Month: May 2010

It sure has been a funny old spring. Pretty dry, but cold and windy. We’ve watched over the last couple of months as the snow pack has shrunk from around 100 per cent of average to around 80 per cent. And yet, very little, if any, of that precious moisture has made its way down the river. Rather, it has been blown to the heavens, hopefully seeding clouds somewhere that needs precipitation more than we do.

The cooler temperatures had been keeping what snow we do have up there from melting into the river. These same cooler temperatures had also prevented the water temperatures from warming up to a place where the caddis can hatch. Until recently that is. Finally things have warmed up and settled down to where we are enjoying some spectacular fishing. Normally, by well into the third week in May, the river is starting to rise and murk up, but the delayed melt is providing fishermen with a bonus couple of weeks of great dry fly activity. Although blanket hatches have been few and far between, there are enough bugs on the water and in the air to have the fish looking up and feeding actively.

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.

To date, it has been a funny old spring, fishing-wise. Generally, this time of the year, fishing conditions are relatively stable, and water levels are as unlikely to move as is a frenchman living next to a brothel. However, this spring weather patterns have seen more ups and downs than is normal. Late season low level snow melt combined with heavy, much needed rain murked up the river and saw it for a time flowing at summer time levels. All of this has combined to keep the water temperatures below the level required for a consistent caddis hatch. The Mother’s Day hatch, as it is called in these parts, is one of the red letter events on the western fishing calendar, drawing hopeful fishermen from near and far and injecting dollars into the local economy.

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.