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3. trout fever...what can go wrong, does

I'm no writer, but I thought it would be fun to share some of those experiences.
Two days ago, I was fishing a new stream and finally found a pool with some browns well over average for this stream. My fly found its way to a tree above my head, but close enough to reach from the bank. Holding on with one foot and one hand I was able to unwrap and unhook the fly and the tippet, but the wooly bugger grabbed onto the zipper on the back of my vest and the pink squirrel tail grabbed my shoulder blade through my t-shirt. How? Calmly, there were large trout hiding beneath me yet and yet unaware of my presence, I put my one free foot down onto the bank. Try pulling off a vest with one fly attached to it and the other attached to your shoulder blade through your shirt...without scaring the trout. By the time my vest and t-shirt were off and my waders at me knees, I was sweating more from frustration than from the 85 degrees. Fully clothed, about 15 minutes later and ready to fish, I stepped off the bank, slipped, landed quitely on a mossy rock, regained my balance, for a second, slipped off that rock, hit my knee on that rock, cursed on that rock, hit my head on the tree and put my other leg into the mud. The pool by that time looked like the Mississippi and the fish were not there when it cleared.

I told that story to a friend and he said he would rather have been there for that than the trout, so I was hoping to share it and then be outdone by a story more ludicrous.
I did catch three trout, but none larger than average.

i never told Best Fishing Buddy, but...the other day found me at my favorite nymphing place. had a new leader with a nifty yellow section at the end. great. oh, there was a loop to attatch the tippet to. great. hadn't seen that before. carefully built the usual dropper rig which involves two triple surgeon's knots and great care not to clip off the long tags. fine. put this in that nifty loop. cool. long, prayerful gaze into fly box...my own extra special bead headed pheasant tail for the point, and my one last pink scud for the follower. knot them on and trim the tags. okay so far. gently hold flies while freeing the rod from a hawthorn bush it had found to play with while i wasn't looking.

tossed the fine new leader with the swell dropper rig and two best flies into the stream, swung the rod out over the pool, lifted the rod tip to reveal the swell new leader's yellow section...and all i could see was the end of the fly line...i'd forgotten to attach the leader to the fly line...

repeated the steps above, minus the swell colored leader and the never-fail pink scud, and managed a couple of fine trout in the end. off to find that pink scud dubbing and a new swell leader with a yellow section.

Great stories. And I thought I was the only one cursed by ill luck from time to time. All I have from recent exploits is a fumble fingered drop into the stream of a sinking Trico a few days ago. Never saw where it went. But I did manage to leave my fishing vest on the top of my car a few years ago. Never got it back, despite having my name on every fly box. Now things go on the hood or windshield at the end of the day, if not right back in the trunk.

Ah, yes - stories of personal fishing ineptitude. The yang of the one-that-got-away stories. Put the two together and you have the essence of flyfishing. I have some good ones, but instead I'll share one about my brother that happened last week.

At the car on the way in, he mentioned that he was thinking of tying on a two-fly rig with a PT and one of my personal inventions I call the Goldrush. Now, I love my little Goldrushes and use them seemingly faster than I can tie them. I had just enough time at the house before we left to whip up two of them, and now my brother was hinting that he wanted me to give him one. I obliged with a half-hearted, "sure, here you go" - after all, he was only up for a few weeks from Texas - but then couldn't resist adding in my magnanimity, "but I've only got two - so don't lose it."

After spending 15 minutes rigging up his tippet and flies, he promptly flipped the entire thing into the nearest tree. In his attempt to free the flies, he snapped off both of them, but they were still right there, hanging off a limb 8 feet above his head. He proceeded to ever-so-slowly work them off the limb using his rod tip, successfully retrieving the whole rig after another 10 painstaking minutes. Happy to have averted disaster, he patiently spent the next 10 minutes unfurling the rat's nest of tippet and flies. Then, and only then, did he drop the entire rig into the stream and watch the current take it out of sight.

-Shawn

I'm glad that I am not the only one. Last fall while fishing a high bank I hooked a 20" plus brown after fighting it for a while I found a spot in the bank that wasn't quite vertical and started down. Halfway down the six foot bank it gave way. I landed butt first in the water, my rod hung up in a rose bush. Frantically I jumped up and grabbed my rod. I started to retrieve line and too my great suprise the fish was still there, needless to say I was amazed.

Another good one that reminds me of hooking a nice rainbow in the Delaware fishing from my canoe. After a blistering run upstream and a frantic retrieve as it turned and headed back down towards me, I looped a turn of line around an oar. I thought this is the end, but managed to free it before the line popped. The fish then headed across stream, jumped, and ran downstream a ways. I spent the next 3-5 minutes pumping it up near the boat then having it turn and peel line off again. I was bracing the rod against my forearm as I was tiring before the fish was, and pumping away, I unscrewed the reel seat with my arm, and had the reel fall in the bottom of the boat. The fish let off just long enough to actually give me time to retrieve the reel and screw it back on. Then I brought the fish alongside the canoe, reached for the net, and the hook came out.

Thanks everyone. I'll be back at that pool on Sunday...with glory.

To put things in perspective, I have not been on a stream since Memorial Day! So, not matter how frustrated you get, just be thankful that you're out there! And keep the stories coming, for the home-bound guys like me.

Shawnny,

Why don't you tell them about the two flies you lost for me in Treman? Thanks for the "help" there... :-)

Hmmm... I don't really remember that story...

-Shawn

Selective memory, eh?

Here it is for the rest of you:

I got hung up on a dead overhead branch that was a few feet out of reach. Shawnny was sure he could hit that branch with a big stick and break the branch loose from the tree. He grabbed the biggest stick he could find, and swung mightily. He missed the branch completely, but caught my line...cleanly separating tippet, flies, and split shot from the rest of my leader in one swipe. Of course, when we looked back up at the branch, none of my rig was dangling there - it had all fallen into the stream and disappeared.

As I typed that, it occurred to me that I've gone to ridiculous lengths to retrieve flies in the past - to the point where anyone watching me would have though I was completely insane. Maybe I'll share a few of those exploits later in this thread...

Duane fibs. His flies were still on the limb after I severed them from his line. But when I went back up for them with a second swipe (while Duane was inspecting his empty leader), they came off the limb easier than I thought they would and fell right into the current. This sort of stuff happens pretty routinely when we fish.

-Shawn

There have certainly been many times along the stream where I've thought "If another fisherman comes along right about now, I'm really going to be looking like a jackass here."

oh, gosh, do any of you remember those jokey catalog and magazine covers showing an angler in a terrible fix? like the trout shooting between his legs as his creel spills open and his loose line finds a thorn bush to play with? now i know those are not jokes at all--they are accurate portrayals of yours truly on the stream when another fisherman comes along. never when i'm alone!

When I first started fishing the Namekagon I was a trusting soul, never locking the truck doors. One day upon returning to the truck I noticed the smell of cigarette smoke inside, along with the disappearance of my binoculars. That was the end of my trusting riverside excursions; doors would remain locked from now on. The following year, again on the Namekagon, I was parked on a seldom traveled stretch of road about a mile from the highway. It was the middle of summer on a typical hot humid day. I was still using neoprene waders at the time, and as you all know, wearing neoprene waders in the summer is comparable to a sauna. As usual I placed my waders, boots, vest and rod in the back, and wore a pair of jeans for the drive. On location I would strip down to my Jockey Shorts making the neoprene waders a little more bearable, and lock my street closes in the truck. After returning to the truck from a couple of fishless hours, on this very hot, humid, cloudless, mid afternoon day, my vest pocket was void of the keys. The keys were safe and secure in the front pocket of my jeans, which were neatly folded on the seat of my locked truck. I momentarily considered breaking the window with a rock but just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I made the mile long walk to the highway losing another pound of body fluid, which by now was about ankle deep. Standing on the side of the highway wearing a fishing hat and shirt, brown neoprene waders rolled down to the waist, and a pair of wading boots, I stuck my thumb in the air. It wasn’t until this point that I considered I might have had a better chance of catching a ride had I been carrying my rod. As luck would have it (if there is such a thing) the very first car pulled to the side and stopped. I explained my predicament to the driver and he offered me a ride home, where I could grab my spare key, and a ride back. Thank you Lord! Well, after arriving home from the thirty minute drive, I couldn’t find my spare key, which I swore was in the top drawer of my dresser. I thanked the Good Samaritan, and after offering some cash, which he refused, he was on his way. I’m sure he is laughing his a$$ off to this day. I called a lock smith, and within the hour I was driving home in my own truck. But this isn’t the end of the story.
I had the local GM dealer make a spare, to replace the one I swore I had, and purchased a magnetic metal key box, which I placed inside the rear bumper. Fast forward two years.
I returned late Saturday afternoon to the Thunder River Motel in Carbondale CO. after a day on the Roaring Fork. I unloaded the truck, locked the door, and went in to shower and change. I was to meet a friend, living in EL Jebel, for dinner at a local restaurant. When it came time to leave I noticed that my keys were missing. That “Not Again” feeling overwhelmed me, which was shortly relieved when I remembered the spare key placed in the bumper two years ago. What a relief! Well, I scoured every square inch of that rear bumper, only to come up empty handed. Good God, not again!!! I considered the one hundred dollar plus lock smith fee, but it was quickly rejected because of my, already over budget, month long stay. I figured tomorrow, being Sunday, I would spend the day catching up on my fly tying, line and reel cleaning, and BSing at the fly shop across the street. Monday morning I would catch the bus to Glenwood Springs, walk to the GM dealer, and return with a key made from my VIN number. Problem solved. I called my friend John and explained my dilemma, after which he said he would pick me up for dinner. John arrived claiming he had an idea that was worth a try. From his pocket he pulled the key to his new GM dually, I was laughing at his, certain to fail attempt, when he unlocked the door.

A masterpiece of futility, Falsifly. Guess you went to dinner with the right friend that day.

-Shawn

Hilarious stories, and Duane I can probably match you tale for tale of crazy things I've done to retrieve flies. I'm just glad I'm not the only one.

One trick I learned from my grandfather, and which I employ OFTEN, is to turn my rod around, grasp it by the mid-section, and use the reel as a "hook" to reach up and grab out-of-reach limbs, pulling them down to where I can grab them with my other hand and untangle my mess.

Once on Spring Creek, I got hung up on a limb in such a location that this particular method was all that I could think of that would work, but the limb was much too high to reach with my reel. The fly that was up there on the end of my line was my last of that pattern and it had been particularly effective that day, so I vowed not to lose it. I thought "Hmmm..if only I had a nice long, stout hooked stick..." - but of course there was no such thing around. On the side of the stream where I was there was only scrubby vegetation - and of course the tree that had my fly - but it didn't have any limbs within reach that I could break off and use. But across the stream from me was a wooded hillside...

I set my rod down, waded across to the other side, and climbed the hill in search of a suitable stick - there were none. Next I started looking around for a suitable sapling that I could cut down - one that would be long enough to accomplish my goal, but that also had a secondary limb coming off of it in such a direction that, when trimmed, would act as my "hook". Finally I found one - now to cut it down.

To be long and strong enough for what I needed, I was looking at a sapling with about a 2" diameter at it's base - and I didn't have a knife. So I set about looking for a suitably sharp rock with which to harvest my sapling.

I finally found one that would do the trick, and I set about the task of felling the tree with my rock - it took a bit of time, bit I got it eventually. I trimmed off the unneeded limbs, careful to leave about 6" on my "hook" limb, cut the whole thing to length, and trudged back down the hill, and back across the stream.

The stick worked great, and I had my fly back in no time - and by "no time", I mean "about 30-40 minutes". ;-)

That's caveman ingenuity, Duaney. It's good to know someone in the modern world is patient (or desperate) enough to take that kind of time to recover something useful.

-Shawn

Duane, I henceforth retract my claim that I could match you story for story. I too employ the reel "hook," and when the limb is too high have looked for a suitable limb hook (they're not as common as one might think) to use. I've even climbed a tree and dangling from the offending branch pulled myself hand over hand along it to the end to pull it down to the ground so I could get to the fly. But I've never felled a sapling with a sharp rock. Thanks for the idea, though.

Here's an idea a guide showed me recently. If you have a nymph hung on a rock, tighten your line to bend your rod into a bow, then pull your line between the reel and the first stripping guide and let it go quickly, sort of like slowly plucking a harp string. It does work sometimes to pop the nymph free. Then there's the throw a roll cast beyond the snagged fly and use water tension to pull it the opposite way trick. Or the jig it with a rod tip if you can reel it down to the snagged fly trick. Be careful with this one, though, those rod tips can be fragile, and as the title of this thread says, "what can go wrong, does." Though I've never broken a rod tip this way.