Runnin' Along

After the warmest winter and spring in recent memory, the stage was set for an epic fishing season. What few snowflakes flew in March and April were replaced with mayflies, and as they are apt to do, the trout didn't take long to notice.  As fate would have it, the ebbs and flows of a typical steelhead season seemed to go a bit differently this year, and for the first time in many years, I found myself doing quite a bit of "true trout" fishing during the most wonderful time of the year to be a trout fisherman east of the Mississippi.

Looking back at a fishing season it's always difficult to ascertain whether or not it was successful.  Is the appropriate metric that should be used days on the water?  Places fished?  Mileage on the truck? Or whether or not you caught the damn things?  The answer is wonderfully unclear, and also, to be honest,  is usually different every day.

Still, regardless of the reasons why I spent time on the water over the past few months, the unquestionable fact was that I was lucky.  From the day in March when I saw the first Hendrickson of the spring flutter past, all the way to this holiday weekend I've been fishing like wild. Looking back at the past few months, I spent more time with a rod in my hand this eastern trout season than any other in the past 7 or 8 years, and that is a very comforting thought.  

I managed to celebrate the Easter holiday with a couple friends in pursuit of trout on one of the most storied tailwaters of the eastern United States, make an annual trip with my entire group of fishing friends to a destination that is steadily becoming a favorite, and made countless trips and overnights in between.  No matter where I've stopped, it seems like the trout have been better to me than I've deserved - and for that, I'm always grateful.  

And now that spring has certainly faded into summer (both in terms of calendar and temperature) the only certainty I have is where I'll spend my time.  Knee deep, in the fast water, just casting and fishing, seeing if I can catch a rise.  See you out there.

-Brett McCrae, SAO Guide

Aliens Or Fish Food?

After a lot of prodding and poking from Greg, Pat and the rest of Guys at SAO I've finally got off my butt and decided to put together a few blogs in the off season. My first will be some close-up photography of some mayflies that I have studied over the years.

The next few will feature Duns, Spinners, Nymphs and maybe some emergence sequences if you aren't to sick of seeing bugs by then! I have been taking pics of bugs for many years and now I'm going to open up my archives and share some cool stuff with all of you.

Most people that I fish with always ask me about my photos and my time spent off the water, here's the fruit of my labor. I'm going to keep my "bug blogs" simple and not get into the "exact science" but, focus on the artistic beauty of these Ephemeral creatures.

I just love the way they seem to always be looking back at me, when I look at them thru the camera's eye! And the power that they have over a big wild brown.......how can something so small be such a strong magnet for both Fisherman and fish.

I hope you enjoy the photos!
















Rock on!
MT

It's about that time of year...

Summer is winding down, and for the more matter-of-fact folks a quick glance at the calendar will tell you that it's already over. The staff has still been out fishing and working, though, and I think I speak for all of us in saying that we're starting to get the steelhead itch now that we've had a few cool nights and the fish are starting to show up.

SAO guide John Miller has been up to his usual tricks on the Delaware, and with some higher flows, and a little bit of color in the water column the fish have been eager to oblige.

It's always tough for me to leave Wyoming, and when the guide season was as good as this past one, it makes it all the more difficult. September out there is by far my favorite month - shorter days, and pretty damn cold nights are a telltale sign that summer is over. Guide and fish alike take notice, and both try to act on it quickly because both the fishing, and the weather, are just too good to last for very long.

I spent my last day out there fishing with my girlfriend; over the past few years we've been dating she's become quite the fly fisherwoman. We fished a special section of stream surrounded by the spectacular red rock walls which the rancher who owns the place calls "the best fence man or God ever made." The fish are plentiful, and they've been known there to pounce on a properly presented dry. As my girlfriend made her first cast, not one, not two, not three, but a half dozen fish took a pass at her hopper as it drifted along an undercut bank. She set the hook on the last one, and looked at me and smiled after it found the bottom of the net. It was looking like it was going to be one of those days you remember for a long time.

The last fish I hooked was the biggest I'd ever seen on this particular stream. As we made our way up into the canyon section of the property, we came across a deep eddy, carved out of the solid rock wall that lined the canyon. On previous occasions I'd seen a big fish in there, but we'd never managed to hook him. My first cast landed in a pile of foam way right against the wall. A quick flick of the wrist sent my hopper skittering out of the foam, and heading towards the current seam along the eddy. It never made it. The enormous brown exploded on the big foam fly, and came out of the water with gills flared and head shaking. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was little more than ten seconds, he dove to the bottom, and sawed off my tippet on one of the many boulders that lined the pool.

There isn't much to say after getting your butt kicked by a fish like that. Only one thing came to mind as I reeled my line in through my guides and started trudging back to the car...see you next year, pal.

-Brett