No dilemma for this fisherman: Flies are just fine, thank you
Just because I truly treasure my time with a fly doesn't place me in the snob element.
Unfortunately, some fly fishers have been the target of scorn by many of the meat-and-potato angling community. I used to be one of those critics who then refused to allow a fly fisherman room to breathe and be all that person could be, within reason.
It was a good 40 years or so ago when I took fly rod to hand and learned the basics. I was a novice of the highest order and really didn't care when my fly and line became entangled in the tree behind me during a back cast. I evolved during all those years so as to appreciate the specialness afforded a person like me when I step into a bone-chilling stream.
Ralph sent me an e-mail during this past summer and asked my opinion as to where I thought I had extra-special times fishing. Out of almost 45-years of travels involving fishing, I recently treated myself to an outing that left an indelible mark on me.
It was in the Canadian province of Alberta where I discovered the peacefulness of the Canadian Rockies. It was on the upper Bow River at Canmore where I experienced huge brown trout rising to my dry fly, creating quite a stir with their slurping method of sucking in their meal. I wondered then if it could get any better? And it did.
Driving through western Canada is pure National Geographic. From Canmore south, through the towering mountain passes, a world of animal kingdom unfolds at almost every turn. My destination was the Crow's Nest area near the British Columbia border.
I was met by a local guide who led me up mountain passes on my own 4-wheel ATV. We arrived at a small stream that appeared to be as clear as bottled water. I immediately went to work casting my 9-foot, 4-weight fly rod, with my old stand by fly, a No. 8, black, bead-head mohair, weighted nymph. My second cast produced a scrappy, 12-inch cutthroat trout that danced around the pool like an Olympian. I caught three dozen "cutts" in slightly over an hour while my guide sat on his ATV, applauding my efforts. He then suggested we move downstream to some deeper water.
A quarter mile down we came to a pile of debris in the water, causing a slight waterfall. He suggested I cast downstream and off to the side. Another four cutthroats grabbed the fly. He told me to make more casts to some logs on our left and keep a sharp eye on the water.
One more cutt took the fly again but before that trout could swim away, a long dark shape appeared from under the log and t-boned the cutt in its mouth.
"It's a big bull trout," the guide yelled. I gingerly brought both fish in to the net and couldn't believe what just happened.
"Those big bulls are real cannibals," he exclaimed. I guess, since the bull trout never let go of its smaller prey.
I made a dozen more casts all over the pool and caught 10 more jumbo bull trout, all around 5-6 pounds. This was some of the most exciting mountain stream fishing I had encountered. The action was furious.
Even though my visit took place during the summer of that year, the stream held frigid, bone-jarring water which helped to keep my senses sharp and working overtime.
Yes, I caught a lot of trout, and yes it was an ultra-wild location as well, a location where big bears could charge out of the trees at any moment and challenging me to the fishing rights. Fortunately that didn't take place. I was experiencing angler's nirvana to its highest level. The total scenario is what made me rank this trip right at the top. And I will go back there knowing all those years of schooling with a fly rod thankfully didn't turn me into one of those snobs. I hope that answered Ralph's question.
By the way, this species of trout is protected in Alberta, and anglers are supposed to release everyone they catch.
angler88@comcast.net