A Few Hours at Rocky Ford

A funeral for my Tia MaryLou brought me back to Moses Lake for a few days.  I remain very close to her family, and it was important for me to do my best to make it up to her funeral.  The funeral was Tuesday, and Monday was the viewing... So that meant if I took off Saturday after work to arrive late in Moses Lake, I could dedicate Sunday entirely to fly fishing: it’s what Tia MaryLou would have wanted...

I arrived at Rocky Ford Creek early Sunday morning, and geared up in record time. With only a few hours to fish, I ran to the creek, geared up for heavy streamer fishing, then stopped in my tracks when I saw rising fish everywhere.  I looked at my 0X leader and realized it would be faster if I just went back to the car and rerigged to a 9 foot 6X leader for dry fly fishing.  I quickly tied on a suspended midge and hooked into the smallest fish I have ever caught at Rocky Ford. 

Rising fish were everywhere, but this time I selected a larger fish to cast to.  My fly hit the water like a feather, and I watched as it floated right over the fish.  A large disturbance around my fly told me that the large fish looked, then refused it.  “Oh, come on fish”, I whispered to myself, as my fly drifted past another fish. Another obvious refusal got me fired up, and after a third, I ripped my fly away from the water.  The only thing I could think of was that the first little fish I caught told the other fish not to eat my fly... I re-dressed my suspended midge and casted it back out there.  This time as soon as it hit the water, a fish nailed it. 

“There we go!” I said, and brought in a nice fish.  I unhooked it and brought my camera down for a picture, but the fish bucked my hand off its tail leaving me with a splashy release shot. 

An hour had passed, leaving me with two fish to the net and a few more lost while bringing them in. I really wanted to get some streamer fishing in, and with the fish not rising anymore I changed my outfit for streamer fishing. 

I launched my streamer out as far as I could manage, and it was hit immediately. The sudden jolt of the fish tore line away from my hands and was peeling line from my reel as it made a run for it. I got its head turned, but the fish didn’t give up that easy. The fish went for another run, shedding line from my reel again before it tuckered out and came in. 

The fish kicked away quickly, and I was up and casting again without hesitation. A flash of chrome and a bump let me know the fish were still interested in my dalai lama.  I casted in every direction, searching for the fish that had just swiped at my fly, but I couldn’t find it. I took a few steps downstream and got into position to launch my fly out again.  I stripped in my fly, and saw the unmistakable wake of a large fish charging at my fly. This tends to be to the typical approach from fish at Rocky Ford Creek, and it never gets old.  The fish slammed my fly like it was mad at the world, and put up a nice fight before I netted yet another nice fish.  

I went back to working the water with a streamer after letting my fish go, but found none.  I decided to make my way downstream to try out different spots on the creek.  

The wind had picked up significantly, as I casted over my left shoulder to avoid a gust blowing my fly into the back of my head. I searched and searched the different openings to the creek with no luck.  An hour of searching brought me nothing, so I headed back to where I had hooked into my last fish. 

I had twenty minutes left to fish before I needed to head back, and all I wanted was one more fish. Nothing had taken my streamer for quite some time, so I resorted to the old Rocky Ford standby: sight nymphing. Standing on top of the small walking bridge, I saw a nice fish that would definitely make a great last catch.

I tapered my leader down to 5X tipped and tied on a size 20 crystal baetis nymph. The water is so clear, that even a size 20 nymph can be seen as it sinks to the depth of the fish. I watched as the fish caught sight of my nymph, turned towards it, and ate it! 

The bigger fish at Rocky Ford like to come to the surface and roll over and over, trying to spit your hook. This fish was no different; the thrashing of the fish meant I could lose it, but its attempt to free itself failed. I applied pressure, but the fish would have none of it. Again it came up to thrash and roll, and again the thought of losing the fish pierced my mind. That last attempt to get away tired the fish for just a second, and that was all the time I needed to hoist the fish into my net.

I personally enjoy being able to say I caught a fish on my last cast on any river, especially a place I only get to fish once or twice a year. My fish shook away hard, forcing me to release it. I was happy with my last fish, and was now ready to go home, ten minutes early no less.  It’s true, I do have all day to fish today, but it will not all be at Rocky Ford Creek.  I had to get going because by buddy, Tyler Steffens, was able to clear a day to take Gracy and I out for a few hours to float the Yakima River.  
“There were a few fish taking salmon flies, Erik! It will be like throwing baby birds!” Tyler told me the previous night, with enthusiasm.  That bit of information made it easy to leave Rocky Ford Creek and make the drive up to Ellensburg to fish the Yakima River. 

Duped Again

I couldn’t stop thinking about this new place to fish, and rightfully so, because the guy telling me about it made it sound like God’s gift to fly fisherman. He said it was a secret and I wouldn’t see anyone out there. Finally the opportunity to go presented itself, so I invited Chris Preston as the lucky guy to catch tons of fish with me at this new spot! The two-hour drive flew by, with Chris telling stories about catching dorado, bonito, rooster fish, and albacore on a fly.  His stories were told with such enthusiasm that each one was fun to listen to, and I wanted to hear more but our exit was just ahead. 

Once again, I found myself on a road in Idaho I had never traveled before, in search of another good fishing spot unknown to me. 

“So is this a secret spot?” Chris asked, as we drove further into nowhere. 

“I’m not sure how secret it is, but the guy told me that we would not see another person out here.” I said back, with enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, this definitely looks like a secret spot to me...” Chris said, as we turned into the reservoir and saw an RV parked with a few other shore anglers already perched and fishing. 

“Well, maybe it’s because it fishes good!” I said, keeping the optimism up. 

Chris and I pumped up our float tubes and rigged up our rods to quickly start fishing. The water was in the high 40's, not quite the perfect 52 degrees I was looking for, but still good enough to fish. 

 

Chris shimmied into his float tube, and kicked over to the other side of the reservoir to avoid the anglers on the bank. 
“I don’t know, Erik.  I’ve made three casts with no fish caught. This place is not living up to my expectations.” Chris yelled over to me with a smile, just as I kicked away from the bank. 

I tied on a bugger with a small leech for a dropper, and I was getting no love.  Chris had on an olive and orange bugger, and also was not catching anything. An hour or so had passed, meaning we were due for a fish.     

“So, this guy who told you about this spot...” Chris said, “Did you do something to piss him off?” he asked, chuckling. 

“I must have, because this place sucks.” I said, as I changed my fly. 

“What are you changing to?” Chris asked. 

“A black bugger with a chartreuse leech.” I said, as I saw he was changing his flies too.

“Boy, changing flies sure made the difference.” Chris said, after another long stretch of nothing. 

“I’m going to kick my way up to the inlet where the small stream fills the reservoir.” I said. 

“Sounds good to me.” Chris said back, and together we fished our way up to the furthest point away from our starting point.

The closer we got to the inlet, the shallower and clearer the reservoir got... but no fish. 
“Boy!” Chris said, sounding excited, “It was sure worth the extra effort kicking over to the inlet.” I looked over to see Chris smiling at me, “And having friends who know everything about fly fishing really helps!”  
“It’s a long walk back home, Chris.” I said laughing, before we started kicking back to the car. 

Despite not catching fish, spirits were up due to Chris’s humor. 

“We are certainly showing the benefit of having float tubes verses the people standing on the bank today.” Chris said, as he kicked near a couple fishing off the shore. When you are sitting in a float tube on a nice calm day, you can easily hear conversations from quite a distance. 

“How are you guys doing?” Chris asked the couple fishing from the shore.

“Pretty good. We had a few smaller ones hit, but threw them back.” The gentleman said, adding, “how about you?”. 

“I wish I could say the same.” Chris said.  

“Well, all we are using is worms and corn.” The man offered, trying to help.

“Thank you.” Chris said, as he kick away and turned to see me. 

“Erik!” Chris yelled loud enough for everyone on the bank to hear, “We need worms and corn!”.  

After I had stopped laughing, I replied, “Damn, I... I forgot mine!” I yelled back.  

“Well, it’s hard to find good help these days.” Chris said, as he continued to fish his way back to the car.

“There’s one!” Chris yelled, sounding as shocked as I was to hear he actually had a fish on.  Sure enough, Chris was fighting a fish, but he was too far away from me to get any kind of picture. I saw the flashes of chrome as Chris netted and released his fish, then got to the car where we packed up for the day. 

“Well, at leased you saved the day.” I said, as we drove back to Boise. 
“I had a friend who would exaggerate the truth every time we went fishing. Even to the point where, if he told the story, it would take me a second to realize he was talking about our last trip out.” Chris said. 
“Like what?” I asked. 
“Well, last time we fished he got skunked, and I caught one.  When we got home, and his wife asked how many he caught, he said eight.” 
“Seriously?” I asked. 
“Yeah, so when his wife asked me how many fish I caught, I said 32. My buddy looked at me funny, so I said, if you caught 8, then I caught 32”. Chris said, laughing.   
We pulled up to Chris’s house, and his neighbor was out front. 
“Hey, how was fishing?” The neighbor asked, as Chris carried his float tube into his yard. 
“Well,” Chris said, looking at me, “Erik over there caught 8”. 
“Oh, how about you?” He asked Chris.  
“I caught 32.” Chris said without hesitation. 
“WOW!” Chris’s neighbor said with wide eyes.  
“Yeah.” Chris said back, looking at me with the type of smile only found in toothpaste ads. 

Sam’s First Fish on a Fly

Sam was waiting with his gear ready to go when I pulled into the driveway to pick him up.  I was happy to hear that my uncle, Jim Englar, was joining us on our hike for redband trout; I have been wanting to fish with my uncle for years, and was happy that the day was finally here.  From their house the drive to Jump Creek Canyon was short, and the hike to the falls was even shorter.  

“Geez, it’s a good thing I have these sunglasses on with that cork being so bright!” I said, as my uncle pulled his new fly rod out of its case. 

Uncle Jim started laughing, then said, “Yeah, it’s a shame. I need to get out more.” 

“Man, it still has that new cork smell and everything.” I said before we started fishing.

Uncle Jim hooked into the first fish almost immediately, and was not shy about making it known. I was standing by Sam, who was remembering how to perform a roll cast. 

Sam picked up the cast fast, and was presenting his fly in spots that look fishy.  Though his casts were reaching a safe distance to catch fish, nothing was taking... or was it? After a closer observation, I could see Sam’s line twitching ever so slightly, but I knew that meant fish were taking his nymph as he retrieved it. 

“Sam, I can see you are getting bites.” I said, as Sam looked up at me. “You need to keep your rod tip close to the water, so that there is little to no slack in your line as you retrieve your fly.” 

“Okay.” Sam said, following my instruction.  His line twitch again, but this time Sam was on it. 

“Oh, I felt that.” Sam said, raising his rod tip to see the hook, but nothing was on. 

“Flick it back out, that fish is still hungry.” I said quickly, but Sam didn’t need to be told; his line was already in motion to put his fly right where it needed to be.  Before I saw his line twitch, Sam set the hook on a fish.

“There you go!” I yelled, as Sam brought in his first fish on a fly rod. 

I quickly explained to Sam the difference between a regular rainbow trout and a redband rainbow trout, as he held it in his hand.

The brilliant colors and patterns of the redband are unmistakable.  Definitely a fish you need to catch and see for yourself.

“Cool fish, huh?” I asked Sam.

“Yeah.” He said back, as he released his fish.  

After Sam had caught a number of fish, I began to fish with my 2 wt. Superfine touch fly rod: a dream rod for this situation. The little 2 wt. fly rod is so light that even the little two-inch fish were putting a decent bend in the rod.  Uncle Jim had found a nice hole on the other end of the pool, and was producing fish after fish.  

“There’s a nice one.” Uncle Jim said, as he brought in one of the bigger fish of the day. 
“Hey, that is a nice one.” I said, then dropped my fly rod, and ran over to get a picture of him and his fish.  

“Would you guys be interested in checking out the river above the falls?” I asked after fishing below the falls for a while. 

“We would be up for that.” Uncle Jim said, before we put the fly rods away and headed up the steep hill.  The path looked like it had ended, until a seasoned hiker of Jump Creek Canyon showed us that it had not.  

“See that small crack...” The gentleman said, pointing up the steep rock, “... that's the path that leads above the falls.” 

“Let’s try it.” Uncle Jim said, confident we could make the climb. The nice gentleman led the way as Sam, Uncle Jim, and I followed behind. 

Sam had reached the crux of the climb, and it looked a bit intimidating.  After a bit of hanging there, we decided we would need to be more prepared to make that climb. Instead, we found a spot downstream from the falls that had a lot of dry fly activity.  I tied on a pico ant for Sam and he stood on the rock, casting to hungry fish. 

Sam had found the honey hole, ripping fish out left and right. Every fish that took his fly was celebrated with laughter and a “that-a-boy” from his dad, as Sam really got the hang of catching fish on the fly rod.

Unable to take it anymore, Uncle Jim tied on a little may fly and started casting.  His fly hit the water and a small fish came and ate it.  Like a catapult, Uncle Jim set the hook, sending the little fish flying high and behind him... right into the rock wall. 
“Geez, could you set the hook a little harder?” I laughed, as I grabbed the little stunned fish. 

“Try holding it in the current.” Uncle Jim suggested, as I did my best to revive it. The small fish didn’t seem to be doing well, but after a little bit of TLC it started swimming, then turned and darted away.  

A large rock slide that happened hundreds of years ago covers up a portion of the creek that deprives it from light, giving the feeling like you are fishing a small cave.  

The lack of direct sunlight did not hinder the fishes' appetite, Uncle Jim discovered, as he proceeded to catch the fish that were taking refuge under a large rock.  A large smile from Uncle Jim was what every fish he caught saw. 

“If you can’t have a good time catching these little fish, then you just don’t get it.” I said. 

“There is something neat about being out here and enjoying nature... and catching these fish is just fun!” Uncle Jim said, as he admired another nice redband. 

We had fished this creek hard, and after a while the fish were not so willing to take our flies. 

“I think you caught all the fish here, Sam!” I said, after a few unsuccessful attempts. 

“Yeah, they don’t seem as hungry.” He replied. 

“It’s not that.  You just educated them.” I said smiling, as Sam smiled back. 

A good portion of the day had flown by fast, and it was already time to get going. 
“Thanks for taking us out, Erik.” Uncle Jim said, as we packed up our gear. 
“Absolutely. I have been wanting to get you out fishing for a long time. And I definitely wanted to get Sam into his first fish on a fly.” I replied. 
“That was pretty cool.” Sam said. 
“Well, we will have to get out again soon before my gear gets too dusty.” Uncle Jim said.
“Hopefully got some cool video of Sam catching fish with the GoPro.” I said, looking back at Sam.
“I want to see that.” Sam said, excitedly.
“I’ll get it edited fast, and put it on YouTube!” I told Sam, as we drove away from a fun day at Jump Creek. 

Jump Creek Canyon

“You are not bringing your damn fly fishing stuff!” My friend, Stephanie, AKA Lame-Spice, said to me the day before we went on the hike.  

“Why not?” I asked.  

“That wasn’t meant to be a question, you’re just not!” Lame-Spice snapped. 

“Do you always have to bring your fly fishing stuff everywhere you go?” My buddy Nick, AKA Nagger, chimed in.  Both Nagger and Jason were visiting from Salt Lake City, and like new hikes to venture out on. 

“I don’t care if he brings his fly rod.” Jason said.

“Thanks, Jason.” I said, but was quickly cut off.

“No fishing stuff!” Lame-Spice yelled. 

“Okay.” I said, sounding defeated and thereby ending the conversation.  

The next morning when we threw our packs in the trunk of the car, you better believe I had all my fly gear packed along for the ride!  

We pulled into the parking lot of the Jump Creek Canyon trailhead, and I pulled out my pack. 

“What is that?” Lame-Spice asked. 

“It’s his stupid fly fishing stuff.” Nagger said, before I could answer the question. The two fly rods were in their cases and held on either side of my pack.

“That’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be.” Stephanie said, before we started our hike. 

Jump Creek lined the path, and I kept my eye out for pockets of water that could hold fish.  In no time at all, we had arrived at the waterfall where I took a picture of Stephanie and Nagger.  

I quickly made my way to the far end of the pool below the falls, rigged up a fly rod, and made a cast.

“We’re going to be here forever.” Stephanie said, but just as she finished, I had a fish on!

“There’s my fish!” I said, bringing in the little shaker fast. 

“You're kidding me?” Stephanie said, and got closer to look at the fish and snap a picture.  

Another cast brought in another fish. 

“What kind of fish are these?” Nagger asked. 

“They are redband rainbow trout, and are native to Idaho.” I said. “The only place you can find them are in these small creeks.”  

“Do they get any bigger?” Jason asked. 

“They can get much bigger than these ones,” I said, “but in this creek, a ten-inch fish would be king!”  

Just as I said that, I hooked into another fish. 

“This is a big one!” I said, which brought Nagger, Jason, and Stephanie closer to take a look.  Of course a big one means it’s over four inches long, but what this little redband lacked in size it made up for in heart. The little fish shook with all its might, but came in easy for a picture.

My friends and other hikers around were excited to see the next fish caught.  Everyone walking by was just as excited as me to discover there were fish in this river, and they all wanted to see a fish up close.  A few kids in particular hung out for a little while in hopes of seeing a fish, and I didn’t disappoint. 

A small fish was caught in no time, and I pointed out all the features of a redband rainbow trout. 
“The eyes are the coolest...” I said, “the parr marks go up along the body past the eyes”.  I stopped and pointed at the side of the fish up to its eyes. “See the pupil?” I asked.  “Now look at the dots on either side of the pupil...” I pointed them out, “Cool, huh?”  The boys nodded, and their mom came to have a closer look before I placed the fish back in the water.

By now I had quite the crowd of people watching. The pico ant I had tied on was working its charm.  As soon as the ant hit the water, the little fish would charge at it with such ferocity, causing them to shoot out of the water and completely miss the fly. The little splashes and leaping fish put on quite a show. 

Both Nagger and Stephanie found a trail to continue their hike, while Jason stayed to watch me catch fish. 

“Want to try catching one?” I asked Jason, who looked eager to throw the fly rod. 

“Yeah!” he said, without hesitation. I handed him the fly rod and described how to make a cast.  With a quick explanation, Jason caught on and pitched out a fly to some hungry fish. 

“Can you see your fly?” I asked. 

“Yep.” Jason replied, just as a fish came up and ate it.

“There!” I said, but Jason was already on it, and set the hook to bring in his first fish on a fly rod.

“I think that’s the big one of the day!” I said with a smile. 

“Oh yeah, it’s a monster!” Jason said, sarcastically.  He dipped his hand in the water, and let his fish go.  The little fish sat there for a while, then shot off like a torpedo.  

“We better go find Nick and Stephanie.” Jason suggested, after I hooked and released another fish. 

“I agree... otherwise they will get back to the car and take off without us.” I said. 

“I wish you were kidding.” Jason said, and we both went and found Nick and Stephanie at the summit of the hike, ending a great day of fishing.  

This would be a great place to take my cousin Sam, because he has yet to catch a fish on a fly, I thought as we drove home from the hike. As soon as I got service, I sent a few texts to Sam. It was confirmed, Sam could go and my Uncle Jim was coming too... Looks like I’ll be here tomorrow!

Steelheading Day 2: The Last Cast

“We have to go if we want to get that spot!” Ryan said, as he woke me from my slumber and fashioned the rods in the rod holders. Roger was up too, so I sprang out of bed to gear up.  

“Okay, Erik, slow down. The spot we want is at the corner coming up.” Ryan said as we drove. I lightly applied the brakes, looking for a corner and the turn out, but only saw blackness.  

“We are passing it!” Ryan said. 

“I can’t see anything!” I protested. Ryan pointed, and I took my eyes off the road for a second to see what he was talking about. 

“Crap!  I’ll turn around!” I said, but I had to wait for the car that was approaching.  The headlight passed me, and I started to turn.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!?” Roger said, sounding horror struck.

“They are taking that spot, huh?” Ryan asked, rhetorically.  I had the car turned around by now, and saw it for myself: the car’s brake lights were on and parked at the very pullout I had missed. 
“Damn! Sorry guys.” I said, “I couldn’t see." 
“Welcome to the South Fork of the Clearwater, Erik!” Roger said, not surprised at all over what had just happened.
“Missed our spot by five seconds.” Ryan said, “it’s your typical South Fork moment; but I have another spot in mind”. Lucky for us, Ryan’s next spot was empty, and we were out of the car fast to secure it.

Ryan explained the depth and holding spot of the fish in full detail before we started to fish.  

Roger was in prime location before he shot his flies out into position. The sound of thrashing water broke Ryan’s and my attention from our own lines to look downstream. 

“There’s one!” Roger yelled, and both Ryan and I sprang to life.  Ryan grabbed the net and ran down to help, while I grabbed the Go-Pro.  I was in full spring, headed towards Roger, and got there just in time to see his hook pop out of his steelhead’s mouth. 

No one likes a lost steelhead, but Roger went back to casting as if it didn’t phase him at all. We only had until 12pm before we had to get off the water, so we moved to a new location we wanted to check out.  We knew it would most likely be available, because it required some wading to get there.  I hooked into a steelhead but lost it in the fight; it was a good omen that we were in the right spot. 

I ended up crossing the river to work the other side of the hole. When I arrived, I saw someone was holding a fish.  Could it be Roger?, I asked myself as I ran down, just across the stream from the guys. I looked over at them to see, surprise surprise, Ryan holding a fish. 

After Ryan placed his fish back into the water, I stripped out some line to make a cast.  The amount of slack-water was making it hard to get a good drift without disturbing my indicator, and every time the indicator would become disturbed, it would screw up my flies underwater.  Despite the challenge, I kept fishing and hoping my indicator would dart under. And it did!

I sharply lifted the fly rod as it doubled over. 

“Is that what we hope it is?” Roger asked from across the river.  

“It’s a fish!” I yelled back, and the fight began.  The fish swam deep, and I jumped in the water to keep my line from getting tangled around the large rock just subsurface.  The force of every head shake was like trying to stop a train, but I did my best. 

I brought the fish in, but there was no way I could land it without beaching it.  That’s when I saw Ryan running with the net. He had crossed the stream in record time to help me land my fish.  Without hesitation, Ryan extended the handle of the net and scooped up my fish, as if he had been doing this all his life. 

“I can’t believe it!” I said with a smile, as I looked at the size of the B-run steelhead.  
“This is the big one of the trip, Erik.” Ryan said, before I picked up the fish for a picture.

“I’m done for the day.” I said, after my fish slipped away. "This way I can say I landed a steelhead on my last cast on the Clearwater”. 

By now Roger had crossed the river and was the last one to remain fishing while Ryan and I broke down our fly rods.  

“This trip would have been much better if you would have brought in that fish, Roger.” Ryan said, as we headed home. 

“Don’t let my not catching a fish ruin your idea of a good trip. This was a good trip, and I knew what I was getting myself into. This is steelheading; sometimes you catch a fish and sometimes you stand in a river casting all day. Sure, I would prefer to catch fish, but you have to put in your time. I’m happy you guys caught fish, and to be honest, this is a typical trip for me on the South Fork of the Clearwater. I fish while other people catch.” Roger said, before he finished, “And I would do it all over again if I had the chance.”  

This is what I like about Roger. His philosophy on any experience in the outdoors is reflected as simply an experience that is never a bad time. It says a lot about a person who can walk away from a few days of fishing with no fish caught and still recognize a good time.  These are the kinds of people I like to fish with, because this is the kind of angler I would like to be.