Not much has changed since when I was back in school.  I have put off an assignment way longer than I should have.  This monthly column is supposed to be in our Editor’s inbox no later than the 20^th of each month.  As I type this, it is Father’s Day, June 21^st.  I’m sorry Mark.  Like everyone on our Board, I work for free.  The chance of me getting fired is pretty low.  Anyway here it is.

“Once you start tying your own flies you’ll save tons of money at the fly shop”, said no one (truthfully) ever.  Let me relay to you my latest foray into tying a fly that I just had to have.  The story starts with the booking of a guided trip into Cheesman Canyon to fish the South Platte River in my newly adopted home state of Colorado.  The trip is scheduled for mid-July.  Wanting to be prepared as I could, I went into my favorite local fly shop, Charlie’s Fly Box, to get some local intel. 

I went into the shop hoping to find a few favorite “guide” flies.  You know, the super easy to tie, few material flies that guides tie the night before a trip, that catch fish.  Sam, the very helpful shop employee, was more than willing to help me with fly selection.  It turned out that Sam and I had different ideas about what a guide fly is.  He picked out the Killer B fly.  It is a very accurate rendering of a yellow jacket wasp.  The shop owner and former guide, Charlie Craven came up with the pattern after pumping the stomachs of a few South Platte trout and finding at least one yellow jacket in many of the fish.  This pattern would allow me to fish a fly that these heavily pressured fish rarely see.   Sam had me hooked.

Lucky B - Fly Tying Instructions by Charlie Craven

“Why don’t you set me up with the materials I would need to tie this fly”, I told Sam.  Off we went on our quest.  You’ll need hooks, yellow foam, tying thread, leg material and macramé yarn for the wings.  I was on board until we got to the macrame yarn.  Sam pulled packs of yellow, rusty brown, gray and tan yarn.  I stopped him and asked, “Why do I need so many colors for the wings?”.  “You have to blend them together to get the accurate color needed to match the natural and they’re only $3 each.”  There was no turning back now.

Mixing Polypropylene Macrame Yarn Custom Colors For Fly Tying

I went home and looked up how to tie this new fly.  It turns out I needed still more materials to be able to finish this fly.  The foam abdomen is tied on a sewing needle.  It turns out single sewing needles are hard to come by.  I had to buy a small sewing kit that contained the needle I needed.  The macrame yarn wing material needs to be separated and combed out in a time- consuming process using a wire dog brush.  I don’t own a dog.  Off to AMAZON to get the brush.  

Postscript – A single Killer B fly retails for $3.50. Don’t tell my wife, please.

Back of Beyond                                             Stephen Neal
In Wildness is the Preservation of the World - “Henry David Thoreau."

Fishing Friendships and the Call of Wildness

A soft breeze ruffles the ankle-deep grass and teases the hair on my arms. The sun’s rays still bite, but with less intensity. It has passed the halfway point towards the western horizon. The day is cooling but I still seek the shade. After pulling my Adirondack chair beneath a friendly Douglas Fir I sit back to watch the grass dance in the gentle wind. Above me juncos flit and chirp as they glean arthropods hidden in the tree’s bark and needles. The high-speed buzz of nearby insect wings reaches my ears as they pollinate the garden’s blanket flowers and potted sagebrush. My eyes pass over the flowers to rest on the blooms of a dogwood. Though their peak has passed in the throes of end-of-life droop, they still bear a regal pose.

I value the white dogwood blooms with their spread of four-petal glory as they take me back to earlier times spent in Yosemite Valley; for me each tree was a solitary oasis waiting to be discovered. Once spotted, they rewarded the finder with the value of a pirate’s treasure chest filled with burnished white gold. The trees are beautiful even when not in bloom. Their white blossoms are glorious when backed up to a granite boulder, beneath a forest of Sequoias, pines, cedars and firs.

While contemplating the dogwood’s beauty our five dogs greeted me. After soaking up their required attention they settled in. One relaxed at my feet, his head resting on his front paws. The rest soon followed, all lying in the shade, noses pointed towards the driveway gate. Overhead Mount Tahoma sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine.

Finished with my mandatory petting and scratching the dogs, I relaxed and let my mind wander with the waving grass. Soon my thoughts drifted to my fishing buddies. The friendships began when I first picked up a flyrod on Idaho’s famed Silver Creek. Ron, a work friend, supplied me with rod and became my guide. He mentioned that he had met the best people in his life through fly-fishing. Little did I know that in less than a year I would be saying the same thing. Later that year I purchased my initial set-up, a Sage rod and Galvin reel.

A few years later I moved back to my home town of Fresno, where I reconnected with my cousin Kevin an avid fly-fisher. One of our adventures had me swimming twice. Despite my felt-soled boots I was as graceful as a mule on roller skates. After my second dunking I was out of dry clothes. The hour-long ride back home was a might chilly, even with Kevin’s truck heater on full.

After my swimming lesson, I joined the Fly Fishers for Conservation club in Fresno. Kevin introduced me to several of the club’s officers, and I became the editor of “Fly Dope,” the club newsletter. Soon we started fishing together, mostly on club outings. While attending a fly-fishing convention several of us pooled our money to bid on an extended fishing trip on the upper Sacramento River, a three-night, two day guided fishing trip. We won, and we had such a grand time that we returned each year for the next several seasons, though some replacements were made over the years.

Twenty years later, I still drive down from Washington to join the group on yet another get-together. We are an eclectic group built around our love of nature and fly-fishing. In our careers we served in varying capacities, including food service, teaching, irrigation design, police work, and maintenance engineering. *My careers are so varied this page hardly has enough room to include them all. (My editor’s change)

Over the years we have wet flies in the Merced, San Joaquin, Kings, Kaweah, Sacramento, Upper Sacramento, McCloud, Klamath, Trinity, and Pit rivers, multiple creeks, lakes and the Pacific Ocean. We have blown out waders and boots, lost fins, gone swimming, lost rods and reels. We’ve pulled each other out of the water, sent each other on wild goose chases, cheered successes and jeered defeats. We have laughed uproariously at our own foibles.

As a group we have fished for a week with an 8wt. thinking our 5wt. was heavy and slow, hiked to the river in sandals believing that we had worn our wading boots, and retrieved a ladies’ teddie from a favorite fishing hole. One of us has earned the title of Submariner for his frequent dunkings. We’ve even been known to pelt acorns at each other for being too successful at fishing endeavors.

Our shared fishing waters include these Washington Rivers: Sol Duc, Quillayute, Bogachiel, Queets and Yakima. Lakes –Lone (Whidbey Island) and Chopaka. Oregon Rivers – Deschutes and John Day, Lakes – Justesen Ranch Lakes. Steve and Bob introduced me to summer steelhead fishing, Sean and Greg were my winter steelhead mentors. The Deschutes summer steelhead season is August and triple digit temperatures, limiting our fishing hours to early morning and late evening. We roll out of bed to a cup of Steve’s fresh roast coffee and are on the water before first light, seemingly wade-fishing by Braille, with our cleated boots reading the dots on the river’s bottom. We fish with Spey rods, swinging flies until the sun leaves the water after it drops behind the canyon’s west rim. Then we swing flies until once again it was too dark to see. Later we shuffle back to camp, lighting our way with head-lamps. After a late dinner we crawl into our bags until zero dark thirty the next morning when a new cup of Steve’s fresh roast starts our day. Those dancing chrome steel colored fish, good company, and a desert river oasis in a mighty big basalt dome make it all worthwhile.

On the Olympic Peninsula winter steelhead season is rainy-wet and cold. The trees are massive and the rivers swift. Falling water levels are the peak time to fish and sinking lines with T10 heads are necessary. Gravel bars, alder bottoms, and massive trees line the river banks.  When the river swells or changes course, massive log jams occur.  Undercut banks drop fresh, reluctant volunteer trees into the river to tangle and lodge at chokepoints.  Log jams make river navigation difficult, but boy, do they create great steelhead habitat.

I feel blessed to have such wonderful and engaging friends. These binding connections are almost spiritual; a love of fishing, clear water, and raw and wild nature. My fishing friends know the value of our earth and they release their fish with reverence. They are a refuge in a world currently racked by avarice. They have found that true wealth is not made of gold, it is treasured friendship and the realization that we are stewards of our planet earth not owners. Thoreau said it oh so succinctly. “In Wildness is the Preservation of the World”.

A Big Thank You, to Tennis Terrance for his editing suggestions.