Bring on the Rain

It has been almost three weeks since I have fished, and I'm getting anxious again. This weekend I am free to go fishing, but only because we lost our rugby playoff game last week. I'm really bummed out about that and I'm the most competitive person I know, so I hate losing at anything. Also, it is supposed to rain almost everywhere in Virginia for a couple days this week, so the rivers might be blown out. I am going either way just to get in the water and do something. I don't care if it's pouring down rain and the river looks like a septic tank, if you are looking for me on Saturday, don't hold your breath. I'm fishing.

A lot of rain brings either amazing conditions or unfishable conditions. The difference is usually a day or two. If you have a river that is rising and is getting muddied up, the conditions will be terrible. However, right after the rains start to lighten up, or stop altogether and the flow goes down, a lot of rivers turn into feeding troughs.

When a river is high and moving fast, the fish move to the banks and hide out in slow moving water, and wait for the storm to pass. When the river goes down something turns on in the fish, especially Browns, and they go nuts for anything looking meaty and swimming by them. Whether you are in a boat or wading, if you have a chance to fish a river that is slightly off-color and receding, you are going to be in streamer heaven. All you have to do is pound the banks, and hit as much water as you can. I learned this summer from the guides I worked with that streamer fishing, at least where we were doing it, is not relaxing. Cast, strip,strip,strip,strip, pick up and cast again. We would probably hit our streamers twice in the water for every 12 inches of water we passed. After about 45 minutes, if you are not sweating (for the fat guys it's about 10 minutes) you aren't doing it right. Sinking line makes the difference because when you are covering as much water as we are, you don't have time to wait for the fly to sink. It has to be down there in a hurry and moving the second it hits the water. If you hit the river at just the right time, it is sure to be a day of casting and blasting you soon won't forget. Jointed hooks are preferable (if the fish are big) and after 20 minutes or so of no follows, switch colors. Zoo Cougars are my favorite, along with sculpin and zonker patterns. White, Yellow, and Black are my favorite colors. Most of the time, if it is in front of their face, a big territorial Brown is going to at least chase it for a while to get your fly out of its area.

Part 3

After heading back from camping, I was still not satisfied for the week and wanted to get one more day in before I flew to Dallas and Austin for the weekend. The weather was cooperating so I headed out for a day trip.

The river I went to has a great stretch that runs right through a town. The urban setting is not the most aesthetic background scene, but the fishing is very good, and I was there for the fish. After setting up my rig, I went down to a stretch just below a bridge with some nice riffles and fast water. After my 3rd or 4th cast I was into a nice little Rainbow. I caught a couple others and other fishermen were catching fish as well.

Besides catching fish, the best sight to see were caddis flying all around. It was the first real hatch I had seen since November, and was a welcome sight. I knew it had been a very long winter when I saw a fish rise and actually said out loud, "Holy shit."

I can't wait for consistent warm weather which is right around the corner, I think. Wyoming is creeping up, and I am just trying to get out when I can to tide me over until the real fun begins this summer. A weekend camping trip should be coming up in a few weeks, so looks like it's just writing and tying flies until then.

Spring Break Part 2

After a day off I was back at it on Tuesday. This time I headed to the George Washington National Forest. I knew there had been rain and the last of the snow was in the process of melting, but I wanted to take a chance and go to my favorite river in Virginia.

When I pulled onto the dirt road and saw the river across the bridge, I knew the water was a lot higher than normal, but not completely blown out. I drove through the mud and ice and came to my campsite which I knew no one else would be dumb enough to go to. It was cold, but the sun was out and provided a few more degrees of warmth to keep my hands from freezing the whole time.

After setting up camp, I rigged up my nymph and streamer rods and headed down the river for the usual 30-minute hike into less visited water because the rednecks tend to gaff all the fish at the start of the trail. I went to a spot my friends and I call the "honey hole" because we always catch fish there. Not this time. I saw one fish move under the water one time and that was it. I know the river pretty well, so I decided to fish the normally shallow portions of the river because I knew they would be good holding spots for the fish looking to get out of the strong current. Sure enough my first cast moved a nice Rainbow. He didn't take, but it was a promising sight. I worked further down with my nymph rod with nothing else happening, so I switched to the heavy artillery. First cast and a fish chases it all the way to my feet. Next cast same thing, and then on the third cast he nips at the tail and realizes he just ate a rabbit strip instead of a little fish, so he was done. After working another quarter mile or so casting and blasting I had a couple bumps and one hook-up before calling it a day. I had fished 5 hours and had to hike back about an hour to start the campfire before dark.

With conditions not ideal, things could have been worse, but certainly could have been better. That river has some beautiful fish, and it's sad to say, but I don't think I will be back there again after I graduate and move to Wyoming.

Day 2

The next morning is brutally cold. Our water outside the tent is frozen, along with my toes. After taking our time getting up and breaking camp we decide to head back down the stream. Walking across the mountains hoping to run into the trail does not seem like the best plan of action.

We make our way back and fish along the way. The water was low, and I was teaching my friends how to fish for the first time, but we pulled out a couple pretty natives. One of my friends caught the first one, his first ever on a fly rod, and was pretty stoked about it. I was showing my other friend how to cast and put it in a certain spot, and right as I laid it down my hare's ear disappeared in the mouth of a Brookie.

"And that's how it's done," I said in a teacher/student way trying to hide the 'did that just happen' look on my face. "Someday you will learn grasshopper."

As we finally hit the gravel trail and make it to the end, we see another trail crossing the stream. Upon further inspection we see a cement pole right in front of us that says, "Furnace Mountain Trail" in little letters. It was literally 50 yards from where I parked my truck. We couldn't believe it, but we kind of could. In my life I have learned that one word describes things that happen to me on a regular basis; typical. That's all I could say as we headed back to my truck feeling satisfied that we blazed our own trail for a day, and only a little embarassed that we never set foot on our intended path. But hey, that's how life goes sometimes.

Spring Break Pt. 1

As most of the kids at my school were heading to the airport for the Bahamas and Jamaica, myself and two buddies from the rugby team were double-checking all of our gear for the hiking trip into Shenandoah National Park. After a fair amount of research we decided on doing a 20-mile loop called Furnace Mt. Trail. That was the plan, originally.

We meet at my house at 8 the next morning, load up everything in my truck and hit the road. We're excited to finally be doing it instead of talking about it. About an hour into the two and a half hour drive I realize I forgot my jacket. When you are hiking in the winter in the mountains, that is one of the worst things to forget. Somehow, I did it.

I wasn't about to turn back, I'll figure something out I said. We pull onto the trailhead running alongside Madison Run, a beautiful Virginia brookie stream. I could tell the water was a little low, but that was no big deal. The real fishing was supposed to start when we got to Paine Run on the second day. We head up the gravel trail and look for our 'pull off'. We see a cut trail and decide to take it. Five hours later after bushwacking through thorns and crossing Madison about 8 times, we decide to call it a night. We'll just head due South and hit the trail tomorrow.