South Fork Fire Aftermath

Working in the shop, we receive countless phone calls from anglers asking about the South Fork of the Boise and, to be honest, we know just as much as the local news allows us to know.  So when we saw that the road to the South Fork was going to be open at 5pm, John sent Ryan and I out to investigate.  On our drive up, we noticed that the shop on the hill just outside of Mountain Home burnt down.  If you blow up the picture you can see cars that are torched around a heaping mound of rubble.  You can’t help but feel bad for the person in the pink shirt out there in the middle of it all.

The closer we got to the South Fork, the more pungent the air became.  With the smell of burnt land also came the overwhelming feeling of serious concern for the river. The closer we approached the more black everything became.

You can see the thick haze of smoke lingering in the canyon. The next pictures were taken on our descent into the canyon toward the dam.

Here, the fire took out some power lines.  The cables lay on the ground next to the Tail Waters boat ramp.

Animals that did survive were right next to the water.  Here are a few deer that were eating what was left of the greenery around the river.

Bathroom structures survived all along the river. 

Here, a turkey rummages around in search of food.  There were two of them that were together; it is nice to see them alive.

Most of the canyon walls look just like this picture below, covered in burnt foliage.

This downed tree would make it very difficult to float the rock garden downstream from the Pine Tree Hole.

This moving shot shows the Indian Rock campground still has plenty of green foliage for shade.

Though the black burnt canyon blankets the South Fork, there is still green around the river’s edge.

Ryan and I drove the road to take pictures for all of you who are interested and concerned for the South Fork.  Currently the road is open; however, you are not allowed to get out of your car.  The evening hatch was thick with caddis and BWOs.  It was nice to see the fish enjoying this bit of solitude from anglers. 

Another Good Day

Bert Williams and I took off early to catch the trico hatch at the Owyhee river last Sunday.  Bert, a good buddy of mine, is a board member of the Boise Valley Fly Fishers and the local Fly Fishing Expo in Boise.  Both being a part of these organizations we met a few years back and meant to go fishing ever since. 

This was the first time I had been to the Owyhee since the recent fire, and despite what I have heard, to me it looked like the land around the river had simply been weeded.  There is still a line of green shrubs that border the river in most places, and the big trees are still standing with green leaves that shadow the ground.  Ants, spiders, and beetles scampered about as if there had been no fire at all; it was very nice to see. 

A common question I am asked is, 'where do you fish on the Owyhee?'  I have no secret spot to tell you the truth; I simply look for rising fish and stop to fish them, which is exactly what Bert and I did.  We stopped at a place on the river where I had never fished before, which was great for me, as I like to fish new spots.  It was a regular feeding frenzy; the water boiled with fish rising to tiny tricos. We cautiously approached them from down stream and lightly present tricos on 6X tippet.  I could see the fish blatantly refusing my fly, to which I both love, and hate.  Bert was also experiencing the same snobby response.  With haste, I switched to a smaller trico pattern and sent it ever so delicately to the fish. The trico barely made the slightest ring as it touched the water, and just then the smallest dimple of a mouth ate my fly.  Immediately the fish knew it had done something wrong and sprang into action, but not fast enough.  I had set the hook and fought the fish as it ripped my line through the water.  I kept my rod tip close to the water to keep the fish from disturbing the rest of its still feeding friends, and brought it to the net.  After a picture, it swam back to its buddies and we decided to move to another spot.

 After we arrived I watched the water.  A few fish surfaced before I grabbed my rod and scampered down to the water.  I looked back to see if Bert had followed, and he was gone.  
“Bert!” I yelled. 
“Yeah?” He emerged out of some brush into the water upstream from me.  It was then I realized that I hadn’t invited him to fish along side me, I had just walked into the prime spot.  Perhaps Bert didn’t know to follow.  
“You are more than welcome to fish here with me,” I said.  After all, this was our first time fishing together.  
“I’ll just go over here” he said.  

Bert went off to fish, and left me with a great spot where I could see a few fish rising.  It wasn’t long before I had a few fish to the net and started thinking about Bert.  Then another fish rose and I forgot about Bert again.  The fish took my fly willingly, and as I fought it down stream I saw Bert off in the distance.  I let my fish go, and went down there to fish with him.  He had yet to get catch a fish, so we waited as the callibaetis spinner fall took place.  Fish started rising again, and Bert cast his fly upstream to a feeding fish.  With no manners at all, a fish slurped his fly and Bert set the hook.  His fly rod doubled over indicating a nice fish.  

Bert suggested we head over to one of his favorite spots where the fish are always rising.  How could I refuse? Sure enough, just as he said the fish were rising like crazy.  It was a dry fly dream as fish rose in all portions of the water.  Bert went up stream and I walked down.  I entered the water as stealthy as I could, because there were fish surfacing less than ten feet away.  In fact, they were all around me. Oh, I thought, this is going to be good!

It was not good.  The next hour of fishing was the most frustrating I had experienced in a long time.  Fly after fly I threw at these fish with no success.  There were times when I would present a fly to a fish I could clearly see feeding, and it didn’t even have the decency to look at my fly.  Frustrated, I started tying on my 26- and 28-sized flies.  That was when I had the most action of all.  As my fly drifted down a feeding lane, a fish rose to it but did not open its mouth.  The fly rolled off of its nose without a second glance.  
“Ahhhh!” I yelled at the fish.  Just then I heard the excitement of a fish being caught. I looked up to see Bert fighting a fish!  
“What did it take!” I yelled up to him.  
“An F-fly” he replied.  

An F-fly is just about the same as an RS2, which I immediately tied on; a size 22 ought to do it!  
“I’m going to get you now!” I whispered to the fish, as I presented a perfect cast.  A fish started to surface, it’s head tilted up to eat the fly, then it rolled to refuse my fly at the very last second.  “Damn you, fish!” I ripped off my RS2 and tied on a Pico Spider.  The pico slapped the water hard, and with a loud ker-plunk, the fish took!  Immediately my rod shot up, and the definite weight of the fish was present.  
“YEAH! HA HA HA!”  I brought in the very fish that had refused me time after time, and was able to get this un-hero-like shot.

  
Bert had walked down stream; he had caught another fish with his F-fly.  
“What size is your F-fly?” I asked. 
“A size 16.” 
I couldn’t believe it, with every natural on the water a 24 or smaller, Bert was catching them on a size 16.  I switched to a 16 RS2 BWO, and every fish that has previously refused me was now falling for just about every cast. 

Up the river I casted to every rising fish, and was tagging them left and right.  I would have never thought to throw a size 16 if it hadn’t been for Bert.  He was now down stream from me, bringing in another fish. I was very happy to see that, even if it was from afar.  

It was getting late, and a storm was approaching.  Thunder clapped overhead.  Bert and I gave each other one look, and we both had the same thing in mind: it’s time to get off the water.  There was no better way to end the day than figuring out the hatch.  I have never acquired the taste for beer.  Bert knew this and had brought me a delicious V8 Fusion fruit juice to enjoy after another great day of fishing. 

The Crash

Just the other day I was rear-ended at a stop sign while heading to Outcast to pick up a float tube.  I am okay; however, my car is not, which is very sad considering I have had this car since high school.  With over 240,000 miles, this car and I have been through a lot.  I have even had Phil Rowley and Jeff Currier in my car, and Hank Patterson has leaned on my car for support.  Above is a picture of Jeff Currier's car next to mine.  

The guy who hit me was very nice and apologetic.  We chatted for a while before the officer had arrived.  He mentioned going fishing, and I was quick to give some advice.  When he asked what bait he should use is when I was at a loss of what to advise.  I explained that I was a fly fisher, and I am clueless when it comes to conventional fishing.  We spoke a bit more about fly fishing, before he asked, “How much did your fly rods cost?”  
"I am lucky", I said, “Most of my expensive fly rods have been gifts, like my Helios 2, Helios, and Superfine Touch.”  He continued looking at me, waiting for me to answer his question. “They retail for around $400 to $800.” 
“Whoa!” he said, then immediately looked at my smashed in trunk with wide eyes, and said, “Those rods aren’t in your car are they?!”  
Chuckling, I confirmed they were not. 

I still had plans to go fishing with my buddy Travis Swartz that evening, and I wasn’t going to be a no-show.  His buddy Dan is a beginner fly fisher, and he was there to hopefully catch his first fish on a fly.  I also had the chance to meet Jennifer Swartz, Travis’s much better half.  Together we fished the Boise River at a “secret spot” Travis recommended... Linder Bridge.  Arriving there brought me back to my first years of fly fishing, and it was certainly no secret.  I taught my brother Kris how to nymph fish there a long time ago, and since then he has caught fish with me on Silver Creek.  Kris has certainly come a long way since the days of Linder Bridge.  

Travis and I walked the river, looking for a decent rise.  Travis, looking through his fly box, came across one particular fly.  
“Hey, would you lookie here” he said matter-of-factly, holding up a Pico Spider.  
“Yep... just in case” he said with a sigh as he tucked it back in place.  Caddis was the fly of the evening, and both Dan and Travis were casting away at every bit of water.  The fish were nailing their flies on every cast, but they couldn’t hook one.  The fish were about the size of your index finger, and when Dan did hook one, no matter how close he held it to the camera, it still looked like a small fish.  But, what the fish lacked for in size, it made up for in a lasting memory, for it was Dan’s first fish on a fly. 

Travis switched to a streamer in search of the “big one”. Casting and blasting his minnow in every pocket, a fish turned out of nowhere and nailed his streamer.  
“Did you see that?” Travis yelled. He set the hook and brought in this pike minnow that he proudly held up for the camera. 

I had yet to make a single cast to a fish I thought would be worth throwing to.  
“Geez, you are a snob.  I didn’t know you were such a snob, Erik.” Travis said, as I stood there waiting for particular type of rise.  
“I am waiting for a trout to rise” I said.  It is hard to explain the difference between a particular type of fish and how they rise.  Over time I have been able to pick out a trout rising by the sound they make when taking a fly, and the type of disturbance on the water that is left behind when they feed.  It wasn’t long before I heard what I was waiting to hear, pulled out my rod, and presented my fly.  Whack!  I set the hook on a small rainbow trout that I brought to the net.  
“Really, one cast?” Travis said.  To push the snobery a bit further I replied, “How many casts did you want me to make to this fish?”

Now I must admit, that was a snob thing to say. 

Dan joined us, and I explained nymphing to him in the very spot I had taught my brother years ago.  He caught on quick, and proceeded to bring in a number of small white fish.  

We gathered up at the end of the evening and chatted for a while before we all headed home.  Dan and Travis discussed ideas for the next Hank Patterson video.  As they spoke, I thought back to the days of old when I had started fly fishing this spot; I still remember the people who first helped me get into fly fishing, and I am happy that I am now at a point where I can help good people like Dan enjoy the sport as much as I do. 

A Good End to the Salmon Fly Hatch

The salmon fly hatch has been fantastic this year, and I am happy to say I took complete advantage of it.  I thought last week would be my last time of the year throwing salmon flies, but Dan Williams invited me to fish the big bugs one last time; how could I say no?  The upper stretch of the river is fishing best, so we put in at the dam.  This particular spot to launch a boat is rather shady, but that wasn’t going to stop us.  

The fish were not as active as last week, but there were a few fish that were willing to look up.  Being a sporting chap, Dan let me fish first.  I accidentally left my ten foot five weight Helios behind and ended up using my five weight Superfine Touch.  I can tell you are feeling sorry for me... Though it is a slow action rod, I’m always amazed at the power it offers.  If you get the timing down, your fly line will have that really nice tight ark to it and turn over ever so gently; even with a salmon fly at the end.  A fish came up and sipped my fly, and I ended up bringing this healthy specimen to the boat.  It was now Dan's turn to fish. 

Thinking back to when I was first working at the fly shop, Dan was the first person whose name I remembered because he has the same name as my father-in-law.  I told this to Dan and he replied, “Your father in-law must be a heck of a guy!”  

Now Dan was at the front of the boat, casting his salmon fly to every bit of pocket water.  In a flash, a fish came up to look at his fly. A large boil of water surrounded the fly created by the fish’s refusal.  Dan’s entire body jolted, but his hands stayed down and his fly remained undisturbed. 
“That fish lost the bet.” Dan said.  
“He bet the other fish that he could make this idiot pull back his fly.  Well he was wrong!” We both laughed as, Dan continued fishing.  We were nearing the takeout for our first float, and though he had hooked into a few fish, none were brought to the boat.  I kicked the boat around to pull into the take out, but just before I did so, Dan made a cast.  SPLASH! A fish took his fly right at the take out.  
“YEAH!” I yelled, “Look at you, Dan, catching a fish right at the last second for dramatic affect."

Our next two floats treated us well.  There were still fish willing to take salmon flies, and we were happy to present them.  Even when we went through a slow stretch where there were no fish eating, we found ourselves talking to the fish.  

“Come on fish... Helpless salmon fly floating in the water! A tasty morsel waiting to be eaten!”  Most of the time that did not provoke the fish, but when one did take the commentary continued, “How dare you fish!  Picking on this poor defenseless salmon fly.” 

This was a good sized fish, and the pictures never do them justice; just like this fish below that wouldn’t stop squirming for a decent picture.  

During our last float, Dan felt something crawling in his shirt.  He whacked at it while fishing, and felt a bit of a sting like something had bit him.  
“That must have been a heck of an ant.” He said as he continued to fish.  Our float was coming to and end, but not before Dan was able to catch a few smaller fish, and another nice sized fish with brilliant colors. 

I biked up and grabbed the truck, and when I got back Dan asked, “Remember when I said that the bite felt like a sting?” 
“Yeah,” I said.  He held up a hornet that ended up in his shorts. “Whoa! How did it end up in your shorts?” 
“I have no idea, but I’m glad its out.” I would have to agree.  

The temperature is definitely cooling down at the South Fork, especially in the mornings.  When we first stepped out of the truck there was a definite crispness to the air that morning, and on our last float it was noticeably warmer.  I personally like the cool mornings that the South Fork has to offer, the smell and feel of the air offers a secure feeling, like this is home.