Chinook Salmon 2016

After a successful salmon fishing trip in 2015, I was more than eager to return to the river in 2016 to fly fish for chinook salmon once again. My good fishing buddy Camron was also ready to jump on board. Camron had fished for salmon in Idaho several times and had yet to land one. We planned a couple days, and as fate would have it, 5 am I was picking Camron up at his house.

 

By 8 am we were cruising downstream on the river, headed to the spot we had caught fish last year. Unfortunately, Camron works a "real" job and could only get Friday off. This forced us to fish Friday and Saturday, just like all the other "normal people". As we drove downstream, it was obvious we wouldn't be alone on the river. RV's and trucks occupied nearly every pullout and wide spot on the road. Some fisherman chose to park and even camp half off the road and half on! 

 

 

Despite all the people, we kept driving to our spot. Upon arrival, we rigged our rods, wadered up and made our way down to the river where we would cross.

 

The crystal clear water looked gorgeous and the porpoise of a large, bronze chinook salmon broke the still, quiet morning silence. Camron and I looked at each other with eyes as wide as an owl. We couldn't get our lines in the water fast enough! But like most salmon and steelhead fishing, after several hours and no hooked fish, our excitement level had dropped substantially.

"Gosh, these buggers are hard to catch!" I said, reeling in my setup and then sitting on an uncomfortable rock. "We've seen them porpoise from time to time in the hole but none seem to be interested in our stuff."

"I thought you had this salmon fishing down, Ryan!" Camron said half jokingly, trying to make light of the poor fishing.

"Sometimes I don't think I know anything," I replied, shaking my head. "Let's go back to the truck and make some lunch."

 

After lunch we decided to take a drive down the river and look for some other places to fish. We ran into one of my friends, who had also not seen much action. We fished a couple spots with only a whitefish to hand.

 

We decided to return to the morning fishing spot and finish out the day there. Last year, we caught all of our fish from 5-8 in the evening when the hillside had shaded the water. We crossed back over and began to methodically cover the water.

 

 

Just as Camron and I began to cast, a salmon porpoised in front of him.

"Get him, Camron, get him!"

Camron had made a perfect cast to intercept the fish. If a salmon decided to take my fly at this point I wouldn't even know, because my eyes were on Camron's indicator instead of my own. Camron's indicator took a plunge and Camron pulled back on the rod like a professional bass angler.

"FISH ON!" Camron yelled with pure joy.

"Nice!" I replied, quickly reeling in my line.

The salmon came thrashing to the surface, and just as it turned to dive back down to the depths the hook popped out and flew back in Camron's face.

"Dang it!" Camron shouted at an even higher volume than his previous "fish on" exclamation.

"Sorry man, that's a bummer," was all I could find to console the now moping Camron.

Despite the bad news of a lost fish, hooking any salmon brings a renewed excitement and energy to the river, and I was now casting with all the more optimism. 

 

There should be a salmon right.....There! My indicator sunk below the surface and I set the hook. The object gave a little, just like a fish. I was almost about to yell fish on, when my "fish" lost all life and slowly began to drag towards me, materializing into a stick. 

 

"Camron, get the net!" I yelled, as I hoisted up the 2 foot long stick.

"I'm on it!" Camron replied, going right back to fishing.

 

We continued to fish hard the rest of the day with only another whitefish to hand. How a 10 inch whitefish fits a 1/0 hook into it's mouth is a mystery to me.

 

These salmon were proving to be a lot more difficult than we wanted. But we had most of the next day to make it happen and a new day brings with it new excitement. Finding a place to pitch our tent was another challenge in itself. Tomorrow was Saturday and the vehicles had begun stacking up on the river like we wanted the salmon to be stacking up. Every pullout had several vehicles in it and we had to drive nearly ten miles away before we were able to find a place to pitch our tent a safe distance away from the road. The hunt for big fish will sometimes take even the most crowd tolerating fly angler to his limits. Hopefully tomorrow it will be worth it...I thought as I drifted to sleep.

 

We rose early the next morning and found ourselves back at the same hole. Once again, a porpoise of a salmon brought our sleeping minds wide awake. I made a cast to intercept the fish, and as luck would have it, my indicator went down.

"FISH ON!" I said with a big smile.

"Sweet!" Camron said reeling in his line and grabbing the net.

The fish ran and almost took me into my backing before slowing down. The hole we were fishing had plenty of large boulders that the fish was trying to wrap me around. But I kept the rod high and in full flex to muscle the fish towards me. After a decent battle, Camron scooped the fish into the net and we were on the board.  

 

I was very happy to see a wild fish in the river. Last year we had only caught hatchery fish, and don't get me wrong, I enjoyed eating them, but the thrill for me lies in the catching of these fish, not the eating.

"Just think Camron, most of the people on this river would be disappointed to catch a wild fish because they couldn't keep and eat it."

"It's a different crowd up here man," Camron commented, shaking his head.

 

We sent the 27 inch fish back to the depths and celebrated by quickly getting our lines back in the water. We fished hard for the next several hours before deciding to explore some more of the river.

 

We immediately began to regret our decision to leave our nice quiet spot when we saw how many people were on the river. It was even hard to drive down the road without hitting someone. Most holes had a dozen vehicles in them and numerous people standing in the road watching the others down on the river fish.

"Jerry!" Camron yelled as we drove past a crowd of people standing around.

"Did you know one of those guys back there?" I replied, chuckling.

"Nope, just thought one of them looked like a Jerry." Camron replied, as we both laughed.

We rounded the corner and approached another group of guys standing around drinking beer.

"Jerry!" Camron shouted from inside the vehicle just loud enough to get a few of the guys attention to turn and look as we drove away. Camron and I busted up laughing.

There were so many people on the river that finding a spot to fish was getting depressing, and shouting "Jerry" lightened the mood.

 

We stopped at a promising spot and to our surprise, no one was there. We crossed the river and got into a more favorable position for an effective drift.

When fishing for salmon, you want to find areas that funnel the fish. That way, you know where to cast to intercept every fish that swims through that area of the river. This spot had a perfect funnel and a deep slot to make them feel safe as they traveled through.

 

Camron got into position and a porpoise of a very large bronze fish got us giggling with excitement. It only took 15 minutes and Camron was into a fish.

"Nice, Camron! Keep him away from those big rocks. He'll try to get you stuck!" I said, as I grabbed the net.

 

Camron was putting the muscle on this big fish as it dodged back and forth in the heavy water and dove from rock to rock.

"Get even with him and angle your rod downstream." I said, as the fish pulled towards a large boulder.

"Crap, I can't stop him. He's too strong!" Camron said, as the fish rounded the backside of a large boulder and began to swim upstream on the opposite side, pinning Camron's line under the rock. Camron's line went slack and the fish was gone.

"Ugh!" Camron slapped his rod down and big fish depression set in.

"Sorry man, it happens. They are just strong fish and you're going to lose some." I said, slowly collapsing the net and setting it down under a bush.

 

A large fish continued to porpoise on the opposite side of a very "snaggy" large rock. It seems the fish and the rock were in the tackle business together because every time we tried to get a drift to that fish, we would snag on the rock and loose our whole setup. We eventually moved on to another spot after we had lost enough gear to make us sick. 

 

The day was fading fast, so we drove upstream to one last spot before it was time to head home. This area also had a funnel-like slot that we suspected all the fish would choose to travel. Sure enough, after a half hour of fishing, one fish exposed himself and we knew where to cast. I continued to cast to where I had seen the fish rise and eventually hooked him.

 

I suspected I foul hooked him by the way he fought. Every time the fish swam away I could feel the kick of his tail. I knew it would be a long hard battle, so I doubled the rod over and gave the fish all I had. This way, the fish would either break off or the battle would be quick and less stressful for the fish. The first was the case, after a few minutes the fish popped off.

Camron continued to pound the water as I took a break. A fine specimen of a frog was also taking a break near me and allowed me to get very close to him for a picture. I knew if I was taking pictures of frogs, I was done fishing. After Camron had admitted defeat, we packed up and headed home.  

 

It had been a great trip and we learned a lot. We found some new water to fish and also came to the realization that weekends were just too busy. Unfortunately, Idaho was making Camron earn his first chinook salmon. The blank stare on his face as we drove home told me he was already scheming for next years revenge... 

 

 

 

My First Mule Deer

As summer draws to a close and the air cools, it's hard not to think about the upcoming fall and what it brings. I find myself daydreaming of cold, crisp mornings and the smell of pine and sage. The anticipation of what the hunt may bring and the reward of the hard work it takes to climb mountains and hunt big game. I imagine myself "billy-goatin" up steep Idaho mountains and finding that secret, big buck hangout where there are so many large bucks, It's a tough choice which one to harvest. I also find myself remembering past hunts and their exciting moments.

The year 2013 was especially good to me, and I owe all of my success to the Von der Heide's, my (now) in-laws. I was a total rookie. The previous year, I nearly slept through my opportunity to shoot a decent whitetail deer. Luckily, I was awoken by my brother-in-law and was very fortunate to take this deer. But that's another story entirely. 

When the fall of 2013 rolled around, I could hardly wait for the general deer season to open. We had our season planned out; try for mule deer early and if we didn't succeed, go North for whitetails. Rick, my father-in-law, decided we would hunt an area where he had some success in the past.

Rick and I headed up to the mountain the evening of opening day. We parked my truck at the bottom of the ridge we planned to hike down the next day. I grabbed my gear and jumped into the truck with Rick and we continued on up to the top of the mountain where we would set up camp. I remember the tamaracks and aspens giving the hillsides a sense of warmth with their oranges and yellows. We found a suitable spot for camp, set up the tent and made dinner. We planned to be hiking down the ridge before light the next morning, so we would get to bed early this night.

The next morning, we found the woods covered in a thin layer of frost. It's always tough to dress for the day when you're hunting in the early fall. Freezing temperatures in the morning and warm afternoon temperatures make dressing yourself in the morning a pickle. Layers are the key, so I wore lots of them. We began our slow, methodical descent down the ridge. We tried to walk as quietly as possible, but the changing season had caused many plants to turn colors and drop their foliage, littering the woods with crunchy leaves. A stealthy approach would simply not exist today.

We decided to take a peak on the more open hillside to our East. We crunched our way through the brush and popped out near the open, where a crash and a couple thuds diverted our eyes to a fleeing doe. Our guns were up immediately in case a buck was with the doe. The doe appeared to be alone, so we worked our way back to the center of the ridge. We found a trail that made quiet walking easier. We noticed a more open area below us where we could now see approximately 200 yards. We slowed our pace to scan for deer. There! 150 yards below us I spotted the gray shape of a mule deer in the open. Rick and I immediately crouched a little, going into hunt mode. Our eyes focused like lions searching a herd for a potential victim. The butt of a mule deer disappeared behind a large tree and clump of bushes, grabbing the attention of my straining eyes. I wasn't able to catch more than just the butt, however two deer were still in the open. One looked like it might have some small headgear, so we inspected with our scopes.

"2 point," I whispered.

"Yeah, and the other is a doe." Rick muttered behind the scope of his rifle.

"There's one behind that tree, but I didn't get a good look. Did you see it?"

"No, I only saw the two."

The two deer in plain view were now agitated and briskly headed for cover. I'm sure our whispering was no match for the large ears of a mule deer.

"That one behind the tree is still there. It hasn't come out." I said, looking into my scope again.

"Let's just wait a bit. Maybe blow that grunt call again, see if it walks out?"

I blew the grunt call a couple of times as we sat on the sloped trail. I'm not a good shot from a standing or kneeling position, so I put the bipod of my rifle out and got into a comfortable, steady position. If the deer behind the tree walked out, and was a nice buck, I wanted to be ready. We continued waiting for a few minutes before another deer approached from the right.

"It's that 2 point again." Rick exclaimed. "The grunts must have brought him back to investigate. You could shoot him. That's meat in the freezer."

"I want to see what that deer behind the tree is."

Our view of the open area where we saw the deer

The 2 point eventually wandered off to the left and out of view. I hoped that the deer behind the tree hadn't snuck away. We waited for maybe another 5 minutes before movement caught our eyes near the tree. A deer appeared and began to walk directly away from us. Even to the naked eye, we could tell it was a large buck. My heart went from 60 beats per minute to 160 in one second.

"OOhhhhhhh... BIG BUCK." Rick whispered and quickly looked through his scope.

I already had the crosshairs on him, studying him as he strutted farther away. He appeared to have a great 4 point typical frame rack on his head. A dandy deer by anyone's definition. My excitement was nearly uncontainable as I tried to focus on my breathing. The buck was walking directly toward a large tree. If he turned to the right, he'd give us a broadside shot. If he turned to the left of the tree he would disappear from sight. The moment of truth was approaching, but I was solid. The buck turned to the right. BOOM! I pulled the trigger as his body became broadside to us. He collapsed in his tracks, directly in front of the large tree. I began to shake with excitement and shock of what had just happened. I stood up and hugged Rick, while still keeping one eye on the downed deer at the bottom of the hill. 

"I was just about to pull the trigger when you fired." Rick said, shaking his head.

"Oh man. Well I knew if he went to the right I had him. If he went to the left it wasn't going to happen. I'm glad he went to right."

"I was going to shoot him in the neck if he started to go to the left. I wasn't going to let him get away."

We continued to keep an eye on where the deer went down. We could see the bushes moving a little still, so we waited a while longer before approaching him.

"Rick! My first mule deer!"

"He's a nice one. That's a great buck for a general hunt".

We began to walk down the trail towards the deer. The bushes were no longer moving but I had my gun up in case he got up. We approached the downed deer and it was apparent that he had passed. We took many photos and admired the great buck. His antlers were very symmetrical and each point was very long.

     

We quartered him up, loaded the meat on our packs and got ready for the real work.

"Shall we pack him back up to the suburban? Or should we hunt our way down with him on our backs?" Rick asked.

We had only gone down the ridge maybe a 1/3 mile from the top and my truck was probably 2 miles down the ridge.

"I think we should hunt our way down that ridge so you can get a deer. We might as well keep hunting," I said confidently.

"Ooo-Kay." Rick replied.

We set off down the ridge with heavy packs, keeping an eye out for deer. We decided to veer off to the right to make the trip a bit shorter. The hill began to steepen as we descended further. There was no obvious trail either and the hillside was littered with deadfall. We were trying to find the side ridge that would take us directly to my truck and we believed we were on the right one. My pack was really starting to feel heavy; the shoulder straps digging in with each footfall. I was carrying a hind and front quarter, the back-straps and neck meat, as well as the antlers and cape. I was very thankful that Rick was there to help me carry the rest, but I was now regretting our decision to hike down the mountain instead of up.

As we continued down the hill, we began to see less and less deer sign. We still hadn't found a great trail that lasted more than 50 yards either. The slope of the ridge was still incredibly steep and my shoulders and hips were really starting to hurt. I was definitely earning my first mule deer. To top things off, we were approaching what looked like an impenetrable wall of tall brush. Rick was even starting to complain a little as we looked for a better way around the brush. With no trail in sight, we decided to go straight through the thicket of alders. BAD IDEA! Once we started through it only got thicker. I was crawling over branches and sticks, walking through spider webs and being whacked in the face by every other branch. The antlers of the deer were getting hung up in the sticks as well, making our trek through this brush patch pure misery. But all I had to do to make things better was turn my head and look at those antlers, putting a big smile on my face.

The brush patch eventually led to a creek where we were able to hop from one rock to another for a short amount of time. Then we ascended onto another ridge and continued our steep journey down to the road. It seemed like eternity, but eventually we popped out onto the road where we took a much needed 20 minute break. It was now 4:30, and it had taken us over 6 hours to descend about 2 miles! I figured the truck had to be downhill from us and only around a couple more bends. I told Rick I would walk down the road and bring the truck back up and get him and my deer on our way back to camp.

I set off down the dirt road with renewed energy. I no longer had 65 pounds on my back and I was walking on a nice gradual downhill road. I expected to see my truck sooner than I did. In fact, when I finally got to my truck and drove back up to Rick, it was a total distance of 1.3 miles; hardly around the next bend!

After loading up the deer, we headed up to camp where my brother in law Trevor, would meet us that evening. It was sure fun to show off that deer to Trevor when he arrived. The next day we hunted down the same ridge. We spotted numerous other deer, but no shooter bucks. That first mule deer buck now sits on the wall and every time I look at it, I remember that great hunt. 

Henry's First Bass

 

It had been a full year since I had taken my nephew Henry fishing. He was now just over 4 years old and his coordination had improved dramatically, as well as his attention span. It was time to test both of those on some local Largemouth Bass! 

 

I called up my friend Jim to secure permission for my wife and I to take Henry fishing. Jim lives in a subdivision in Eagle with 2 ponds filled with bass and bluegill; the perfect place for Henry to catch his first bass. Jim was happy to give Henry the opportunity of his first bass, and with a backpack full of snacks and a few plastic worms, we were set up for a great evening of fishing.

 

According to my sister, Henry was so excited to go fishing that he refused to eat any lunch and refused to take his mid-day nap; not too unlike myself, and hopefully the making of a fishaholic. I set up Henry's rod with a bobber and a wacky rigged plastic worm and helped him make his first cast.

"Ok Henry, now you're just going to reel a little bit and then stop. Then reel a little bit and stop." I said to him, as my eyes scanned the clear water for cruising bass.

"Ok!" He replied enthusiastically as he reeled the bobber in.

Our first cast didn't produce anything, so we walked several feet away and casted to a different area. Henry reeled the bobber in just like I had told him, only this time, I had him pause an extra moment right on the edge of some surface scum. Immediately the bobber jolted and began taking off at a rapid pace.

"Henry you got one! Lift the rod and start reeling!" I said excitedly.

 

 

Henry reeled with all his might. The 4 foot kids rod and cheap push button reel were being tested to their limit. The bass pulled hard and I even grabbed the back of Henry's shirt to make sure he didn't fall in. Like all good bass do, the 16 inch fish made his way to the surface and jumped. But as he did, he shook the hook.

"Oh no, Henry! He got off." Katie said with a frown.

"That's OK Henry, we'll get another one!" I said as I checked his plastic worm for damage. "You want to do that again?"

"Yeah, that was fun!" Henry replied with a big smile. 

 

 

We made another cast and this time, the bobber plunged halfway back and nearly ripped the rod out of Henry's hand.

"You got another one Henry! Reel, reel, reel! Now start backing up slowly." I said, as I ran down to the water to lip Henry's bass.

This fish was a bit smaller, but still nicer than most you'd find in a public pond. I lipped the bass and brought it up to Henry.

Henry was grinning from ear to ear as I showed him his fish. He even reached out and touched it.

"Henry, feel his lip here." I said, pointing to the lower lip's pad of teeth. "It's like sandpaper. Those are his teeth."

Henry cautiously reached out to feel the bass's teeth and giggled when he felt it.

 

"Ok Henry, now we need to get this fish back into the water."

We released the fish and Henry was ready to catch another one.

 

We walked over to another spot and started fishing again.

 

Just a few casts later, Henry was into another feisty bass. At 6 inches per hand crank, the slow retrieve speed on the small push button reel forced Henry to back up as he reeled to keep the line tight. Henry battled the fish like a champ and soon I had the bass lipped and ready for a picture.

 

 

Henry seemed to still be having fun, so we continued on.

"Look Henry, duck butts!" Katie said enthusiastically and pointed to a pair of mallard ducks feeding on some aquatic plants, forcing their butt's high above the water and their small orange feet kicking on the surface.

"Duck butts!" Henry repeated and pointed.

"Look Henry, there's some more." Katie pointed to another couple of ducks.

"Duck butts!" Henry repeated again, appearing to enjoy saying the phrase.

"Ok Henry, let's catch another fish!" I said, casting his bobber back into the pond. "Ok reel Henry, reel."

Henry reeled a bit and then stopped, and then began reeling in again. The bobber shot off to the right and took a dive under the surface.

"You got one, Henry!" I said, lifting the rod for him to make sure he got a good hook-set. "Reel, reel, reel!"

Once again, Henry did a great job of keeping the line tight and bringing the bass to Katie's hand.

 

Katie released the bass as I checked the integrity of the plastic worm.

 

The worm was about to break in half but a quick fix placed the worm back in service. One downside to fishing plastic worms wacky style is how frequently they break or fall off. Most trips, I'll burn through at least half a dozen of them.

 

Henry was back onto the "duck butts", and seemed less interested in fishing now.

"Henry, you want to keep fishing?" I asked, enthusiastically.

"You should fish, I'll watch. I'm hungry."

Katie and I looked at each other and knew we better not push it. If Henry was getting bored, it was time to call it quits.

"Shall we go back to the car and eat something?" I asked.

"Yay!" Henry replied and started walking back toward the car.

 

We sat down and ate several snacks until Henry was satisfied. We had only been fishing for about an hour and I was secretly hoping Henry wanted to keep fishing.

"Henry do you want to fish some more?" I asked, smiling.

A small piece of me died inside as Henry replied, "No, I'm good."

"Okay. Let's head on back." I said, as we loaded back into the car.

"Can we make planes out of legos when we get back?" Henry asked with enthusiasm.

"I think we can do that." I replied, smiling, thinking about my obsession with Legos when I was Henry's age. Maybe there's hope yet.

One minute later, Henry was out.  

 

 

 

The Secret Bass Fishing Hole

When I was just a young boy, my fishing buddy Camron and I were drug to a garage sale by his mother. Camron's mom could not drive by a garage sale sign without stopping.

"Come on mom. Sheesh! Another one? It's just a bunch of junk!" Camron yelled from the back seat.

"I'll be quick! Maybe I'll find you boys a fishing pole or something cool." She replied, as she pulled the van over.

"Look, a pond!" Camron said, pointing to a small pond about a half acre in size. "Mom, can we go look at that pond?"

"Sure boys. Be careful. I'll be done soon." She said, as she walked over to a nice house with a display of "junk" in the yard.

Camron and I walked over to the small pond and stopped dead in our tracks.

"Look! Fish!" I pointed and yelled.

"Look at that bass! And that's a big bluegill!" Camron shouted and pointed his finger.

Like kids in a candy store we walked around the pond, marveling at the number and size of the bass and bluegill. We also discovered that this pond was just one of several in the neighborhood. Turns out, Camron knew a kid in the neighborhood and his parents gave us permission to fish. That was the beginning of many years of neighborhood pond fishing.

I don't remember if Camron's mom found anything at that garage sale, but I was sure glad she pulled into that neighborhood and we discovered all those ponds. We had stumbled upon a kid's fishing dream.

Neighborhood or subdivision ponds can be found all over the Treasure Valley. Almost all are planted with bass and bluegill and receive little to no fishing pressure. Bass and bluegill in these ponds live happy, prosperous lives, growing to great size and numbers. Most of these ponds are catch and release only and are reserved for the residents of the neighborhood. Secure permission from a resident and you will likely experience some of the best bass and bluegill fishing you've ever had, only 10 minutes from home.

When I found out our local UPS driver, Greg, lived in one of these subdivisions, I was quick to ask permission to fish.

"Yeah, of course you can come fish... But as long as you take my 2 daughters!" Greg replied.

"Deal!" I said, with a big smile on my face.

On the day we had planned, I was knocking on Greg's door at 6:00 pm sharp.

"You girls ready?" Greg yelled from the front door to the kitchen.

Greg has two daughters; Lola is 9 and Stella is 6. Neither one had ever caught a fish. The girls threw their shoes on and we headed out the door. We grabbed a couple spinning rods and a fly rod out of the back of my pickup and walked over to the pond.

A pod of large bluegill were waiting for us as we approached the water.

"Girls, do you see those dark shapes out there? Those are bluegill, let's just see if they like this fly I have." I said, as I made a short cast out to the pod of hungry fish.

A fat 9 inch bluegill responded the way it should and in seconds I had a fish thrashing and fighting. I palmed the fish and lifted it up to show the girls what they would be catching.

"See the cool colors and these pokey fins?" I asked, as Lola and Stella reached out to touch the skin of the fish before I released it. I made another cast, and this time when a fish grabbed the fly, I quickly passed the rod over to Lola so she could bring it in. 

The large bluegill was pulling hard but Lola was not going to let this fish get the best of her. Moments later, I grabbed the large male bluegill and we admired his bright orange chin and dark gill patch.

After releasing that fish, I handed Greg a spinning rod and wacky rigged a 5 inch plastic worm onto the hook. If you are an open minded, decent human being, and aren't a fly fishing snob, the most effective tactic I've found for small pond bass fishing is wacky worming. It is downright deadly and a tactic you should learn and use if you want to catch lots of bass. Greg no more than dropped it in the water and a large bass appeared out of nowhere and inhaled the worm, swimming off with it. Greg immediately set the hook and the worm came flying back toward him.

"Next time you have one grab it, count to 5 before you set the hook." I said, casting the fly back out to where the bluegill were.

I handed the rod to Lola and I showed her how to strip the fly in and twitch it. 

A fish jumped onto the fly and I helped Lola set the hook. This fish was pulling a little differently and moments later it jumped, revealing that our fish was a bass.

"Lola, you have a bass! And it's a good one! Keep that rod up." I said, as I got ready to lip the bass.

Lola swung the bass to my hand and I apprehended it.

"Lola, you want to hold this one?"

"Suuurrre.." She replied, a little unsure of what she might be getting herself into.

"Now when you grab this lip, you have to commit. Just grab it hard."

After a couple loose grabs, she finally got a good hold on the bottom lip and hoisted up the fish.  

I continued to fish with Lola, and Greg sat Stella on his lap and they began casting the plastic worm.

Several casts later, Stella was giggling with delight as she reeled in her first bass. Greg did a wonderful job helping her keep the rod up and the line tight. I crouched near the water and lipped the bass when it came close.

Lola and I went back to fly fishing as Greg and Stella continued to throw the worm. A few strips of the fly and Lola was into another fish, this one another big bluegill.

We released the bluegill and heard Greg and Stella yelling for us to come over.

"Ryan! This one is pretty big!" Greg said, as Stella reeled with all her might while sitting on Greg's lap.

The bass was pulling hard as it made it's best attempt to stay in the weeds, but Greg and Stella eventually overcame the strong bass and I was able to apprehend it.

After releasing the 17 inch bass, we began to walk around to some other areas on the pond. I continued to fly fish with Lola as Greg and Stella stuck with the spinning rod. Greg and Stella parked themselves on a rock nearby and began to auto-load on the bass. Every time Lola and I looked over, they were hooked up on another bass. Eventually, the competitiveness in Lola couldn't take it anymore, and she wanted to use a spinning rod to catch up with her little sister. I handed Lola the spinning rod with a plastic worm and we were back in the game! 

With a little instruction, Lola was casting by herself and fishing the worm like a champ. Then several casts later, she was into a nice largemouth bass. Over the next half hour, both Lola and Stella brought in numerous bass until both girls were tired and hungry. We had fished for close to 2 hours and each girl had not only caught their first fish, but each had landed about 10 apiece. It was a very successful fishing trip.

"So did you know fishing would be that good?" Greg asked, as we walked back to the house.

"I was hoping it would be that good. But I'm not surprised it was that good." I said with a smile.

If you like catching 10-20 inch bass, and large pan-fish just minutes from home, subdivision or neighborhood ponds are for you. I can almost guarantee you know someone who lives in one of these neighborhoods. Most people, including the people who live there, don't even realize they are fantastic fisheries. Start asking your friends and I bet you have an "in" to some of the best bass fishing around. It's amazing how underutilized these fisheries are. If you can handle fresh cut grass and scenery consisting of fancy houses with lawn furniture, these little gems will keep you entertained all spring and summer.

Katies First Carp

 

When my wife asked if we should go to a hot springs near Hagerman for our one year anniversary, I excitedly said yes. All I could think about was all the fishing opportunities that abounded in that area. I also realized that if I didn't want to be in the dog house, I better come up with some non-fishing ideas of things to do and see. The Hagerman area has no shortage of sights to see; a hike into Box Canyon, a trek across the Malad Gorge, a trip to the alligator farm and a visit to Shoshone Falls would occupy enough of our time so I wasn't tempted to fish the entire time. With the perfect plan in place, we headed off to Hagerman!

 

We checked into the Billingsley Creek Lodge and headed off to our first destination: Box Canyon.

"Honey, you don't mind if I pack my fly rod and make a couple casts when we get to the water, do you?" I said, with an innocent look on my face.

"No, that's fine!" Katie replied lovingly.

Crystal clear spring water, flowing into the Snake River, how could one not at least try to fish a little!

 

 

Box Canyon was definitely a pretty place. The water was gorgeous and the trail was easy; minus the botanical hazards of course!

 

  

 

Poison Ivy and Stinging Nettle reminded us the importance of staying on the trail.

We reached the famed waterfall, took a moment to enjoy it's beauty and then it was time to find out what lurked in the cold, blue waters.

 

Immediately I found small trout chasing my flies and I picked up a few in a short amount of time. The water looked like it might hold some monster trout, and I'm sure it did, but the "doinks" were all that were willing to play.

 

 

I fished for 15 minutes or so and decided that was enough. It was time to move onto our next destination: the Malad Gorge.

 

The Malad River Gorge was a neat sight to see. Crossing the high bridge and staring down into Devil's Washbowl could make even a roller coaster repairman queazy. We hiked a ways downstream on the canyon edge before turning around and heading to the car. No fishing to be done here! We had planned to go to the hot springs that night, but found out they were closed. Thus concluded our 'touristy' first day in Hagerman.

 

The following day we decided to begin with a trip to see the alligators. Fourteen and seven foot long gators are a strange sight to see in Idaho, but only in Hagerman!

 

 

The alligators were close to one of my favorite carp fishing spots and Katie was eager to try to catch one. She had fished for carp with me before but had never gotten one. I had high hopes for this spot and this day, so we rigged up the fly rods and snuck our way down to the river. We walked along an overgrown trail following a small creek. 

We emerged from the "jungle" next to the Snake River, and basking in the sun was a pod of nearly 50 carp. All ranging in size from 2 to 20 pounds. We took great care to be stealthy as Katie got into position.  Carp are spooky fish and all it takes is one fish to see you and they all blow out of the area.

 

Carp will eat nearly anything in their aquatic environment with the exception of MOST rocks and sticks (I really wouldn't put it past them). However, fly selection and presentation is still very important. The carp in this particular location tend to be suspended in the top 2 feet of the water column. There are also bass, trout and bluegill spawning in the area. Thus I chose to suspend under an indicator; a small yellow bead above a small halloween leech. 

Katie made a short roll cast and we intently watched the indicator drift very slowly through the carp filled water. It only took a few casts before the indicator slowly sunk and Katie raised the rod.

"Does it feel big?" I asked with high hopes.

"Yes, it feels very heavy!"

"I think you've got a carp! I think you've got a carp!"

My excitement was probably greater than hers as I fought the urge to jump up and down.   

 

The 5 weight Helios rod was working overtime, and I like to think it was enjoying every minute of it (my Helios does not discriminate amongst fish species).

 

 

After a great battle and probably too much coaching on my end, we scooped the large goldfish into my tiny net.

  

 

The fish had fought so long and hard that it actually cooperated while we humiliated it with photographs.

 

Katie was very excited to land her first carp, or "Big Nasty" as she calls them, and probably the largest fish thus far in her fly fishing career. She handed me the rod and told me to get another one. Yes ma'm!

 

I casted the fly to a different area on the stream where I had seen a few rise earlier. Several casts later, I was into a nice scrapper of a carp. 

 

This fish tried to wrap me around every rock in the area and in the end, the animal on top of the food chain won (although the gators a few blocks away would probably disagree with that statement).

 

After releasing the medium sized carp, I asked Katie if she wanted to try for another one. She wasn't ready yet so I rolled a cast right back out there. The indicator sunk and I set the hook. I felt the weight of a carp and the battle was on. The carp made a great first run and then came directly towards me. I quickly stripped in my line and leader and was about to see my carp when something extremely unusual breached the surface. Instead of a golden colored fish, my fly was hooked onto a blue, nylon rope. Is that a stringer? The carp continued to battle with all it's might, seemingly un-fazed by the 4 foot hitch-hiker looped through it's mouth and gills. Katie scooped the net under the fish and we took a moment to fathom what had just happened.

 

 

Someone had caught a carp and placed it on their stringer with the intention of keeping and eating it. Somehow the stringer did not remain attached to the bank and the carp swam off with the stringer. My fly had snagged the stringer and here we were with the results.

 

I unthreaded the stringer and released the carp. I felt a bit strange as the carp swam off, thinking about many of my fellow anglers who don't believe in releasing these non-native, often destructive fish. I've killed plenty of carp in my life, but I just have a hard time killing things I'm not going to eat.

 

As we gathered our things and prepared to leave, I asked Katie,"Want to try to catch some of those bright yellow golden trout? I know a place nearby."  

"What?! There's goldens around here? All you had to do is tell me there's goldens and I would have gone to Hagerman just for that!" Katie replied, with the kind of excitement she knew I would want to hear.

Katie had also fished for goldens with me before and not gotten one so she was eager to get a hero shot with one.

 

Before we left though, we picked up some of the garbage that other "anglers" had left.

 

We hopped in the car and headed to the next fishing spot: Riley Creek.

 

Riley Creek is a spring creek that flows right through one of the major fish hatcheries in Hagerman. It's easy to access and gets planted frequently with fish ranging in size from 8 inch doinks to 2 foot brood stock. We pulled up and I put Katie into position to intercept both the rainbows and the albino rainbow hybrids, or goldens as most people call them. With a small tungsten bugger under an indicator, Katie was into a fish in no time.

 

"DANG IT! It's the wrong color!" Katie said in snobby disgust, that a 'normal' rainbow had taken her fly. "I wanted one of the yellow ones!"

"It's a 15 inch trout. You should be happy with that!" I said, while laughing.

Katie practically skated the fish in and then released it. I sat on a log above her and continued to observe as she tried to catch one of the golden trout. Katie was very determined and after a half dozen rainbows, she finally had a golden chase and take her fly, only to miss the hook set. Her next cast placed the fly next to one of the monster rainbows that had been laying next to a golden. From my vantage point I had a great view of this fish and I knew it was over 20 inches. It tipped it's head down as the fly sunk and tried to eat it, but right before it did, Katie stripped the fly. This drove the fish nuts and the chase was on! The fish spun around and began charging after the fly. It was all I could do to remain calm as I watched the massive trout grab her fly. Katie set the hook and the fight was on!

 

Like the carp earlier in the morning, my net was a little small for this caliber of fish. Nonetheless, after a great battle, I was able to apprehend and hand Katie her giant fish.

 

This rainbow was not the prettiest trout in Idaho, but she measured out at 23 inches.

"Hey, she might be the wrong color, but that's a dandy rainbow!" I told Katie as we released the fish.

"Yeah I'm happy with that one," Katie said with a big smile. "Why don't you try for bit?"

"Ok, I'll make a few casts." I said, grabbing the rod and rolling a cast out to the fish. "Oh shoot! It's a golden!"

"What?! That is stupid! I can't believe you just caught a golden like that! I'm so mad at you!" Katie said with a disgusted look on her face.

"Sorry," I said, laughing.

 

I released the strange looking trout and handed the rod back over. Katie fished a while longer and never did end up catching one of the goldens, but she landed another half dozen rainbows before we decided to move on.

 

One of the locals told us that Shoshone Falls was not worth viewing this time of year because of the low flows caused by irrigation. Since Katie was still eager to fish, we decided to try one last spot for smallmouth bass on the Snake River on our way home.

 

We parked near some railroad tracks and made our way down to the river. Katie made a quick cast and her line went tight on her 4th strip. A 12 inch smallie came thrashing to the surface and quickly into Katie's hand. 

 

The one smallie seemed to be an anomaly, but a short walk downstream revealed a healthy pod of carp milling around in a shallow bay. I switched flies quickly and asked Katie if she wanted to try. She seemed content with her angling adventures for the day, so I gave it a go. Sight fishing for cruising carp can be a challenge, but there were so many carp cruising in so many directions, eventually a fish decided my fly was food and ate it. The fish raced for the main river, grabbing extra strength from the current and doubling my 5 weight over. However, the fish was not a monster, so eventually I won him over.

 

After releasing that fish, I decided I'd put Katie through enough fishing for a couple days and it was time to head home. Even though we had plans to view a few sights, this day had turned into a fishing day.  Katie had landed her first carp and brought in a dandy rainbow trout. She may not have landed a golden, but that may be just the right motivation to bring us back down to Hagerman another time.