A Quick Trip to Crane Falls

Have you ever heard the phrase, "If you don't like the weather in Idaho, wait 15 minutes"? The person saying it always acts like they are so proud of that fact, like Idaho is so unique. I hate that phrase because every state I've been to in the United States claims that phrase. Let's just all agree that weather is unpredictable. Ok? Meteorologists try their hardest but they are wrong at least 70% of the time. Springtime in Southern Idaho is no exception.

Katie and I planned a quick day trip down to Crane Falls Lake; a favorite springtime fishing location. For us, the allure of Crane Falls is the variety of fish you might catch. It is primarily a warm water fishery with plenty of Largemouth Bass, Bluegill, Crappie and Perch. As well as planted Rainbow trout. With any given cast you don't know what you are going to catch. The weather forecast was for mostly sunny with calm winds, ideal for bobbing around in a small boat or float tube. 

We drove down the canyon rim to find a peaceful and inviting lake. My pulse quickened looking at the still water, imagining ourselves kicking to and fro, catching tons of fish in windless conditions. However, I've fished Crane Falls enough to know calm days down here are few and far between.

We pulled up to an easy launching location and set up the pontoon boat and the float tube. I rigged up two rods with floating lines and indicators, one with a balanced leech and the other a balanced minnow. I also rigged up two rods with sinking lines. Traditionally, the sinking lines with a leech or sheep creek special have caught most of my fish, but lately in still water I've been using the indicator set-ups and have had more success. 

Katie and I have only been married for three years and strangely she still enjoys my presence. Katie likes to be attached to my boat so we can fish together. We kicked out into the lake, tied our boats together and started fishing with the "bobbers". The wind began to pick up slightly, pushing us along the bank at a nice speed. Minor adjustments kept us a comfortable 40-50 feet off the bank. Our flies were set at about 7 feet deep so we didn't have to cast too close to the shore. We drifted along slowly and it didn't take long for Katie's bobber to take a dive. The fish pulled hard and stayed close to the bottom, a tell-tale sign she had a bass.

Crane Falls is full of "cookie-cutter" 12-15 inch Largemouth. This scrappy one was no exception.

We kept going down the bank, the wind increasing in speed and the clouds building. My indicator sunk and I set the hook on a slime rocket, AKA a rainbow trout.

Katie responded with a trout of her own.

Connecting two individually controlled boats together and expecting to have coordinated movements is delusional. 

"Ok honey, every once in a while you need to kick gently to keep us parallel with the shore," I suggested as I kicked, fighting to keep the boats from turning and catching the wind.

"Ok," Katie replied sensing my frustration.

"Not that hard sweetie, we'll turn too much and we'll be fighting against each other."

"Well you told me to kick!" 

"Kick gently so we can stay parallel and slow ourselves in the wind."

"Ok!"

Our coordination and control improved despite the increasingly challenging conditions. The wind was now coming in gusts and it was sprinkling every now and then. The fish kept biting though!

My bobber went down and I set the hook. Immediately my rod doubled over, the fish pulled hard and I sensed he was headed for some cover. My line stopped, stuck on something and was not budging. That bugger took me into the weeds! I grabbed my fly line, gave slack to my fly rod and started to pull up on the line. Slowly it gave and eventually I had a giant pile of weeds at my feet, and at the center of it, a bass.

We kept fishing along the north shoreline, catching bass and trout at regular intervals and one large yellow perch. 

After 10 or so fish, we decided to move to the other side of the lake. I pulled Katie across with the oars and we began fishing again. Immediately were into fish, a lot of them.       

We had several doubles, each time one of us had a trout and the other a bass. 

Katie would net her fish and then I would skate my fish in and make Katie net my fish as well. Watching Katie try to unhook and handle 2 thrashing fish in the net at the same time brought a smile to my face.

After about 4 hours of fighting the wind and cold, we headed back to the truck. We landed about 25 fish. All of the fish came in on the same balanced leech and balanced minnow I tied on at the beginning of the day. As we drove past the Crane Falls boat ramp, we noticed the wind had kicked up even more and it was once again sprinkling rain. The weather forecast had been wrong, as usual. Once we got onto the highway and drove over the Loveridge Bridge we noticed the Snake River was relatively calm and the clouds were beginning to clear, bringing to mind the phrase I hate: "If you don't like the weather in Idaho...".

Katie's First Steelhead

When 2018 rolled around and it was time to renew my hunting and fishing license, my wife happened to be tagging along with me at Cabelas.

"We might as well grab your fishing license now." I said, while waiting in line.

"Ok, I want a steelhead tag too. I'm going this year, darn-it!" Katie added with determination.

"O-Kay I guess it's official. This is the year!"

"It better happen this year!"

"We'll give it our best!"

I had taken Katie on three steelhead trips over the course of 5 years. The first two were unsuccessful on both her end and mine, and the third I ended up landing 3 fish in the early morning while Katie slept in the car. Katie had put in dozens of hours on different rivers, and in my book, was definitely due for a steelhead.

We planned a trip up to the Clearwater in mid February, hoping to intercept some transitional steelhead. I watched the weather and the water flows studiously, not that it mattered, as we were going regardless. As luck would have it, the stars aligned and not only was the weather forecasted to be decent, but water flows were perfect. In addition, a large storm the week prior had blown the river out and filled it with fresh fish. If we couldn't get Katie a steelhead on this trip, I would fail as a fly fisherman, a guide and as a husband.

We arrived on a Thursday afternoon, and with a few hours of daylight to spare, we hit the water. 

I placed Katie on a "magic" rock and sat back to watch. It had been a couple years since Katie had done any spey casting. To my relief however, she picked up right where she left off, competently casting her flies to where the fish lay. In addition, over the last couple years Katie had dramatically improved her line mending abilities and was making some killer, long, drag-free drifts; imperative for nymphing and one of the most frequent problems I see other anglers struggle with.

I spent very little time coaching her cast and more time telling her how persistent and optimistic she needed to be.

"Any cast your indicator could go down and it could be a fish." I said, super positively. "You just have to believe!"

My cheesy optimism was enough to make someone gag.

We hit the water hard without any luck that first afternoon, but tomorrow was a new day and I just knew we'd connect with something.

The following morning we began at a location I had previously had great luck with. I put Katie in the right spot and told her where to cast. She worked the water for some time before asking for my help with her cast. I gladly stepped in and showed her a few tricks, explaining the mechanics of a water load. I performed a water load cast and showed her how to mend the line to get a drag-free drift alongside a "fishy" rock. The indicator sunk. I hesitated for a moment, realizing if I set the hook I could be "taking" a fish that could potentially be Katie's. My arm and my brain apparently weren't on the same page, because seconds later, the rod was high in the air and I felt the slow give and pulse of a heavy fish on the end of my line.

"Whoops. It's a fish." I turned back to Katie with a guilty look.

"You stole my fish!" She torted back with anger.

"I'm sorry! Here, take the rod and bring this one in."

"NO! That's your fish. I'll get my own!"

I chuckled as I fought the fish and brought it in. 

She was a hefty, wild fish measuring 32 inches. Too bad it wasn't Katie's fish. Guilt stricken, I released her. 

Katie grabbed her rod and went right back to it. Luckily, a few casts later, my guilt was absolved. I had been standing right behind her, a habit built from my summers guiding in Alaska. I told her to place a cast a tad higher in the run. She did, and we intently watched as the indicator slowly drifted downstream towards the sandy, deep hole the fish were in. The indicator hesitated, moved towards us a couple inches and then sunk. Katie was quick and before I could mutter incoherent noises (meaning set the hook) her rod was high and flexed.

The fish shook it's head, rolled near the surface and then took off across the river. I ran over to grab the net and stood in the water, ready. Katie battled the fish like a champ, and after several minutes, we had Katie's first steelhead in the net.

The colored male measured 34 inches. 

"You did it honey! You caught a steelhead!" I said proudly.

"That was pretty cool. Wow that water is cold!" Katie shuddered as she shook the frigid water off her hands.

"Ok, well you've caught one. My work is done. Shall we go home?" I questioned jokingly.

"No, I think I'd like to catch another!" She said, grabbing the rod and wading back in.

We fished that location until about noon, when we drove upstream to the pretzel hole. I placed Katie in a good location while I fished another run below her. It didn't take long before I hooked into a fish. The fiesty male put up a great fight before I wrestled him to the grassy shore. 

I released the fish and went upstream to grab Katie. Katie reminded me it was past noon and that we should eat lunch, something I frequently forget to do while fishing.

We finished our lunch and went back to the water. I made a fire while Katie fished. Katie tired of casting after a good bit and handed me the rod. Given my reputation of stealing fish, I cocked my head to the side giving her the are you sure look. She smiled and proceeded to the campfire. I made a few casts to some water I noticed she hadn't fully covered. The indicator sunk and I set the hook. Crap, I thought, as I felt a steelhead on the end of my line.

Katie netted the fish with joy and after we released the solid specimen, she resumed casting. Katie was doing an awesome job making perfect casts and great drifts, but after another hour of no fish we moved on to the next location.

It was busy upriver with other anglers. However, to our delight, one of my favorite locations was unoccupied. Katie got into position and began casting. I was beginning to assess where I could fish above her when I heard the promising "SSSHUP" sound of a rod setting the hook. I turned to see a steelhead dancing on the end of her line.

                           

"Sweet! You got another one!" I said with joy as I grabbed the net.

"Alright!" Katie laughed. 

We brought the fish in and Katie stared at it in the net with delight. She then posed with the fish like she'd done a hundred times before.

    

The afternoon temperatures dipped a bit and we could tell rain was in the future. Katie bundled up and we continued to fish. No more fish came to hand that day but my task was complete. Katie had landed 2 steelhead and we were at 5 for the trip. A great start.

That night the rain came down in buckets, promising off-colored water for the following day. Despite the torrential downpour, we awoke the following day to "steelhead green" water clarity; as good as it gets for steelhead fishing.

Being a Saturday and busy with anglers, we decided to explore some new areas. We wanted to explore a bit behind private land, forcing us to asking for permission. Permission was granted and we discovered some cool places, but by afternoon we found ourselves at "The Fly Bucket", the location we had finished at the previous day. 

Katie got into position standing on a prime rock while I waded upstream of her to fish the faster, deeper slot the fish travel in to leave the run. I had only made 2 casts before I set the hook on a fish. Sadly, the battle was short lived and the fish popped off, leaving my line slack. I placed my next cast right back into the same location. My indicator dove again and I had another steelhead on my line. Back to back casts is always a great sign! This fish also had other intentions as it shook the hook as well. I reeled in and asked Katie if she wanted to try where I had been. Her reaction was predictable; no, due to the cold water she would have to stand in. She continued fishing off of her rock while I waded back to where I had been. In my opinion, Katie's spot was the better of the two and I knew it was only a matter of time before she caught another. Several minutes had passed before I heard a sound out of Katie.

"It's a fish!"

I looked downstream to see her rod high and bent, flexing with each shake of the fish's head.

"Sweet!" I shouted as I reeled in and waded back to shore.

I grabbed the net and got into position downstream of her. Katie battled the fish and soon we had a dark colored male in the net.

Katie had now landed 3 steelhead; all over 32 inches and all on the fly rod. She was quite thrilled with the way this trip was turning out, and so was I.

Katie resumed casting from her rock and myself back in the faster water upstream. The wind began to kick up and strong, cast-debilatating gusts from upstream were forcing us to time our casts. Regardless, the fishing continued to improve. I began to strip in the running line on a nice long drift, preparing to recast, and had only made about 2 strips, when I felt some resistance. I stripped harder a couple more times to free whatever my line had hung up on, when it began to pull back. Did I have a fish? Sure enough, a steelhead was on the end of my line. It must have grabbed my fly right before I began stripping in. I pulled back hard on the fish and held on for the ride. This was turning into a great afternoon! This fish too became un-hooked, leaving me with three hookups in a row with no trophy shots to show for it. 

                          

We continued fishing, but now a steady rain began to fall, pelting us sideways with the strong, gusty wind. Katie was tired for the time being and she invited me to come fish her area. The run we were fishing historically had produced fish throughout, fish could be holding anywhere in the run, and the last couple days were consistent with this. This run also held a "bucket", a deeper hole that tons of fish held in. The fish we were currently catching were fish that were spilling over from the bucket. These fish were likely pushed out of the prime bucket by larger, more aggressive fish. This bucket however, lay on the opposite side of the river. A long cast placed just a couple feet from the opposite shore at an appropriate distance upstream of a large rock would send your flies through the bucket. With the strong winds and the heavy weight required to send our flies down to the fishes level, casting over to the bucket would not be an easy task. So far, neither Katie or myself had fished this bucket on our trip.

I waded into position, standing on a submerged rock just slightly upstream of where Katie had been fishing. I began to cast and fish the run, but with the strong winds, I was struggling to reach the "bucket". I started timing my casts in between the wind gusts, getting closer each time. Sometimes my cast would land too far downstream, not close enough to the other side or my line mend would pull the fly too far away. Finally, I landed a cast in the right spot, threw a quick mend and intently watched my small pink indicator dance down through the choppy water and into the "bucket". Like magic, the pink ball dove under the surface and I heaved back on the 12 and a half foot rod. I felt the strong pulses of a large steelhead pull back in annoyance. This was the beginning of a long battle with a big fish. 

After pulling all my fly line out twice, I finally began to make some headway on the big fish. Several times when it came close, we could see a large golden shape on the end of my line, larger than most of the fish we had caught so far.

We finally scooped the large female into the net and measured her on my rod. She was 37 inches, an above average fish for the river but certainly not my largest. I grasped her tail and with my other hand, cradled her belly. I began to lift her from the water when energy suddenly surged through the muscular fishes body. I tried to maintain control and silence her drive to survive, but I lost. The hand cradling her belly fell free as she shot over the edge of the net. All I had now was her tail as she tried to swim for the depths. The cold water and the strength of the fish were too much for my hand to hold onto. Into the river she went, as strong as a tuna. Can't get a hero shot of 'em all. 

Katie still wasn't ready to fish yet, so I got right back into position to fish the bucket. Once again, it took a few casts to finally reach the right spot, and when I did, I was rewarded with a fish.

I wanted Katie to fish but she didn't want to try to reach the "bucket" with the sideways rain. With fishing as good as it was, I wasted no time and got right back to casting to the bucket. This time, my first cast through the magic bucket did not produce a fish, but my second did. A large colored male found my crystal meth egg irresistible.

Katie was reaching her limit with the cold and the sideways rain. She wanted me to keep fishing, however. I knew better than to test her patience, so I promised her one more fish; a promise I knew wouldn't take long to deliver. The bucket did not disappoint, as if on command the indicator dove and a steelhead came thrashing to the surface. 

It was only 3:30 in the afternoon but between the weather and our success rate of 8 fish hooked and 5 to the net, I was ok calling it a day.

The last morning of our trip was upon us. Given the success of the previous day, we found ourselves back at "The Fly Bucket". We casted for awhile in our comfortable locations without any success. At 9:30 AM, without any fish to the net and the weather showing no signs of warming, we packed it up. 

Katie's determination at the beginning of the year had come to fruition. She had landed 3 steelhead! They say steelhead are a fish of a thousand casts. Sadly, it might have taken her that many to catch that first one. With Katie's skills and determination, I can almost guarantee it won't be a thousand more before her next.

Late Season on the Pond

It had been a couple years since I'd journeyed down to 'The Pond'. 'The Pond' sits next to the Snake River and is perhaps my most consistent duck producing spot. The weather had been unseasonably warm lately, telling me there was a chance the pond was ice free. It was also early January, meaning that a lot of migrating mallards would be in the area. If I was right about those 2 things, Thursday would be an awesome hunt. 

By 6:30 am, we were making the almost 1 mile hike into the pond. We stopped short a few hundred yards and listened.

"Trevor, listen." I said, haulting and holding my hand into the air.

Trevor looked over at me with wide eyes as a mischievous smile spread across his face.

The sound of hundreds of mallards and geese could be heard. They were on the pond and had likely spent the entire night there.

"That means the pond is probably open. However, lots of birds on the pond in the morning doesn't always equate to great hunting. Sometimes they just leave and never come back," I explained.

We picked our spot according to the wind direction, built a make-shift blind, set up a 9 decoy spread and sat back, waiting for legal shooting light. The birds on the pond got up and flew directly over us as well as hundreds upon hundreds of others that had been roosting nearby on the river.

"Wow, that's a lot of ducks! This is going to be good, Ryan!" Trevor exclaimed, hardly containing himself.

"Gosh there's got to be a couple thousand mallards in the sky!" I marveled, amazed at the number of birds headed out to feed.  

                                     

Of course, when shooting light finally rolled around, the skies were nearly empty. We scanned the skies intently looking for dark shapes with cupped wings hoping to meet their fate, but as the skies became lighter, so did the number of birds. That's when we heard them.

"Trevor, I think there are geese on the pond." I whispered, pointing to one end of the pond where we could now hear them honking.

"Should we sneak over there and try to get them?" 

"I think we'd be crazy if we didn't at least try. You should go over there and I'll stay here in case they fly this direction."

"Okay, wish me luck!"

Trevor took off, making a wide circle through the desert, trying to avoid detection and get close enough for a shot.

Meanwhile, a few more ducks started flying, including 2 green heads that looked very interested. They circled twice before dropping right into the decoys. Dang, that's 2 guaranteed birds right there! Trevor better get some geese. The mallards swam around for about 1 minute before flying off. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I looked over just in time to watch a goose fall from the sky and splash into the water. The rest of the flock flew away. Well at least he got one. I walked down the pond to help him retrieve his bird. I was pleased to see him trudging through the water with a bird in hand and in pursuit of another. I waded out in the pond to help him retrieve the second goose, which was currently still swimming. A shot to the head ended the swimming and we were on the board with 2 geese! Bonus birds for the pond.

We sat back in the blind ready for action, but there just wasn't much flying. Like I had mentioned earlier to Trevor, a bunch of birds at first light doesn't always mean great action. It was looking like this was the case. Even when we would see a duck, it would give us the cold wing and keep flying. Fom precious experience, however, I knew to be patient. Many times those birds that leave early to feed have to return to water later. 

At about 9 am, a lone duck came cruising into the decoys for a fly by. Trevor quickly rose and shot, bringing the fast flyer down. I didn't even know what it was, but I suspected a drake diver of some kind. Trevor trudged through the mud and retrieved it.

"Good job, Trev. A drake ring-necked duck." I said as Trevor admired the beautiful specimen.

"He's going to be our mascot!" Trevor said triumphantly while I chuckled.

Once again, few birds in the air made for slow passing of the time. Trevor went for a walk while I sat silently in the blind. A single green head came cruising in and I rose, making a clean shot.

Trevor returned empty handed and once again we sat staring at the empty skies. Forty-five minutes passed before a pair of ducks came low over the reeds. The white crest on the drake told me these were wigeons. The pair cruised into 20 yards with feet down. Just before they landed I called the shot. BOOM! BOOM! Both birds laid motionless on the water as Trevor went to retrieve them. The drake was a gorgeous representation of the species.

 

Although the action hadn't been fast and furious, we were slowly building a pile of miscellaneous ducks and geese. At 11 am, Trevor went for another walk, this time to another pond. I soon heard a couple gunshots and I looked to see a lot of ducks headed my direction from where Trevor was. A single gadwal came cruising in and I shot it.

"What did you get, Ryan?" Trevor implored, returning empty handed.

"A female gadwal!" I replied, holding up the pretty little lady.

By noon I was looking at my watch, wondering how long we should stick it out.

"Ryan, I think we should keep hunting. We are getting ducks every now and then. I still think we are going to get our limits!" Trevor said confidently.

"Ok. Hopefully all those mallards will return soon," I replied.

At 12:30 we saw our next prospects. Three puddle ducks took a hard look at our spread and began to circle. We were crouched and ready, my duck call working it's magic as the birds circled. That's when we saw them. From the left, dropping out of the sky, were 20 ducks, locked and loaded, coming right into the decoys. 

"Trev, on the left. Get ready." I whispered. "Take 'em!"

We rose and shot. Dropping 4 ducks from the group.

"Sweet! Those guys just snuck in." I grinned.

"Should we go retrieve them?" Trevor asked.

"No, there are more birds starting to fly. Let's let the wind blow them in." I replied, pointing to the south bank of the pond. 

An abundance of mallards were now flying and it didn't take long before the next big group began to circle. More and more ducks began to join them and soon we had ducks flying all over the place. I waited until the largest group came straight for us with feet down. At 25 yards I called the shot. Three green heads were left floating belly up on the water. Trevor and I quickly went into action retrieving birds. I went to the south bank to grab the previous birds while Trevor retrieved the recent ones floating amongst the decoys. I looked up just in time to see a single green head begin to circle our spread. I was out of range but Trevor was already back in the blind. I crouched motionless next to my pile of ducks until I heard Trevor shoot. I looked to see the green head drop from the sky.

"Ryan, the last bird is yours." Trevor said, referring to the one bird left to reach our 14 bird, 2-man limit.

"As long as someone gets him." I replied. "Gosh I'm glad we stuck it out. At noon I was seriously thinking about packing it up. I really should have known better with all those ducks flying early on in the morning. They have to come back to water at some point."

I felt the crop of one of the mallards.

"Feel this Trev...corn." I said, handing Trevor a fat mallard.

"Wow, there's a lot in there." Trevor said, as corn kernels began to fall out of the duck's mouth.

"This is why they have to come back to water. They need to digest their meal."

It only took 15 minutes before we had our next potential victim. A lone duck began to circle. On his 3rd approach, he came low over the desert with locked wings. He cruised into shotgun range and right over the top of the decoys, slowing as he scanned the decoys below him for signs of danger. He hung in the wind almost motionless directly in front of the blind at 15 yards high. I slowly rose, placed the bead of my shotgun sight on his beak and pulled the trigger. Splash! Bird number 14, a drake mallard, lay on the water, completing our limit.

"We did it, Ryan!" Trevor yelled.

"You didn't have a doubt in your mind all day, did you?" I said as we high-fived. 

Trevor shrugged his shoulders. "That was awesome!" 

We retrieved the mallard and assembled the birds for pictures.

Now it was time for the real work. 14 ducks and 2 geese would be no easy pack out. We crammed as many birds into the decoy bag as possible. The rest would have to be carried by hand. 

This hunt reminded me how important it was to stay later in the day during the late season. Not only are birds more active throughout the day, but if you have a bunch of birds leave early in the morning to feed, they will have to come back to the water to get a drink. The almost one mile hike back was long and brutal, but we kept smiles on our faces the whole time.