Andrew Marshall Wayment's Blog, page 17

THE “TOWERING” BIRD

I have been hunting with bird dogs now for 15 seasons and, during this time, I have witnessed a lot of cool things in nature while chasing birds with my bird dogs.  No doubt, this is one of the things that keeps me coming back for more.

One of the most intriguing phenomenon that I have observed is what is often referred to as the “towering bird.”  The first time I ever observed this was in October of 2011 during my week long hunt with Shawn in Idaho.  On one of our first days, we were hunting a creek bottom, most of which had recently burned, but we discovered that a half-mile stretch held some excellent cover and piles of valley quail.  We had a field day chasing quail in this creek bottom and as we reached the downstream end of huntable area, Shawn thumped a quail that was trying to escape into the  impassable lava rock downstream.  The bird instantly went from flying horizontally to straight up, and as it towered skyward, Shawn gave it the second barrel and it fell straight down into the lava rock.  I had heard of this happening before, but this was the very first time seeing it.  We ended up naming this special covert, “The Miracle Half Mile” at the end of this banner day.

A valley quail from the Miracle Half-Mile

The second time I observed this phenomenon was only two months later in December of 2011 while quail hunting a beloved covert, we call, “The Trail to Quail.”  I wrote a story in which I described this experience entitled, WINTER ECLIPSE,:

When we made it down to the large sagebrush flat at the bottom of the valley, the dogs became very birdy and we followed.  Soon a huge covey of quail, what we call a “Chubby Covey,” flushed in unison up a steep hill to a solitary clump of trees and brush.  Since this was the only show in town, we pursued.  During winter, one of the main survival techniques of valley quail is to gather together in huge coveys of 50 to 100 or more birds.  While the big coveys are susceptible to predation, the birds know that their strength is in numbers and the utter chaos of the unorganized flush of such a large group insures that some will survive attack to propagate the species.  This is truly a sight to behold.

After hiking and huffing our way up the steep grade, I fully expected the covey to flush wild, but they held like bobwhites and we walked right into the midst of them before they started to buzz all around us like a swarm of angry hornets.  I uncharacteristically took two birds with my first two shots.  While Matt started off a little rocky, he soon dialed in and it was fun to watch Darby, his yellow Lab, point and retrieve numerous quail.  For Matt, it was a charmed day as the birds all seemed to fly his way giving him numerous good opportunities, which he capitalized on.

We relocated part of the covey that flew straight uphill and Matt took a few of those birds, but we could not relocate the bulk of the covey that flew back down towards the creek bottom.  We found and took a few more birds along the waterway, but saw nothing like the Chubby Covey of earlier that morning.  One of Matt’s birds even towered straight up after being hit which is a rare sight.  In all my years of hunting, I have only seen it twice.

So, in the hunting season of 2011, I observed towering birds not once, but twice.  Pretty darn cool!

Notwithstanding, I had never had this happen on a bird that I shot until my first sharptail hunt this year.  Below is an entry from my journal regarding this awesome hunt:

The cover at the Royal Macnab was not great, but better than when it’s Royal MacMowed!  As I hunted around the big draw and down toward the Pinch, Shawn texted me and asked, “See any birds?”  I texted back “Not yet” and before I could push send, this sharptail leaps into the air fighting the wind.  I raise my gun and try to catch it, but hit it low as it’s rising straight up.  The bird levels out and I fire again as it heads away.  I didn’t think I hit the bird the second shot, but the bird flew fifty yards and then towered straight up fifty feet.  I’ve seen it happen before, but never on one of my birds.  I knew this was a dead bird.  So the dogs and I headed down the slope to where the bird had dropped.  I was hoping Sunny would get the retrieve, but Misty was the one who found it, although she would not bring it to me.  Sunny ended up bringing it to me and I was happy for her as it was her first retrieve for the year.  

Misty poses with our one and only towering bird.

Having just experienced this last month, I was intrigued as I read the following from Burton Spiller’s, Grouse Feathers:

On five different occasions I have observed the unusual phenomenon of a “towering” bird.  In each instance where I secured the specimen, I found only one shotmark in the skin, and that just back of the eye.  

My theory of the singular performance is that the shot has only sufficient energy to penetrate to the optic never or nerves, where it lodges.  The paralyzed nerve causes temporary blindness, but otherwise the bird is physically fit for minutes of intense action.  It cannot see to make a landing, and every instinct tells it to keep flying; consequently it tips instantly and sharply upward, and begins a spiral flight straight for high heaven.  

Usually, if the wind is strong enough to cause a drift, the flight is practically vertical.  Altitude is gained slowly, and at tremendous effort that it hastens the end.  Abruptly the wings cease to beat, and the bird is dead in mid-air.  I have seen the flight continue for several minutes, although in my experience, I doubt if the ultimate height ever exceeded two hundred yards.  

Quite honestly, I don’t know whether or not Spiller is correct on his theory, but it makes sense to me  One thing I can attest to is that each time I’ve witnessed a bird tower, it was a “dead bird flying.”  It was only a matter of time before the bird dropped stone dead back to the earth.

Like I said, one of things that draws me back to hunting time and again is experiencing the unexpected in the natural world.  I can honestly say that I go out each hunt with the same childlike enthusiasm that I did fifteen years ago.  I still love it!

I would love to hear your stories of towering birds, so leave a comment.

Halloween Fishing and Limber Tail Syndrome for Strideaway.com

Today the children were out enjoying festivities for Halloween while me and my childhood friend, Matt Lucia, enjoyed a great day on the Arkansas river. Our morning started out at Barry’s Den for a delightful breakfast while the sun warmed the river a bit.

The fishing for the last day of October was rather surprising! We caught fish on nymph droppers, streamers and even some dries as the day progressed. We experienced a great BWO hatch at about 3:30 pm. What a glorious last day of October…good to be on my home waters.

Please check out my Strideaway.com article on canine limber tail syndrome.

Next weekend is the opening of Colorado quail season….I can’t wait to get my bird dogs on the prairies again!

Setter Feathers…

Limber Tail Syndrome for Strideaway.com

Today the children were out enjoying festivities for Halloween while me and my childhood friend, Matt Lucia, enjoyed a great day on the Arkansas river. Our morning started out at Barry’s Den for a delightful breakfast while the sun warmed the river a bit.

The fishing for the last day of October was rather surprising! We caught fish on nymph droppers, streamers and even some dries as the day progressed. We experienced a great BWO hatch at about 3:30 pm. What a glorious last day of October…good to be on my home waters.

Please check out my Strideaway.com article on canine limber tail syndrome.

Next weekend is the opening of Colorado quail season….I can’t wait to get my bird dogs on the prairies again!

Setter Feathers…

THE SCHIZOPHRENIC WING SHOOTER

For me, shooting is such a mental activity.  When I feel good about myself and life, I tend to shoot well.  However, when I feel anxious or stressed out, it negatively impacts my shooting.  I sometimes refer to myself as “The Schizoprenic Wing Shooter” because, when it comes to my accuracy with a scattergun, I never know who is going to show up: Deadeye or Dudley.  Some days it seems Dudley couldn’t hit the backside of an elephant, but then there are those days when Deadeye can do no wrong.

Take for example, my week of hunting with my brother Shawn in Idaho earlier this month.  Bird numbers were way down from previous years and what limited opportunities we had for shooting, Dudley blew with rank ineptitude. But in my defense, we had author, Tom Davis and a professional photographer from New York City (I know, I know: “Get a rope!”) along with us for the week and we really struggled to get them into birds.  Looking back, I believe I choked under the pressure.  Notwithstanding, it was still a great week in the uplands with my brother, friends and our dogs.

When you are in a shooting slump, you sometimes wonder if you can ever redeem yourself.  But, after fifteen years of bird hunting, I know that the pendulum always seems to swing back in a good direction and Deadeye will once again make good on the opportunities presented.

I had to work the week following my weeklong hunt with Shawn and author, Tom Davis, but when Saturday rolled around, I was anxious to once again chase some birds at my favorite covert, the Royal Macnab.  Of all the places we hunted the previous week, the Royal Macnab was the one where we saw the most birds.  So,  I was excited to try this special place with just me and my Brittanies.  Also, I was hoping to overcome the shooting slump.

When we hunted the Royal Macnab the week before, it was cloudy and the cover was soggy, which, in turn, dampened the spirits.  However, last Saturday was a blue bird autumn day that all hunters live for.  The weather and the scenery worked wonders on my attitude and confidence.  And I quickly saw big flocks of sharptails on the move, which was a good omen.  I had that unmistakable feeling that comes a few times each hunting season that it was going to be a banner day.

Sunny Girl points a ruffed grouse that I didn’t get a shot at because I was busy taking photos.

During our first hunt, we saw a covey of about twenty Huns, which Misty bumped out of range so I could not get a shot.  We also found one ruffed grouse, which Sunny pointed and flushed while I was taking her photo.  We just couldn’t seem to get close enough to those flighty sharptails.  So, as far as my shooting goes, I still wasn’t sure who had come to play: Deadeye or Dudley.

Below is my journal entry from the last hunt that glorious October Saturday:

For our final hunt, we hunted the Lower Stretch near the edge of the big draw and moved no birds and then swung around toward the big hill.  We cut down through the grassy valley and headed to the top of the hill.  When I reached the crest, I watched a solitary grouse get up at 100 yards. So I decided to make my way up to where it had flushed.  As I suspected, when we reached the area, another sharptail flushed back toward the big draw and I took a poke at it from about 40 yards.  To my utter amazement, the bird careened down after my shot.  As we hustled toward it, another sharpie got up with the exact same escape plan and I dropped it too.  The shooting slump was finally over!!!

A nice brace of sharptail from the Royal Macnab. The shooting slump is over!

Misty and I worked over into the divot where both birds had fallen.  Misty locked up on point and then went in and stood over the second dead bird I had shot.  For some reason, Misty refuses to retrieve this year. Excitedly, I squatted to pick it up and the crotch of my pants split open.  I picked up the bird and told Misty, “Good girl, Misty!”. 

Misty pointing on the Royal Macnab. Sometimes it all comes together.

We then went to look for the first bird and Misty again pointed and then dove in and the winged bird ran and jumped to avoid her.  Sunny Girl then got in on the action and brought the bird to hand.  As I squatted to take the bird, my favorite hunting pants split all the way to my right knee.  Notwithstanding, I was so grateful and excited about our success. I texted Shawn:  “Just killed my limit!. . . And ripped out my crotch!”   

Sunny Girl makes a nice retrieve of a sharptail.

Although it wasn’t the most graceful moment in hunting history due to a wardrobe malfunction, Deadeye went two for two on sharptails and one of them was the longest shot of the year.

Misty poses with a limit of sharptail.

I appreciate every day afield with my bird dogs, but those days when ol’ Deadeye comes through are to be cherished.  However, as every hunter knows, you have to take the good with the bad. The trick is to learn to love every day that you have outdoors, regardless of who shows up!

Pointing Dogs & Little Olives

Autumn was made for pointing dogs chasing birds of various kinds around the West for us Wayment boys.

(Andy with his Crazy Misty)

Of course there’s October baseball…but since the Rockies and the Indians are through…we day dream for the short-lived moments when we can be afield with smoothbores and bird dogs taking in the fragrance of autumn and dogged worn feet.

Oh, of course I made the usual trip to my favorite blue grouse covers in Colorado. Colorado grouse opener was not epic in bird numbers or points made by bird dogs…but it was classical whirr of wings in gorgeous country. The berries were the thickest I’ve ever seen and even the black bears can attest to that.

(Bear Scat in Colorado blue grouse country).

My Educator friend, Bret, from McPherson, Kansas met up with me for his first time west of the continental divide. Bret had never chased grouse other than his prairie birds from his home state. Bret and I had a great time and our dogs found plenty of birds to keep us content. We had good dog work even though the temperatures reached it the 80′s by mid-afternoon. My favorite memory of the weekend was Bret’s Ginny pointing uphill on a single blue grouse. Bret is a great chef and we ate very well that weekend, cooking grouse over hot coals.

(Bret with Ginny)

(Colorado blue grouse)

(Bret with his 2nd ever dusky grouse)

My brother, Andy, called me “crazy” the remainder of September because I unsuccessfully chased big game animals with my recurve, but I truly enjoyed being in the Sangre de Cristo mountains with a recurve in hand. Besides, I had Idaho to look forward to. The uplands of Idaho are what I dream of as I drift into sleep. I love Idaho and the diversity she offers the upland gunner.

I was so excited for Idaho that I didn’t sleep well for weeks prior to our trip. Sterling drove out with me and we were to meet Andy (my favorite hunting partner-in-crime) at the folks house in south-central Idaho. Pointing Dog Journal writer and bird dog authority, Tom Davis, was meeting us the next day.

(PDJ writer Tom Davis)

However, Tom was stuck near the Sand Hills of Nebraska in that freak snow storm that stranded and killed thousands of livestock in South Dakota. Sterling and I saw remnants of that storm in Wyoming: At least a dozen over turned and crushed semi-trucks along I-80.

Our plan was to meet Tom and a photographer, John Loomis, near Boise and begin our hunt on valley quail and gray partridge. Tom informed us the night before that he would not be able to hook up with us until that evening. We agreed to pick up the photographer and continue our quest for birds in the quail mecca of Idaho. On arrival to our honey-hole, it was very apparent that Idaho was thirsty. She needed a serious drink! Dusty and parched.

Meanwhile, I sent Tom to another spot on his way north to see if he could get into some huns and grouse while we struggled to produce a single small covey of California Quail. Andy’s dog made a nice find on a covey, but it was so small that he decided to leave the birds for the next reproduction season…seed birds.

We decided to head south and meet up with Tom for dinner at our favorite dive taqueria in Burley. The place was an instant hit with all of us weary bird hunters, and we made several subsequent trips there before the week was over. We struggled for the week finding birds for the dogs. We had two days that were mediocre. One day, we found two decent size coveys of quail and had great dog work. The highlight for me was seeing Tom’s setter Tina pointing the covey with her setterfeathers tickling the wind before the whirr. The other was seeing a small rattle snake with no rattles and the dogs escaping without incident. Tom’s setter is a world class bird finder that any birddog person would appreciate her class and style. Dreams are made by dogs like her.

The next day we went to the Royal MacNab covert and saw plenty of birds to keep us walking all day long. The photographer said we hiked 16 miles that day. We had good dog work and put a few birds in the ol’ poke.

Idaho’s birds were the worst we’ve seen in numbers since 2006. It sure makes you appreciate what you had after it’s gone! One thing I’ll never forget is what Sterling said to Andy and I. (Paraphrasing…)It was a great hunt even though the birds aren’t here this year. Some days chickens, some days feathers. Another bird-less day in paradise. Amen Sterling and thanks for keeping Andy and I grounded.

It was a good hunt and I enjoyed my friends and family. My baby brother was married on Saturday and the entire family was together for the first time in ten years.

Sterling and I left the following morning…and I still had another week of vacation to spend on the ArKansas River in the Sangre de Cristos…my beloved home waters.

(Jake and Brooklyn Wayment)

Yesterday was a banner day on the Arkansas. There was a wonderful BWO hatch between 11 am and 3 pm and the fish fed non-stop, one of those rarities during Autumn. I had fish taking both dries and droppers for those three maddening hours. Incredible! Today the sky was cloudless and the fish were hard to come by.

October was made for pointing dogs & those rare days with little olives and October caddis.

Setter Feathers….see ya on the prairies.

Fly Fishing Gear List: Small Stream

Reblogged from Feather and Fin:

Apparel, Footwear, and Packs

Seasonal clothing of your choice
Seasonal headgear of your choice
Moisture-wicking base layer (as needed)
Wading shoes and socks (for warm weather wet wading)
Waders and wading boots of your choice
Cushioned, moisture-wicking socks and sock liners
Lumbar pack, sling pack, or fishing vest of your choice
Waterproof, breathable wading jacket
Optional: Buff headgear (UV protection and insect repellent)

Read more… 178 more words

PETER RYAN’S REVIEW OF HEAVEN ON EARTH

Wild South: Hunting & Fishing the Southern Hemisphere by Peter Ryan.

I’ve been blessed with some great reviews of my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith, and I have appreciated all of those reviewers that have taken the time to write about it.  Peter Ryan, the author of Wild South: Hunting & Fly Fishing the Southern Hemisphere, which I coincidentally reviewed a few months ago, graciously agreed to review my book.  Peter is the first person in New Zealand to review it and I must admit, it’s cool to think that it has crossed the Pacific Ocean and fallen into the hands of a fellow Mad Trouter and Bird Brain.  While I mean to take nothing away from any of the other great reviews, this happens to be one of my favorite:

It’s refreshing to find a book that delivers exactly what it says. So many – and this is especially true in the world of fly fishing literature – get airplay they don’t really deserve. Put simply this is a series of essays exploring the author’s obvious enjoyment of fly fishing and the moments he spends doing what he loves with friends and family. Both are, for him, an affirmation of faith. To some the inclusion of religious beliefs in a book on angling might seem out of place, but it’s in keeping with a long tradition, ranging from Norman Mclean all the way back to Izaak Walton. Wayment’s faith is a little different to mine, though not in any of the ways that really count, and in a world full of self-proclaimed experts, thinly-veiled product placement and clunky sponsorship deals, the man who finds pure wide-eyed wonder on a trout stream, no strings attached, is a rare fellow.

Wayment’s sense of awe at the natural world and the beauty of fly life is obviously genuine. That’s not to say he’s a simple man. Like John Voelker (‘Robert Traver’) his education and training is in law, yet he remains opposed to litigiousness, and sees the shortcomings of his profession only too clearly. He’s no idle loafer either – as a father of six he has to work hard for his time outdoors.

I enjoyed his wanderings around the legendary destinations of American fly-fishing lore – the Madison, the Henry’s Fork, and a host of less known names. His hard-earned knowledge is imparted gracefully, without self promotion, and speaks clearly of a humble soul.

‘Heaven on Earth’ will never challenge the 400 page technical texts on fly tying, nor is it intended to. It is what it is – a sentimental journey, inspirational in parts, that takes us into the world of a genuine man. You can only rate a book for what it is intended to be, and in this case it aims to tie life on the stream, life at home and a spiritual life together. In that it succeeds admirably.

Finally, it ticks the boxes on questions that much more famous books cannot. Would I go fishing with the author? Yessir, I would. Would I let him defend me in a court of law? Yessir again. Would I trust him with my kids? Again, yes. Not too many authors pass those tests. Hardly any, in fact. Such is the measure of the man. 

Wow!  Thanks again, Peter, for taking the time to review my book and write this review.  I am both honored and humbled.  The feeling is mutual.  I would love to spend a day astream or afield with Peter Ryan in the Southern Hemisphere!

For any interested, limited paper copies of Heaven on Earth are still available at the book’s website, www.heavenonearthbook.com, but the book is otherwise currently out of print.  In the near future, I plan to get the book published through a new publisher.  For you techies, it is available in Kindle on www.amazon.com and in Nook at www,barnesandnoble.com.

Thanks for stopping by.

Keep fishin’ with faith!

Andy

REVIEW OF WILLIAM G. TAPPLY’S, SPORTSMAN’S LEGACY

Approximately, eight years ago, I first stumbled across William G. Tapply’s, Sportsmen’s Legacy, at my local library. From the cover, I could tell it was a memoire of a father and a son who spent time together in the outdoors. At the time, this seemed like the kind of book I’d be interested in as my own father fostered my love of hunting and fishing and I am trying to instill this love in my own children. So the theme alone piqued my interest.

To my surprise, this book opened up for me a whole new world of outdoor writers from the very golden age of outdoor literature including, Burton Spiller, Corey Ford, and Gorham Cross (“Grandpa Grouse”), and the author’s own father, Horace G. Tapply (or just “Tap” to his friends), who was the editor of Field & Stream magazine. Save Tap only, most of these men had already passed away before I was even born. When he was young, Bill, along with his father, spent many days afield and on stream with these giants. In fact, Put Putnam nicknamed Bill, “Harm,” and jokingly suggested that they keep their fishing tackle “out of Harm’s Way.” For me, Bill Tapply was a living link to these men and his book caused me to search out and rediscover their writings, which is a tremendous legacy for us all.

In the introduction to this new edition of the book, Bill’s son, Mike concludes by saying, “I hope fathers and sons and daughters alike enjoy these stories, and every so often, pick up on something between the lines.” For me, this simple statement captures the essence of this book. While the book has some great history and stories, the real legacy is the bond between a dad and a son, which was cemented by their partnership in the outdoors. Bill Tapply relates that Tap Tapply lost his own father during World War I. As a result of his loss and hard childhood, Tap developed the belief that life was “stern and earnest.” Notwithstanding this somewhat pessimistic outlook, Tap seemed to focus on the things that mattered most to him, which were first and foremost his family and his love of the outdoors. While Tap hunted and fished with the greats of his time, his favorite outdoor companion of all was his son, Bill. Together they embarked on little adventures, which they called “Ex-plores and Expotitions” (terms they gleaned from, Winnie the Pooh). This book is full of stories that any father and son who love the outdoors will enjoy.

The new chapters in this edition are definitely a good addition to the book. Also, this edition is packed with new photography that help bring to life Bill’s great stories. Now that both Bill and Tap have departed this earthly existence, this book is a great tribute to their individual lives and also to the outdoor traditions that we treasure, which are all definitely a legacy to remember. I’m happy to have this book as part of my library and highly recommend it to the followers of Upland Ways.

BIG LOST BOUNTIES

Author’s Note: This post originally was published on Upland Equations on May 19, 2013.

This year, the fishing season started off slow for me.  Beginning in February, I fished numerous times without success.  On various occasions, I fished the Snake River not far from home, the South Fork, and the Henry’s Fork and did not move so much as a Mountain Whitefish.  The last weekend in April, I finally caught two small cutthroat on a stream I have nicknamed, “TRICKLE CREEK“  I was beginning to wonder if I was losing my touch as a fisherman.

Then fortune smiled down on me the first weekend in May when my good friend, and former rodeo cowboy, Scott Johnson, invited me to fish the Big Lost River near Mackay, Idaho.  When I first met Scott, he was not a fisherman, but he told me he worked with some fanatical anglers and was constantly bombarded by stories of their adventures.  It wasn’t long until they wore Scott down and he succumbed to the sport. He also happened to get a bird dog last year and now we spend many days together afield and astream.  To read about one such adventure, follow this LINK .  It has been fun to see the addictions take hold such that Scott is now a fellow Bird Brain  and Mad Trouter.

 

The Cowboy, Scott Johnson, now suffers from Trout Madness.









Scott holds a beautiful, wild Big Lost River rainbow.

We left early Saturday morning and headed west to Arco.  The weather looked a little testy as black clouds enveloped the Lost River and the Lemhi Mountain Ranges to the north.  Once we turned up the Big Lost River Valley in Arco and headed north, however, the clouds began to dissipate.  In fact, we could see an new fresh snowfall on the peaks of the mountains above the treeline.  The way the misty clouds lazily draped over the majestic mountains was idyllic, almost Middle Earth-like.

One of my favorite things about fishing and hunting is exploring new places or rediscovering places that I once knew but haven’t been to in years.  I had fished the Big Lost a few times after law school and during my law clerkship and I really liked it, but it had been over ten years since I last cast a line on its waters.  The Big Lost is the biggest of Idaho’s three sink streams that disappear into the desert and reappear about a 100 miles away at Idaho’s 1,000 Springs on the Snake River near Hagerman, Idaho.  The other two such rivers are the Little Lost River and Birch Creek in the drainages to the east of the Big Lost River Valley.  Before they sink into the miles of lava rock desert, each river offers excellent fishing.

When we arrived and I observed the river, although I had never been to this particular stretch before, I was struck by how familiar the river was to me.  The Big Lost River looks and feels much like the Big Wood River, which I know and love dearly.  I fished the Big Wood River almost daily when I clerked in Hailey for two years.  Like the Big Wood, the Big Lost River runs through a beautiful valley surrounded by cottonwoods in the riparian area with majestic mountain ranges on each side.  But I would soon find out that the Big Lost River supports more and bigger trout than its renowned brother to the west.

The Big Lost supports wild rainbows, brook trout, and white fish, but the real stars of the show are the acrobatic rainbows.

Shortly after stepping into the flows of the river, this crazy, monster trout blazed a foot out of the water and bolted downstream for no apparent reason.

“What the heck was that all about?”  I asked Scott with a smile.

“Every time I come to the Big Lost, the fish jump like that for no apparent reason.”  Scott responded.

It wasn’t long before I hooked my first fish in a small riffle on a Tungsten Bead Head Red Fox Squirrel Nymph, and, after that, the action was steady.  I hooked numerous crazy, jumping, tail-walking rainbows that tested my skills and tackle.  Scott also experienced some success on the river’s numerous inhabitants.

Rainbows on Red Fox Squirrel Nymphs.  In my book, Heaven on Earth, I wrote of this awesome fly: “When you start tying and fishing this nymph, road killed squirrels start to take on certain appeal as potential fly tying material and neighborhood squirrels are no longer safe in your backyard.  It’s that good!”

For me, the most memorable fish of the day came in a riffle alongside the second nice plunge pool downstream from the car.  When I cast, I instantly saw a huge red-sided rainbow roll in the strong current beside me.  So, I set the hook just in case he took my fly.  Of course, he chomped the Red Fox Squirrel Nymph, which has to be my all-time favorite nymph, especially on Idaho’s freestone rivers.  When he felt the hook’s bite, he blasted out of the water, tail-walked, and ripped line off the reel downstream to the next hole where we battled it out until Scott graciously netted him for me.  For all I know, this may have been the very same crazy fish that we saw jump first thing that morning.

This supercharged rainbow put on the acrobatic show.  Check out the snow-covered peaks in the backdrop.

After the lack of catching so far this year, I relished this day of fishing.  It was the best day astream I have had in so long and the backdrop was absolutely stunning in this majestic mountain setting.  I have a new love in my life . . . The Big Lost, Baby!!!!

Love those wild redsides too!

If you like this post, check out my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith at this LINK.  Thanks for stopping by.

KEEP FISHING WITH FAITH!

Andy

 

A DAY TO REMEMBER

Author’s Note: This post first appeared on Upland Equations on May 28, 2013.

This past Memorial Day Weekend, I had the opportunity to go camping with my family and some really good friends at one of my all-time favorite places, Birch Creek. Birch Creek is one of Idaho’s three sink streams that flow between majestic mountain ranges until they are either diverted for agricultural purposes or sink into the desert plain to reappear miles away at 1,000 Springs near Hagerman, Idaho.  I have fished and love them all, but for me Birch Creek is just special.

I figured out this weekend that I have been fishing this little creek now for 14 years and it never ceases to amaze or bless me.  In my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith, I wrote of this beloved creek: “Dad and I have found the mythical Fountain of Youth and it is a trout stream.”  For this post, I thought I would share just a few select photos and passages from my journal from this awesome camping and fishing trip.

Dad’s fly-tying bench right on the banks of Birch Creek.  Loved it!

After breakfast Monday morning, I rigged up some other rods for the kids.  I had promised my nine-year son Thomas before the trip that if he could catch a fish all by himself, I would give him five bucks.  So I rigged up for him the new Ugly Stick with a Panther Martin.  Tommy said to me as I prepared his rod, “Dad, if I can catch a fish all by myself, I don’t want $5.00, I want a soda.”  That seemed like a pretty good deal to me.  Of course, I didn’t explain to him how many sodas he could buy with $5.00.  Try as he may, Tommy couldn’t get any takers on the new rod and I ended up having to don my waders to unsnag the Panther Martin.  While the fishing was good, it was not epic as in years past, especially for little kids.

   

 

Eden reels in a nice Birch Creek trout.









Nessy, the old pro, with a bent rod.

 

Lily touches Nessy’s fish.

 

 *****

 

Later on that morning, I put my 18 month old son, Ben, into the backpack and took him fishing.  He absolutely LOVED it!.  When the strike indicator darted under water and I hooked a fish he giggled.  I let him touch every fish and he did so with his little pointer finger.  Ben truly enjoyed the water, fishing, and novelty of it all.  We fished for about a half hour.  Back at camp, when I took off the backpack and got him out, he looked at me pleadingly, and said, “Backpack Again!”  I understood that Ben wanted to go fishing again.  It melted my heart.  Of course, I obliged and put him back in the pack so we could fish some more.

 

 

Dad and Ben fish together for the first time.

 

Ben said to me, “Backpack Again!”  A fisherman is born!

 

Ben watching the indicator.

 

 

 

*****

 

After failing to catch anything on the Ugly Stick and Panther Martin, Tommy came over to me and said, “I want to try to catch a fish on the fly rod so I can get a soda.”  I hesitantly agreed to let him try the fly rod, but was doubtful that he was ready for the complexity of fly fishing.  I took him to this riffle below the big plunge pool.  I showed him how to let the line and indicator straighten out downstream and then cast by flicking the rod tip forward, which Tommy did a few times.  Meanwhile I was praying that God would help Tommy catch a fish.  After drifting through the nice blue spot in the riffle, the indicator disappeared.  My first thought was that Tom’s fly was stuck on the bottom.  Oh me of little faith!  Tom lifted the rod and the indicator darted sideways.  Tom had a fish on.  I whooped and hollered for my first son’s trout!   I was so tickled and proud to watch Tom catch his first fish on the fly.  Later on, we stopped in Mud Lake to get him an A&W Cream Soda . . . and a box of Charleston Chews.  After all, he earned it!

 

Tommy’s very first fish on the fly that he caught all by himself.

 

*****

 

I have a close friend–actually, he’s more like a brother–named, Cliff Warmoth, who’s family also camped with us.  While Cliff loves the outdoors, he had never fly fished before our trip.  After lunch, Cliff wanted to give fly fishing a try and I gave him a few lessons about casting and mending lines and showed him where and how to fish, but mostly left him alone to try it out.  He caught six trout by himself.  Some were only as big as my pinky so I had to give him a hard time.  I nicknamed him, ”the Tiddler,” for his tendency to catch tiny trout.  He said afterwards that  “That was fun!  I’ll have to get a fly rod.”   I brought five fly rods on the trip in hopes of fishing with my kids and friends and teaching anyone and everyone who wanted to learn to fish.  So I was excited for Cliff and his success.  

  

 

 

Cliff Warmoth: The Tiddler Slayer.

 

Cliff caught six fish his first time fly fishing.

*****

We left for home after 5:00 p.m.  Everyone was sunburned, dust covered, but smiling, and we left behind plenty of fish with sore lips.  I hated to leave.  For me, there is something so special, even sacred, about this little creek.  And to share it with my kids and friends just makes it that much more cherished.  For sure, this was a day to remember.

If you like this post, you’ll love my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith.  Here’s the link to the book’s website: www.heavenonearthbook.com.

KEEP FISHIN’ WITH FAITH!

Andy