Giant Salmon Flies Hit the Canyon!

We had another good fishing trip on the South Fork of the Snake, but the sun may have fried my brain, along with the lack of sleep that comes from a fly by night trip like this.  Obviously something has affected me.  I am usually not quite this “good” at poetryJ.  Read about Tom’s perspective from behind the camera on this trip here.   

All told we boated somewhere around 20 fish and had numerous strikes and fish on that got away.  I caught one of the bigger Cutthroat I have caught on this river in the exact same hole I caught my biggest trout to date last year, a 25” German Brown.  We saw it feed right before we drifted through the area and when I casted into his hole I was not sure he would be ready to eat again so soon but the big easy meal of a free drifting salmon fly proved too tempting for the 19” fish. 

 A somewhat interesting happening came when we drifted down one good looking side channel in the river.  I was casting into perfect looking pockets and in the span of about 75 yards of river had five consecutive fish smash my big stimulator fly, but no hookups.  After taking some good natured ribbing from the other yahoo’s (my father-in-law, and my little brother, whom you all know as Tom) in the boat I thought, “You know, I have been known to miss a few fish but that was just weird, I better check my fly to make sure it still has a hook.”  Really I had no expectation that there would be any such discovery but sure enough when I pulled the line in and looked at the fly there was a perfectly good looking #6 stimi with no hook.  It had broken off mid shank.  Not sure when that happened but I have a good idea that it could have been the result of one of my hookups with the thick brush along the bank and trying to yank the hook out of there.  Anyway, it was another fun trip. I am looking forward to the next one already.

 

T’was the Night of the Hatch

By Benji

 

T’was a cool night in July, and all over the river

Not a creature was stirring, not even the beaver

The 5 weight was rigged, and leaned against the wall

Ready to go, for that expected call

 

Then it was Friday, and work was, well…work

And my casting arm, was developing a jerk

I clicked on a website, with remedies for this

The fishing report, said “’The Canyon’…can’t miss”

“The Salmon Fly’s, are hatching their way”

“Up, up the river, at a mile a day”

“By Monday” they said, “you can be expecting to see”

“Fish piling up, under each bush and each tree”

“Gulping huge bugs, as they slipped from the twigs”

“Fish with good size, some call them pigs”

 

In a flash it was on, I threw the gear in the truck

Said good bye to the family, who wished me good luck

Barreling down, the freeway we went

One image in my mind, a rod that is bent

In the shape of a taco, and on the end with the hook

A big German Brown Trout, worth a second look

 

At Spring Creek we launch, with our heads in the clouds

Expectations are high; the call of the river is loud

The ramp is alive, with boaters bustling about

Here we are putting in, while they are all taking out

 

As we float under the highway the bridge fades from view

Leaving civilization behind, to see “The Canyon” anew

The sounds of the road die slowly away

Displaced by the sound, of the oars and soft sway

Of the drift boat, as it bobs gently along

In the current, that’s in tune, to nature’s sweet song

 

Casting in time, to an inaudible beat

To fish that we hope, are ready to eat

I get my first strike, but it’s gone in a flash

But fish fever has set in, (minus the rash)

 

Finally a hookup, the brown puts on a show

Splashing and jumping, not ready to go

Into the net, and a quick, painless release

It swims back to its hole, with grace, and with ease

Ah, this is the cure, for the twitch in my arm

The rivers soft rush, has rung its silent alarm

 

The rest of the float, is more of the same

Big bushy flies are the pawn in this game

Under each grassy bank, there are trout eager to eat

Where the rivers swift current, and the canyon walls meet

 

As my mind, and the river sync up in their pace

I am glad for one day, I am out of the race

They say is for rats, but we do it each day

Hustle and bustle, to each make our hay

No matter how short, we make the best of these times

Even when they result, in these ridiculous rhymes