My first fishing trip to Slovenia didn't go so well... I arrived just days after the biblical flood hit in 2007. Fishing was out of the question as the country was rebuilding, digging out from landslides, and removing car after car from trout streams and rivers (I've heard of log jams at bridges but never "car jams"). I headed for high ground and went mountain climbing instead--sadly, the waders and 4-piece had to hang out in my luggage for the trip (but I did summit the highest peak in the Julian Alps!).
The second trip to Slovenia a couple of years later was strictly for mountaineering... so no fishing.
And, the last trip I made a few months ago combined mountaineering, scouting trout streams, and visiting cousins in my great-grandfather's home town. A fond memory of that third trip was sitting quietly on the bank of an alpine creek watching a single brown rise in rhythm to a late season hatch of little yellow stones. At this point I decided I must return with fly rod.
The forth trip to Slovenia will have to be the charm... after watching this need I say more. The only question... winter Hucho (Danubian Salmon) or summer Marble Trout and Adriatic Grayling?
Documenting fishing experiences in the Upper Midwest where prairie, hardwoods, and boreal forests meet--with occasional adventures elsewhere.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Believe in Your Smelt
A recent trip on the ice to my favorite walleye hole turned up nothing. Maybe it was the local law enforcement annual ice fishing contest which occurred in the morning that spooked the 'eyes for the day. Or, more to my acceptance, maybe it was just the midwinter blues I hear all ice fishermen complain about this time of year. After all, most of the "permanent" ice houses have been moved from this spot... if that indicates anything. So to combat the blues I decided to target "those other fish". I first started with an exploratory mission to the main lake basin for whitefish and tullibee the next day. I figured it would be worth a try since I see them there often in the open water season. But, that didn't go so well... all I got were weird looks from half-buzzed snowmobilers. The walk back to shore after was a long one. That weekend hurt. And now I had all week to feel the burn. And, it burned. But, that's why they call it fishing and not catching, right? Wrong. It was a miserable failure.
With a whole week to reflect on this misery I developed a rather evil plan that would surely foil the fish demons. Smelt. Yep, smelt. The little silver-sides that are ruining our inland lakes' pelagic fish populations. The ones that are eating up all the whitefish, tullibee and lake trout fry. Those guys. The same culprits responsible for legendary drunken nocturnal dip-netting events each spring where someone inevitably ends up either falling into the frigid water or into the bonfire... or both (and that guy usually ends up with a rather stellar nickname).
So, smelt. I had just the inland lake in mind... lots of smelt here. No one really fishes it much either. So I win in both senses: solitude and lots of fish. My target spot was a bit of a walk across the lake to the far shore where the afternoon sun was blocked by a steep rocky shoreline. A long shadow reached out across the lake and a deep hole sunk down below the shoreline rocks. The long shadow was a nice feature since it was the first place the smelt would become active. They're diurnal. So I drilled a few holes and watched the graph. Not a whole lot going on down there; but, nonetheless this was the spot. Shortly thereafter, down went a tear drop jig and a small piece of minnow... all the way to the bottom.
It wasn't a few jigs later and the first fish had struck the little jig. I had it up about half-way to the hole and it came off. Of course... this bad luck again. So I dropped back down and endured a miserable first hour of nothing. But, for whatever reason I hung in there with some strange confidence (or psychic premonition or something... like it was the smelt psychic hotline I was putting faith into). I kept thinking a modified version of the Old Spice ad 'Believe in Your Smellf'. Only, the latter word replaced by a similar one sounding oddly like my quarry...
And then... it all happened. Finally, the curse had been broken without having to perform the exorcism of dumping lighter fluid on my ice-fishing rod and setting it ablaze while calling out the demons. Yes, the smelt. With a little lower sun angle they really began to turn on. Soon they were making their way to daylight from the underworld. Literally, as soon as I would drop the jig to the bottom my line would start swimming sideways... and I would reel up another smelt. Fantastic!
It didn't take long and I had a nice little accumulation of smelt on the ice next to me. I had to guard them carefully once the ravens on shore analyzed what I was doing. They observed with tilted heads and raven calls, and short flights to branches with better views... they wanted smelt, too. The smell of smelt was in the air and the ravens couldn't resist. One noisy recon flight after another began to occur. But, I stood my ground and my little smelt pile on the ice remained in-tacked. I could only imagine Hemingway's "Old Man" fighting off the sharks at sea while bringing in his giant marlin to Cuba's shore.
After a nice little catch I decided to walk out at sundown. The air was cold and crisp. It stung my cheeks and slurred my speech. The walk out created a nice ice mustache that once back at the truck melted and provided impromptu hydration to end a great day on.
The real treat was, once gilled and gutted, frying up the smelt. A wonderfully simple way to prepare them is to coat them in extra virgin olive oil and fry 4 minutes per side on a flat griddle. When they have that nice grilled look to them take them off the heat and drain on paper towels. Salt them liberally right away and serve immediately. Don't forget to grab a favorite beverage with this! Delicious.
With a whole week to reflect on this misery I developed a rather evil plan that would surely foil the fish demons. Smelt. Yep, smelt. The little silver-sides that are ruining our inland lakes' pelagic fish populations. The ones that are eating up all the whitefish, tullibee and lake trout fry. Those guys. The same culprits responsible for legendary drunken nocturnal dip-netting events each spring where someone inevitably ends up either falling into the frigid water or into the bonfire... or both (and that guy usually ends up with a rather stellar nickname).
So, smelt. I had just the inland lake in mind... lots of smelt here. No one really fishes it much either. So I win in both senses: solitude and lots of fish. My target spot was a bit of a walk across the lake to the far shore where the afternoon sun was blocked by a steep rocky shoreline. A long shadow reached out across the lake and a deep hole sunk down below the shoreline rocks. The long shadow was a nice feature since it was the first place the smelt would become active. They're diurnal. So I drilled a few holes and watched the graph. Not a whole lot going on down there; but, nonetheless this was the spot. Shortly thereafter, down went a tear drop jig and a small piece of minnow... all the way to the bottom.
And then... it all happened. Finally, the curse had been broken without having to perform the exorcism of dumping lighter fluid on my ice-fishing rod and setting it ablaze while calling out the demons. Yes, the smelt. With a little lower sun angle they really began to turn on. Soon they were making their way to daylight from the underworld. Literally, as soon as I would drop the jig to the bottom my line would start swimming sideways... and I would reel up another smelt. Fantastic!
It didn't take long and I had a nice little accumulation of smelt on the ice next to me. I had to guard them carefully once the ravens on shore analyzed what I was doing. They observed with tilted heads and raven calls, and short flights to branches with better views... they wanted smelt, too. The smell of smelt was in the air and the ravens couldn't resist. One noisy recon flight after another began to occur. But, I stood my ground and my little smelt pile on the ice remained in-tacked. I could only imagine Hemingway's "Old Man" fighting off the sharks at sea while bringing in his giant marlin to Cuba's shore.
After a nice little catch I decided to walk out at sundown. The air was cold and crisp. It stung my cheeks and slurred my speech. The walk out created a nice ice mustache that once back at the truck melted and provided impromptu hydration to end a great day on.
The real treat was, once gilled and gutted, frying up the smelt. A wonderfully simple way to prepare them is to coat them in extra virgin olive oil and fry 4 minutes per side on a flat griddle. When they have that nice grilled look to them take them off the heat and drain on paper towels. Salt them liberally right away and serve immediately. Don't forget to grab a favorite beverage with this! Delicious.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Canadien Shield 'Eyes
Today found me on a lake just miles from the Canadian Border. Three inches of fresh snow fell overnight and snow continued thru the day at a rate prohibiting views across the lake. Winds were blowing 25-35mph and the ravens loved every bit of it--riding the winds like stuntmen, swooping thru openings in the forest, and providing all the arial acrobatics one would expect from a flight show (with the addition of joyful raven vocabulary). The morning temperature was 20 degrees F. and falling rapidly throughout the day. By the time I was drilling holes in the ice it was hovering just above 5 degrees F with a biting windchill well below zero... a windchill advisory was issued by the National Weather Service for expected windchills -25 and -40 degrees F.
Once arriving at the fishing hole in near white-out conditions the tasks became: drill shallow hole and set the tip-up, drill holes out from that to find the drop-off, locate magic depth, and erect the portable ice house. The latter became the most challenging as once erected the ice house became one big sail and the +30mph winds tried their hardest to turn it into a north country tumble weed. But, with some jockeying, everything finally got set up with nothing (or no one) blowing away.
The action hit fast and gave no warning. The swedish pimple sporting a freshly decapitated minnow head got the first hit. Swing and a miss. A slight raise and a few more jiggles and wham-o... the first fish on the ice. From that point on we couldn't bait fast enough! The deadstick rod would get hit as soon as it was dropped down and the bobber met its stop. Next to that, the jigging spoon was good for a few jigs before either getting hit or getting a fish. The wind pounding the portable shelter was soon forgotten. Cold hands, feet, and faces didn't exist anymore. The sound of gale force winds scouring the pines on shore weren't heard. For the next half an hour it was nothing but a pure walleye orgy. And then as soon as it started the fish moved on and the action was over.
Once arriving at the fishing hole in near white-out conditions the tasks became: drill shallow hole and set the tip-up, drill holes out from that to find the drop-off, locate magic depth, and erect the portable ice house. The latter became the most challenging as once erected the ice house became one big sail and the +30mph winds tried their hardest to turn it into a north country tumble weed. But, with some jockeying, everything finally got set up with nothing (or no one) blowing away.
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| Near white-out conditions during set-up that continued to degrade into night. |
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| The deadstick rod... |
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| Old Man on the jigging spoon... |
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| They're not biting yet... |
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| The first of a whole bunch of 1-2 pound walleyes. |
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| A few walleyes kept for dinner. |
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
2013 Winter Trout Season Starts
The opener started off this morning with a temperature of -11 degrees F. Brrrrrr..... this meant lots of coffee, a late start, and lots of ice on the fishing guides.
For whatever reason, I decided to start the season by visiting the metaphorical headwaters of my fly-fishing youth. A river I first learned to cast on as a teenager; and, a river I first started to experience significant catches of trout on (all during the winter season). But, the river has changed since. The old haunts are filled in with silt from agricultural run-off and soft watershed management. No longer can you look in familiar pools and see the dark shapes of trout finning and nymphing along the bottom. Instead, these places look like deserts--ripples of clean sand with a foot or two of water running over it. The hoards of cars at the access points no longer exist (only one on the opener today and they didn't last long). In addition, the river experienced a 500 year flood (or something akin) in 2007 which blew out year classes and changed the river significantly--filling in most of the old reliable spots but ever so slowly starting to carve new runs and pools.
Nonetheless, there are still fish in it. I've caught them. And, today had me going to a couple of new spots where I know they reside... only to find, upon arrival, roughly 30 mallards swimming on them! As you can imagine, when I approached the pool they burst off the water in a panicked state of splashing, beating wings, and alarm-full quacking. It was as if a new riffle had formed in the middle of the once tranquil pool! I can't imagine where that sent the trout (next county?!). The pool was pretty much toast before I even got started.
With the cold temps and lack of precipitation lately, I was surprised to see the river running cloudy with lots of weeds, sticks, and organic debris in the water column. Nearly every drift became fouled and the fly had to be cleaned of debris. No bugs were observed along the stream which was another surprise. No rises were observed. Usually, there are midges coming off and they can be seen slowly crawling along the snow near the stream bank. Today, nothing. But, the casting was as good as ever and nostalgia is out of my system. So, the next outing will find me on a stream which is healthier and with more fish.
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| A once deep bend pool where I caught my PB brown trout as a youth. Now you can wade across it in hip waders. |
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Hexagenia Limbata
With the winter trout opener just days away I probably should be padding the nymph box with winter flies (i.e. bead-head princes, hare's ears, pheasant tails, scuds, copper johns, brassies, serendipities, etc.). But, as it goes in fly-tying, once you're in a groove you got to keep running with it. And, that groove today happens to be with hex nymphs.
Maybe it's the sub-zero temps outside that have me thinking about warm, still, late afternoons and evenings in June/July--the time of year when hex duns are fluttering about and landing on your neck, arms, hat brim, boat gunnels, wherever. When your fishing buddy turns to you and you both see each other covered in duns and laugh at the absurdness of it all. This is when whitefish and tullibee rise with reckless abandon in our northern lakes--leaving the depths, that normally conceal them, to gorge on the mega hatch. The "hex", North America's largest mayfly, starts emerging when the sun is setting on the horizon--a big orange ball sinking behind the pine studded islands. Once it goes down--and it's pitch black--all that's heard are loons, clacking insect wings past your ear, creatures of the night, and fish rises... lots of them. Aside from drawing whitefish and tullibee, the hatch tempts the thought of swimming a hex nymph pattern across the windy side of any shallow reef exposed to the muddy main lake basin for walleyes. An uncommon quarry on fly rod, this time of year can make it more common than ever to nab some 'eyes on fly. But, more practically, the hex hatch brings on the thought of our browns, brookies, and rainbows going absolutely nuts for hex patterns in June and July.
A proven abstract pattern for me is a slight modification to the Bear's Hex Nymph. And these are what I'm cranking out on the Renzetti this morning. I'll typically fish these on a full sinking line and slowly kick my float tube through the fish. The action can be fast.
You can tie the fly from the following:
To see some realistic hexagenia limbata duns, check out this truly amazing display of fly-tying: http://www.grahamowengallery.com/fishing/fly-tying/realistic_hex_mayfly.html
Maybe it's the sub-zero temps outside that have me thinking about warm, still, late afternoons and evenings in June/July--the time of year when hex duns are fluttering about and landing on your neck, arms, hat brim, boat gunnels, wherever. When your fishing buddy turns to you and you both see each other covered in duns and laugh at the absurdness of it all. This is when whitefish and tullibee rise with reckless abandon in our northern lakes--leaving the depths, that normally conceal them, to gorge on the mega hatch. The "hex", North America's largest mayfly, starts emerging when the sun is setting on the horizon--a big orange ball sinking behind the pine studded islands. Once it goes down--and it's pitch black--all that's heard are loons, clacking insect wings past your ear, creatures of the night, and fish rises... lots of them. Aside from drawing whitefish and tullibee, the hatch tempts the thought of swimming a hex nymph pattern across the windy side of any shallow reef exposed to the muddy main lake basin for walleyes. An uncommon quarry on fly rod, this time of year can make it more common than ever to nab some 'eyes on fly. But, more practically, the hex hatch brings on the thought of our browns, brookies, and rainbows going absolutely nuts for hex patterns in June and July.
A proven abstract pattern for me is a slight modification to the Bear's Hex Nymph. And these are what I'm cranking out on the Renzetti this morning. I'll typically fish these on a full sinking line and slowly kick my float tube through the fish. The action can be fast.
You can tie the fly from the following:
- Hook: Tiemco TMC 200R, Size 8
- Thread: Sulphur
- Tail: Three gray ostrich herl tips
- Rib: Gray ostrich herl, over-wrapped with copper wire
- Abdomen: Sulphur dubbing
- Gills: Filoplume tied on top
- Wing Case: Brown turkey
- Hackle: Brown hen palmered (grouse soft hackle as alternate)
- Thorax: Tan dubbing
- Eyes: Black plastic
- Head: Form with thread (keep small and let the eyes do the talking)
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Itu's Bonefish - EcoTourism at Work
The sportfishing industry removes Itu from his traditional commercial netting operation and trains him as a bonefishing guide--seeing this the way to preserve the small (but world class) Aitutaki bonefish fishery and sustain the local socio-economics.
SIP-Films: "From selling five Bonefish for $20 dollars, Itu now runs a successful catch and release guiding business. He has gone on to run two flats skiffs and employs his two brothers, Tia and Rua. This year they have advance bookings of more than 100 days."
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