D Money
12-19-2002, 06:09 PM
Well I've been lurking for a while as everyone seems to put it and finally decided it was time to get involved. The info here is great and its nice to see that zipperlippin' is more the exception than the rule. My outlook on sharing what I know has definitely changed since the years of the'secret sauce' on Crane Prairie, lets face it most people you share accurate information with on the water probably think you're lying anyway. I still have a ton to learn but it does seem like the more anadromous fish I catch the less paranoid I am about sharing how I hooked them ( as well as where... Roguefisher ). I guess I'm finally figuring out that there is more than one keeper in the river (once I actually caught two ).
Right now I'm kinda a jack of all trades master of none guy. I flyfish for trout and steelies mostly on the Lower D and can sleep just fine after stinkin' up my nymphs with whatever happens to be in the boat at the time if that's what it takes ( for steelies... never necessary for trout ). I also troll for salmon in the bays, hit them upriver when the waters right and get out in the ocean a little. We all know the story, started with trout, caught the disease, and now there's no such thing as a 'cure'... only a fix.
I guess its time for the customary fish story so here goes. It was one of those days out fishin' when strange things just happened. Not even goin for the big kids, just took a couple friends down the Mckenzie for an after work float. We were above the damn on a 'catch a fish drink a beer' kinda trip and there were more pelletheads under the surface than 'beachwood aged budwiesers' in the cooler. One of my friends brought his son along so the boy was sitting on the cooler behind me pitching spinners, dad was upfront more concerned with his cigar and his cool malt beverage than fish, and the other guy wanted to role some redsides on a dry. After a fair piece of water was behind us with the only hootin' coming from the youngster with the hardware I decided it was time to change flies. I really wanted to get my determined friend into some action on top so I pulled out a green caddis tied up kinda different (like a clarkstone) and went into the speech about what a special fly this was, how I don't tie myself, and you can't buy them anywhere so be careful. While he is intent on getting that thing on the end of his line I'm busy making my way across a fairly shallow riffle that you enter river left and has a sweet honey bucket at the bottom on river right. All of a sudden"Boom" I found the 'only rock in the river' as my determined friend still puts it to this day ( its really a garden) and the prized money fly went all the way in his finger. He was lucky it came around a little and you could see the hook point poking up just barely. Drop anchor and all the amateur surgeons brainstorm on the best course of action. We finally all agree the only way was through, out, cut, and then back. My feather fingered friend looks back at me and says 'but what about your precious fly' all in good fun. Obviously I tell him not to worry ( it wasn't my favorite hot shot or we would have had to start at the base of his finger ) and began searching the dryboxes for some spirits which apparently didn't make it through the last trip... so as he goes to work on himself ( smart man I woudn't have trusted me either ) I reach forward grab the back of his arm and start a pinchin' and a twistin'. He gets it done and I was impressed... it really looked like it hurt ( the pinchin' and the twistin' ) but he's a Medford boy and I hear they grow them thickskinned down there. After that was over we did finally catch some fish on the surface and a bird out of the air. No kiddin', about 20 minutes after the fly in the finger thing the kid in the back casts his spinner and a small bird flies into the line and gets tangled. That had a happy ending too, tweety was released unharmed and still able to fly, which surprised me because he did have to be reeled in like a fish. It was one of those days when strange things just happened. Glad to be here and looking forward to chiming in.
DM
Right now I'm kinda a jack of all trades master of none guy. I flyfish for trout and steelies mostly on the Lower D and can sleep just fine after stinkin' up my nymphs with whatever happens to be in the boat at the time if that's what it takes ( for steelies... never necessary for trout ). I also troll for salmon in the bays, hit them upriver when the waters right and get out in the ocean a little. We all know the story, started with trout, caught the disease, and now there's no such thing as a 'cure'... only a fix.
I guess its time for the customary fish story so here goes. It was one of those days out fishin' when strange things just happened. Not even goin for the big kids, just took a couple friends down the Mckenzie for an after work float. We were above the damn on a 'catch a fish drink a beer' kinda trip and there were more pelletheads under the surface than 'beachwood aged budwiesers' in the cooler. One of my friends brought his son along so the boy was sitting on the cooler behind me pitching spinners, dad was upfront more concerned with his cigar and his cool malt beverage than fish, and the other guy wanted to role some redsides on a dry. After a fair piece of water was behind us with the only hootin' coming from the youngster with the hardware I decided it was time to change flies. I really wanted to get my determined friend into some action on top so I pulled out a green caddis tied up kinda different (like a clarkstone) and went into the speech about what a special fly this was, how I don't tie myself, and you can't buy them anywhere so be careful. While he is intent on getting that thing on the end of his line I'm busy making my way across a fairly shallow riffle that you enter river left and has a sweet honey bucket at the bottom on river right. All of a sudden"Boom" I found the 'only rock in the river' as my determined friend still puts it to this day ( its really a garden) and the prized money fly went all the way in his finger. He was lucky it came around a little and you could see the hook point poking up just barely. Drop anchor and all the amateur surgeons brainstorm on the best course of action. We finally all agree the only way was through, out, cut, and then back. My feather fingered friend looks back at me and says 'but what about your precious fly' all in good fun. Obviously I tell him not to worry ( it wasn't my favorite hot shot or we would have had to start at the base of his finger ) and began searching the dryboxes for some spirits which apparently didn't make it through the last trip... so as he goes to work on himself ( smart man I woudn't have trusted me either ) I reach forward grab the back of his arm and start a pinchin' and a twistin'. He gets it done and I was impressed... it really looked like it hurt ( the pinchin' and the twistin' ) but he's a Medford boy and I hear they grow them thickskinned down there. After that was over we did finally catch some fish on the surface and a bird out of the air. No kiddin', about 20 minutes after the fly in the finger thing the kid in the back casts his spinner and a small bird flies into the line and gets tangled. That had a happy ending too, tweety was released unharmed and still able to fly, which surprised me because he did have to be reeled in like a fish. It was one of those days when strange things just happened. Glad to be here and looking forward to chiming in.
DM