Huckleberries and Brook Trout

Every summer around mid July, an indescribable calling wells up inside most Southern Idahoans; The urge to get to the high country. Why people go to the high country varies greatly, though. For some, it's simply to get out of the blazing heat. Others, it's to hike and experience the beautiful mountains and trails Idaho has to offer. For me, it's to hike into a high mountain lake and fish. My wife, however, has one thing in mind this time of year: Huckleberries. So naturally, I try to kill two birds with one stone.

 

My mother had told me about a secret spot to pick huckleberries. I then grabbed a map and tried to find a place nearby to fish. I'd heard about a swampy beaver pond in the area that was loaded with small brook trout. Bingo. Several hours of picking berries followed by a little fishing.

 

By noon, we were hiking through the brush looking for huckleberries. After hiking a ways with no luck, we almost gave up, thinking we must be too late or in a spot that had already been picked. That's when we stumbled upon the "mother-load". Before long I started coming up with phrases all starting with: "You know huckleberry pickin' is good when..." Examples included; "Your pants have purple stains all over them." Or "You drop a berry and don't bother to pick it up because there are so many more." Our containers filled up fast, and 3 hours later, we had a gallon of berries.  

 

 

After a nice lunch, we drove to the pond. Beavers never cease to amaze me at what they can build. This beaver had created quite a large pond for himself. Despite the encroaching flooded grass, there was quite a large, open pool to fish.

 

We parked and rigged up our rods. There are two flies you must always have on you at a high mountain lake or beaver pond; A pico ant and a beetle pattern.

 

 

We began to wade out to the open water. The decomposing grass and mud squishing through my toes made me second guess my choice to wear sandals instead of waders and wading boots. My pace through the grass quickened as I saw a ring on the pond where a fish rose. My next step sent me up to my waist in the water as I sunk into a deep beaver channel.

"Honey, don't step here." I said with a chuckle, looking back at my wife standing there with a grossed out facial expression. "Oh, the places I take you too!"

"You're lucky I like to fish with you," she replied as she continued forward through the knee deep flooded grass.

 

We reached the edge of the open water to stand in mid-thigh deep water on an uneven, soft bottom.

"Ok honey, catch a brook trout!" I said with a cheesy grin.

Katie's fly landed 10 feet out into the pond. Before the rings could even settle, a 6 inch fish pounced on the ant and Katie set the hook. The fish thrashed with all it's might as it was hoisted to her hands. 

 

 

The next 15 minutes, we giggled as we caught a dozen or so small brook trout. The beetle fly was noticeably out-fishing the ant pattern, so I tied one on Katie's line. Katie's next cast produced a whopper.

"Dang babe, that one is a monster! I bet its a whole 4 inches!" I said with artificial enthusiasm.

 

 

We continued fishing, catching one after another. 

 

 

Brook trout are prolific fish and tend to overpopulate and stunt themselves. The average size of the fish we were catching were evidence of that phenomenon.  

 

 

Determined to "do my part", I wanted to keep a few of the larger ones to help thin the pond a little. However, I was struggling to bring myself to keep a 6 inch fish.

 

Katie brought in a larger fish that might be 7 inches.

"Ok, looks like he's about as big as I'm going to get," I said as I apprehended him.

 

 

I felt strange killing such a small fish, but I knew I was helping the "greater good" of the pond. I decided to wade over to another area of the pond. On the way there I noticed a large swarm of tadpoles. Some had already grown legs and were making their transition to air breathing animals.

 

 

Once I made it to the new fishing area on the pond, the catching resumed. I looked back to see my wife casting and catching as well.

 

 

I set the hook on another fish and brought it in. I grabbed the line and tried to take a few photos of the beautiful little fish in the water. But no photo could do this fish justice. 

 

 

 

We continued to fish awhile longer before calling it quits. We waded out of the swamp and walked back to my truck. As we were changing and taking the rods apart, we heard a crash in the brush above the road. I looked down the road just in time to see a black, fuzzy animal run down off the hill onto the road. It took me a second to realize what I was seeing run down the road; a black bear cub. The cub looked far too small to be on it's own already. We quickly packed up the rest of our gear and got into my truck before mama bear decided we were too close to her cub.

 

I ended up only keeping a few of the small brookies. When we got home I wrapped them in some foil and threw them on the grill. A delicious ending to a wonderful day in the high country. 

 

Henry's First Fish

I had been eager to take my nephew, Henry, fishing since the day he was born. My wife and I strategically planted the fishing seed on his first Christmas. We gave him a custom fishing book that told the story of him going fishing with his uncle (Me), and catching a monster fish. His parents read that book to him frequently, and by the time he was talking in full sentences, one of them included: "I want to go fishing!"

This year for his third birthday I got him a fishing rod. The time had come, and this Fourth of July, my dad and I headed over to my sisters house to get Henry and take him fishing.

We loaded Henry up in the car and headed to a local pond I knew would be loaded with bluegill. Henry was very excited when we got there and he couldn't wait to use his new fishing rod.

We made sure Henry was safe by putting a life jacket on him. Henry grabbed his tackle box and he and Grandpa walked to the pond.

I rigged Henry's rod up with a bobber and a small bead head fly. We walked up to the pond and I was pleasantly surprised to see a school of bluegill staring at us. I knew this would be easy.

I casted the bobber out into the middle of the pond and showed Henry how to hold the fishing rod and reel the handle. Henry started reeling and bringing the bobber and fly back towards the bank and through the large school of bluegill. Immediately, about 10 bluegill started to chase the fly. It wasn't long before one grabbed the fly and Henry was reeling in his first fish.

"Henry you got one!" I said with lots of excitement.

"EeeeHeeee!" Henry squeaked and jumped as the little fish thrashed on the surface.

I grabbed the line and had Henry hold up the fish for a picture.   

"Ok put it back." Henry said as he pointed to the water. "I want to catch another one!"

Grandpa walked over and helped Henry this time. It wasn't long before Henry was reeling in another fish.

Henry was having lots of fun reeling in small bluegill.

After reeling in about 6 bluegill, Henry seemed to be getting distracted by other things around the pond. To keep his interest, we decided to go for a walk around the pond.

Henry carried his rod while we walked. A mother duck and her ducklings pushed off of the shore and Henry wanted to cast the rod at them. We urged him on towards another pond. 

We reached the other pond and found a clean area on the bank to cast.

"I'm a fisherman!" Henry said as he tried to cast the rod.

I helped him cast the bobber out into the puddle sized pond and handed him the rod. Henry reeled as fast as his little hands could reel, which was no match for the speed of the bluegill. A small bluegill charged after his fly and devoured it. Henry reeled the little guy in and held him up for a picture. 

Henry caught a couple more bluegill before we decided to move on.

"I'm the best fisherman!" Henry said as we walked back to the spot we first started fishing.

"Yes you are Henry. You're are an amazing fisherman." Grandpa said patting Henry on the head.

I wanted Henry to see a large fish, so I knew I needed to catch a bass. I rigged a plastic worm, wacky style on another rod and spotted a 15 inch bass cruising the shore. I made a cast and let the worm flutter down in front of the fish. A little quiver of the rod tip brought the worm to life and the bass charged it, engulfing the worm. I set the hook and brought the bass in and held it up to show Henry.

Henry was excited to see the large fish and was eager to touch it.

"Woa, big fish." Henry said staring at the bass.

I released the bass and I could tell that it was time to leave.

"Henry, shall we go get some ice cream?" Grandpa asked.

"Yeah! Yeah! Lets get ice cream!" Henry said practically throwing his rod down.

"Ok, lets go get some." Grandpa said grabbing Henry's rod near the shoreline.

Henry grabbed his tackle box and flexed it over his head. "I'm strong!" 

We got into the car and made our way back towards Henry's home.

"Henry, I can't remember, but, were we suppose to get something on our way home?" Grandpa said looking into the rearview mirror at Henry in the backseat.

"Ice cream! We were going to get ice cream!"

"I don't think we should Henry, I don't really like ice cream."

"But I do!"

"Grandpa is just kidding Henry. Tell Grandpa he's not funny." I chimed in.

"Grandpa you're not funny!" Henry said with a big smile.

We finally arrived at the ice cream place and got a few small cones of soft serve ice cream. 

Henry had apparently never eaten ice cream out of a cone before and Grandpa had to show Henry how to do it properly.

When we arrived at Henry's home, Henry grabbed his fishing rod and headed directly to the backyard pool and began fishing.

It had been a successful first fishing trip. Henry had caught fish right away and we kept his interest. We only spent about 30 minutes at the pond; which is plenty for a three year old. Hopefully this is the beginning of a lifelong passion for Henry. A sport that he and his uncle can enjoy together for many years. 

Idaho Chinook Salmon on the Fly Rod

For several years, I'd told myself I was going to catch an Idaho chinook salmon on my fly rod. Every year I'd say, "This is the year I'm going to do it!" And every year something would come up and prevent me from planning a trip. This year was different. 

I'd heard that my best option to catch one on my fly rod was the South Fork of the Salmon River. But I was also told I better watch the regulations because the season is very short, only a few days some years. This year I closely watched the regulations and planned my trip. My brother in law, Trevor, had fished it before and he agreed to take me. By 5 AM, we had all of our gear loaded into my pickup and we were off to the river.

The sunrise in Long Valley was picturesque. The misty clouds clinging to the early morning grasses and trees gave me a smile and also a good feeling about the day.

 
One of the things that keeps many fly fisherman, myself included, away from targeting salmon in Idaho, are the crowds. For this reason, we did a little research and discovered that there was an area on the river where you could hike into a canyon stretch away from the road. This would hopefully weed out the crowds and give us some "untouched" water.

We pulled into the parking lot, geared up, and were on the trail in no time. We packed light, just in case we had a couple of salmon to carry on our hike out. The trail was well maintained, but showed no signs of dropping elevation.

The river was nearly a thousand feet below us and after a while we spotted a small trail descending from the main trail. We decided to take it, but it wasn't long before our "trail" disappeared and we were crawling over fallen trees and rocks down the steep ridge.

"I'm sure when we get down there we'll find a nice trail along the river," I said with confidence.

"Yeah, I think I can see one," Trevor responded.

"I just hope we can find the main trail that will take us back up out of there." I said with a little uncertainty.

The area had burned several years back, leaving the mountain sides relatively open and easy to spot deer and other wildlife.

We made it down to the river and I began to set down my things. As I set the net down, I noticed a strange piece of driftwood.

"Trevor! It's an elk antler! My first elk shed!"

"Oh man, I just thought that was a stick."

"Ha ha, it's the ugliest elk antler I've ever seen, but it's an antler none the less!" I said, with a comical sense of pride.

Almost any time Trevor and I go somewhere, he finds an elk antler. He has piles and piles of them at home, making my rotten, beat up, decade old find that much more funny.

The river looked gorgeous! It was low, clear and filled with deep pools that seemed to promise salmon. We strung up our rods and began fishing.

We fished the first hole with only a gullible whitefish to the hand. We decided to head downstream and see if we could spot some salmon elsewhere. The water was a pleasant temperature, making my decision to wet wade a wise one.

After crossing the river, we came across a nice looking run that dropped into a deep pool, bordered by a rock cliff. A couple of large trees had fallen into the water, creating great cover for any fish. It wasn't long before we started spotting salmon throughout the run. Their size made them easy to spot. However, as soon as we began casting, they spooked and were darting throughout the run, looking for anywhere to hide.

"Dang, these fish are spooky!" Trevor said, as he casted to a fish moving from behind one rock to another. 

"Yeah I've heard they don't bite well in the middle of the day. I feel like I'm trying to catch a trout on silver creek with a wet sock." I said, as I reeled in and climbed out of the water.

 I crossed the river and got up above the run to see if I could spot where all the fish had gone to hide. I only spotted a couple of fish as I watched Trevor cast to them. We stayed at this spot for about an hour before we decided to hike out of the canyon.

The mile of river we covered had not revealed any kind of maintained trail out of the canyon. So we pick a south facing ridge and traversed the hillside back to the road. It had taken us 15 minutes to get to the river from the truck in the morning. Our hike out of the canyon took us a little over an hour. Hot and exhausted, we finally reached my truck.

"Well that wasn't worth it." Trevor said as he sat down on the tailgate.

"Nope. All I can say is you're not a very good salmon guide." I said with a chuckle.

"You're right. I failed. Let's run downstream to a spot I've fished before." Trevor said, mustering up a little optimism. 

We drove down the road and Trevor pointed out the spot. We parked and walked down to the river to look for salmon. Immediately our eyes lit up as a large, copper colored fish porpoised 30 feet in front of us. We stood there and watched as another porpoised a minute later.

"Let's fish here." I said, with wide eyes and optimism.

We decided to cross the river and fish from the other side to get a better drift.

The fish continued to porpoise regularly, until we began casting. The fish here were spooky as well and I began to wonder if we should wait until the run was shaded to continue fishing. It was nearly 4 pm and the sun was still high. I didn't want to push all of the fish out of the run. Trevor had mentioned that in the past they would start catching fish again towards the evening. We fished on and off for a while with no success.

I decided to walk upstream to the top of the run. I had noticed earlier that there was a deep slot that could potentially hold a salmon or two. As soon as I made it up there, a salmon porpoised directly in front of me, next to a large rock that barely broke the surface. I made a quick adjustment to my strike indicator and rolled a cast out there. I intently watched the indicator as it drifted down past the rock. I re-casted my setup and watched as the indicator gently drifted past the rock. Suddenly, my yellow indicator took a plunge and I set the hook. I immediately felt the weight of a significant fish. I still wasn't sure if the fish on the end of my line was a salmon and I didn't want to jinx myself, therefore I kept silent. The copper colored fish came near the surface and gave a big kick with it's tail and began to run upstream. At least I knew now that I had a salmon on my line. The fish continued to run upstream taking all of my fly line and a little backing before it stopped. 

The fish then ran back downstream and was headed for Trevor. I kept looking down at Trevor to see if he would notice I had a fish on. A couple times he would look up at me then back to casting.

Finally, I spoke up. "Hey net boy!"

Trevor looked up and I could see his eyes get wide. He grabbed the net and ran up to help me.

The salmon continued to pull and put up a great fight. After close to 10 minutes, Trevor slipped the net under the large fish and I had my first Idaho chinook.

Despite the long journey chinook in Idaho have, their meat is still very orange and firm. This hatchery fish was definitely going home with me.

I handed the rod to Trevor and had him cast while I notched my tag and bled the fish. Trevor fished the spot for a while before deciding to head back downstream to the deeper part of the hole. I jumped right back in and started casting to the same spot. While my indicator was in mid-drift, a salmon porpoised two feet downstream of it. There was definitely another fish in here. I continued to cast for some time before my strike indicator told me I had another fish.

I was quite surprised to have another salmon on my line. I was more than thrilled to have caught one, but two made me estatic.

"Trevor!" I yelled and waved my arm to get his attention.

Trevor came running back upstream to help me net my fish. This one fought even harder and longer than the last. After nearly 15 minutes, we netted the 35 inch fish.

This fat female was a hatchery fish as well. It was 7 pm and I decided to end my fishing for the day by tagging her.

I made sure Trevor was casting to the right spot. Our confidence was again boosted when another chinook porpoised in the slot near the rock.

"There he is Trevor! Get him!"

"He's mine!" Trevor said as he made a great cast setting himself up to drift right over the fish. I walked back downstream to fish the deeper hole. No sooner had I made my first cast, I heard Trevor yell my name. I looked up to see Trevor's rod bent and a big smile on his face.

Trevor played the strong fish for a while before I scooped it up in the net. Trevor had guided in Alaska with me for a summer and hadn't had a chance to get a chinook on his fly rod there, making this Idaho fish that much sweeter.

 

Trevor's fish was also a hatchery fish, so he tagged it. Trevor continued to fish the sweet spot until 8 pm. With a long drive ahead of us, we decided to call it a day. We packed up our gear, crossed the river and loaded our things in my truck.

We both had accomplished what we had set out to do; catch an Idaho chinook on the fly rod. Our journey into the canyon made me feel like we had earned these fish. I knew I wouldn't be able to go again this season but you can sure bet I'll be looking forward to planning a trip next year.

Before we left the river, Trevor and I both celebrated our fish with a piece of my wife's homemade raspberry rhubarb pie. A sweet ending to a great day.

Of Bonefish and Barracuda

 

When my future wife Katie told me to plan our honey moon, she told me she required only one thing; a warm sunny beach. The rest was up to me.

"Honey, can we go fishing a day or two on the trip?"

"Of course. I'd like that." 

It was then that I knew I was marrying the woman of my dreams.

 

I choose Cozumel Mexico as our destination. My research had shown me that the island was relatively safe, full of all inclusive resorts, had snorkeling opportunities and most importantly, flats fishing.

 

After a wonderful wedding we were off to Mexico! The first couple days we spent lying on the beach and soaking in the sun. As pleasant as this was, you knew I had one thing on my mind........ Our day of Bonefish fishing.

 

On the third morning of the honeymoon we took a taxi to the marina to meet our guide Enrique, and his helper Juan. By 6 AM we were off and cruising to the Northern lagoons of Cozumel.  

 

 

We cruised North past a few large resort hotels before turning East into the rising sun. The beautiful blue waters of the Carribean seemed to make the sunrise that much more gorgeous.

 

 

 

 

Enrique slowed the boat and aimed for the mangrove covered shoreline. There were no flats in sight but I trusted that our guide knew where he was going.

 

Enrique grabbed our fly rods and inspected our gear. 

"You fish for Bonefish before?" he asked.

"No, first time."

"Me too." Enrique smiled big and laughed.

Everyone in the boat laughed. Then he stood up and said "lets go."

Enrique didn't speak great English and so far had said very little to us. Including what the plan was and how we would actually fish. He stepped out of the boat and walked off disappearing into the brush.     

I looked at Katie and said, "Well I guess we better follow him."

We both chuckled and chased after Enrique into the brush. 

 

A short distance through the brush led us to a lagoon. My excitement level went up as I saw the shallow clear water. The three of us quietly waded into the warm pleasant water and began looking for fish.

 

We hadn't gone far when Katie spoke up. "There's one." She pointed to a spot.

"What did you see?" I asked.

"A bonefish. I saw a couple clear fins stick up."

"Yeah that would probably be a bonefish." I replied.

Not wanting to annoy or deviate from the guides plan, I stuck close to his right side waiting for his instruction.

We went a little further and I spotted another tailing fish. I pointed to him and Enrique's eyes got a little wider. "Ok."

Enrique slowed but kept walking. I was a little unsure why he didn't have me cast to these fish. I could only assume he was taking us to a better spot.

Enrique stopped and pointed to some "nervous" water. I could tell a school of fish was there and we soon saw one begin tailing. Enrique pointed and said "Cast".

 

I made my cast and Enrique guided me on how to strip the fly.

"Short slow strips."

I retrieved the fly about halfway back to us and felt a soft tap. It felt strange but I kept on retrieving the fly. I always guessed with as quick as bonefish were that when one took your fly it would be a solid stop to the retrieve. I looked at Enrique with curious eyes. "I think I had one. Do they hit it pretty soft?"

"Yes." Enrique replied slowly nodding his head with Carribean-like excitement.

I picked up my line and shot another cast back to the nervous water.

My fly landed with a PLOP and the water erupted with movement of ten or so bonefish scurrying for their lives.

Whoops, I thought.

Enrique walked on.

We began to see schools of Bonefish all around us. We walked another 20 yards and Enrique stopped and had me cast to another fish. This time I placed my cast perfectly and began stripping. I felt the soft take of another bonefish and gave a quick, hard strip set. No fish materialized on my line. 

"Soft strip and lift of the rod." Enrique said nodding his head. 

I was beginning to realize our communication needed to improve if we were going to catch any of these fish. I began to ask more questions of Enrique as we continued to walk. 

I asked Katie if she was ready to try.

"I think I'll just watch for a while," she said with an intimidated smile.

Another group of fish presented itself and Enrique had me cast. Despite the wind, my 6 wt was punching the line through to where I was aiming.

We worked a school of fish for a while and Enrique had me change to a heavier fly.

We continued our slow walk through the clear flats. The bottom varied from soft silt to hard rock and coral. I was very glad someone had suggested wearing flats boots. Without them, our feet would have been trashed from all the sharp rock and coral.

 

I still wasn't sure why we were walking past so many tailing fish. All I could assume was that he was taking us to some "honey hole". We continued along, until we stopped seeing fish. We walked another half mile back to the boat. I was happy to have seen so many bonefish and at least felt a couple takes, but a tad disappointed to have not connected with one. Katie and I were still happy just being out there and experiencing something new. However, I thought, the next time I see one near me, I'm just going for it.

 

We got back into the boat and Enrique took us to a couple islands. 

"Snook and barracuda." Enrique said as he gestured for me to hand him my rod.

Enrique tied a very large, heavy squid pattern onto my 6 wt. He then handed Katie a light spinning rod and hopped out of the boat. 

"Cast to shadows next to brush." Enrique said as he waved his hands in the direction of an island.

I had Katie go ahead of me and hit some of the prime shadows before I did. Instantly she was into a fish.

"Woooooo!" Katie yelled, as a fish thrashed and pulled.

I waded over to her and Enrique just in time to see him grab a small barracuda attached to Katie's line. 

 

 

He promptly released the fish, and Katie was off and casting again. I waded back to a promising area and began casting to the shadows. BOOM! My fly came to a dead halt as a barracuda slammed it after only two strips. Instantly, line started peeling off my reel as the fish zipped toward what little structure was in the area. The run ended quickly and the fish starting racing towards me. After gaining control of my line and the fish, I grabbed the little torpedo-like barracuda and admired him. 

 

 

Before I could release my fish, I heard thrashing water and looked over to see Katie fighting another one. I ran over to take a look. This one was a little bigger than the last; about 25 inches long.

 

We each caught half a dozen barracuda before we sat down in the boat for lunch. I felt like Enrique had taken us to his "kiddy pool" for us to catch some fish.

I leaned over to Katie and said, "I think barracuda are the bluegill of the flats."

"So they're really easy to catch?"

"Yeah, I think Enrique just wanted us to feel good about ourselves." I said with a chuckle.

 

After lunch, we set off on foot again in pursuit of bonefish. We waded through the knee deep water for nearly 30 minutes without spotting anything but a few needlefish and a stray barracuda. I decided to wander 30-40 yards off of Enrique's right side, just to cover a little more water. I found a coral pile that rose to within 6 inches of the surface. I stepped up onto the pile and found that I could see a little better from this height. I stood there and looked to my left and then to my right. I was about to step down when they appeared out of nowhere. A school of 10 or so bonefish magically materialized to my left, only 25 feet away. They were headed almost directly at me. Without even thinking, I made a quick roll cast. The fly landed a few feet in front of the school. I made two small strips and a fish was already on my fly. I felt the soft take and set the hook. Immediately the fish was gone with his buddies and headed right for a clump of mangroves. The fish was so strong, all I could do was pray he didn't wrap me up. The bonefish slowed and made a 180 turn and headed straight back towards me. I stripped the line as fast as I could but the fish was too fast. I began stepping back to pick up the slack line and nearly fell in the water, tripping up on the coral. As soon as I gained control of the line, the fish turned around and made another screaming run. This time he took me well into my backing. After slowing again I was able to bring the fish in and Enrique grabbed him.

"Nice fish," he said with a smile.

 

 

 

We released my first bonefish and continued walking. I was now like a hawk, my eyes wide and looking in all directions. I REALLY wanted another bonefish. My wish, however, was not granted here. We walked another 3/4 mile without spotting any fish.

 

We got back into the boat and Enrique poled us into some deeper water. Juan threw out the anchor and we came to a stop.

"Cast there." Enrique said, as he pointed to some darker water that looked to be about 6 feet deep. "Long cast. Slow strip."

I casted as far as I could with the sideways wind and began retrieving my fly. I made it a third of the way back and felt something strange. I set the hook and felt the pull of a fish. The fish took off and made a long run. After a long battle, I brought in another bonefish.

 

 

"Keep going." Enrique said, as he released my fish.

I got back up on the platform of the boat and casted into the deeper water again.

 

Several casts later, I hooked into another bonefish. This one was a tad smaller but every bit as good of a fighter. Enrique released the fish and told me "5 more minutes."

 

The next 5 minutes did not produce any more fish. I reeled up and sat down as we left the lagoons and headed back to the marina. Overall, I was happy with what we accomplished for the day; I had caught a few bonefish and Katie had caught some fish. However, I couldn't help but wonder why we had walked past so many bonefish in the early morning? I've fished with guides before and been a guide myself. I know its best to listen and do exactly as the guide says. But, I don't agree with walking past fish that seem very catchable. What I took away from the day and what advice I hope to share with anyone going to another country to fish, is this. Do your best to establish good communication with your guide early in the day, even if their primary language is not English. Ask your guide lots of questions. Ask him what you will be doing, and what he expects of you. Hopefully by doing so, you will know what to expect and have satisfying success.