Fortunately, for most people taking a guided trip, a day on the river is such a moment, to be savored, enjoyed and filled with as much laughter and frivolity as possible. Taking things too seriously is a no-no. Acknowledging your mistakes, celebrating your inadequacies as much as your victories, and relishing the decadence of a cold beer on the river before noon are all part of the experience.

This day was just such a day. The high drama of missed hook sets, fish broken off, lines tangled and flies lost were all in evidence, as were the joys of inch perfect casts, flawless drifts and beautiful healthy fish in the net. I never get tired of hanging out with people who are intent on having a good time, and who’s first inclination is to laugh when things don’t go according to plan. Such people are fun to be with, exude healthy energy, and while summer may have gone by in the blink of an eye, they help make sure it leaves me with a smile on my face.

“So, what’s the secret fly today?” Or another variation – “Where’s the secret spot today?”

Flattered as I am, it shows a fundamental lack of appreciation for what a guide brings to the table, and the realities of the life of a fish. For starters, they don’t eat twenty four / seven like teenagers. The assumption of many fishermen also seems to be that esoteric knowledge is granted us by some dark pact with Beelzebub. We trade our souls in return for a life spent on the river, carefree and immune to the laws of economics and aging. Like Faustus, essence is exchanged for the key to mysteries, mysteries denied mere mortals and especially those who only get to fish a few times a year.

The reality, of course, is quite different. In some ways, the life of a guide could be compared to being subjected to a form of Chinese water torture. Instead of the steady drip drip drip of water on the forehead, we are exposed to the daily drip drip drip of dropped back casts, poor line control, and a stoic disbelief on the part of the fisherman that fish could actually live within three feet of the bank.

As a result, you might think that when the chance of a day off comes along, most guides would retreat to the confines of their hovels, there to explore the dark recesses to be found at the bottom of a bottle of cheap scotch. While this may be true for some, most of us are drawn, like a moth to a flame, back to the river. There is a need to reaffirm for oneself that fish actually do live where you tell your clients they do, and a good drift with a mend or two makes a difference. There is a need to see a fly presented without three feet of fly line coiled around it like a protective cobra, and to see a gentle, measured hook set rather than an excited, agricultural heave.

But there is also a need to be reminded that we all make mistakes. We like to think that we are immune to the same foibles and failings to which our clients are susceptible, but the truth is usually quite different. You also relearn that fishing from a boat is difficult. With everything that is going on, it is easy to over cast, or mess up a mend, or excitedly pull the fly away from an eager fish. There is a need to remind oneself that it is really only about getting out on the water, enjoying a few belly laughs, and not taking it all so seriously.

So the answers to the questions posited above, as revealed to me by my connection to the Dark Side, are: Whatever fly is presented to where the feeding fish are, and any spot you find yourself on the river.

Another reason to be particularly happy, is that right now it is July, the river has dropped and is running clear, and the dry fly fishing is off the charts. Gone are the cold winds of spring, the layers of goretex and fleece, nymph rigs and rock dodging at 250 cfs. Right now, and hopefully for the next several weeks, is as close to fly fishing nirvana as you could hope to see around here. Lots of fish, all hungry, sitting tight to the banks, and looking up.

And there is plenty around for the fish to be feeding on. Caddis, stoneflies, mayflies and hoppers. On a recent trip down Browns Canyon, it didn’t matter what fly was presented, as long as it floated on the surface, close to the bank, with a natural drift and the odd twitch being thrown in for good measure.

It is amazing how quickly summer is flying by. Memo to the Creator, whoever he or she may be – why can’t summer pass by as slowly as winter seems to? These conditions, with good hatches, warm weather and stable water flows will hopefully continue for the next several weeks. If you are only going to fish a few times a year, now is the time to get out there. If you are contemplating taking up the sport of angling, now is the time to call up your local guide service and book a trip. And if your spouse or significant other is bitten with the fishing bug, now is the time to loosen the leash and let them get out there for a bit. After all, soon it will be winter again, and then you’ll be looking for any excuse to get them out of the house.

So it is fun to be able to step outside of your comfort zone every now and then, leave the crowd and the truck behind, and experience the call of a place that at least has the impression of being wild and remote. Encountering fresh bear poop on the trail serves as a reminder that we are not always top of the food chain. The sight if a fox, scampering through the sage brush, the cry of a red tail hawk as it surfs the thermals, remind an interloper such as myself that I am a guest only in someone else’s domain. This is the time of the year the wild flowers are starting to bloom, the meadows cloaked in a veritable rainbow of different hues.

Of all the different types of trout I fish for, the ones that inhabit these high alpine streams, lakes and beaver ponds are the ones I admire the most. A short growing season, limited food source and long, harsh winters are testament to their resilience. Their ability to conceal themselves from predation never ceases to amaze me, materializing from the rocky stream bed or under cut bank to quickly snatch a passing morsel and dissolving, phantom like, back into their surroundings. Their very presence is witness to the universal push of all living things to survive and procreate.

Late spring and early summer, with the larger rivers swollen and high, is the perfect time to escape to the high country for a little solitude, and with it the opportunity to gain a wider appreciation of the world we live in, and the creatures we share it with.

By the end of the month, we should be back into some great dry fly action, but for a poor sap like me who has been too busy to take a trip up into the mountains, a look back at a great day of spring fishing will have to suffice. Certainly, it is hard to imagine we are looking at the same river, but I guess a ten fold increase in volume will change the complexion of most rivers.

On this particular day, I had the pleasure of floating the river with a couple of gents from back east. While this is normally my cue to hide my wallet and car keys, and lock away the silverware, on this occasion I knew I would be in good, civilized company. One of the great things about guiding, in fact probably the only thing that keeps you going, is the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends. Having fished with Cliff before, I had a feeling whoever he brought along with him was going to be fun, and so it proved to be. Hopefully, this ill be the first of many trips out this way for Joe also. Any man who ties on his own flies, and brings cold Modelo, is welcome on my boat anytime.

We had a great day on the river, not the heavy dry fly action we had been hoping for, but a terrific day with the fish hitting bead heads throughout. Once the river clears up, hopefully right after FIBark, we should start to see some great stone fly action. Already I have noticed both golden and yellow sallie adults around on the bushes near the river, and with the pmd’s getting ready to hatch also, we are on the cusp of what for me is the best time of the year to be a fisherman living in the Arkansas Valley.

And did I mention that it has been windy? The last few weeks have been some of the windiest I can recall in twenty years of spring time floating. Some days you come off the water feeling like your shoulders have been stretched out of their sockets from standing on the oars trying to slow the boat down and avoid high siding on rocks in a tail wind, or else pushing grimly into the teeth of a gale like you are using a bench press machine for seven hours straight. The trick for the fisherman has been to get the flies to where the fish are, that is along the banks in the slower water where they always hang out.

And when you can get them there, the fishing has been great. Fish have been feeding consistently on baetis and caddis patterns, until recently mainly below the surface, taking pheasant tails, hare’s ears, hot wire princes, RS2’s throughout the day. Now they are looking up consistently, taking caddis dries, royal stimulators, wulffs and blue wings. This particular day on the video, floating from Trading Post to Texas Creek,the afternoon in particular was spectacular, with the fish feeding off the surface, actively chasing anything that came their way. And it looks like we might get another week or so of great conditions before run off begins in earnest, so take advantage of it while you can.

Those fishermen turning up with the expectation of balmy spring days and casting dry flies to eager, brainless fish have been offered a reminder that in fishing, as in life, things don’t always go according to plan. Bhuddism teaches us that attachment is the source of unhappiness, and consequently expectation the mother of disappointment. On the other hand, being grateful for what is, is the first step to appreciation of how much you really have.

In his highly readable and perceptive book, Pavlov’s Trout, author, psychologist and fisherman Paul Quinnett posits the theory that when ranking the reasons why men and women go fishing, actually catching a fish figures way down the list. They call steelhead “the fish of a thousand casts” on account of their elusiveness, and Quinnett, a North West steelhead fisherman, sat down one day to do some rough mental calculations. No doubt at the suggestion of his wife, he began to figure out the amount of time, money and resources he spent chasing steelhead relevant to the amount of time he spent with one actually on the line.

It rapidly became obvious to Quinnet that economically speaking at least, for a pastime he would be better off taking up bowling and tossing twenty dollar bills out of his car window as he drove around town. The same could be said for fisherman of any persuasion, be they Bubba with his bass boat, Bahamas bone fishermen, or the humble Arkansas River fly fisherman. If fishing is ever reduced to it’s economic components, it ceases to make sense. If catching a fish is the be all and end all of the endeavor, then ultimately the fisherman will be left empty handed, both literally and spiritually.

Now don’t get me wrong – I am no saint. If I didn’t catch a few every now and then, I would probably give it up pretty quickly, but sometimes, you need to go looking for the real point of the day. If you get too wound up in equating success with numbers, you often fail to realize that that vaguely irritating feeling in your nether regions was actually a good time biting you in the butt. You were just a little too wound up in the process to notice. As a guide, my heart sinks a little when I encounter the competitive fisherman, the fish counter and the “why aren’t they biting?” worrier.

Just being able, physically, geographically and materially, to spend time on the river for pure recreation puts you ahead of the vast majority of the world’s inhabitants. Sure, we all want to catch a bunch of fish, but making that the measure of success or failure is only setting yourself up for disappointment more often than not. Fortunately, on this trip, I was with kindred spirits. Spinning yarns and having a laugh were the order of the day, especially as the fish didn’t keep us, particularly me, very busy. We caught a few fish, and at least on my part, managed to botch a fair few opportunities, while some great drifts went unnoticed and unappreciated by the fish. But how bad could it be? A lovely spring afternoon, a couple of brewskis, friends and a river to float.

Consequently, hatches have been sporadic, fishing a little unpredictable, and you have to make sure you bring your own fun along with you. Fortunately, with Mort and Will as fishing buddies, fun is seldom in short supply, even if I spend more time snagging sticks, hooking rocks and tangling in trees than catching fish. Right now, with the variable conditions, it is more important than ever to: 1) have an adequate supply of beer on board, and 2) keep an eye on water temperature as it changes throughout the day. Cooler temps in the morning mean more midge activity, with blue wings and caddis becoming more active as the day advances and the sun warms the water.

Of course, hatching bugs and feeding fish don’t necessarily go together. I have yet to see consistent dry fly activity, with the fish still preferring to take their food sub surface when they are in the mood. For me lately, pheasant tails and olive caddis pupae have been the best producers, with micro olive mayflies worth a cast or two also.

If you can believe the ten day weather forecast, this warming trend should continue, with hopefully more consistent hatches and predictable feeding patterns. Nevertheless, in the meantime take along a sense of humor, keep changing your flies around, and be thankful you are not stranded in an airport departure lounge somewhere.

For up to the minute fishing conditions, click here.

A shortened leader makes it more difficult to present a fly delicately, but it does help the leader to roll out fully, and the disturbance caused by the wind on the surface of the water helps hide most blemishes in technique. Making longer casts may sound counter intuitive, but the more line you have out there, the more mass there is to power up the rod on the backcast. Lastly you need to throw a real tight loop. The further behind vertical your rod wanders on the backcast, the wider the loop, and consequently the greater the wind resistance.

This time of year, the blue wings are particularly active, so arriving at the river I went for a dry / dropper rig with Klinkhammer on top and a micro olive mayfly as the dropper. For the first part of the day, the dropper worked extremely well. The fish I caught seemed to be holding in water around knee to thigh deep in places where there was a steady current, particularly at the tail outs of rapids and riffles. Jim stuck to a dry fly rig, and got several fish also. After an hour or so, we moved to another  spot downstream, and a drop in the wind also coincided with a pretty nice blue wing hatch. It was here that the fun really started.

Give me a choice, and I’ll fish with a dry fly over any other kind of fly any day. Fishing with dries is to me both the most fun, but also potentially the most frustrating way to fish. Fishing with nymphs involves a lot of guess work as to where the fish are, and what if anything they are feeding on. When fishing dries to rising fish, you can see the fish, you can see what they are eating, and yet they can still manage to make you look foolish. Patience is the key. A fish that is close to the surface actually has a very narrow range of vision, so unless you get your fly in exactly the right place, it can easily float by them unseen. Then there is the competition from the naturals. When there are dozens of real ones floating by, you need to be spot on with your choice of fly, and presentation, especially when the water is low, slow and clear. After messing around with a few different patterns, the good old parachute adams came through and delivered a few fish.

The result was some of the funnest action I have had in a long time. Certainly I got spanked more often than I succeeded in hooking up, but it is often the spankings that you remember long after the catches have faded from memory. And so a day that was very nearly called off at the outset turned out to be most memorable. So, thanks to the fish, thanks to the blue wings, and thanks to Jim for not laughing too hard.

Noel, gentleman that he is, obliged on both counts. This is not to imply any deficiencies on Noels account, or to make any claims for the primacy of one style of fishing over another, but rather that Tuesday was a day for flies over spinners. Although anything can happen on a daily basis, it seems that the fish are still a little too lethargic to aggressively chase a lure, while they are slowly moving out to the edges of the river to feed on the stonefly and mayfly nymphs that are currently active, as well as the awakening caddis. While Noel was up the back of the boat engaged in his dark arts, Kevin and I were fishing a golden stonefly nymph with a small caddis larva or an RS 2 behind it. Each fly was effective, in itself reflective of the propensity and variety of insect activity taking place right now. It is not just we who are emerging, cold and cramped from our hovels into the light of a new season. The stoneflies are molting, there were blue wings floating in the back eddies, and we even spotted a few early caddis flying about. There are over forty species of caddis on the Arkansas, so while the main hatch of brachycentrus is still a few weeks way, there are others active right now.

Despite the bugs flying around, we didn’t see a fish rise the whole afternoon. It will probably take a couple of cloudy days and a prolonged mayfly hatch or two to get them looking up with consistency. I would expect a nymph rig to be the most consistent producer for the next couple of weeks, but still keep a dry fly rod with an adams and a sprout baetis handy if you spot any risers. The most productive water for us were the riffles and the associated pockets of water along the banks. There has been some cloudiness to the water on account of the low level snow melt going on at the moment. Castle Gardens just east of town has been particularly responsible for much of the discoloration, but that should be pretty much passed by now, unless more snow comes along. Besides, at these lower flows, I prefer a little cloudiness to the water over it being gin clear. That little bit of murk helps to hide the flaws of a hack like me.

One door closes, and another opens. So while Monarch is getting ready to wind down after what has turned out to be a pretty good season,  it is getting near time to put away the boards and skis for a few months. It is also time to break out the bikes, kayaks and fly rods and look forward to another great summer season in the mountains.