Fly Anglers Online (2024)

10/06/2024

Don't leave anything for later.
Later, the coffee gets cold.
Later, you lose interest.
Later, the day turns into night.
Later, people grow up.
Later, people grow old.
Later, life goes by.
Later, you regret not doing something...
When you had the chance.
Life is a fleeting dance, a delicate balance of moments that unfold before us, never to return in quite the same way again.
Regret is a bitter pill to swallow, a weight that bears down upon the soul with the burden of missed chances and unspoken words.
So, let us not leave anything for later. Let us seize the moments as they come, with hearts open and arms outstretched to embrace the possibilities that lie before us. For in the end, it is not the things we did that we regret, but the things we left undone, the words left unspoken, the dreams left unfulfilled.
— Before the Coffee Gets Cold is novel by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

29/12/2022

YEAR’S END

Outside my window the last sunset of the year is painting the evening skies with mauve and golden hues. The snow is thick on the landscape and the cold seeps in around the cracks beneath the door. An old year is dying, and the promise of a new one is just one sunrise away.

Down along the river the fog rises over a stark scene of bare trees, and an icy cold river. Slush ice fills the main channel, and blocks of ice line the banks. A small flock of Barrow’s Goldeneyes, seemingly unaware of the flow ice and frigid water barely above freezing, dive below the surface searching for small fish and insect larvae. They frolic like children in a swimming pool, despite the near freezing water.

The daylight portion of the day is short, and the nights are long. The old year is being put off like an old thread-bare garment.

What of the promise of the New Year, what hope of sun-filled days and fields of green grass? It lies beneath the covering of snow that locks away the life-giving moisture. It lies hidden under the gravel at the bottom of the river where brown trout eggs, deposited there in the waning days of autumn, are slowly developing into tiny trout.

In the waning light of a mid-winter’s day an owl calls, tucked away in a stand of pine and fir trees, his mournful hooting a dirge for the passing of the old year. A skein of geese fills the sky as they return from feeding in the fields, settling noisily along the river’s edge, and a band of crows, dark against the approaching night, squawk, and squabble as they find their way to roost.

Yes, spring will come again, but for tonight an old year is ending, holding forth the promise of a new one yet to come. It holds the promise of rivers running full of clean fresh water, hurrying on toward the sea, of rising trout, of birds filling the air with their songs, and the smell of new mown hay. We pray to God that we will be here to see it, and to revel in the wonder of it all.

The Chronicler

10/12/2022

WHO’S GOING TO FILL THEIR SHOES

George Jones, a legendary country western singer, sang a song asking that very question concerning the future of country music. Who would fill the shoes of the pioneers of traditional country music? With the recent death of Dave Whitlock, I began to think about the same question.

Few people today remember that the sport of fly fishing had nearly died out shortly after the end of World War II. Spin fishing, which was invented to utilize monofilament line for fishing, nearly wiped-out fly fishing. Anyone that could swing a rod through the air could learn to cast with a spinning outfit, and it was a very effective way to catch fish. There were only a few die hards that continued to fish with traditional fly-fishing methods. Most of those that continued to use a fly rod were older men, and it appeared that fly fishing might disappear.

Then, in the late 50’s Ernest Schweibert published his little book, Matching the Hatch, and the world of fly-fishing had a new beginning. Along with the advances in fly lines and leaders fly fishing began to appeal to a new generation of anglers. In the aftermath of that seminal book an avalanche of books, magazines, and organizations centered around fly fishing suddenly appeared, and the fly-fishing renaissance had begun.

The list of those that helped fuel the renaissance is long: Flick, Haig-Brown, Schwiebert, Marinaro, Brooks, Kreh, Richards, LaFontaine, Wulff, Whitlock, Fox, Grove, Bates, and many others whose contributions, big or small, fueled the rebirth of the sport of fly fishing. Most of them are now gone and the few that remain will soon join them.

I was fortunate to be in on the ground floor of that revival, and I was privileged to know many of those giants on whose shoulders we stand today. Some I knew personally, some I fished with, but most of them I knew through their writings. Whether I knew them personally or merely through their written contributions to the sport I benefited from who they were and what they did.

Like Norman Maclean in his final words in A River Runs Through It, “Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand are dead., but I still reach out to them” Who’s going to fill their shoes, those giants on whose shoulders we now stand. We can only hope that among the up-and-coming anglers there might yet be another Whitlock or Schweibert, more giants on whose shoulders future generations can stand.

The Chronicler

05/11/2022

WHEN THE SNOW FLIES

The golden leaves on the trees outside my window assure me that the days of fall are well advanced, and the snow-capped peaks of the mountains that loom to the south reminded me that winter is close at hand. For the last several years I have sojourned in the warmer, snow-free climes of Arizona, but last spring I bid farewell to my temporary winter abode and returned home to Montana for the duration.

For many years I spent the winter months in the northern regions from my boyhood home in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains in New York to the front range of the Rocky Mountains in Montana. Winters can be cold and bleak in these places, but during the brief respites from the cold and snow I discovered that I could still enjoy a few hours of fly fishing.

Midges are hardy insects, and even during the heart of the winter they can be found hatching on many of the waters around my home. Locals call them snow flies, and they often hatch in amazing numbers, considering the water temperature. Even more amazing is the fact that trout and whitefish can often be found feeding on them.

Although they may be found hatching even during cold, blustery days, the ideal weather for the addicted fly fisher are those days when the wind relaxes briefly, and the weak winter sun is at its zenith. These days could hardly be described as balmy, but for a fly fisher with an acute case of cabin fever they are like a winter vacation to Cancun.

To increase the chances of enticing a fish to feed on your fly it is best to find a spot where the midges are concentrated. On the larger rivers like the Yellowstone back eddies form in areas of slack water, and the surface of these features are usually covered with foam. This foam is a naturally occurring phenomena that involves elements derived from the decomposition of plant material making a form of dissolved organic carbon. While the process of creating this foam is quite interesting, suffice it to say that it is harmless.

If you locate a back eddy covered with foam it will serve as a large lazy Susan, trapping the emerging midges, and creating a revolving cafeteria for the fish that are lurking below. For the angler the beauty of this situation is that it is usually possible to prospect these places without even getting in the water.

In years past, I fished on large back eddy that formed on a bend in the Yellowstone where a small creek entered the river. The hole over which the back eddy formed was quite deep, affording the trout and whitefish a degree of security. Midges hatching in the main flow of the rive where constantly being funneled into the large, slowly turning foam covered slick that formed here. On any day when the weather was acceptable, I could count on a couple hours of fishing for rising fish.

Unlike the days of summer when numerous types of insects can be found hatching, necessitating several boxes of various flies, one box of flies, some floatant, and a spool of tippet material are all that is necessary. My favorite flies for this type of fishing are Griffith Gnats for dry flies, and Prince Nymphs, and small black soft hackles.
So, this coming winter, when the weather permits, I will see if I can find a foam flecked back eddy that I can easily approach without getting into the water, and see if I still remember how to catch fish during the cold days of winter.

The Chronicler

02/09/2022

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES

The parking lot was devoid vehicles, just weeks before it would have been a beehive of activity, but on this early November morning it was my private parking lot. Exiting the warm interior of my vehicle my exhaled breath turned to a visible mist of v***r in the cool morning air. The sky above was a cold, clear blue, but a thin line of sooty black clouds obscured the distant western horizon. The nearby mountains were glistening white with a coating of fresh snow, a thin coating but a sure sign that winter would not linger long. A slight breeze sent a cascade the few remaining leaves the cottonwoods and willows, gold, and yellow, vivid reminders of warmer times.

My upper body was cloaked in goose down, and my lower extremities were encased in waders. A thin sheet of ice covered the shallow water near the shore, and it shattered like glass beneath the soles of my wader-clad feet. The water reflected the cold, clear blue sky; the water so clear that each tiny pebble on the bottom was distinctly visible. Wading into the head of the pool I could feel the cold of the water even through the layers of wool that covered my feet and legs inside my waders.

I was using a 9-weight rod to handle my 30-foot shooting head which was attached to 200 feet of red Amnesia backing wound on a System 9 Scientific Anglers reel. Compared to my 4 and 5 weight rods that I routinely used during the rest of the year this was a rather heavy outfit, but one that was necessary to cast the large streamer flies that I was using to entice the sizeable brown trout that I was seeking.

The process was simple; wade out into the head of the pool, make a series of casts covering the water across the top of the pool, take a couple steps down the pool and repeat the process. It’s almost mesmerizing, cast, drift, strip back, cast, drift, strip back. Occasionally the line would hesitate, hopefully a strike, but often it was just the fly hanging up momentarily on a rock.

Just a few weeks ago two hooked jawed brown trout came hard to a size 2 Muddler Minnow in this same pool. Each would have exceeded 5 pounds, with red spots the size of a dime set against a field of gold. However, on this day, like many others, my flies moved through the pool without attracting any attention from the trout. Coming to the end of the pool I reeled in my line, cut off my fly, stuck it in the fleece patch on my vest, and slowly waded to shore. The wind rattled in the nearly bare branches of the trees, and as I looked back at the cold and silent river, a few flakes of snow began to drift down.

Back in my vehicle, I wrapped my stiff, cold hands around a steaming cup of coffee, and watched the snow begin to cover the ground. Another season was ending with all its memories now stored in my mind.

Standing in the same parking lot some 30 years later I realize how much has changed. The pool that held so many memories is gone, the victim of a flood that forever changed this part of the river. However, even more than the river has changed.

So much has changed for me, as time and tide wait for no man. The heavy rods, big flies, and wading over cobble covered stream bottoms are now beyond my capabilities. Even in places with smoother bottoms my best friend is my wading staff. I can still feel the pull of the water on my waders, the chill seeping through the layers of wool inside my wader clad legs, the mesmerizing routine of streamer fishing in late fall, and the thrill of the strike: they are but golden memories of a time and place now gone.

A gust of wind strikes the trees sending a cascade of yellow and gold swirling around me, a reminder that my own season will soon be coming to an end. Turning back to my vehicle a few flakes of the first snow of winter wafts down from the darkening sky.

The Chronicler

17/07/2022

HOPPERS, BEETLES, ANTS, AND MICE

Trout anglers that fish with artificial flies, especially on flowing water, think mostly of using imitations that resemble things that live or originate in the water like mayflies, caddis, midges, and similar things. However, especially during the warmer months of the years, things that live in the surrounding fields and forests often are eagerly eaten by trout. To overlook these food items, particularly during the times after the major hatches have run their course, may cause an angler to miss some very exciting and rewarding angling opportunities.

Hoppers, beetles, and ants are familiar to most fly fishers. These insects are common along the banks of most streams during the warm days summer. A slight breeze may send them tumbling onto the water surface and into the maw of a lurking trout. However, there are other land-based food forms that trout will eat if given the opportunity.

One of the often-overlooked foods items are mice. Along the banks of most trout waters mice and voles are very common. Not only do they occasionally fall into the water, but they swim across the stream, especially during low light periods before sunrise and sunset. I anticipate that they are often very active during the dark of night. I like to fish a mouse imitation during the twilight hours on my favorite spring creek. The fishing is not fast, and, on some evenings, it produces no action, but when it does it can be explosive. Generally, I use a slightly heavier rod than I would be using during the rest of the day, usually a rod using a 6-weight line, and a heavier and shorter leader. I cast my imitation close to the bank, let it set for a moment, and then slowly begin to swim it across the surface, pausing occasionally, giving it a twitch, and then resume my slow retrieve. Occasionally I will speed up the retrieve to suggest that the mouse is trying to escape something, and that will often draw a violent strike.

Although I have not fished them myself for trout, my nephew Tom uses small frog poppers on the spring creeks with good success. Frogs are common along many streams and small frogs make a good meal for a hungry trout.

An even stranger trout food are small snakes. I don’t know of any commercially available snake imitation, but if you tie flies you can tie up a simple imitation that will float. In Dave Whitlock’s Guide to Aquatic Trout Foods, he suggests using dyed grizzly or variegated Cree saddle hackle to make a suitable imitation for water snakes. Given the vast number of synthetic materials available today the fly tier has several materials that should work very well for tying a suitable snake imitation.

By adding a few patterns to imitate these different food forms you may discover that these imitations will increase your enjoyment during those times when nothing else seems to bring a response from the trout. Who knows, you might just hook the largest trout of the day using one of these imitations.

The Chronicler

21/06/2022

MORE THAN NOSES AND NUMBERS

The talk around the dinner table was typical when a bunch of guys get together after a day of angling. Who caught the biggest one, and who caught the most, and this evening was no exemption. Several of the guys were bragging about the number of big trout that they had caught during their day on the water, and several others were regaling the group with the number of fish they had caught, all expressing their claim that it had been accomplished by their great angling skill.

Sitting quietly at the end of the table was a gray hair old timer, the acknowledged dean of this river. One of the boasters noticed that he was not taking part in the conversation and asked him how many fish he had caught that day. Wiping his face with his napkin he pushed himself back from the table. Standing up and glancing over the upturned faces of all his companions as they waited with expectation, expecting some large number, he turned toward the door and quietly said, “Just one.”

There was a stunned silence as each of the men looked at each other in disbelief. They must have heard him wrong, or he misunderstood the question. Surely, he had caught more than one trout during an entire day of fishing. Then another man stood up from the table, another member of the older generation and the fishing companion of the other man. “No,” he explained, “he only caught one today, but he only cast to one fish, and hooked him on the first cast.” As he turned to leave, he stopped at the door and said, “And by the way, he was using a size 20 dry fly, and the fish was over 20 inches.”

What these older gentlemen had learned over the many years that they had pursued trout with a fly was success is measured in things other that noses and numbers. As one of the members of the older generation I have come to conclude that there are three primary reasons that combine to make a successful day of fishing, people, place, and the joy of simply doing something you enjoy.

Early on in one’s fishing career we likely fail to notice the importance of our companions, the people we fish with, the fly shop workers, and all the other’s that we encounter. Over time we realize that these people have become part of the fabric of a successful fishing trip.

The places we fish, those places we return to year after year bring a sense of stability to our life. They become like old friends; a familiar pool, a certain rock, a side channel where we always find some fish, these things and much more weave themselves into our memory.

Of course, there are the fish. It is unlikely that we would return to the same place year after year if there were no fish to catch. We want to know that when we are fishing that the possibility exists that if we are skillful enough, we may catch a fish, but numbers and size take a back seat to the joy of selecting a fly, making a good cast, and enjoying the results.

When all the noses have been counted and all the numbers have been added up all that will remain are the memories of the people that you shared time with, the places where you enjoyed their company, and the recollection of the thrill of doing something that you enjoyed.

The Chronicler

04/04/2022

MIDGES, BAETIS, CADDIS

The line-up of spring hatches on many trout waters are midges, Baetis and Caddis. These three classes of insects represent some of the hardiest of insects that inhabit most trout waters, and they are eagerly anticipated by fly fishers which enjoy the challenge of catching fish with artificial flies.

Midges, small members of the Diptera group, are the hardiest and can be found on many waters in all seasons of the year. However, the lengthening days of late winter, and the slightly warmer water temperatures in early spring result in an increasing number of these insects. This quickly attracts the attention of the resident trout, which are also responding to the warmer water temperatures. Midge worms and emergers are responsible for most of the action but mating midges that form clusters on the surface can produce some exciting dry fly action. My “go to pattern” for the mating midges is the Griffith Gnat.

Mayflies of the Baetis family are some of the earliest hatching members of that group. The spring Baetis tend to be a darker color than the same insect later in the year. I attribute that adaption to the fact that, in the cooler days of late winter and early spring darker colored bodies absorb more heat from the sun, making it easier for them to remain active. For some unknown reasons Baetis seem to hatch best when the skies are partly cloudy. There are numerous patterns for both the emergers and the adults. I prefer parachute and comparaduns in the appropriate size and color for the adults on the waters that I am fishing.

Caddis may be last in this list, but they are far from insignificant in the early months of spring. These insects have the ability to emerge in mind-boggling numbers. Around my Montana home there is a hatch of caddis that occur from mid-April to early May, often referred to as the Mother’s Day Caddis. Many times, the hatch is over before Mother’s Day and in some years, it is just getting started at that time. One of the critical factors when planning on fishing this hatch is the weather. If it gets to warm runoff will start on many rivers and the water will turn dirty making for less than ideal conditions. If the water becomes too dirty the flies may hatch but the fish do not respond to them. My all time favorite for any adult caddis is the Elk Hair pattern. With a bit of manipulation this fly can be fished in the film or riding high on the surface.

This line-up begins the fly-fishing season on many waters. Most of the members of this trio wait until later in the day before they begin to hatch, allowing the angler to get up later, enjoy a good breakfast, and still arrive on the water in time to fish the hatch. For old geezers like myself that’s the perfect situation.

The Chronicler

23/02/2022

SEEMS CRAZY

With the arrival of another year on the calendar there comes an almost automatic glut of catalogues from purveyors of tackle and fly-tying goodies. Each new arrival holds forth the promise of greater angling prowess if only you would purchase one of their newest gizmos, or the latest bit of fly-tying material or paraphernalia. There are rods that have a millimeter thinner shaft, composed of the latest high-tech materials than last years model. The tapers have been refined, the reel seat has an insert of some rare wood, and anyone that owes such a wonder will be able to cast further, with less effort, and with greater accuracy ever achieved by mere mortals. Likewise, the sellers of fur and feather, or tinsel and faux fur, make similar claims about there latest and greatest fly-tying stuff. Just think of what imitations that one can create with this wonderful new material, which is quite like the same stuff they sold last season, but in a new package and at an increased price.

John Gierach wrote a book back in the late 90’s entitled “Standing in a River waving a Stick”. I think that title points out the absurdity of all the emphasis that the fly-fishing industry and thus the fly fisher has placed on all the paraphernalia which most modern fly anglers wrap themselves, and all the myriad boxes of flies that we cram in our overstuffed vests. All this expensive gear and extravagant fly patterns that we use attempting to catch a fish whose mental capacity is slightly greater than a newborn child.

Recently I was thinking about how many flies I have in my fly boxes that, discounting the hook, consist of only three or four materials. Most dry flies consist of only a tail, body, wing, and hackle, all secured to the hook with thread. The cost of the materials to construct that fly are no more than a few cents, and the time that it takes an accomplished tier to tie one can be measured in minutes. Some of these flies, like the Griffith Gnat, are merely a bit of feather wound on the hook with a peacock herl underbody, yet this simple fly has fooled many fine trout for me. Likewise, ant patterns, beetles, caddis, and many other dry fly and nymph patterns.

One of the simplest patterns that I have ever tied, but one that has caught some of the largest trout that I have ever landed is the C**n Bug. I first saw it in a book by Marvin Taylor about fishing from a float tube. The pattern was so simple that I doubted its ability to fool any fish, but I tied up a few. It’s tied on a long shank hook, size 6 through 10, lead or lead substitute wrapped on the hook shank for weight, and then a generous amount of racoon fur, I prefer tail hair, roughly dubbed for a fat body. That’s it. Tight it on a short heavy leader and cast it into your favorite trout lake or pond, let it sink and using a hand twist retrieve slowly work it back, and hang on. The takes are seldom subtle.

With spring just a whisper away it’s time to do a check of my fly boxes, culling the chewed up and bedraggled flies that I stuffed back into them during my haste last season to change to a new fly and assessing what patterns are in short supply. Then, its off to the vice to tie a few of the old favorites, mostly those simple patterns that consist of just three or four materials.

The Chronicler

29/12/2021

REMEMBER WHEN
By The Chronicler

I picked him up at 10:00 a.m. and he was sitting on the porch dressed and ready to go. His wife greeted me as I walked up the steps and he looked up at me and smiled that familiar smile that I had come to know from our many years of friendship. Unfortunately, the smile did not reflect the reality that a cruel disease had robbed him of all the memories that we shared together.

We had a lifetime of shared memories; camping, hunting and especially fly fishing. What adventures we shared, what places we had experienced together, what wonders of creation that we had witnessed. There was that trip to Alaska when we rented a raft and spent a glorious week floating, fishing, and camping. We roped the raft down through boulder strewn rapids, we camped on gravel bars constantly watching for bears and we caught salmon, grayling and trout that are the stuff of dreams.

We had rituals that involved several trips during the year to special places. We traveled to Montana in the spring and again in the fall, fishing the legendary streams, the Madison, Missouri, the Bighorn and the fabulous spring creeks. There were the fall duck hunts and the comradery of setting hunched over in a cold duck blind watching the sky for the incoming birds. We shared days afield looking for upland birds and for deer and cold crisp days pushing the hedgerows for cottontail rabbits. Now they are only memories, and I am unable to tell if behind that enigmatic smile he remembers any of those times.

Today we were going fishing together again. There is a pond near his house that is owned by a friend that is filled with panfish; bluegills, crappie, perch and bass and a couple times a month I picked up my old friend and we spent a few hours at the pond. There is a short dock on the pond, and I would take a chair and my old friend could set down and we would fish. Despite the fact that he no longer could talk, and I was unsure if he understood anything that we were doing if I put a fly rod in his hand he would cast. I would strip off enough line so that he could make a short cast and then I would put the rod in his hand, and he would cast. Somewhere in the recesses of his brain the memory still existed, and the muscles would respond, not a sloppy attempt but a crisp cast that had a tight loop and a smooth crisp delivery. Unfortunately, after the cast was made there seemed to be no connection between what he had just done and why he had done it. I would take the rod from his hand and if I hooked a fish, I would land it and show it to him. He would smile and then I would put the rod back in his hand and he would cast again. He never seemed to tire of casting and watching me hook and land fish but beyond the casting there did not seem to be any further connection with what we were doing.

Time passed and although his smile never failed, he became less and less responsive. We could no longer make our trips to the pond, but I would come and sit with him. I would talk to him about our trips, and he would simply smile but when I looked in his eyes, they were blank. Often, he would fall asleep while I was talking but I would continue to talk hoping that he could hear me.

One cold winter day, one of those days when we might spend tying flies together, the phone rang, and my old friend had slipped away in the night. Somewhere along the road of life I had lost the physical companionship of my friend, but I never lost the friend that shared so many of life’s special moments. I still see his smile and it warms my heart.

26/11/2021

SNOW FLIES

The year was 1974, January 1974 to be exact, and I had just arrived at my new home in Montana. I did not anticipate that I would have an opportunity to do any fly fishing until spring, but my local friends told me that there was some great fly fishing to be enjoyed even during the winter months. All the major rivers were open for year around fishing, but I wondered what type of fly fishing one could except to do during those frigid months. That’s when I heard about snow flies.

Snow flies it seemed were a small dark colored fly that appeared in large numbers on many of the local rivers. The Yellowstone River ran right through the valley where I was living, and so I set out on a calm day to see this phenomenon for myself. My first couple attempts were unsuccessful, for as anyone that has been in Montana in the winter is aware, conditions must be just right.

Wind is a common reality during the winter months, and it’s an anathema to the fly fisher during the cold months of winter. The river provides an open corridor for the wind to move unhindered, and I discovered that even the slightest breeze at my house in town would be a howling gale on the river. Calm days were the ideal but unfortunately those days often prove to be too cold to fish. Winter fishing was going to prove to be a challenge but not totally impossible.

Winter fishing is a gentleman’s sport; you can sleep in, enjoy a hearty breakfast and an unhurried lunch, and arrive on the stream in early afternoon. This gives both the air and the water a chance to warm up, even if only slightly. I was eager to test out that theory, but the weather continued to thwart my every attempt.

Finally, after several unsuccessful trips the weather finally gave me a break. It was a partly cloudy day in mid-February, the air temperature was a balmy 40 degrees, and there was no wind. Fortified with a down jacket, fingerless gloves, a thermos of hot coffee and wool pants under my waders I went forth to challenge the elements and hopefully some trout. As I walked or rather waddled along the stream looking like the Michelin man in waders, I saw an occasional dimple on the surface of the water that looked like a rise. These dimples were so random and sporadic that any hopes of having your fly on the water where a fish would be at best a shot in the dark.

By this time, I had discovered that snow flies were very tiny black midges that hatch in prodigious numbers. What I had not figured out is how it would be possible to use such a small fly to catch fish when the rises were so random and sporadic. Then I discovered the secret to success.

Along the river in various places a back eddy will form, a slowly swirling current off the side of the main flow. These back eddies are often covered with foam which is caused by the turbulence of the water forming air bubbles and by natural organic compounds that are the results of decaying organic matter releasing various oily compounds into the water. These back eddies act like a big lazy susan; the current carries everything along on the surface and the foam acts like sticky trap. The snow flies that are hatching are carried into the eddy and are trapped by the foam. The fish move under the foam and leisurely pick off the trapped insects as the rotate around and around. As the currents change or a gust of wind disturbs the surface the foam slick will break up and the fish will stop feeding. Then the slick will reform, and the fish will resume their activity.

The ideal foam slick is one that forms near a deep run or pool. The fish move up out of the deeper water to feed and a good foam slick can provide an entire afternoon of activity, with fish rising almost continually.

Midges clump together when mating, and the angler has much a greater chance of success fishing a fly that looks like a clump of midges rather than trying to use a single small dark fly. I found that the Griffith Gnat in a size 18 worked great, and a small Prince Nymph used as a dropper doubled my success rate.

I soon discovered that trout were not the only fish interested in snow flies, but Rocky Mountain Whitefish feed on them with relish. I discovered that some foam slicks were occupied almost exclusively by those fish, but most slicks have a good mixture of trout and whitefish. In the cold water a whitefish gives a good showing, and they are just as much fun to catch as trout.

Fishing the foam slicks with small flies in the short days of winter helps to easy the anxiety of waiting for the warm days of summer. Check out a river near you on some warmish winter afternoon. You might be surprised by a hatch of snow flies.

The Chronicler

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