Andrew Marshall Wayment's Blog, page 4

WAYMENT BROTHERS’ ANNUAL COLORADO FISHING TRIP VIDEO

Last month, my son, Tommy and I headed to Colorado to fish with Brother Shawn for a few days.  We had a total blast and we caught a bunch of fish!  We took our Go Pro and filmed much of the trip.  Tommy made this video which we wanted to share with you all.  We are not professionals filmographer by any means, but hope you enjoy it anyways!

 

 

IF THAT DOESN’T LIGHT YOUR FIRE . . .

I have this secret spot I love to fish which I nick-named, “The Mini-Madison,” where I have caught some nice fish over the years, mostly big brown trout, but also a few rainbows, cutthroat and cutbows.  One particular lie at the Mini-Madison regularly holds the biggest fish and I named it “the King Hole” over a decade ago.

The river has been so high these last few years that I could hardly get to the King Hole.  I regularly watch the river flows and when it drops enough to fish, I make sure and get there as soon as I can.

The river did not drop this year until the first few weeks of July.  The first time I approached the King Hole, a huge brown came up out of the water torpedo-like after my streamer, but missed it.  He would not give my fly a second-look that day, but I knew he was there.  So I devised a plan.

I called my friend Scott Johnson that night and said: “If you will tie me a mouse pattern, I’ll take you to the Mini-Madison. The river has dropped and I think those big brownies are going to be hungry.  Those mice patterns will be just the ticket!”  Scott agreed and sat down at his vice that night and tied up three ugly foam/deer hair mice patterns.

I picked Scott up at 5:45 a.m. the morning of July 11th and we headed to the Mini-Madison.  Scott showed me three of his mouse patterns, which wouldn’t win any awards for beauty.  Of course, he gave me the ugliest, most jankety one.  Instead of protesting, I decided to let it slide as beggars can’t be choosers.

[image error]The Jankety Mouse.Upon reaching the river, I headed for the Long Run–another reliable spot over the years–and Scott headed downstream to fish another boulder run. I did not get so much as a look, but Scott repeatedly had nice browns chase the mouse as it skittered across the surface, even in some of the swiftest rapids.  Scott hooked one, which got off before I could get there for a picture.

With no takers in the Long Run, we decided to make for the King Hole, which is consistently the toughest place to wade to, especially when the water is high.  I felt a little braver with Scott there so we struggled through the deep current to the Courtyard, a calmer spot below and to the left of the King Hole.  As we approached the King Hole, the sun was just beginning to rise over the thick trees along the bank, but the hole was still covered in shadow.  Our window of opportunity was getting ready to close.

Scott was gracious enough to allow me to fish first, so I made my way up to the boulder perch and cast first to the left to make sure I didn’t spook any fish out of this area.  After a few token casts, I turned my focus to the throne–the sweet spot of the King Hole–cast, and skittered the mouse across the deep run.  Nothing happened the first two casts.

“I can’t believe he didn’t hit it!” I said out loud.

I cast again to the sweet spot and jigged the mouse across the current toward me.  As the fly got about midway across the run, a huge fish came up out of the water and hammered it.

“YES!” yelled Scott as he watched over my shoulder, “You hooked him!”

“OH MY GOODNESS!” I exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, Scott, this is the biggest fish I have ever seen here!”

The violence and the chaos of the strike caught me off guard and it took me a second to get control of the line, but when I did, he was on and he was mad!

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME, DUDE?” I yelled as the fish charged into the falls and jumped a foot out of the water.  The brown then jumped the heavy current to my left and barreled around a big log jam.

[image error]Fighting the fish around the log jam.The only chance to land this fish was to get him around the log jam, so I laid the rod to the right and tried to work the fish around the jam in the heavy current.  But the desperate fish dove under the jam.

“OH NO!” Scott yelled as he thought for sure I had lost the fish.

I jabbed the rod forward to try to clear the line of the jam and the line popped free.

“HE’S STILL ON! HE’S STILL ON!”

The fish then dove behind a big boulder in a calm and I felt the line go limp.

“OH, HE CAME OFF!” I lamented.  I felt for sure the wise old brown had hung my fly up on the boulder.

As I tried to figure out what happened, however, I felt the tell-tale head shakes of a still-hooked brown.

“HE’S STILL ON! HE’S STILL ON!”  Utter despair turned instantly to pure joy.  Scott then made his way toward me to help.

I thought we could land this fish in a calm spot below the boulder, but when I approached, he hopped the freight train current to the side of the hole and made another run downstream.

I worked the big fish into another calm spot along a big rock outcropping.  I put the skids on the fish in that spot and Scott went down into the water and grabbed it.

“HOLY CRAP!” Scott stated, “This is a big fish!”

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Once I had him in hand, I agreed, “This is the biggest fish I have ever seen here!” We took some nice photos and let him go.

[image error]Meat Eater.As we drove home, I raved about how awesome catching that monster on a mouse was.  Scott then said something that summed up the whole experience: “If that doesn’t light your fire, you’ve got wet wood!”

[image error]Slab O’ Trout.

Front Range Gun Dog: Elevate Your Sporting Dog

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Front Range Gun Dog

I wanted to share with our readers a new website to get all your gundog and sporting dog supplies. My friend and client Don Skinner started Front Range Gun Dog recently and his website is impressive to say the least. Don is a shorthair affectionado (which we won’t hold against you Don

Project Upland Podcast: Featuring Andy Wayment w/ host Nick Larson

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Happy birthday to my very best friend! Hope it’s a great day brother!

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Here’s the link to Andy’s awesome interview with Nick Larson. I’m very excited about Andy’s book coming out next month. Yes…he’s my brother, but I’ve read the manuscript and it’s great grouse literature. Can’t wait to have the book in my hand!

Andy’s Awesome Podcast Interview

Andy and I are gonna be on the rivers and streams of Colorado the next few days. Can hardly wait for the laughs and good food…oh yes and the great fishing!

Setter Feathers…

POOR MAN’S BONEFISH

Most of my life I considered the common carp as a trash fish.  I figured the namer of this undesirable fish mixed up the “a” and the “r” rendering it “carp” instead of “crap.”  I remembered a time when my brother Scotty and I were fishing on the Bear River below our home near Preston, Idaho when I was in the 5th or 6th grade.  My brother caught a massive carp, drug it up on the bank, and then shot it with a high power deer rifle. I will spare you the rest of the graphic gory details.  That anecdote sums up what we thought of the lowly carp.

When I took up fly fishing twenty-three years ago, I had no idea you could catch a carp on a fly.  But after reading so many magazine articles and seeing voluminous pictures on social media, I learned that catching a carp on a fly is very possible.  Despite my aversion to the bottom feeder, I thought that catching one might be fun.

This past weekend, my family went to a family reunion not far from Ogden, Utah.  My family owns two ponds, one of which is loaded with big carp.  I figured this place was as good as any to catch my first carp on the fly.

Early Friday morning, I awoke and strung up the 6 Weight Sage rod with a full sink line and tied on a fluorescent yellow jighead mohair green leech.  I wasn’t sure what to expect, but as soon as I got to the edge of the canal leading into the bigger reservoir, I spied a gargantuan carp working the shallows on the opposite bank with his nasty back protruding at least three inches out of the water.  His size and the way he moved reminded me of a mythical Chinese dragon.

I’m going to catch that fish, I thought to myself.

I then wet the fly with my saliva, stripped out some line and cast to the fish working the shallows.  He did not take on the first cast and quickly went back into the deeper water.  I thought I must have spooked him.  However, seconds later, his beefy back appeared again above the water in the weeds.  I cast a second time and stripped across the canal with no takes.  In between casts, the fish began swimming through the shallows toward me through a perfect opening in the weeds for a cast.  I quickly placed the fly right in front of his trajectory and started to strip it back toward me.  After the fly had moved about five feet, the carp slammed it hard and my rod bowed over with the heavy weight.  I hooked a full-on monster on only my third cast.  Unbelievable! I whooped and hollered so loud that my wife and kids could hear me from our tent trailer 150 yards away.

The fish, not fully realizing what was going on, swam to the steep embankment below me and began to try to take me below some overhanging branches.  It felt like I had a cinder block on the end of my line.  A few times, I thought the fish had hung me up on a snag, but when I laid the rod to the side and took a few steps back, I felt his head shaking.  He was clearly still on.

Realizing I might need some help, I pulled out the cell phone and called my wife: “I just hooked a monster!  Will you come help me get him in?”  It was 7 a.m. but after some begging, Kristin agreed to come help me.

Meanwhile, I succeeded in getting the fish out from under the bank and then he went on a scorching run down the middle of the canal toward the main reservoir. I followed along the steep embankment around a big tree–all the while trying to regain some line.

I worked the fish back around the tree and tried to find a place where I could get into the water to try and land it as there was no hauling it up the steep embankment before me.  By this time, Kristin had made her way to me.  When she got there, I handed her the rod, slid on my butt down the embankment and asked her to pull the fish’s fat head up to the surface.  I held the line, grabbed the chubby fish, and asked Kristin to take some pictures.

[image error]How am I going to land this thing?

Admittedly, I had mixed feelings about this fish.  Part of me was so stoked that I had just caught my biggest fish ever on the fly.  Part of me thought, Eww, this thing is so ugly and gross!  My dog, Rainey, who had been with me the whole time, yipped in excitement at the monster in my hands.  The grossest part was trying to remove the hook from the flexibly squishy mouth. Since eating it was not an option, I released him back into the muddy water.

[image error]Check out this monster, Rainey!

Even with my aversion to these course fish, I went back two other times with the fly rod to that pond, but could not get another taker.  Beginner’s luck, I guess.

Later on that day, someone told me that carp are a “poor man’s bonefish,” which suited me just fine.  My final verdict is that carp are a worthy target for the fly.  I will definitely try this again in the future.

[image error]My biggest fish every on a fly!  My face says it all.

 

Orvis Hunting Podcast w/ Reid Bryant

I was recently a guest of the Orvis Hunting podcast with Reid Bryant. You can find the Orvis podcast on iTunes Podcasts. It was an honor to be on with Reid.

Enjoy the summer and bring on the Fall!

 

Setter Feathers….

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Double Guns and Colorado Merriam’s Turkeys

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It was a strange year in the Colorado high country turkey woods. There was very little snow in the high country, so I expected the birds to arrive to their lek earlier than years past. So not true! I learn this year that the birds follow the green-up and not necessarily the snow melt. The birds were slow to reach their breeding grounds. The first gobbling I heard was April 28th…exactly 7 days later than 2017. I heard one gobbling tom while my brother in law Brandon was out from PA. Brandon was lucky enough to harvest this bird and his very first Merriam’s after a hard 4 days of hunting. He borrowed my circa 1937 Ithaca New Ithaca Double 16 bore…Brandon had never fired a double let alone double triggers. He almost didn’t get his bird because he forgot about the back trigger…and I was saying…Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Repeatedly…compounding the problem. [image error][image error]

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The following week I was back in the high country and never heard a peep nor saw any sign. A week later…I woke up on May 10th at 0300 am and thought about sleeping in…hell, I was wide awake so might as well give it another go. I hit the coffee maker (decaf–so not much help) and got my gear together and let the dogs out before driving the 20 miles to my favorite spot. I typically drive the logging roads looking for sign on the road and the first 3 spots were void.  I drove to my turn around spot and decided to hit the Tacoma’s horn to get a shock-gobble.  I’ve used this technique for years and it’s very effective.

Sure enough! Two toms below the logging road. I was stoked…it’s on. I pulled a hundred yards down the road and parked, grabbed my gear, and silently worked about 50 yards above where I thought they were roosted. I had a helluva a time finding a place to hide and set out my jake and hen decoys.

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A couple soft purrs on my box call and soon he was slapping my the jake decoy silly and it was all over by 5:50 am. Man I love turkey hunting. I can hardly wait for next season. I used my circa 1927 Ithaca NID short 10 bore with RST shot-shells 2&7/8″ 1 and 1/4 ounce of 7&1/2 shot…walloped him!

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PREORDER A SIGNED COPY OF IDAHO RUFFED GROUSE HUNTING: THE HEARTBEAT OF THE WOODS

As many of you already know, I am a ruffed grouse fanatic and love the excellent literature on grouse and grouse hunting. My favorite grouse hunting authors are Burton Spiller, Grampa Grouse, and George King, but there are so many others that have written wonderful books on the subject.

For a long time, I have hoped to contribute something worthwhile to this wonderful sporting and literary tradition.  I’m excited to announce that my book, Idaho Ruffed Grouse Hunting: The Heartbeat of the Woods, will soon be published by The History Press, August 13, 2018, to be precise.

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I started this project over five years ago.  There have been a few set backs along the way in getting it published but, as the saying goes, perseverance pays off.  The foreword was written by Mathew Soberg, the Editor of the Ruffed Grouse Society Magazine.  The book contains thirty-six chapters with essays and stories on ruffed grouse hunting in Idaho that are illustrated with numerous black and white and color photos and also artwork by renowned artists, Eldridge Hardie, Bob White, Ross B. Young, Peter Corbin, and up-and-comers, Jason S. Dowd and M.R. Thompson.  I especially love the cover, Chance for a Double-Ruffed Grouse by Eldridge Hardie.  I am humbled and honored to team up with these great men and I hope that my writing lives up to their talent.  I even contributed one meager drawing–a picture for the chapter, “Rip Van Winkle Was a Grouse Hunter.”   The book will be published as a softback, but should be very well-made and beautiful to look at.

Since I first announced the book on social media, many have asked me how they can preorder a copy.  You can already preorder the book on amazon.com for $23.99.

For those interested in signed copies, however, I have decided to do a preorder of the book myself.  The number of books I order will be strictly based upon the number of preorders I receive.  The cost of the book plus shipping and handling will be $29.00 ($23.99 plus $5.01 shipping and handling).

If you are interested, please pay $29.00 through my PayPal Account at andrewmwayment@gmail.com and make sure and leave your address.  Please do this by August 1, 2018, so that I can quickly get the books ordered, signed and mailed out.  I hope you love it!

Thanks in advance for your interest and for your ongoing support for the blog!

 

 

 

PRAYERS FOR RAIN

“He sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.”

Matthew 5: 45.

Let’s get something straight from the outset: My pup’s name is Rainey with an “E” not just a “Y” like the weather. Admittedly, my first two Brittanys were Sunny (Upland Autumn Sunshine) and Misty (Misty Morning Sunrise) after certain aspects of the weather, but Topperlyn Rainey Creek Ruff was named after a beloved cutthroat stream in Eastern Idaho and my favorite gamebird. Despite my intention to break from the weather theme, I wasn’t sure that the heavens got my memo last weekend when we went to pick up my puppy.

Since she was born on April 13th, my family has eagerly waited for Rainey to come home. Quite frankly, it felt like the longest eight weeks of my life. So, when the day finally arrived to head north to Montana—a state that I truly love for its beauty and wonderful fishing—like the hymn, there was a little sunshine in my soul.

Early Friday afternoon, my wife, Kristin, and four of our kids headed north from Idaho Falls through Salmon, Idaho, over the continental divide into Montana. In Idaho, the weather was beautiful, and we traveled through some of the prettiest country imaginable with Ponderosa pines down by the Salmon River and Douglas Firs at higher elevations near the continental divide. The white puffy bear grass was in full bloom at high altitudes.

As we descended into the Bitterroot Valley we headed into a huge rain storm with black thunder clouds overhead. The weather put a damper on our spirits and Kristin and I questioned our decision to camp. Near Hamilton we drove to one campground, but found that every campsite was filled.

After Kristin rejected my suggestion that we rent a room, I then stated, “Let’s just drive all the way to Stevensville and see if we can get ahead of this dang storm.”

Near Stevensville, we found a campground named Bass Creek (which is funny because it is a boulder-strewn mountain stream and I’m sure there’s not a single bass throughout its length). The campground looked nice and was not full, but the rain continued to pour down. Honestly, I was not looking forward to putting up a tent in the rain.

“You think it’s raining because we are picking up Rainey?” I joked.

Before putting up our tent, I suggested that we say a prayer,  The family agreed and I prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, we are thankful to be in this beautiful country to pick up our puppy. We really don’t want to get wet tonight. We ask thee to bless that we can get our tent set up, that the rain will stop and that we can stay dry and warm tonight. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

After we finished, I donned a raincoat and Kristin and I went to work. While the rain steadily came down as we set up the tent, as soon as we raised the last pole, the rain stopped. We only had a few sprinkles here and there the rest of the night and we stayed dry and warm. It was a direct answer to prayer.

[image error]We survived the rain, no worse for the wear!

The following morning, we could not go to Topperlyn Kennels until 10:00 a.m., so we drove around Stevensville, Montana to get a feel for the place. The sun was shining through the broken clouds. We found this really beautiful park near the Bitterroot River and we hiked a path that followed the river, which was swollen from runoff and rain. The sun was shining brightly.

Along the way, we saw a handful of valley quail, which are not native to Montana, but have done well in this river valley after their mysterious introduction. Because of the biblical miracles, I have always considered quail as a good omen and found it interesting that we found some without the help of any dogs. The hour passed quickly and soon it was time to head up to Topperlyn Kennels.

As we approached the top of the sage-covered hill upon which the kennels are located, Lynda walked out to greet us with Rainey in her arms. Kristin and I got out of the car and introduced ourselves.  Lynda gave us both hugs. We asked if it was okay for the kids to come out and see Rainey and the other dogs. Lynda replied, “Of course!” She even let Rainey’s siblings out of the fenced enclosure so my family could enjoy the fun puppy pile. While all of the pups were beautiful and fun, I felt sure that Rainey was the one.  I was so impressed with Lynda, her kennels, and all of her beautiful Epagneul Bretons.

[image error]Emma and a pile of puppies.  They were all so cute and fun!

After parting ways, we drove home through Missoula to the interstate and the family enjoyed holding, petting and getting to know Rainey. We were all smitten. And the fact that we were passing through the very country Norman Maclean wrote about in A River Runs Through It didn’t hurt either. More than once, I thought about Paul Maclean’s quote in the movie: “Oh, I’ll never leave Montana, brother.” Taking home Rainey felt like we were taking home a little piece of Montana.

So, what of the weather the night before? Admittedly, I am usually not a fan of the rain, especially when camping, hunting or fishing. Notwithstanding the negativity that I associate with rain, there is also a spiritual symbolism to rain that shouldn’t be ignored. You see, as evidenced throughout scripture, rain has always been associated with blessings from heaven.

[image error]Topperlyn Rainey Creek Ruff

Shortly after Misty passed away, on a particularly difficult day, I opened the scriptures hoping to find some peace. As I thumbed through the Old Testament, I happened upon the following verses in Job 5: 7-11:

7 Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.

8 I would seek unto God, and unto God would I commit my cause:

9 Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvelous things without number:

10 Who giveth rain upon the earth, and sendeth waters upon the fields:

11 To set up on high those that be low; that those which mourn may be exalted to safety.

At this low point in my life, I found solace from this scripture, though I did not fully comprehend its meaning for me.

After this experience and bringing Rainey home, however, I firmly believe that the rain was simply a symbolic prelude to beautiful blessings that will flow into my life with this wonderful pup. I guess a little rain is not so bad after all.

[image error]Nessy meets Rainey for the first time. 

CLIMB THE MOUNTAIN: DAY FIVE

“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.”

–Edward Abbey

I’m a grouse hunter through and through. If I had my druthers, I would opt to hunt for blues, ruffs, or sharptails nine times out of ten. And in Idaho that generally means heading to the mountains.

Thursday of our week of hunting in Idaho, I wanted to retry my all-time favorite covert we call, the Royal Macnab, which holds sharptails, Huns, ruffed grouse, and pheasants in good years. But Shawn and I struggled there the previous Saturday.

“It’s Ron’s last day, so we should let him choose where he wants to hunt,” said Shawn.

“Why would we want to leave birds to find birds?” Ron Coiro asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.” Both Ron and Shawn wanted to go chase those crazy Huns again at our new covert. Admittedly, there was a pile of birds not far from home. So, I got outvoted.

“Okay,” I conceded, “but when we get tired of chasing those crazy Huns, then we should drive up to the Piney Strip and find some blue grouse.”

“I’m okay with that idea,” Shawn agreed.

“That sounds good to me,” added Ron. “I’ve never seen a blue grouse.”

That morning we pursued Huns in the grassy, sunflower covered foothills. And, as usually happens with Huns, we got schooled. We saw birds near the road, but when we put the dogs down they bumped the birds out of range. Shawn’s setter, Gretchen, found and pointed a tight holding covey, but I whiffed the shot. Next time I have to remember to pick just one bird. Try as we may, we just couldn’t find the coveys like on Tuesday. I recently wrote: “Huns are fun, frustrating, and fun.” On this day, they were more frustrating than fun.

[image error]Shawn and Ron search for Huns on a grassy hillside.

Around lunch time, Shawn and Ron finally agreed it was time to the head to top of the mountain. I’ve written before about this particular mountain. I killed my first muley buck up on top with my Dad and brother-in-law, Eric. I’ve spent numerous days there with the late and great Sunny and Misty pursuing blue grouse. If you read my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith, this is the place where Murphy (of Murphy’s Law fame) had his way with us as Eric bottomed out his horse trailer on huge boulders near the lake. Good times!

The first time I took Shawn up there in October of 2010, as we were driving home after a successful hunt, Shawn turned to me and exclaimed, “This place is sacred!” I had to agree as his declaration captured my sentiments exactly. So, needless to say, I was excited to return to this haven in the clouds this year.

Ron was amazed as we climbed up from the desert floor to the top of the mountain, 10,000 feet above sea level. With it being the end of October, there was already shin-deep snow on the north-facing slopes including our destination, the Piney Strip. Shawn opted to let Ron and I hunt the strip while he took a nap.

[image error]Ron, a New York rabbit hunter, on top of the mountain.

Ron and I postholed through the crusty snow hoping to find a few blues. With the snow, the cover looked harsher than usual and I’m guessing that Ron wondered if this was the equivalent of an Idaho Goose Chase. Experience has taught me, however, that it was only a matter of time before we’d find a few blue bombers.

[image error]The telltale sign.

About a half mile down the Strip, the trees and the snow petered out into a sage brush opening and I had that sixth sense that, if any were around, the birds were near. I then looked down at the thinning snow and saw fresh grouse tracks. Rainey and I followed the tracks, and within twenty yards, a big blue flushed across the opening and I missed the first shot. However, another grouse flushed and followed the exact same groove as the first. I swung, slapped the back trigger, and the big bird folded. As I was reloading, another bird escaped unmolested. Ron, who was out of range, watched the whole scene unfold. For me, this was my favorite moment of the whole week.

[image error]The author with a big blue bomber.

Ron and I finished pushing through the strip with no further shot opportunities and we took a few photos of the gigantic grouse.

[image error]A sixteen gauge Sterlingworth and a nice blue grouse.

“I’ve never experienced any bird hunting quite like this,” Ron commented. “That was awesome!”

“I wish we could have gotten you one to end your hunt,” I replied.

“Next year!” Ron proclaimed. I think I recruited a new convert to the joys of blue grouse hunting.

But as great as the blue grouse is, I cannot separate it from the mountainous places they inhabit. It’s like the blue grouse is the very essence or spirit of the mountain. For without them, the mountain tops would seem barren, especially in the late fall and winter when they migrate to the mountain peaks.

Though he may have meant something entirely different, when I hunt these special game birds, I can relate to John Muir’s statement: “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.”