The giant Salmonflies of the Western mountains are legendary for their proclivity to elicit consistent dry-fly action and ferocious strikes.
My question is do you think it is worth the time, effort, and practice that it would take to really learn the method?
I am always up for learning something new (that's half the fun with fly fishing or anything else)
..."I just want to fish my way and I don't care what everyone else is doing...I want to approach the fish the way I want to approach the fish..."
So, you have prerigged high sticking leaders w/flies already tied on as well as Czech leaders w/ flies that you wrap on the hair curlers and are ready to go?
Couldn't agree more. (with the exception of "feeding eggs" into the resparation patterns of stale spawners or steelhead).
and do whatever it takes to catch that fish
Damn egg drifting snag fish bastards
As I slowly advanced my offense, working up river, it became increasingly evident that my tactics were lacking. It was fast approaching the noon hour, and all effort to this point was of no avail. I began frantically searching the deepest recesses of my mind, trying to coerce from memory that perfect combination of imitation and presentation, that would pique the pea brained Pisces to pick-up. It was then, while I was going through one of my many fly boxes, I think for the second time, that I noticed an old salmon egg imitation, buried at the bottom of a mass of tangled flies. I hadn’t seen it in years. Many years ago, as a neophyte, I had used this despicable thing. It was on a private stretch of the Frying Pan from which I had wretched a twenty-seven inch Rainbow, my biggest fish to date. When I say “wretched” what I mean to say is; can you imagine catching the fish of a lifetime on a salmon egg imitation? It kind of takes the wind out of your sail doesn’t it? Well anyway, I thought I’d eliminated all trace of this incriminating evidence long ago. My worst fear was that one of my fishing buddies would spot this in my box; I may as well have been carrying a jar of the real stuff. Surely I would have been shunned, if not down right banished, by my fellow elitists. I grabbed my forceps and deftly plucked it from its place, reveling in the sweet-sour memory it produced.