Naked Aggression

It was an act of naked aggression - a pike pushing water through seven feet of brush at high speed to assassinate my fly.  I've been fishing over three decades and I've got lots of great memories, but this image will be forever etched in my mind.

I have a new addiction and her name is Esox Lucius.  Visual eats, aggressive takes, explosive fights.  What's not to love?

Since we don't have pike or muskie within 100 miles of Idaho Falls, Shane and I organized a road trip down south to fish with Targhee. 

Targhee is the gent behind the Utah Stillwaters blog and he has the area pretty dialed when it comes to toothy critters.  He was kind enough to show us his local haunts and he really knows his stuff.

Mother Nature was as volatile as the pike when we first arrived.  Although the cloud cover was a welcome ally, the heavy winds, rain and lighting were not. The protocol included throwing large "half a chicken" sized flies and smaller perch imitations up into the weeds where the pre-spawn pike search for forage. 

Our timing overall was good and the pike were willing players - with over two dozen fish brought to hand.

The flies of choice were an olive and gold variation of Nick Granato's "Chupacabra" pattern and a small Supreme Hair perch imitation I tied months ago for large trout.  I'd never tied any pike flies prior to planning for this trip and it was great to see the online research pay dividends on the water.

The trip highlight came when Shane chucked one of the perch flies against the weed line and let it sink deep.  I heard a commotion and looked over to see a large bend in his rod.  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted what appeared to be a monster swimming hastily past the stern. 

It was indeed a monster.  Just a hair shy of the all-tackle state record, to be precise.


















She taped out at 41.5" with an 18" girth at 20.6 pounds.  She was an exceptional fish and a beauty to boot.  Congrats to Shane for landing (and releasing) her and to Targhee for guiding us to her lair.

You can get the full scoop on this beast and lots more photos at Shane's Fish Hunter Chronicles blog.

Can't wait for another round.

'Palometa' - Spanish for 'Heartache'

"They call this place 'permit alley,'" John said as we exited the dense Mexican jungle and made our way onto the flat.  Upon scanning the horizon line, it became apparent why.

100 yards to our south was a large black sickle, waving back and forth as if to say, "Hey gringos! Over here."

"Damn," I thought, "I haven't even warmed up with a single cast yet and I have to give the performance of a lifetime." 

I must admit, watching a permit feeding and waving its happy black tail is about as cool as it gets.  I could sit there and watch it for hours.

But I was here to fish, not watch.

My heart was pumping like a plunger and my mouth went dry.  We waded within casting range and it was apparent the fish had no idea we were there.  I let her rip.

The merkin landed about three feet to the right of the permit.  The fish flipped me the bird, then flushed like a toilet.

That's okay, I never expected it to eat anyway.  That would be foolish, right?

My compadre tapped me on the shoulder and handed me my 7-weight.  "Let's go have some fun with bonefish," he said.

I nodded my head and tied on a pink #6 gotcha.  We got into a school on the same flat.  Game on.

Watching a school of bones compete for the right to eat your fly is a nice prescription for anyone suffering from dolor de palometa.

My partner in crime for the day, John Earls, is a former trout and steelhead guide from Oregon who now lives in Tulum.  He offers assisted walk and wade trips in the southern Yucatan via Tulum Fly Fishing.

Although I'd previously fished these flats on my own, I wanted to get some additional local insights this time around to help ensure success.

John's knowledge of the area and local fish proved invaluable.  For a very modest fee, he will spend the day with you - wading the flats, scouting fish and imparting knowledge.  I highly recommend fishing with him when in the area.  He knew exactly where to find fish.

After landing a few bones, we spotted a pair of cruising permit.  We spent about five minutes getting into casting range before I lobbed a crab fly toward their feeding lane along the mangroves.  They were gone before the fly hit the water.

Another dose of humiliation.

Fortunately, there were plenty of bones to save the day and, overall, I was thoroughly impressed with the 'park and play' flats John helped me explore.

Tomorrow, head held high, I will drive south to Punta Allen in search of snook and baby tarpon.

The Bay of Pigs Invasion

On 1 November 2012, the joint chiefs of staff executed a covert operation at a top secret rendezvous point.

Code Name: the "Bay of Pigs Invasion"

The Bay of Pigs Invasion was a successful action by a force of fly fishing commandos to invade CLASSIFIED, in an attempt to land fat bows, cuttbows and browns using stealth, weapons-grade fly munitions and hand-to-fin combat techniques.

Private First Class Shane Thomas and the Spoils of Victory

On 28 October 2012, President Obama was briefed, together with all the major departments, on the latest plan that involved the deployment of three (3) men to be landed in a shore-borne invasion at CLASSIFIED, about 270 km (170 mi) south-east of CLASSIFIED.

LOGISTICS:  CLASSIFIED had good port facilities, it was closer to many existing counter-revolutionary activities, it had an easily defensible beachhead, and it offered an escape route into the CLASSIFIED Mountains.

Torpedo vs. #16 PT Nymph

When that scheme was subsequently rejected by the State Department, however, the CIA went on to propose an alternative plan.

THE FINAL PLAN:  On 30 October 2012, President Obama then approved the Bay of Pigs plan (also known as Operation Hare's Ear), because it had an airfield that would not need to be extended to handle bomber operations, it was farther away from large groups of civilians than the prior plan, and it was less "noisy" militarily.

Consistent with former vice president Dick Cheney's policies on torture, the use of SEX DUNGEONS was authorized by the white house.

PFC Thomas - Doing His Part for the Nation

Combat Wounded Veteran

The president authorized the active departments to continue, and to report progress.

PFC Thomas in Action

From 07:30 to 19:30 hours, multiple fly sorties were thrown from shore and mid-river positions.

Commander Cutler, Providing Support to Our Ally

The invasion ended at approximately 19:45 hours.

The operation was deemed a complete success, with over 70 combatants brought to hand.

Bucket List Browns in the Backcountry

The alarm clock said it was 3:40 a.m.  Normally, getting up at this hour would be a tough proposition, but not today.  Today was the day I'd reserved to fish Bucket List Destination #39...a place where large migrating brown trout and shallow-water lake trout are known to slam streamers.  A place where the fish are described in pounds, not inches.  A place deep in the heart of wolf and grizzly country where one of your primary goals is simply making it out alive.

I met up with Shane and Chris at 4:30 a.m. We packed our gear, bear bells, pepper spray and food in the truck and hit the road. Today's forecast? A nice mix of rain/sun/sleet/snow/hail and winds in excess of 30 m.p.h. Hey, at least we could expect some cloud cover, right?

We hiked roughly 14 miles total over rolling terrain in rough weather.  Was BLD39 worth all the effort?  You bet.  See below...

Chris Cutler Releasing a Migrating Brown Trout

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Chris Cutler photo

After the initial five mile hike in, we arrived at the outlet of a large lake where we started swinging streamers.  There were multiple pods of lakers congregated in the shallows above the outlet and Shane and Chris laid into them instantly.  These were not the lakers of legend I've read about in local folklore, but they were feisty, strong fish nonetheless.

Shane After a Big Mack Attack (Chris Cutler photo)

Shane Thomas photo

After a few minutes, the wind began to howl and whitecaps formed on the lake. In the distance, fierce gusts snapped 100' tall trees in half like toothpicks. 

Man, it was cold. 'Two wet layers under your jacket and shivering down to your toes' cold. I was starting to lose muscle memory.  Tying knots or casting with any measure of proficiency had become a challenge. I needed to move and, after we got into a few more macks, we headed downriver.

Movement was good.  It got the blood flowing and raised the core temperature.

Venturing into the river, we quickly encountered the fish we'd read about in the scrolls of local legend. 

This is why we were here.  Complete solitude, desolate wilderness, and large German browns.

Shane Thomas photo

The fish were moving upriver in pods of 4 or 5.  You could distinguish the rust-colored males fairly easily, while the females resembled subtle gray torpedoes. 

The recipe for success involved swinging a streamer in or around the pod - causing your fly to crash their little party and provoke a fight.

One of Chris's Many Nice Browns (Chris Cutler photo)

Chris Cutler photo

Shane with a Nice Brown on the Way Back Out (Chris Cutler photo)

These fish were busy migrating from their usual lake haunts to their spawning grounds a few miles upstream. We were quite fortunate to spend some quality time with them along the way.

We began the trek back to the trailhead at 5:30 p.m. Distant peaks that were dry on the way in were now blanketed with snow. By 7:30 p.m., we were hiking in a state of near darkness, 15 hours after the journey began.

We'd maintained a very good pace until something dark, large and brown ahead of us on the trail caught our attention. We stopped dead in our tracks.

"Wait...what the heck is that?"
"Looks like a bear to me."
"Me too."
"HEY BEAR!!!!!!"

I pulled the safety clip off my canister of  pepper spray.

"I think it's moving toward us."
"Me too."
"HEY BEAR!!!!"

We started walking backwards slowly while repeating our mantra in the darkness.   I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

Thirty seconds later, no movement.  A hasty headlamp retrieval from one of our packs finally revealed the truth - it was a large tree trunk that had fallen across the trail.

Funny how your mind and eyes can play tricks on you in the dark.

The Sultans of Swing

The autumnal equinox has come and gone and the days continue to grow shorter.  Fall has arrived, bringing some decent cloud cover for the first time in over two months.  Under these conditions, cracking the code is never rocket science.  In fact, the formula is quite simple:  Get on the river and start swinging streamers.

I identified a spot earlier this year that looked like great holding water for big browns.  It has been blown out most of the year but now the flows are perfect.  

Today the water looked extremely fishy and the anticipation weighed heavily as I hurled my fly into the boiling cauldron.  

Swing, strip, strip, WHAM!  First freaking cast.  

After a long and arduous battle, the below-referenced gentleman entered my net.

Another Shot of the Kyped-Out Male

After thanking my new friend and saying goodbye, I proceeded downriver while hitting every hole and tailout possible. 

Our local rivers - big, burly behemoths all summer - become intimate stretches of pocket water in the fall. 

A few more swings turned up a fat female that jumped five or six times - like a rainbow at the ranch.  She was extremely feisty, pausing only briefly after being netted for a quick photo. Moving downriver once again, I encountered over a dozen eager brown trout, most ranging in size from 12-16".  

 

Before the day wound down, however, a couple more nice fish were released from the net.

Football?  No thanks.