The blog of the adventures (or mis-adventures) of an active mountain woman.

No Fish were Harmed

Dogs Like Fishing

In what appears to be an annual attempt at fishing, I stacked the odds in my favor by going to the holy grail of fly-fishing: Grey Reef.

Located only about 30 minutes from my home in Casper, Wyoming and four hours from Denver, Grey Reef is renowned for lots and lots of fish. In researching this blog, I came across a blog posting from Grey Reef Anglers and Wingshooting reporting that on 9/8/2011, “one of our guides Tyler broke in his brand new boat today in style, 45 fish to the net and 4 fish over 20inches.”. American Angler Magazine also named the Grey Reef section of the North Platte River the #1 big fish destination in the world. Let’s just say Tyler and American Angler all have distinctly different experiences than Michelle.

I should start by explaining that we didn’t start our day at Grey Reef- we started in much faster water with this incredible sticky mud bottom. Since a large part of my fly fishing experience is looking at the pretty rocks in the river, this was not ideal. We loaded up the wet, happy dogs and headed upstream. After some very nice help from a guy at The Reef Fly Shop, we waded into the river again with a new and improved nymphing setup. Apparently, I shouldn’t have been dry fly fishing at all. The reason I resisted nymphing initially is a simple math equation: with one (dry) fly, there is less to get tangled than with nymphing, where there are two flies (although one of mine was a ‘purple worm’- what?) PLUS weights PLUS an indicator (small plastic ball thingy). Part of this setup is supposed to be underwater and part above. That’s a lot to get tangled. And it did.

The only nibbling that happened was not by the fish... but at least we fish in style. Homemade Cherry Pie.

But first, I lost my shoe. Even though Grey Reef did have my required quota of pretty rocks, there was one sticky section as I waded upstream. The velcro on my fly fishing sandals (yes, I have special sandals as they need to be extra-big to fit the neoprene booties of my waders) got seaweed in it and wasn’t functioning at 100%. I tried to slap the strap down under the water but eventually, the sandal was barely hanging on and in immediate danger of floating downstream. I reached down and picked up my sandal with my right hand while I began to wade towards shore with my rod in my left hand and my sandal in my right. And that’s when I saw him.

He was a monster fish. Definitely over 20 inches. And he was 3′ in front of me and swimming slowly upstream as I bumbled towards shore. Frantically, I looked for a place to set my sandal. But I was still in the middle of a river and there was none. Egad! I finally shoved the shoe in the top of my waders and hurriedly readied my rod for a cast. It was a terrible cast and I think I saw bubbles from the now out-of-sight monster fish laughing, “Hey lady the jig is up. Do you think I got this big by being dumb?”. I fished for another 20 minutes before tangling my setup beyond all recognition and having some (more) delicious snacks back at the truck. Maybe next year, but for now I have the consolation of being part of the age-old story about “the one that got away”.

 

 

Fishing Report: I hooked two but the first one was my dog.

Welcome to the inagural post of the blog “Mountain Kidd”, the blog of the adventures (or mis-adventures) of an active mountain woman.

Let me assure all of you non-fishing readers out there that I am no expert and there will be none of that “what the heck is she talking about” in regards to fishing. An active participant in almost every mountain sport, I had decided that one of the last sports to round out my skill set was to learn how to fly fish. Luckily, The Boyfriend is some sort of expert. So, for my birthday in June, I received what I am told is a fairly nice rod and reel. And then the adventures began.

I fished as a kid in Michigan. It was a pretty straight-forward affair. Get a pole (the $19.99 special will do),put a fat worm or minnow on a hook, drop it in the lake and wait for the florescent yellow bobber to start flailing or disappear altogether. Fly fishing also has a hook and a pole. This is where the similarities end.

I think my friend Jason put it best when he said, “fly fishing is a lot like hunting”. So it would seem. Fly fishing starts with a fairly complex cast using the arm but NOT the wrist. You must next cast an artificial fly (usually made of animal hair or feathers and attached to the hook) in a manner impersonating a fly, which involves the fly gently setting down on the water but NOT smacking the water. You don’t want to startle the fish. And the fly? There are MILLIONS, maybe billions of types of flies out there. Once one deduces which feather and hair contraption looks like the bug on the bank, you must discover where the fish are dining at that particular moment and hope the menu involves the fly you’ve tied on. Assuming you’ve managed to do all of this successfully (and one should not assume this about me), there is “the fight” once you get the fish on the hook. Something about keeping the head up and tiring him out until you can bring him to shore. If it’s a big fish, you may need to let out A LOT of line during the fight. More to come on this once I actually catch a big fish.

Back to Sunday. The Boyfriend and I decide to go fishing. Due to the cold weather and colder water, he warned me that the fishing was either going to be very good or very bad. And it was very bad. After hooking my dog while I attempted to fling the line behind me (known as a backcast), morale was already down. Another half-hour before hooking a fish (but not landing it) was fairly mediocre compared to my last fishing attempts. An hour later without even a glance from my scaley friends, I channeled my inner child and starting braiding grasses while The Boyfriend set up something horribly complicated looking called Streaming. While I was patting myself on the back for practicing vital survival skills like braiding grasses, he managed to catch half-a-dozen fish. Good for him. I think I’ll wait for a “this isĀ  a GREAT day for fishing” before I go again.

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