I have to stop entering these things. They end quickly, and they end badly. For readers not familiar with the concept, one-flies are tournaments run for charity, and each angler gets one fly, and on fly only. Not one pattern, but one fly. If it goes in a tree, falls apart, or has the hook break on a bad backcast that ticks a rock, you are done. The object is to get the most points before something bad happens, and you get points by catching fish, with bigger fish usually worth more.
This one was organized by Schultz outfitters in Ypsilanti, MI as a benefit for the Huron River watershed council (HWRC). This is one of the most progressive watershed councils in the Nation, and they do things that range from stonefly searches (stones are good environmental indicators) to helping the cities of the watershed adapt to climate change. They have real scientists and everything.
So we went to a fun party, and got up next morning to win, and win big. My fishing partner was my wife, and we had long discussions about strategy. We decided that since we were a team, I would go low and slow with an indestructible kevlar tied crayfish pattern, and she would go on top with a surface fly- a gartside gurgler. After mayhem, photographs, and getting acquainted with some new Huron River anglers, we set off bound for glory. I decided to fish in downtown Ypsilanti, where we used to joke that there was bass under every shopping cart. In part thanks to HRWC this is no longer the case, at least the shopping cart part.
Fishing sucked, at least where we were. First spot produced one rock bass and teeny tiny long release smallmouth. Departed for greener pastures at a honey hole that had given up, on average, a dozen prize winning bass each trip every time I had fished there. This was not to be the case that day, and after an hour and a half I was surprised by a single 9 inch bass that was a full inch above the minimum size for entry.. Feeling good about not finishing dead last, I worked down to the first deep run of the morning (the water was record low and pretty clear) and dead drifted Mr. indestructible crayfish down a slot. The line stopped, and I thought I was snagged up until the snag tried to jump and throw the fly. Not a 20 incher, but big enough so that when he jumped he could not get completely out of the water. Two runs, got him on the reel, and then of all things, the line goes slack. I reel in only to find a flyless leader with the telltale curlicue of a knot that has pulled free. I was done. I thought back to that knot, and had stopped mid-tie when someone asked me a question. The improved clinch knot turned out to be only a clinch, and a bad one at that.
I was disheartened and had to think hard about the real purpose of the day which was to benefit the river. HWRC is unusual in that they are an "environmental" group that interacts successfully with anglers. Very few environmental groups get along well with the "hook and bullet" crowd, but everyone I know loves them. That is saying something. Despondent, I reviewed the rules that allowed teams to share rods. I made my wife give me her rod and fly, and proceeded to be vindicated with a 12 incher, thereby securing me another step up from dead last. However, she figured out my strategy quickly and I was called out. We gave it our best shot, and after an hour in the 90 degree plus sunshine with only rare and desultory nosing of the topwater flies it boiled down to two choices: 1) drive 20 miles upriver to really good spot where they were sure to be biting and have a shot at placing, or 2) go to an air conditioned bar within sight of the fly shop HQ just down the street. Bar won, unanimous decision achieved in seconds.
Just wait until next year.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Mr. Gar says "hello!"
We need a break from fly fishing. This week's trip was canned at noon due to unseasonable heat and malaise, and it wasn't worth talking about.
I once collected a gar for an ichthyology class, and the preservation went bad, except for the head which got sort of mummified. This became "Mr. Gar" and he became a family tradition. Mr. Gar had a knack for showing up anywhere and everywhere: my mom's floral centerpieces during formal dinners for stodgy relatives, looking out of the ice ring in the punch bowl, as a Christmas ornament, and even a wedding cake where his little jaws embraced the bride. That appearance didn't last long, but he was moved to a place of honor looking out over the crowd from a champagne glass placed on the bridal party table. My favorite part of this was that my mom became wise to his appearances, and would try to find him before her dinners. But he always found a way to join the party. When my mom would spy him peaking out of the flowers, we kids would all shout in unision "Mr. Gar says Hello"! She would get royally pissed off at us, which was the main point. However, she changed her mind and started including him in the arrangements herself, and would usually place him looking out at whatever family member had given her a hard time recently. Let this record reflect that his wasn't ALWAYS pointed at me. Over the years, Mr. Gar became part of the family, and was included in many venues. He would travel to reunions, weddings and the like ensconced in his own travel box, or later hanging from the rear view mirror in a fine Christmas ribbon, shown above. Once he was lost for over a year, and everyone felt sad until he was rediscovered hiding among the christmas ornaments.
Mr. Gar has appeared at four weddings (OK, like only two were mine): Two marriages ended in divorce, the others are happy. The unhappy marriages were typified by horrified reactions to Mr. Gar, subsequent banishment, and forcing him to live in a box in the basement. The happy ones occurred when the new spouse greeted Mr. Gar with affection and subsequently included him in family gatherings. I have long thought about the divination powers of Mr. Gar, and have considered renting him out to recently engaged individuals who have secret reservations about their husband/wife to be. But to exploit such a noble species for profit would be wrong. And if word got out, a serious trade in gar could ensue and contribute to their decline.
Mr. gar is quite worn, and had a bad encounter with the little Hiatus (the rat terrier puppy introduced in an older post) but I have such respect for gars I have been reluctant to kill another. He is, however, somewhat worse for the wear as is any object smaller than a bus that has spent more than five minutes alone with a rat
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Carl Hansen and the glass minnow
Carl Hansen was a fly angler from St. Petersburg, FL. He is known nationally as the inventor of the glass minnow pattern. Carl fished the saltwater flats near Tampa Bay, and had a unique approach. Envision a Tampa Bay fly fishing club outing. O dark thirty, and about 50 guys with the latest incarnation of graphite rods, Abel reels galore, and flats boats warming up at the launch ramp. Everyone up the night before tying the latest trendy fly patterns. Madness and mayhem as everyone headed out to be the first one on "big snook flat" or wherever they thought they needed to go given the tide, temperature, barometer, season, and latest guide reports.
Carl would sit there at the picnic area, wait for the sun to come up so he could tie up a few bend back glass minnows. Aluminum foil, mono overwrap for the bodies, a bit of bucktail, and red thread for the heads. No cement, a cheap vise that probably came from Herters in 1955, and I think he did own one pair of sewing scissors. He would then string up a 7 foot cane rod (a three weight, no less) with a reel that I believe was made in 1917- the year may not be right but it was given to him as a kid and he was about 80 years old when I knew him.
He would then wade out in front of the picnic tables up to his knees, and no deeper. He would then cast back to shore. Although he could cast like no one else, most of his casts might be 30 feet. Each cast would last a couple minutes and he would move the fly continuously in little twitches or with a hand twist retrieve. In 2 or 3 hours he might move 30 feet. About noon, all the young guns would come flying back to the launch ramp for the picnic, and you know how this ends. Carl would have caught more fish than the rest of the club combined. His explanation was simple: his fly was in the water, and the glass minnow moves exactly like a real baitfish. Predators move, so most of the snook, seatrout, and redfish in Tampa Bay would pass by him at some point in the morning, and would encounter a fly that looked and moved naturally that was actually in the water when they cruised by.
Carl was an amazing guy- he and his wife Esther had a casting clinic that met once a week at their house for over 30 years, and historians will correct me that its tenure may have been much longer. He did get some recognition of his skills, and was often asked to tie flies at Florida heritage festivals. He could put a fly in a teacup at 30 feet every time you asked him to do it. No BS, every time, and none of this false casting to get the distance right. And this was not hyperbole. The club had casting contests, one of which was a teacup at 30 feet. I saw it. He fished until the very end of his life, and when the end came he went out like the man he was. He told his family and friends that he did not want a funeral. He said that anyone who gave a damn about him should take a child fishing.
The glass minnow:
Use a pliers to bend a hook bendback style. Most people bend it too far. Don't.
Wrap a bit of foil around the hook shank below the bend.
Take a piece of 8 to 12 lb. mono, and wrap it over itself using a snell knot. It takes some practice, but you will end up with shiny foil body protected by mono wraps.
Tie in a sparse bucktail wing. I think that white over greenish blue was Carl's favorite, but he also felt that any color would work. It has to be sparse. Carl would have corrected my wing as resembling a feather duster.
That is it.
Fish the fly over any seagrass bed, bottom discontinuity, or structure. Move it slowly so it crawls along through the water column just above the grass. Expect the unexpected.
Carl would sit there at the picnic area, wait for the sun to come up so he could tie up a few bend back glass minnows. Aluminum foil, mono overwrap for the bodies, a bit of bucktail, and red thread for the heads. No cement, a cheap vise that probably came from Herters in 1955, and I think he did own one pair of sewing scissors. He would then string up a 7 foot cane rod (a three weight, no less) with a reel that I believe was made in 1917- the year may not be right but it was given to him as a kid and he was about 80 years old when I knew him.
He would then wade out in front of the picnic tables up to his knees, and no deeper. He would then cast back to shore. Although he could cast like no one else, most of his casts might be 30 feet. Each cast would last a couple minutes and he would move the fly continuously in little twitches or with a hand twist retrieve. In 2 or 3 hours he might move 30 feet. About noon, all the young guns would come flying back to the launch ramp for the picnic, and you know how this ends. Carl would have caught more fish than the rest of the club combined. His explanation was simple: his fly was in the water, and the glass minnow moves exactly like a real baitfish. Predators move, so most of the snook, seatrout, and redfish in Tampa Bay would pass by him at some point in the morning, and would encounter a fly that looked and moved naturally that was actually in the water when they cruised by.
Carl was an amazing guy- he and his wife Esther had a casting clinic that met once a week at their house for over 30 years, and historians will correct me that its tenure may have been much longer. He did get some recognition of his skills, and was often asked to tie flies at Florida heritage festivals. He could put a fly in a teacup at 30 feet every time you asked him to do it. No BS, every time, and none of this false casting to get the distance right. And this was not hyperbole. The club had casting contests, one of which was a teacup at 30 feet. I saw it. He fished until the very end of his life, and when the end came he went out like the man he was. He told his family and friends that he did not want a funeral. He said that anyone who gave a damn about him should take a child fishing.
The glass minnow:
Use a pliers to bend a hook bendback style. Most people bend it too far. Don't.
Wrap a bit of foil around the hook shank below the bend.
Take a piece of 8 to 12 lb. mono, and wrap it over itself using a snell knot. It takes some practice, but you will end up with shiny foil body protected by mono wraps.
Tie in a sparse bucktail wing. I think that white over greenish blue was Carl's favorite, but he also felt that any color would work. It has to be sparse. Carl would have corrected my wing as resembling a feather duster.
That is it.
Fish the fly over any seagrass bed, bottom discontinuity, or structure. Move it slowly so it crawls along through the water column just above the grass. Expect the unexpected.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)