I got home from work today and Elia was all excited to open a package that had arrived in the mail. It turns out that I won the Carp Anglers Group Big Fish Award for the 2007 Fly Fishing Category. The fish in question was caught on the Columbia river last fall (just made the deadline) and was landed after quite a battle thanks to some help from KB. Pretty neat looking award, it will look great in my office! The other award winners are listed here:

http://www.carpanglersgroup.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=24736

The reality is that sometimes, the anticipation of a trip, is actually better than the trip. On first glance, that held true today. Fishing was tough. It hasn't rained in days and the river was low, clear and the fish were skittish and shy. They held in the deep holes and avoided the fast water where they are most susceptible to flies. I had two good chances at fish, and brought one of them to hand.

After two days of tying flies and dreaming of boulders, slots, and yes...coho, it almost seemed like a let down. I stood all day fishing hard, concentrating and focussing on the deepest pockets I could find in the faster water. The bottom line...we needed rain. The river felt stagnant, dead. It was clearly dying for a drink, and just a little rain would perk things up. I waited...all day it threatened. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the skys grew dark but then the sun would peek through and chase away the dreams of rain. I kept at it and began to enjoy the challeng brought by the skimpy water and fell in love with the color of the river. It was a tea green color that allowed you to see clearly to the bottom in pockets as the current broke and swirled around a boulder. Windows appeared and dissappeared quickly, forcing you to keep you eyes moving to enjoy those glimpses of the bottom, straining to see a flash of silver as a fish moved upriver. If I were strictly a meat hunter, I might not have enjoyed today at all, but as it was I found moments of joy in the midst of what was an undeniable difficult day of catching fish. I managed to bring one fish home and as I walked back to the car, the rain came. In moments the rain was crashing through the branches and I was treated to the symphony of the wind howling through the tree tops and the steady bass of the falling raindrops on the forest canopy. Bolstered by the wet walk back to my car, I drove home with the stereo blasting, and a smile on my face.

The coho fly. I'm getting ready to go.

Yep, it is most definately time. The weather has turned, the water has cooled and the rain has come. For a carp fisherman, these are all generally considered bad things, but here in Oregon these things also indicate the arrival of my second favorite target...coho salmon! This year I decided to keep a few fish for the table and play the role of hunter/gatherer. What better way to start off the search than to meet up with the godfather of coho himself, PTS and a loyal carping buddy David. The three of us fished yesterday in the cool weather and at times the sun baked down (for mere moments, granted) and at other times the rain pounded us so hard we had to hang our heads to avoid being blinded by the sheer volume of liquid in the air. Let me tell you, catching fish, hooking fish...all of that pailed in comparison to the sheer joy of the pounding rain. If you waded out deep enough during the deluge, it was raining in both directions. The constant barrage had a visible and immediate impact on the river, which clouded up in an instant. You could see it happen as leaves began floating by and the tops of your boots and rocks quickly dissapeared. Fortunately, the coho saw it happen too and following the first heavy blast of rain, they started moving. Fish began rolling in the rapids below us and in no time people were hooked up all over the river. I was slot fishing the pockets. I learned to fish this way on the small streams of Minnesota and Montana and the techniques and tricks translate themselves well from the freestone brook trout streams and limestone creeks filled with beautiful brown trout. In some pocket, drifts are short and sweet, lots of lead is required to get that fly down the moment it hits the water and a 4 or 5 second drift is an eternity. I fished well yesterday; the 6th sense was working, my mind seemed clearer than my rain blurred vision but nary a strike went by without the proper response and subsequent rush of a throbbing salmon in fast water. Carping hadn't dulled my nymphing skills, but the river was something I just wasn't prepared for. I could hook them, but they tore me up in that current and messy knot of boulders and seams. I chased fish up and down the river, banged my shins, fell in the water and ran into tree branches, but none of that helped me bring more fish to shore. At the end of the afternoon not one, but both of my simms wading boots were split at the soles from frantic scrambling over the rocks. I walked the trail to the car wearing $100 flip flops that flung mud up my back with each sucking step. What a glorious day of fishing.


All three of us hooked into fish, and David's intro into the only fish that can even make me consider skipping a carp trip went well. He didn't put one on the bank, but he hooked up twice and as he said on the walk out..."I felt the power." That pretty well covered David's day. The godfather, he got into fish, but Phil always does. He planted himself in the river like he was rooted in place and each fish that found itself attached to his 14 ft spey rod was winched up to be admired, and in two cases brought home. PTS uses that big rod and hauls the fish to him, no silly single handed rods and slippery pursuits through the boulders and rapids for Phil. Me, I like the chase and don't mind losing those fish. I can raise the white flag when I know I'm beat, but the Montanan in me is ready for more moments after calling it a day. I'll give a nod to the fish, but that one battle doesn't end the war. So with that in mind...this report is to be continued...

Just flipping through some old pictures and spotted this one. It makes me miss trout fishing and the Metolius, though I was actually sight fishing big copper johns to a few bull trout. My serious carping is probably done until spring, though I might chase a few local carp on nice days. Next up for me (this week probably) will be coho salmon. Nothing wrong with that!

Been a busy week since the Bartlett family reunion on the coast. Darby and I are both sick, and month end at the office is always crazy! Kelly and I just bought a new computer today too, an Imac...I like it so far, but it will take some getting used to. Here are a few pics Kelly took of me attempting to catch some surf perch. I had no clue what I was doing, but it was fun just standing out there. We had big surf every day, so the conditions were bad but anytime with a flyrod in hand is okay by me.

We all had a great time at the Bartlett family reunion last week. Pics and stories to come, but for now here is one of JJ flying his first kite. He got a kick out of the kite.

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One of the great things about carp fishing is that it just doesn't take much to turn a rough day, into a successful day. Halfway through my outing today I was convinced that the last few successful trips had eaten up all of my good karma. I just couldn't get anything going. It took me until noon to even find fish, and once I found them, I had no chance of getting them to eat anything! I blew casts by putting the fly too far away, then blew casts by hitting the fish on the head. Once I finally started placing the fly where I needed it, I couldn't stop pulling the fly away from the fish! I do have to admit that carp are pretty funny when they just lost a meal. The second you set the hook to soon the carp goes into a little mini frenzy, swimming in circles, darting from side to side. You can just about hear them yelling "I was going to eat that!" After taking the fly from a few fish, and then leaving it much too long (and seeing that cursed eat/spook moment) I began to put it together. I think it started when I went to the San Juan, but not one of the new ones I tied last night. I should have figured that new flies tied intentionally for a trip NEVER work. The second I put on an old beat up worm loaded with good mojo, things flowed much better. I ended up hooking about 10 fish, but I lost most of them to the big weedbed about 80 feet off of the flat. Most guys would think 80 feet is plenty of room to stop a fish...most guys don't fish for carp. I brought 5 to hand, on a variety of flies, but the worm was center stage (and it looks even more disheveled...might have to retire that one to my hat.) The biggest fish was about 13 lbs, smallest was 6 lbs...I'll take that spread any day, though I did hook one much bigger fish (my first lesson in the location of that weedbed.) All in all a good day, and I made it home in time to put the kids to bed. Nice.

Two more things to note. First, the water was LOADED with these freshwater clams:

If anyone out there has a pattern, let me know. I'm betting all of the crushed shells were pretty a pretty good indicator of what the carp were chowing. Also, I found this stringer full of 10 dead sturgeon (and one salmon). What a waste. One of the sturgeon was at least 5 feet long. I called it in, but I'm not sure what good that will do.

I snuck out this afternoon for a little exploring. I've been meaning to check a few flats near Portland, so rather than hit a spot I knew I'd see fish, I took a gamble. It didn't pay off today. I did find some nice looking flats, but the water is so low right now, that the shallows were high and dry. The fish were pushed out deep, and I didn't see a single fish. My expectations were low, but I would have liked to have found some fish. Still, it was fun to get out and see some new spots, and I really did feel like an urban carper today.