Benji and a Brown on the Snake.  This is catch and release so I still don’t know what they taste like.

First off, lets go fishing.  My mouth starts to do convulsions just thinking of Walleye or perch.  It doesn’t get any better then that.  Little crappie fillets aren’t far behind.  One of my most memorable fish dinners was when one of my hunting partners surprised us and packed several pounds of fresh Tuna into elk camp.  So I realize when the taste buds get something they aren’t expecting, that immediately pushes it up the list too.  I also enjoy Pike if someone knows how to get rid of the Y bones.  Trout in butter and pepper wrapped in foil and cooked in coals of the campfire has its special appeal too.  There again I realize the aesthetics of the time of consuming has a lot to do with it.

 Tom’s Brown from the Owyhee River.  We couldn’t eat them either.

Now when it comes to birds, I don’t have a whole lot of experience, but of all the birds I have consumed there is nothing like a Chukar feed.  Pheasant and Ruff Grouse are delicious and Hungarian Partridge isn’t far behind.  I’m going to have to concede my history with water fowl is very limited.  When we moved from Oregon to Idaho fifteen years ago, I went to move the freezer and found it was over half full of ducks.  Tom loved jump shooting ducks along the river and evidently our ability to make them palatable was lagging behind his ability in stocking the freezer.  They did finally disappear as where we moved didn’t offer him the same access to jump shooting as he had.  Turkeys? I’m still waiting for the first one to make it to the cooler!

 Benji, Todd, cousin Sean, and I with pheasants along the Malhuer River.  Great hunting and great eating.

Sue’s dad with Chukars from the Steens Mt.s.  This is the primo of table fare.   (taken 40-50 years ago)

Game animals are tough for me as they all seem to be special.  Probably at the top of the list though would have to be antelope as they are tender, fine textured and sweet.  But if I was to have only one kind of meat I believe it would be elk.  Its just plain good and has a taste you can’t get tired of.  About 30 years ago I brought home a large calf elk and we smile about it even today as it had on it about 70 pounds of the most tender tasty meat you can imagine.  You never needed a knife to cut it, just awesome.  Mule deer comes right behind elk.  Mountain goat has a wonderful taste but much of the meat tests the strength of your jaws.  I guess you can call it tough and tasty.  Sue’s moose?  We had heard so many tell us what great meat it was but it took us a little while to appreciate it.  She shot it in the rut and it just plain stunk.  It took us a little while to get that smell out of our nostrils.  Then we found it a little on the tough side so we took some into a couple that run a Norwegian restaurant in town and she told us how she cooked it and that old moose disappeared real quick.  Whitetail deer I really enjoy, but Sue still has some reservations.  Their fat is more marbled into the meat so it is harder to get it out, but I do enjoy a good whitetail steak.  Bear meat is probably the mildest of them all.  At least spring bear.  While cutting it up it has no smell to it at all.  A little on the tough side but it has a wonderful taste.  It makes great roasts and hamburgers. 

 And then there is bear.   Spring bear is just great.

When it comes right down to it, it all tastes better then anything that we can get at the local store, which is very minimal .  I’ll have to admit if I didn’t love the meat, it would take a lot out of the joys of hunting as there’s nothing better and better for you.  Eat Wild!!

Benji’s was about an 8″ Crappie

Todd’s was a 17″ Rainbow Trout

And Tom’s was a fairly well squished 3.47″ Bass

Great memories are made, you just have to get out and make them!!!

Fishing with the Kid!

By Benji Sorenson

It’s about the best thing in the world for a dad to see your kids smile. And one way to make sure that happens is to take them fishing. This first picture is after about an hour of casting from a dock and catching nothing. Note the size of the smile still on his face. Proof he is a true fisherman.

Finally I figured we may as well move to a new spot since nothing was happening off the dock. On the first cast in the new spot with the 2 foot long “Cars” telescoping fishing rod the bobber starts dancing. I happened to still be holding the rod at this time as I had just cast it out there for him, so I quickly handed him the rod and he muscled this crappie in.

After that fish I pretty much handed him the rod right after I got it cast out there and he did the hooking and the catching. It was pretty much automatic after that. He had about 10 fish close enough to the bank that I counted them caught over the next 20 minutes. We both had a good old time, whooping it up with high fives, and fist bumps after every fish. These are the moments I wish I could bottle up forever. Thanks for taking me fishing son!

At first I balked, knowing the only fishing this time of year up in that area was going to be for steelhead, and based on my previous experience with those finny creatures, I had serious doubts that they even existed.  I once spent three days in a steady drizzle casting flies into crystal clear pools with Mr. Base Camp Legend himself, Tom, videotaping my every move.  Only one thing could have been more miserable than standing in water that was a couple degrees away from becoming a solid, for three days, while rain drops nearing the point where they become white and fluffy, pelted down on your back.  And that was standing on the rock behind me with a video camera glued to your face, just waiting for something to happen, all while the same cold liquid pounded down on you.  What did Tom and I receive for our suffering?  Nothing.  Not even a nibble.  Well, I did catch a 15 inch cutthroat trout but that is not exactly a just reward for spending three days dodging hypothermia.  As bad as steelhead fishing may sound I did actually enjoy the trip and promised that I would someday catch one.  I actually made another attempt later that same month but came up empty again while fishing with both of my brothers on a different river.  While it wasn’t raining on that day I do remember having to thaw the guides on my fly rod after nearly every cast as they iced up solid.  After four days of Steelhead fishing and I had nothing to show for it.

That was over two years ago and I hadn’t even tried to catch a steelhead since.  Now here I was ready to tackle the task again.  The frigid air on this morning was just a little reminder of what I had missed out on these last two years.

The conversation in the car  as we made our way down the canyon on this morning was surprisingly optimistic.  Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the fact that Jeff had yet to spend any time chasing Steelhead with a fly rod, that led to our positive attitudes.  Jeff still had that fresh optimism that quickly erodes when you send a few days casting mindlessly into a river hoping a wayward fish would grab the tuft of feathers swinging at the end of your leader and his attitude was starting to rub off on me.  As we pulled off the road along the surging river, I realized I was catching it again, Steelhead fever.

From here the story gets short.  It only took three casts for adrenaline to do what three cups of coffee couldn’t on this morning.  As my flies drifted past a boulder about midstream my indicator slowly dipped below the surface.  I was sure I had snagged on the rock and I brought up my rod tip to free the drift.  What I felt was not a rock but a powerful surge and a big head shaking wildly in the current.  Even being the calm, even keeled guy that I am, I couldn’t contain the excited yell that came from my unsuspecting mouth.  Jeff heard the commotion and quickly joined the party, helping me land my first Steelhead.  By a quarter till eight I was standing on the bank while Jeff snapped some pictures of my catch.  The hatchery buck taped out at 27 inches.  To have been able to land it on a fly rod, on a fly I had tied, made it only that much sweeter.  In fact the only drama in this fight, besides the excitement of actually tying into one of these ocean run beasts, came when I beached the fish and it came unhooked at my feet.  I quickly corralled it with my hands and just assumed that the fly had finally pulled free of its mouth.  Only after things had calmed down and I was ready to go back to fishing did I discover that the hook had actually snapped in two.  I will have to find some stronger hooks for tying flies meant for my future pursuits of the fish with a metal head.

It turns out that Steelhead fishing is everything it is cracked up to be after all.  Now all I can think about is when I might get a chance to get out there on the river again.  They warned me at the fly shop when I bought my first steelhead rod that someday this would happen.

Something about going fishing in the middle of a work day makes the sport that much more enjoyable. Knowing that you could still be at work, but there you are knee deep in a trout stream, brings a new appreciation for the opportunity. I am lucky to work a half hour drive from a great trout stream. It makes for a long lunch but it is possible to get out to the river, fish a little, and get back to the office in a couple hours. Yesterday as I was sitting there in the office looking out the window at a steady drizzle, 45 degree weather, with no wind, I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering to the fact that these were perfect conditions for a solid Blue Wing Olive hatch. I figured sometimes it is better to scratch that itch and get it over with than sit around and daydream all day, so at lunch time I jumped in the truck and headed out to the river.

As I drove along the lower stretches of river I could see that my guess was correct. The bugs were hatching and the fish were eating. Little rings dotted the surface of each slow pool where another hungry trout had picked off a helpless mayfly.

There is a spot along the river I had always wondered about but never tried as it is tucked away neatly off the main road. I pulled off the pavement onto a little dirt track that led back to a big bend in the river. As I pulled up I could see the nature of the river here was deep and slow moving, and just like downstream, there were fish feeding in small pods throughout this stretch.

I pulled out the fly box, tied on a BWO Sparkle Dun type pattern I had tied a handful of over the last weekend and cautiously waded into the slow, quiet current. I tried to approach the first pod of rising fish from down river casting up and a little across to reach them and letting the fly drift back towards me. There were no takers. Wondering if by chance, in this slow current and clear water, the fly line was tipping them off, I changed my approach a little. I waded in above a small pod of feeders further up the river and fished downstream to them. This method is a little trickier as it requires more stealth as you are in a vulnerable position directly in the trout’s line of vision. Secondly it is more difficult to make the cast and get a good drift. Because the current is moving away from you it calls for a cast which will stack up as much slack line at the end of your line as possible so there is plenty of slack to allow for the longest possible drag free drift.

I made my first cast to these fish from my new position and watched the fly drift very slowly in the current. I found my self straining to pick out the tiny fly, sometimes wondering if I was still watching it or a small bit of foam drifting in the current. Then as quietly as the hush over the surrounding hills a nose broke the surface and my fly disappeared in a swirl.

The silence was now broken as the fish pulled at the sting in it’s jaw. Running up and down and side to side through the narrow river, it leaped clear of the water several times, crashing back down with a cacophonous clap. I tried to steer the fish away from the rest of the pod that had been rising hoping to get another shot at a fish from this pool but it was too strong and went where it wanted, at times bringing a screech from my reel as more line was stripped out against the drag.

Eventually the powerful fish was brought to hand, and as I rocked it back and forth in the current, reviving the big brown, I noticed the small ring of a gentle rise develop where the pod had been. Already the fish where back to the business at hand, sipping mayflies, and apparently not missing their comrade very much. Suddenly, the Brown made a powerful surge and bolted from my hands and I took a moment to let things settle even more. As I reconditioned my fly, working it into a buoyant condition again, more and more fish began to rise.

I ended up catching a couple more fish from this group in a mere half hour of fishing. Each one put on a aerial display similar to that first fish and tested the drag on my reel. After bringing the third fish to hand on the tiny BWO imitation the fly was already getting a little tattered. As I pulled it from the jaws of that last fish I noticed the hook was beginning to straighten out. There is nothing quite like a fly that has been so abused by fish it has been rendered useless. I then realized that if I didn’t take this opportunity and leave now, I wasn’t likely to make it back to the office at all that day so I reluctantly headed back to the truck. So now you know both the good and the bad of fishing on your lunch break. Sometimes the fishing is too good and you just don’t want to leave.

I fish it a variety of ways. Often I will fish it with a double nymph rig as the bottom fly fishing it deep with the aid of split shot. In the spring I like to use it as a dropper off an adult Skwala Stonefly pattern on rivers that have that hatch and fish it in the top foot of the water column. It will work all year I am sure but my focus during the summer seems to shift to the many other hatches that take place and my use of this midge pattern takes a back seat.

Midges though are a popular winter staple for trout as they do hatch in many locations all year. Even on a cold winter day, the mid day sun can warm things up enough to bring about a midge hatch that will bring even the most lethargic of cold blooded trout to the surface.

This pattern is basically a Zebra Midge with a few slight modifications. It’s simple to tie, and has for the last couple years been my top fish catching pattern on a variety of rivers.

Figure 1-I usually tie this pattern on hooks size #18 or smaller. This one is on a #18 TMC 2457.

Figure 2-Push a 2mm nickel bead onto the hook.

Figure 3-Lay a base of black thread then I tie in a short tail of a few grizzly hackle fibers. Midges do not have a tail like a mayfly but I tie this with a few fibers at the end as I like to think it gives a little wiggle to the end of the fly.

Figure 4 – Tie in a short section of fine silver wire and advance the thread to the head of the fly building a slight taper with the thread as you go.

Figure 5 – Make evenly spaced wraps with the wire up to the head and tie off with the thread.

Figure 6 – Tie in a small loop of Iridescent Krystal Flash. Then whip finish and drop some head cement on the head and a little on the body of the fly.

Figure 7 – The finished product.

Mike Di Pippo, President of Pen Fishing Rods with a Steelhead caught on the Pen Rod Extreme.

We’re talking very small rod. Mike Di Pippo, President of Pen Fishing Rods sent me this video along with several photos. I’ll admit to never having tried the Pen Fishing Rods, but c’mon, who wouldn’t want to catch a lunker on a rod that closes to less than 8 inches long?! Check it out:

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nplomWaRT8I

He also sent me this picture of that massive largemouth along with the following story:

Joe Strassburg with a Snake River catfish.

Of course the fishing had to take place while I was out of town – or so my brother says.  I’ll dig to the bottom of that story at a later date.  Anyways, the short of it all is that our cousin’s husband, Joe, was in town and looking for someone to fish the river with him. Todd obliged and between them caught twelve catfish in just a couple hours of fishing. That’s what’s known as fun.

Todd Sorenson with one of twelve cats.

So, anyways, this got me to thinking about my experience with fly fishing. If they made fly fishing cards like baseball cards, here’s what the back of mine would read:

At Bats 1000   Fish 0  Avg.  .000    Strikeouts  1000  Walks  1000(miles)  Errors 500

As you can see, my numbers aren’t real stellar – but like baseball players, the fly fisherman is the eternal optomist – if not partly masochist.  They say things like, “it only takes one,” or “this is the cast/at bat” or my personal favorite, “wait till next year.” But a rookie flyfisherman, like a rookie baseball player says things like, “stupid fish/ball” or “I need a new rod/bat” or “I’m going home.”  It can be that kind of frustrating, but they tell me the rewards of fly fishing are great if you practice patience. I say, “I don’t have time for patience.” But as spring arises again and the rivers start looking prime for the taking, the small amount of optimism begins to reer its head again and I start thinking that maybe, just maybe, this is the year it all comes together.