports on the blog. This is not to say that my reports are indicative of what will and won't work on the Provo, but what worked for me. I am still a work in progress and have improved faster in several areas and am struggling mightily on others (dry-flies).

Secondly, I am hopeful that a more experienced fly-fisherman may be kind enough to share some wisdom with me and others.

Finally, I plan on using the blog to share some of my personal outdoor stories based upon the adventures my brothers, friends, and I have shared.

Enjoy and feel free to share your thoughts.