KYPE Magazine Volume 9 Issue 2 by Kype Magazine

Vol. 9 Issue 2

KYPE

Vol. 9 Issue 2

KYPE magazine

FEATURES

DEPARTMENTS

KYPE Magazine

14 FISHING

4 Kasts

KYPE Magazine

Ancient Mountains

KYPE in Transition

VOLUME 9 ISSUE 2, 2018

20 MANNY'S

6 Kasts

Homeward Bound

Boise, Idaho kypemagazine@gmail.com www.KypeMagazine.com

24 CATCHING

32 Kernels

KYPE Staff

Klips 10 Rock Treads 12 The Sky Breathes 27 In Season 47 Down The River

Fly Fishing Story those Fussy Trout

32 I GOT THIS

New Years Resolutions

34 VLY CREEK

Scribbles: Small Streams

MISC 38/39 Editor's Pick: ARTISTS

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Publisher: Les Booth CoPublisher: Aileen Lane Cover Design: Les Booth Editor: Les Booth

Know KYPE, Know Kinship No KYPE, No Kinship

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Cha- Cha- Changes in...

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TRANSITION

transition of the First Change wasn't working.

It's why we: tie-on a new fly, shorten-tippets, fish up or downstream, use different rod weights, ransitions are a regular movement constantly altering line combinations, or move to in the stream of life. They come in different water. the wake of Change.

Observe water flows; speed makes no difference, except to affect change faster. As water encounters obstructions: rocks, banks, currents, you, whatever; it's affected and a change occurs. Either to the water or the obstruction, de-

If you're a fly-fisherman, you are adept to seeing change and adjusting to transitions. You experience this each time you're on the water. Change can be good. It can also be bad. Regardless of whether it is well-planned or a chaot-

pending on the force of the water and size of the ic eruption, Change for the sake of Change has obstruction. potential for doing more harm than good. Thus, preparing for Change; the unexpected elements The stream is in a constant stage-of-transition. So of life; is a very good thing. as it is in life. We just aren't always attentive. It's a bit like listening for your own heartbeat. Cool We humans, plan events ahead; our future tense. for the first 4 or 5 beats, then suddenly it's not. A In doing so, we begin Change, as a 'planned panic rises and the rhythm changes. We become event'. Nature does not think about Change; no worried and it changes again. The cycle contin- response, pure reaction. Events occur and the ues until we can no longer listen. We turn away. cards shuffle, land and fall to whichever force is The Second Change is necessary because the greater; good, bad and ugly. 4

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However, humans have the unique ability to...

NEW in this ISSUE V9 i3

• Initiate Change;

The world of communications no longer uses old cornerstone elements. The presentation of media must change along with it, or... Well, we like life with a future ...and NOT changing... that action, or lack thereof, eliminates the future.

• Receive or Reject Change;

• Respond or React to Transition or

• Be a recipient of Nature's Chaotic events;

As to that last one, we only have one recourse, survival if at all possible. And sometimes we The name KYPE will remain. We are 100% don't get it quickly enough, so we don't get the fly-fishing; about ALL species of fish and ALL water types extension option. Game over! Most of the action in the stream of life is NOT in our control. Believing so is a convenient delusion. It has been successfully placed deep inside our internalized, Survival Tactics for the Lizard Brain. Observation of its use -or not- reveals an obvious truth. Not everyone opted to update to the most successful version. But, the reality of life is this: We ARE NEVER in control. We only get to play with the knobs, deluding us just long enough, for the greater forces of life to swing us into a different feeding lane, in which we gather our footing and shuffle off downstream in Life. Better? Maybe, maybe not.

• "How can a magazine named KYPE, apply to all species of fish, in any water?" • "If the name works, can it, and this new mission, work together?"

Quick Answer: "YES" to both Old Scots language, KYPE is -KIPP; means, HOOK. In Low-German language, KYPE is -KIPPE; which means TIP. The New Mission Statement was a no-brainer.

"KYPE IS a HOOK, upon which our readers can secure their lifelong fly-fishing connections, along their journey, toward the TIP of their Fly-Fishing Passion and ExpeUltimately it's in our best interest to be aware of rience." the Forces of Change. NO grabbing the steering KYPE's been doing this all along. We're just not wheel when we feel a moment of panic, climbing limiting it to salmonid chasers. the walls of our minds. Always wear your PFD. You just never know when Life will cramp you to KYPE is now a FLUID MEDIA Publication. Thus the point of endangerment. Don't try to 'swim a non-static publication. Today's issue, is but against the current' on your own. It's a rip tide one version of the final production three months and against it is deadly. Cut across it, finding the from now. Look at it again in a week. It'll change. 'slack water', then make your way to safety (Sur- Get the most from KYPE Magazine: visit often. vival Tactic #5, Keep Your Kool and Live) Tell your friends. YES. Please Do! More to come. We hope you find the Transitions here at KYPE to your liking. Keep coming back. Come back, regularly, because each return becomes a value added experience: Transition Value! Publisher/Managing Editor, Les Booth Vol. 9 Issue 2

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HOMEWARD BOUND

story and photos by

Les Booth

hat do Jerry Dennis, David James Duncan and Harry Middleton have in common? For one thing, their writings are all texts for How To Write compelling books. Secondly, their works elaborated on their love, admiration and dedication to the outdoors. And Third, their works all ring a bell for the value of HOME.

'Home is where the heart is', reflects an old proverb; even a song by the late King of Rock, Elvis Presley. It is also a truth. Wherever your heart feels 'at ease', or with whomever you feel the same, THAT is Home. I, too have said this many times, to and about my wife. She is my best and closest friend. I am 'at Home' where I find myself alight, as long as she is there with me. 6

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So, it's important, this Home Thing. And this is why I bring these three books to your attention. I'm sure many of you reading this, have read at least one; maybe all three; of these books. If you've not read the books, you may well have heard of the authors.

Each one shapes us; forms us; and in the end, becomes us. So as the old adage reminds us, Pick your friends wisely, for we WILL become what informs, inspires and directs our lives.

But, if you happen to be a person new to the authors and their work, please take a moment to acquaint yourself and dig into their works. Seriously, these guys can write like the 'gods of wordsmithing'. And their love for HOME is reiterated again and again, throughout these books and others they have written. I chose these three because they are in my library and are regular reads for me. I re-read them all every couple of years. With Middleton, I will skim-read my 3 favorite titles every year; gleaning new insights. Dennis, I try to do the same, but end up pitching my plow steeper and going deeper and cannot condone myself to merely skim. Duncan is so good, deep and convicting that, not unlike me and the movie Braveheart, I cannot allow myself the invigorated cleansing more than every couple of years. But what a worthy experience! Despite such prescribed manipulations, I am continually delving into each author for regular doses in tidbits of information, inspiration and reconnection. Each of these volumes imbues the Spirit of HOME, manifest in the meaning of the title, and in the case of Jerry Dennis, he ends the title with the word: Home. As you read these books, you'll find you already intuitively know, and practice, multiple planes of HOME. Over the years we create and experience the dissolution of many along the path of life.

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IN THAT SWEET COUNTRY The Harry Middleton book I've chosen is the latest published work of his. However, unlike the other two authors, Middleton, is no longer with us in this mortal life. Harry passed, due to a suspected brain aneurysm in 1993, at the far too early age of 44. At that time he had written and published 5 books, and compiled several years of writing columns for Louisiana Life and Southern Living magazines.. Harry is an in-depth copious detail-writer. Some find him too detailed and laborious. But if you're into writing that gives you a full five-sens-

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es-workout in the form of text, you'll love Middleton. I have found many, who reading Middleton with little excitement the first time, later-in-life find his work of great pleasure and value. Can we mature to engage an author and their work, later in life? Why not? We do it all the time with people we deal with in family and assorted other associations. In That Sweet Country is a compilation of uncollected writings of Harry Middleton. Deftly handled by, native Kentuckian, outdoor author, Ron Ellis. Ron provides fine choreography of many of Harry's endearing stories. I remember reading many of them in magzine articles that introduced me to him. Harry constantly speaks of HOME, not so much as, the place one lives with family, but of, that place where heart resides, regardless of circumstance. And Harry writes of circumstance; be it in Arkansas, Colorado, Louisiana, Alabama, or his beloved Smokey Mountains. Middleton writes words like meat hanging from hooks, well seasoned and ready cured, only waiting for the fires to convert them to delectable caloric intake. Sumptuous. Filling. Intriguing. Beguiling. And yet, so relatable.

"Each of these volumes imbues the Spirit of HOME, manifest in the meaning of the title and in its message."

A PLACE ON THE WATER; AN ANGLER'S REFLECTIONS ON HOME The Jerry Dennis book is, A Place on the Water: An Angler's Reflections on Home. Yes, you do get the sense, right-out-of-the-gate, the direction Jerry is leading us. And you'd be correct. Jerry is a product of the Northern Michigan woods and lakes and he's quick to proudly verify his heritage: familial and environmental. In this, the book is also like Middleton, in that Jerry tells us stories from around the country as well as his backyard. Each one gives us the warmth of a fresh made fire, cool glass of iced-tea, or frosty mug of hopped grains, all wrapped in the sense of Home. But don't get the notion Jerry's work is light reading. No, sir. Jerry brings you in lightly, then lowers his point, sometimes like a rock dropping onto a highway. Yet, the jolting is not only expected, it's appreciated. Again, Jerry is one of the better writers putting-words-to-page. I would be remiss in not mentioning Jerry's partner in bringing his stories to life. The Traverse City , Michigan-based illustrator, Glenn Wolff. I've known of Jerry for many years, but we've never met. I have met and visited with Glenn on a couple of occasions while in Traverse City. A most pleasant and talented artist. Glenn and Jerry not only share collaboration on books, but on other art and text publications and ... on not nearly as many as either would like ... outings with canoe and fly-rod on the 8

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many streams of their Pure Michigan landscape.

the liquid courser of life.

MY STORY AS TOLD BY WATER

Duncan has spent his life, since his teenage awakening to the love of water, fish and fishing, learning about, in defense of and writing about the results of his relationship with the water world, he knows as 'Home'.

The third book I bring, My Story As Told By Water, is by the author David James Duncan. I have never met David, but feel, from reading his numerous works, that I know him. I am not alone. His book, The River Why?, has lead to uncountable vision-quests, with fly-rod-inhand looking for, ones-place-inthe-world. David's writing has this effect. But it's only an introduction to David's humor side, not his more serious, about-hisHome-side.

As David confides in this book, with his parting comments, "I must say it once more: there is a fire in water. There is a flame, hidden in water, that gives not heat, but life." That fire, the heat and the life it gives, IS HOME found in the writings of all three authors.

David, not unlike Jerry Dennis, is a product of his home ground. For David James Duncan this is the Pacific Northwest and all that leads up to the confrontation the continent has with the Pacific Ocean. Duncan very overtly admits he is beguiled by water. Again, not unlike another great author whose life, admittedly, was haunted by

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Make yourself some time and get to know the works of these authors. You will find it gratifying and a welcome investment in your own appreciation of and for... HOME. KYPE

SUPPORTS

The Mayfly Project and encourages our read-

ers to investiagate the organization with the desire to make an allout effort to get involved, with a Project in your own local area. If there isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a Project in your area, then START ONE! Find out more information at

TheMayFlyProject.com Youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll thank youself many times over; so will the kids and the future you support. Vol. 9 Issue 2

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TREADS story and photos by

Aileen Lane

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Although fly fishing may be viewed as a beautiful and graceful sport, there is nothing graceful when I wade in the rivers. Even with a wading-staff in hand, I somehow manage to come home with a few bruises after a day of fishing. The rocks here have a nice, slick coating that are impossible to avoid if I want to fish. The fishing gods must have felt sorry for me, and Rock Treads came to my rescue. Rock Treads use a compound of milled aluminum discs that grab any slippery rock surface. They offer different kits based on your boot style. Their lockdown method of installation assures a strong and long lasting hold. And best of all, they are made in the USA. You do need a drill for the install, however if I can do this, so can you! I had the chance to test Rock Treads several times in different rivers. The first time I tested Rock Treads, I happened to be in this very exact location just a few days prior. This gave me the opportunity to experience a before and after assessment. Right away, I felt very steady on my feet. I even attempted to stand on top of a big rock under the water and was able to do so without sliding off - even while fishing. For the next several weeks, I fished a variety of rivers around Idaho with Rock Treads. They continued to provide me the stability needed to wade safely. And, I am very pleased with how effective they are. It is very important to be safe on the waters; and we often forget that having good traction can make a big difference. I am proud to endorse Rock Treads! KYPE WEBSITE: rocktreads.com Vol. 9 Issue 2

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Dwayne Gresham is an outdoorsman, and a writer who is currently working on a book of his nature photography and poetry. He calls Knoxville, Tennessee home and often fishes his local rivers and those of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The poem to the left is one Dwayne did for his issue of KYPE. He and Publisher Les Booth collaborated on the design. It's the first such collaboration for the two fellow fly-fishers. But it's certainly NOT their first meeting. Dwayne and Les have been friends in the online community of Facebook for several years. It's very likely there will be more collaborations. At least it's the hope of KYPE . Thank you Dwayne for sharing your talent with us all.

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FLYFISHING ancient mountains story and photos by

Dwyane Gresham

These mountains have a numinous quality to them.

tiquated quality of the Great Smoky Mountains.

The Cherokee called this area the Land of the They are ancient. Standing among them a per- midday sun, with peaks reaching in excess of son gets the feeling of being among primeval 5000 feet. It’s clear as to why they did, when you giants, with hunched backs, and eons of wisdom are fishing one of the streams or rivers in the lowcontained within their hearts. Looking down at er valleys. the river I see a place that has been worn in a rock over eons. There are two rivers that run through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, The Little River Molecule by molecule the rock has been slowly and the Little Pigeon River. eroded away leaving an almost perfectly round hole. These mountains have their own vibe, a Today I wanted to focus on the East Prong of the feel that you just don’t get in the Rockies, or the Little River, so I called an expert to ask his opinAndes. Don’t get me wrong, those are wonderful ion. places to fish as well, they just don’t have the an14

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David Knapp of Trout Zone Anglers is a professional guide in this area. He has extensive experience and had some advice for me. "Spring is probably the best time of year to fish in the Great Smoky Mountains. Fish are hungry and eager to feed after the cold months of winter. Hatches of aquatic insects begin as early as February providing a buffet for the trout. The pinnacle of great fishing in the Smokies usually happens in late-April through

People newly introduced to our sport are at a distinct disadvantage, unless they have an experienced fly-fisher mentoring them, who will eventually make them aware of proper fly-fishing etiquette. May. Stable flows, comfortable temperatures, and plenty of food provide ideal conditions for both trout and anglers." This river is fed by several tributaries. The East, West and Middle Prongs of the Little River eventually converge near the entrance to the park that is nearest to Townsend, Tennessee. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a quiet little town with several good restaurants. Cabins and hotel rooms are available year round. Vol. 9 Issue 2

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Early Spring hatches include Blue Quills, BWO’s and Quill Gordons, with March Browns coming later in Spring into Summer and Yellow Sallies along with them. Yellow does well most of the year in the park. Yellow patterns do well from Spring to early Fall with October Caddis. Orange colored patterns do well from early-to-late-Winter. There are other hatches as well, but those are the basics. There is such a large variety of hatches in the park that it’s difficult to not do well with just about any pattern, once the fishing heats up from around mid-April on into early Summer. The average trout in these mountains is around eight inches long, but there are some very nice specimens coming in around 24 inches, or more. Cloudy days throughout the year are always good for brown trout in these mountains. They seem to favor those days and are more quick to rise to a fly. However, don’t forget to fish your soft hackles and smaller streamers. They work well, too. I had driven to an area called Metcalf Bottoms. It’s a beautiful picnic area in the park with public restrooms and a nice section of the river above and below it. The river in this area is fishable as well, but it’s best to walk a bit to avoid the crowds. This is true for any well used area in the park. As little as a few hundred feet can make a big difference in terms of fishing quality, and just as importantly, in terms of getting some preferred alone time. The trout in these waters are extremely wary. It’s best to roll cast from the bank in most areas, but this part of the river was fairly wide, so I stepped quietly out into the river, fishing a yellow soft hackle down and across stream. With each cast I would strip the fly back in a naturally unrhythmic way...one strip, three strips, then maybe two or four...you have to mix it up to fool the fish. After 16

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a few casts I take a step or two forward, working my way slowly across this fifty-foot wide section of river. The day was perfect for browns, with an overcast sky and very little sun making it through the clouds. I was beginning to get discouraged. About half way across it started to rain. I knew I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stay much longer because the water would come up too far. I had fifteen-to-twenty minutes tops. About to give up, I decided to give it just a few more casts and go home. Then it happened: I saw a flash of light come out from under a large rock. It was a nice seventeen inch brown and the fight was on. On my 4-weight rod and reel, the fight went on for several minutes. As mentioned earlier, a trout in these waters over eight-to-ten inches is rare. Seventeen inches is considered very nice. It was a nice male with plenty of color. He made several dives for the bottom, trying to get back to his rock three or four feet below the film. Seeing that it wouldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t work, he ran up and across stream, the swift current pulling at him, making him feel larger than he was. My line was screaming off of the reel! There was no other option, I had to make my way down stream and pull with the current. Feeling me pulling him down stream he fought viciously and made several runs directly up stream, often jumping high into the air as he ran! Run and jump! Run and jump! I was sure that he would shake the hook free, jerking his head wildly from side-to-side with each jump! After a few minutes of this he tired and I was able to safely pull him to hand, keeping him in about a foot of water, allowing me to keep his head off of the rocks near the rivers edge. What a beautiful fish... 18

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It was a day that I wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t soon forget. Not picture perfect in terms of weather, but looking back, perhaps it was. A perfect day for a nice brown in a beautiful mountain setting that is like none other. The Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee is accessible from I40 via US Highway 441 through Gatlinburg, Tennessee, or by taking I140 from I40, just West of Knoxville, Tennessee, east to Maryville, Tennessee, then taking 321 East to Townsend, Tennessee with 321 dead ending into the Park's less used Townsend side entrance. There are no fees for entering the park.

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Dwayne Gresham ... is an outdoorsman, and a writer, who has been published in national publications such as Pointing Dog Journal, Taro Leaf Magazine, and On the Fly Magazine. He is currently working on a book of his nature photography and poetry. He calls Knoxville, Tennessee home and often fishes local rivers such as the South Holston, the Watauga, and the Little River in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

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anny's

anuary 7th, at near 2 o’clock in the morning is when I lost the fish of a lifetime. My wife and I had a long day. Driving from frozen lakes to slow flowing rivers throughout the Black Hills in South Dakota. We decided to end the day trying a spot known to hold some of the state's biggest trout, a spot the locals call, The Basin.

Fly Fishing story

It was a full moon with stars shining, but withstory and photos by fog setting-in, heavy and fast. Snow was projected to move in the following morning. I began throwing my 5-wt Moonshine Drifter saddled with the Redington Behemoth loaded well; and the fly of choice, was an articulated Lil Kim.

Manny Portillo

It was getting to that point of calling it a night, but the unthinkable happened… FISH ON! 20

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My wife slowly stood up. We looked at each other, soaked in sadness and defeat. What potentially could have been the, catch of my lifetime, is now but a fish-tale haunting my dreams on the water. This crazy fly-fishing addiction, began on August 25, 2017, when my good buddy, Jeremiah Bo, took me out to a lake in Rapid City called, Canyon Lake. There I began practicing my cast. By the end of the week I landed my first fish on the fly; a beautiful fall brown. On October 28, 2017 I landed my first, of a few trophy trout, in the state of South Dakota. A 23The fight was unreal. He took off down stream as inch Brown fell to a size 22 pheasant tail nymph my reel began to scream. That's when I realized tied by Bo. this was no ordinary fish. After about 9 minutes of fighting I turned the headlamp on and finally On November 21, 2017, I was introduced to the had my first sight of what was on the other end. life of streamers, by another buddy of mine, Ryan Lucky. It was then I realized: on the end of my line was the biggest brown trout I’d ever seen. My eyes widened as I looked over to my wife and yelled, “Grab the net!” She grabbed the net, sporting a basket 23-inches deep. I figured no fish would exceed that length... or so I thought.

A week later I caught my first streamer eater, a 19-inch brown on an Olive Lil Kim. And from then on, it has been, as they say, history.

I pulled the big brown toward the shore close Today I take great joy in sharing my knowledge, enough to be netted and then, the unthinkable and what little wisdom I have, with others. My buddy Stephen Hanline and I eagerly provide ashappened. sistance, so others may learn the essence of the The brown in the net, but not on shore, when I sport. Givng back as others gave to me. saw the brown’s true size. It absolutely took my From the beginning, I have met many fine peobreath away. ple, and made good friends, who showed me the The trout, fully seated in the net, was, from the true art of fly-fishing. back of the dorsal fin down to the tip of its tail, bulging out-and-over the net! My wife and I could not believe our eyes, and at that moment, the once in a lifetime trout threw the hook and flopped his way back into darkness without a trace. Vol. 9 Issue 2

I continue to see the beauty of Mother Nature. The precious, simple, step-by-step cycle of life on the river. Shown clearly, day-by-day. I am truly blessed to have this art and sport in my life. Keep on, fishing on. Tight lines!

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FAVORITE FLY: Red Lil Kim FAVORITE ROD: 5-weight Bluehalo built by INSTAGRAM: @stewtanarodco FAVORITE REEL: 5-weight Orvis Battenkill II FAVORITE FISH: Brown trout and Lake trout -Manuel Portillo - INSTAGRAM: @manny_flyfish

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CATCHING those

FUSSY

Trout introducing

Twenty-seven years I have now been a fisherman. I began when I was just a boy of 8 years. When I began fishing it was an exciting hobby. As a kid, fishing allowed me to be outdoors and enjoy wildlife. Then as I got older, fishing became more about the excitement of the chase and trying to understand the mental puzzle of the fish. My first fishing was in a small pond near where we lived. I do remember, I thought I was the bee’s knees, times were hard back then and my dad made me a hand-made rod; perfect for my size. From then on there was no stopping me. Every opportunity I could capture I would be nagging my Dad or my Uncle to take me fishing. Now, getting older and starting to really get into 24

story and photos by

Stephen Dallas

the sport, I had to find a way of funding it. I started doing the cream service of selling bacon and eggs every weekend. When I wasn’t doing that I was working at my cousins car wash. Both jobs allowed me to pay for my days out and any fishing materials I needed. Even after twenty-seven years on, I’m enjoying the sport more than ever, I have been tying my own flies now as long as I can remember. Mainly for rainbow and brown trout, but grayling and pike, too. I’ve also had the privilege of being in a

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few clubs such as Bangour Fly-fishing Club and Ayr Travellers. I must say though, my best distinction has to be, when I was asked to join the Deer Creek Pro Team, about two years ago. Such an amazing opportunity and pleasure it has become. I have fly-fished all over Scotland, England, Wales, Sweden. I have even had the most amazing experience fishing in the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, USA. Although I have enjoyed fly-fishing for many years, my next venture will be getting my 6-year old son into the sport. Then, enjoying loads of Daddy/Son days doing something that we both will hopefully love.

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When the fishing gets tough and all else fails, I revert back to my trusty Diawl bach (little devil), the Diawl bach is an all round nymph attractor and can be tied in various ways. There is also a Welsh pattern. My favourite pattern is: •Thread - utc70 in black •Hook - size #12 •Tail - black cock fibres •Body - black awesome possum •Rib - small pearl Mylar •Beard - black cock fibres •Cheeks - red holographic tinsel There are a few methods in which I fish these: 1) floating line, 14-foot leader, with buzzer on the point and Diawl on the dropper. 2) slow intermediate line with 10-foot leader fished on its own. 3) midge tip with 16-foot leader with a fab or booby on the point and two of the same nymphs on the middle and top dropper. Cast them out and fish them back with slow figure of eight retrieve or small fast jerks. I also like to fish the nymph in a slight breeze, allowing the wind to do most of the work for you. Fish don’t mess about with these patterns they really do hit them hard so be prepared to hold on. It’s a great fly all year round and out fishes any of my others hands down I would never be without it. KYPE

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In Season O

n a smooth-air-day, in the pre-snow coolness hovering over a remote Rocky Mountain stream, a fly lazily, but purposefully, glides along undisturbed air on its way to a soft settle upon the swift water below. It will move along with the flow, unimpeded in its natural appearance above, or the spreading visual from below. It will look everything for its intended, like the food it so deftly represents: a late fall caddis fly: Trichoptera. But this is no caddis fly. It is the highly effective Elk Hair Caddis (EHC). A beautifully crafted, tied-by-hand, imitation of the real caddis fly, the local brown trout are feeding on. This EHC is looking to ‘hook-up’ with a local trout for a height-of-the-season connection. The fly-fisherman has seen the large brown trout, feeding in the shallows of the stream ahead, but did not see, the equally big trout off to his left; in the deeper pool. The cast made. The line is laying out. Taking the line that will set the EHC on the fast water, just upstream of the big trout the fly-fisherman is watching. The fly, landing in the rougher, faster water, will be hidden from the big brown and less likely to spook him. But the fly-fisherman’s eye is moved downstream and opposite by movement and a rustle, just audible above the creek’s riffles … up on the far bank. As soon as he looked up, there lapsed a few tense moments. One never knows, up here in the remote Rockies, if the rustle in the bush is a deer, an elk, moose, bear, or a cougar. When the big 7x7 bull elk emerged, a sigh of relief and a gasp ...at the size of the magnificent rack … were both released. Did the fly land in the feeding lane? Did the intended trout spook? Or was he lured to the floating pretense of a meal? Did the big trout, out of the fisherman’s eye-sight, spook and send a ’warning telegraph’ throughout the water? We don’t know. It is a beautiful autumn day. Just right for building a story. Left with the ending just hanging in mid-air - like that fly at the end of the tippet. You don’t need a reason. ‘Cause it’s all, In Season. Vol. 9 Issue 2

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Southern Scribbles Small

Streams story and photos by

Marty Heil

Aside from the obvious benefits of smaller crowds, I often find that small stream fish are prettier and certainly the places they live are some of the jewels in the crown of our fisheries. Although I’ve chased trout in our small streams with a fly rod for I enjoy a middle 20’s brown or north-of-40-years, I’ve not the hubris to describe bow as much as the next guy, but small waters myself as an expert or even that accomplished. and wild fish have always been where my heart truly lies. In the Appalachian Mountains (The Smokies to those of us here in God’s country) small freestone streams tumble wildly and are home to native populations of Brookies, as well as wild Browns and Bows. .

ere in Tennessee

we’re blessed with several great tailwater fisheries that produce numbers of large trout.

I can still take you to the boulder where, standing with dad some 40 odd years ago, I caught my first trout on a dry fly I tied.

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Rather than walk down from the mountain like Moses with commandments scribed on tablets, I’ll simply offer a few simple things I’ve found helpful-to-me, in being more successful.

crouched from the bank behind a rock. Keep a boulder or riffle between you and the fish if you must wade. Move like Elmer Fudd when wading, “...vewy vewy quietwy on twiptwoe.”

Firstly, you must remember these small stream fish are preyed on by eagles, hawks, raccoons, otters, bears, Sasquatch, Chupacabra, Werewolves and anything else you can think of.

Avoid bright colors, especially white. No, you needn’t indulge in full Rambo face paint and camo, but flashy bright colors are a sure way to put small stream fish down. On the topic of Rambo I’ll point out, as an old Marine, that had he There is typically little-to-no deep water to retreat been a Marine, instead of army, he’d have likely to. They just dart under a rock before a predator only been a cook. can breach the 6-12 inches of water over their Big water tends to have big runs, seams, pools, and big holes to fall into. Generally, it’s somewhat easy to read the water and decide where best to present your fly. Small water is frankly confusing at times as the biggest most obvious features are often not the best. Break the water down into dinner-table-size sections and look at every rock and riffle. There are many great books that can teach water reading far better than me. The one spot I consistently see neglected is the upstream-side of rocks. Yes, upstream not just the eddy behind and sides. heads. They’ve lived their entire post-egg exis- The current striking a boulder (particularly a nice tence looking for their next meal and dodging flat faced one) produces an eddy that moves everything Mother Nature can throw at them. Big water gives fish a wider range of options for escape and gives you more opportunities for a stealthy approach. Or if you wade like a dyspeptic, arthritic water buffalo, as I do, you can simply make up for your shortcomings with a long leader and cast. For small streams the less-of-you in the water the better. If possible get in a casting position Vol. 9 Issue 2

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like I’m sure they will next year, is just plain showing off. If you’re still with me I’ll offer a suggestion for a way to brighten your day of dry-fly fishing on any stream, river, lake, pond, puddle... large or small. When next at your bench tying up flies for the vest pocket, your plethora of piscatorial pilfering pals plunder most often, every 4th of 5th Wulff or Caddis should be pretreated with Xink or tied with a few wraps of lead under the body. The joy of catching fish and sharing the correct but booby-trapped fly with your fishing buddies cannot be over stated.

straight back upstream, down near the bottom. It’s like having the buffet set up on an escalator Watch them gratefully wade back upstream tying bringing the food straight to you. on your gift and applying floatant. Enjoy quietly Yes, the fish are smaller, but the challenge of the chorus of swearing and calling on their deismall streams is, if anything, greater than that of ties as the fly sinks again and again despite false big water. Plus, you’ll never be crowded out by casting and several reapplications of floatant. Revel in the rapidly increasing cadence of their the hero shot seeking hoi polloi. casting and screaming as you continue to catch Far back under the laurels tying your dries with fish. When they’re just on the brink of a full meltbright wings is a great help in keeping track of down offer another fly, free of the booby-trap. your fly in the riffles and shadows.

Suggest that perhaps it’s their leader or floatant. I know that global warming is a major concern Of course, this one will float fine and they’ll catch but as I spend time on the streams I’m starting fish. Not only will you have elevated yourself as to notice that the rocks are getting slipperier and a generous soul by giving more flies, your sage harder, the trails steeper, and the sun less bright. advice will mark you a true fly-fishing Jedi. What other explanation could there be for finding it more difficult to see my fly, hike to fish, and wade all day? We should be funding some serious research into whatever is happening with the sun and gravity. While we’re at it, we also need to band together and protest the hook manufactures making the eyes smaller year after year it’s just plain rude. I know it’s better for our fishing, but the tippet today is already virtually invisible even through the right part of my bifocals. Making it harder to see 30

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Here in the east, as out west, knocking about in I do remain, in grizzly country, an advocate of the back country one must be cognizant of the carrying an appropriate firearm, always. resurgence of mountain lion populations. Given the weight of large .44Magnum, and I’m firmly in favor of the return of our majestic .454Casull handguns I find myself drawn to a wild cougars and the chance to glimpse them in simple, light-weight, .22 LR Derringer. the wild is thrilling beyond compare. Do not succumb to the absurd stopping power I’m often asked (particularly by the ever-ex- arguments. When the bear prepares to charge panding group of “younger” fly-fishers) what simply wound your fishing buddy and calmly sort of armament I prefer to carry in the event of walk out while the bear feeds. an encounter with a wild cougar while fishing. Littering is UNACCEPTABLE, make sure you take Vodka or gin and a small jar of olives weigh little his rod and gear home with you. and the comfort of being able to throw a couple martinis and escape in another direction, Tight lines KYPE while the cougar is busy, is well-worth the added weight in your vest.

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story and photos by

Ahhhhhhhhhhh! New Year’s Day! A day fishermen and fisherwomen can relate to well. “Why”, you may ask? Allow me to explain.

Charles N. Cantella of them will come to pass. By using the words “I will try” instead of “I will”, I hope to elevate myself from the rank of “liar” to merely that of “incompetent of achievement”.

But since it is near New Years, and since I am a fisherman, and since we’re discussing resolutions, I’ll take a moment and share mine with you. Please note I use the word “try” in my resolutions, because there’s limited likelihood that any 32

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Artist: Angela Marella

Along the course of human evolution, fisher people have somehow managed to acquire the reputation for being liars (whether this is fact-or-fable, is a discussion for another time). The arrival of New Years and New Year’s resolutions makes almost everyone liars. Well, those who bother to make resolutions anyway.

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Resolution #1 I WILL TRY To fish more this year. I hope to accomplish this by explaining to my wife, my boss, my kids, or whomever is keeping me off of the water that the price of an annual fishing license is the same whether I fish for one day or one hundred. If I fish one day on my $40 license, it costs me $40 to fish that one day. But if I fish for forty days on that same $40 license, each day only costs me $1. It’s like the Costco effect applied to fishing.

Resolution #2 I WILL TRY To tie better flies. I honestly think my tying skills were better when I was in eighth grade and just starting out. At least back then all of my flies looked the same. They were all uniformly bad, with ill-proportioned wings on ridiculously oversized hooks. Now when I tie up a dozen flies of the same pattern, it looks more like a variety-pack than twelve flies of the same pattern.

Resolution #3 I WILL TRY To encourage young people to try fishing. It will force them to do things that may be missing from their young lives: they’ll have to go outside; they’ll have to acquire new skills that they won’t be tested on, but have value nonetheless; and they’ll have to put down their electronic gadgetry. There you have my attempted resolutions for 2019. Are they self-serving? Yes. Will they make me a better person? Doubtful. Though I’m sure that by the time the season opens I will have long forgotten them and I can get back to being the sour curmudgeon I always was. But at least I won’t be a liar. KYPE Vol. 9 Issue 2

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VLY creek story and photos by

Mark Usyk

ith all the other waters in the

area, I doubted that this one got much pressure. A thin blue line on a map feeding into a major river, once we’d actually found it, we’d found it to be slightly more than a trickle wandering through an Adirondack forest. One way to describe it would’ve been small. More accurate would have been calling it a stream even though its name labeled it as a creek. The name itself only had three letters. Someone might’ve read it and wondered from who or where it got its name, until they actually set eyes on it. Then the conclusion could’ve been drawn quite easily, its size wasn’t worth any more than three letters. Anything longer or more complicated would’ve been out of place, like putting an elevator in an outhouse. Truth be told there was a time when I’d have 34

overlooked such a small trickle quietly making its way through a place like this. It would’ve been the type of stream I’d have splashed around in as a kid exploring, maybe tried to build a bridge across it by pushing over a rotted tree or throwing down fallen branches. But I’d have never given a thought to fishing it. It obviously didn’t have any fish in it, all you had to do was look. Of course, I knew, or rather hoped, that wasn’t the case. When I was a kid, fishing was mostly done with worms and bobbers on ponds. Eventually artificial baits took over, soft plastics and crank baits, but I haven’t had anything but a fly rod in my hands for quite a few years now. I guess a lot changes over forty-two years. But not all for the worse. I still love a good bass pond, but the sight of a small shaded stream cutting through an Adirondack forest peaks my curiosity instantly these days. I’ve been known to slam on the

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brakes and make U-turns up north, just because I need to find out.

and trout. I think that sums them up, as much as anyone needs summed up on a trout stream anyway. Which, by the way, is not at all. Out here On this particular outing I’ve been up since 4 am we’re all equal in-at-least the aspect that we all so that I could get hope to catch fish here two hours “Because out here the real word as much as the fish later, just after we’ve left behind is now fiction, hope to not be sunrise. When I caught. And what arrived I met two and chasing tiny brook trout that any of us do in the friends on a dirt may or may not exist is as real as real world doesn’t road, Derek and matter in the least Paul. Then we the world can get.” out here. Because drove in the rest out here the real of the way. Derek is a young legal type guy. You word we’ve left behind is now fiction, and chasknow, he doesn’t wear jeans and a t-shirt to work, ing tiny brook trout that may or may not exist is and his job keeps him in court rooms and offices as real as the world can get. all day while he dreams of being a trout bum. Paul is a retired Marine, he loves places like this, At the bottom of the stream, only a handful of

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ly into the white water and let it get pushed down and washed out into the pool, see what happens. Again, nothing. For some reason after I’ve made half a dozen attempts all with the same results, I decide to send one more bow and arrow cast into the first slack water I started in, a target about the size of a shoe box. Small shoes. Size 6. Narrow. For the same reason I didn’t get a tug on the first cast now I feel the tug of a brookie on the seventh… The universe is a mysterious place, inhabited by mysterious fish.

yards from where it flows into the river it feeds we start fishing. A plunge pool slightly bigger than a large bathtub is the first obvious target, we spotted it from a mile away and tried not to show that we’re excited. Inside though, we’re like little boys in Grandma’s kitchen looking in the oven window at chocolate chip cookies rising. Anticipation. Boulders have piled up, choked the water from above. Forcing it into crevices, cascading down over rock millions of years old, a fallen tree lays across the top of them the way a wrestler tries to pin an opponent. It’s as fishy a spot as you could find on a brook trout stream, so Derek and I sneak up on it one from the left bank, the other from the right. There’s really no casting here. I send a bow and arrow cast into a pocket of slack water tucked back in under the lowest boulder, right next to where the falling water churns white. I let a tiny streamer move and drift with the current, pulled from the sheltered pocket into the main pool. I give it a few twitches. Nothing. I plan my next placement of the fly before it’s even cleared the pool completely, trying to be efficient in my movements in such close quarters. My second strategy is to shoot the little size twelve streamer direct36

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I miss the hook set, roll my eyes in comical disbelief, and try again. I try five more times. I feel the rapid fire head shake of a tiny brookie twice. Now I’ve spooked it, the jig is up. I climb the rocks, snake under the tree on top, and move up stream. I know what I felt was a brook trout. I’m positive. Of course, I was also positive my marriage could weather any storm, yet here I am taking a day off of work to go fishing because I’ve got no one at home to tell me not to, so there’s that. The universe is a mysterious place, always throwing us curve balls when all we want is one right down the middle that we can hit. Or a fish so stupid we can’t help but catch it. The tiny size twelve streamer I’m fishing is my go-to brook trout fly. It’s practically all I fish Vol. 9 Issue 2

when it comes to small streams and brook trout. I guess I’m boring. But it works. Usually I get a mixture of disbelief and interest when someone asks me what it is I use most when I’m chasing brookies. They’re expecting dry flies, maybe some traditional wet fly like a Hornberg. When they ask me why I’m using some modern bass streamer scaled down to minnow proportions? The universe is a mysterious place. I’ll bet I’ve gone up stream now at least a half mile. Paul has his GPS. He tells me we’ve gone only about a hundred yards. I’ve missed about four fish, brought exactly zero to hand. I was worried that I’d only almost caught four fish in a half a mile, but knowing that it’s been four fish in about a hundred yards should make me feel better about this stream. It doesn’t. Why am I missing them? Why can’t I set the hook? I check the hook to make sure I haven’t dulled the point on a rock. Nope, sharp as the day it was forged. Maybe it’s just too big. I clip it off, stick it in my hat, and open my fly box. I doubt I have anything smaller, it’s just not the way I fish. Then I see it, peeking out from in between all the marabou… One tiny size 16 scud. Pink dubbing with a gray back. I hate scuds. There’s nothing to do but let it bounce and drag on the bottom. No stripping, no swimming. They just drop to the bottom. Boring. But it’s small. I tie it on. There’s still no real casting to be had on this small stream, so my strategy changes only slightly now with the scud on. Before I’d bow and arrow cast the streamer upstream and strip it back to me, Now I’d bow and arrow cast upstream, and simply raise my rod tip and let the scud bump along the bottom on its way back. A funny thing happens, I bring a tiny brookie to hand on my third drift. Luck? It was in open water. No cover. Not along the cut out bank. Not under a fallen tree. In the wide open. It must’ve been luck. For the next couple hundred yards, I’m catching brookies out in the wide open. No cover. Only eight feet or less from my wading boots. In the middle of the stream. On a tiny, pink, infuriating scud. I hate scuds. The universe is a mysterious place. But when the universe tells you something, you better listen. It didn’t get so big or grow so old because it was stupid. Listen to the universe. Especially when it’s talking fly fishing. KYPE

Mark lives in Oriskany NY, on the Oriskany Creek, where he can often be found casting a fly rod on his way to work and again on his way home.

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KYPE SUPPORTS the artists bringing beauty to the World of Fly-fishing. With Vol 9 Issue 2, KYPE continues to offer ad space to four artists who will be Editorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Picks and will continue to do so, in each issue. Watch this page as this Dynamic Publication changes somewhere, each day until the end of the Thematic period for the Quarter. The artists listed to the right WILL change over the coming days. Connect with our Featured Artists support their work and the beauty they bring to the world of Fly-fishing. Les Booth, Editor

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this is an idea we are working on. Contact us at the email listed. Let us know what you think. We have some pretty cool ideas in the stew. Maybe they'll make it out and be offered to you. Thanks for your input. Always appreciated.

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