Last chance for fall brown trout?

Our wonderful fall weather is running on borrowed time, so Sam and I headed for a local lake yesterday to cash in on some November brown trout. When I was there a couple mornings before, the lake had ice extending out about 50 yards in places. But this day was warm and sunny, with afternoon temperatures probably in the 50s. Not bad for Nov. 6 at nearly 8,000 feet.
The morning started promisingly. I landed two browns on egg patterns and had a few other hits. Sam nailed a few on wooly buggers from his favorite spot off a point of the lake.
Then it slowed down, and we decided to take a break. Back at the vehicles, we pitched lawn chairs between our rigs to get out of the wind that had picked up. The sun felt great, and beer and lunch felt great, too. We listened to Colorado blow a 45-17 lead to Kansas, watched other anglers through binoculars, and had a few laughs at other people's expense.
I was thinking about a nap, but Sam brewed up some coffee and, refortified with energy, we returned to the water around 3:30.
Our timing was perfect. The trout had moved closer to shore, and we enjoyed steady action on buggers. By 6 o'clock, it was getting dark, and the water was getting cold. We quit, glad for yet another fall day on the water.

November surprise: Trout still looking up

Fishing is full of surprises, and this fall has brought probably the most unexpected surprise of all. Back in August, I accidentally discovered that large rainbow trout in a lake would hit grasshopper fly patterns even though there had been no visible surface-feeding activity. This dry-fly action continued through September and October with bows up to 24 inches inhaling the hoppers.
All along, I kept wondering how long this unusual behavior would last, figuring it would shut down any day. It's weird enough to catch fish that size on dry flies, but even stranger when they're still hitting hoppers after numerous freezes and even a snowstorm had killed all of the naturals.
So on Nov. 1, I decided to head to this lake once more to see if by chance the big bows were still looking up for hoppers. My first cast answered that question as a nice fish lazily rose to my fly, and I missed the hookset. A half hour later, I managed to hook another big bow, but after a couple powerful runs, he got into the weeds and broke me off.
I moved to the other side of the lake to take advantage of the wind and soon hooked up with the bow in the above photos, this time managing to bring him to net.
I never expected dry fly action at 7,000 feet in Wyoming in November. If the lake doesn't freeze by then, will December bring more of the same?

High and dry: Big trout looking up

In flyfishing, a 20-inch trout often is considered trophy quality. I usually catch one a year, sometimes a few more, sometimes none. But whenever a trout stretches the tape measure to 20 inches or more, it's a special fish.

Usually, those fish are caught in deep water on nymphs or streamers. But in the last two weeks, large trout have been hitting the surface at a local lake for dry flies. Big, bushy flies such as size 10 parachute Adams and 10-12 grasshopper patterns are the ticket.

Seeing a big fish come out of the depths to inhale a dry fly is one of flyfishing's greatest thrills. The visual impact is so strong that I have to hold back on setting the hook until it's in the fish's mouth. Several times recently, I've gotten so excited at the sight of a 5 or 6-pound rainbow coming up to smash my hopper pattern that I've pulled it right out of their mouth.

But when I do hook up, hold on tight because these big 'bows are headed for the weeds, trying to tangle your line so they can escape. Sometimes it works for them, but often it has not. Today, for instance, I landed four fish, all over 20 and a couple around 2 feet long. The secret, I've found, is go with 1X tippet. Leave that weak stuff, 3X or 4X, at home.

I don't know how long this unusual top-water action for big fish will last. But I am savoring it like a 20-ounce porterhouse steak.

Backpacking in the Big Horn Mountains

A four-day, 20-mile trip into the Cloud Peak Wilderness of Wyoming's Big Horn Mountains was my first backpacking in about 20 years. I was worried about my knees holding up, but with the help of trekking poles, Ibuprofen and knee braces, it was OK.
We got a late start on the first day, and walked about 4.5 miles to our first camp on Lake Helen. The mosquitoes were out in force by the lake, so we opted to camp on a rocky ridge above the lake where it might be windier. By the time we set up camp and ate, there wasn't much time to fish so I didn't even break out my flyrod.
The next morning, we hiked to Mistymoon Lake and caught some small brook trout. We pushed on to Solitude Lake for night two's camp, passing some beautiful waterfalls about a half-mile from the lake. Jan and I caught a bunch of brookies at the lake, including a couple decent 12-inchers.
Day three started with a long uphill trek. Luckily, the day was cool and overcast - a harbinger of what the weather held in store for us. We set up camp at Lake Marion around 1 p.m., giving us ample time to fish that water and to hike to Fortress Lake. A ranger hinted that Fortress held golden trout, and it wasn't long before Jan hooked up with one about a foot long. Even from across the lake, I could see the fish's bright orange belly. Goldens are gaudy, special trout that live in special places.
We awoke to snow on our last morning and hurriedly ate and packed up. We all wore the warmest clothes we had, and walked briskly to get the body temperature heating up.
Once we reached the trailhead, we headed for beer and burgers in Tensleep, Wyo.
Thanks to Marty for packing cognac and wine. It was a great trip.

Flyfishing is for the birds

Two of my favorite outdoor activities are flyfishing and birdhunting. Yesterday, I found a new way to combine them.
While floating the North Platte River, I was casting a peacock woolly bugger toward the shore, hoping to move a trout.
After one cast, I saw a small bird fluttering around the water and figured it was catching insects. When I raised my rod for the next case, I noticed I had caught the bird, which I think was some kind of swallow.
He must have mistaken my fly for a tasty bug meal and grabbed it out of the air on the cast.
The leader was wrapped around his wing, and, fortunately, the No. 8 fly hook didn't get him. I untangled him and released the bird unharmed. He flew away just fine, hopefully a bit wiser.

Summer skiing becomes risky business

I decided to take a day off from fishing and do a ski mountaineer trip with Marty, the Ph.D. of Ski, earlier this week. The thought of escaping 80 degree temps in town for a refreshing mountainside of snow was appealing.

We had to take our skis off for three rock fields on our climb to the ridge (or in Marty's case, walk across with skis on). On the way down, we had to again de-ski to cross the rocks. But the snow was surprisingly firm for June 26, and we tried to make every turn count since summer skiing is a fleeting pastime.

Marty was nearly to the bottom of one run when he stopped. "How many more turns do you plan to make before those rocks?" I asked. He predicted two and skied off. Two turns later, he kept going, getting closer to the rocks. On the fourth turn, he suddenly tipped over and crashed head-first into the rocks.

"Son of a biscuit," I thought and hurried downhill to see if he was OK. The Ph.D. took a while to get up and already had a big bump sprouting on his head. On his last turn, he had hit a rock and crashed. When I took off my skis to walk down to where he fell, I sunk knee-deep into some rotten snow that probably also contributed to his fall.

To make matters worse, Marty broke a ski pole and had to descend the rest of the mountain with one pole.

We skipped the post-ski beer in case he had suffered a concussion. When we got back to town, his wife called the doctor. Luckily, the Ph.D. didn't have any of the concussion symptoms that his doctor listed. The next day, he said he felt fine.

A close call that nearly ruined an otherwise great summer ski day.

Let's get small

Every guy wants some strange now and then. It's no different with fishermen. I catch hundreds of trout every year. That's not because I'm some super-flycaster. It's just that trout fishing is really good around here, and I fish a lot. Brook trout in mountain lakes are particularly easy to catch in vast quantities (my best day was 77.)

I don't like eating trout that much, so rarely keep any. But trout are the only game in town so I fish for them almost exclusively.

Last year, I heard about a lake about an hour away that contained smallmouth bass. In addition, I heard you could catch them on flies.

So I hit it this spring in a float tube. Bass bugs on the surface didn't work so I switched to woolly buggers and a sinking line. That worked and I caught six smallies that probably thought the brown bugger was a crayfish.

They fight harder than most fish and gave the six-weight rod a workout. Smallmouth also are beautiful fish. Every one has different markings, but they all have red eyes. I kept a couple for dinner, and they were fine table fare compared to trout.

Some strange is good now and then.