life is good

Rain the entire afternoon brought on stellar bwo hatch 2.30 to 4.30. Worked em over w/ thorax, parachutes, cdc emergers. 

Awesome.

happy easter!

rut roh raggy

BWO weather?

snow day

bwo day

What a day! Snowed most the day, still snowing @ 6pm. Did I mention I'm camping? Or that I forgot my gloves? Insult, meet injury: took 2 dunkings & tweaked my ankle.

That said, ~12-15 landed, LDR'd 3 big fellas- woooot!  Just finished stalking risers on schweet BWO hatch. Here's hoping more o the same tomorrow!

road trip!

heading up to the great state of Colorado to chase caddis on the Arkansas

she's gonna blow!

Well, my Plan A dint go off as intended: caddis still baking with a bit more time still on the clock, it would appear.  

calm before the storm

Stopped back by the Rio's Embudo Station on the way home from Sunday's Plan B.

stellar flows and aquamarine clarity

Found a smattering of caddis on the rocks, looks like the bulk of the hatch is ready to erupt any day now. Like tomorrow I'm guessing, certainly going gangbusters by Tuesday.

females are a solid #16, black body, green egg sack

Water temp: 53d @ 6pm, better look out, they're gonna blow!

creeping toward the magic 54d

Yep, Plan B worked out well enuf, thx for askin.  More on that later this week!

In the meantime, time to get some pulsating caddis pupae off the vise, head on out there everyone, it's gonna be a great week!

no caddis this day

Checked streamside from Embudo Station to Orilla Verde- no sign of caddis this AM. Flows are simply awesome right now- low and aquamarine clear.

decisions, decisions

So what's it gonna be boy?

create a free poll on pollsb.com

scheme formulating to sample all three- thanks Jay!

epilogue

Wow, what a week.  Returned from a fabulous long fishing weekend only to spend this past week sucked into veritable sh*tstorms RE: extended family and professional nature.  Not of my making, still not happy about either.

Arkansas River treated me well though, so thx for that ole friend!  Wet my first fly right at noon on Sat, having lollygagged my way up the San Luis valley.  Spent a good amount of time eyeballing the Sangre de Cristos as they spring out of the valle floor, much like the Tetons: jumping 6000 vertical feet (to over 14K) in just a few miles.  Luv that drive!

So I stopped in Arkanglers in Salida, got the skinny on the caddis hatch: stalled just above the Gorge, hmmm that's starting to sound familiar.  Not like I've never done that before: arriving ahead of the hatch only to have Mother Nature shut things down for my stay.  Weather front had just blown thru on Th-Fri, leaving the San Luis valley spitting snow, but the Ark drainage was dry as a bone, go figure.

Anyhoo, I figured to try my hand on the upper river around Salida, as the water was still coming down, and still clearing.  Found the Wellsville access to my liking, tying on tandem golden stone with BHFBPT dropper.  Fourth cast, kid you not, I was tied to the business end of nice cuttbow, 17", schweet.  5th cast yielded nice 13-14" bow, whoa gonna be my day!  Sure enough, I worked that small run over like a strip mine:  adding one smallish brown, a matching bow @ 17", and another big fish LDR'd after a downstream run.  The rest of the day proved similar: the fish were simply abusing that poor golden stone in the turbid water.  

Looking back, I lost 4 other good fish that day, the kind that nearly spool you, down and across the river in a  surging run.  All told, my best single day on the Ark in memory.  Golden stone outfished the BHFBPT 5:1; landing bows to browns @ nearly same ratio, maybe 15 fish landed for the day.  I finally broke away from the upper river around 4pm to complete the drive down to Cotopaxi, camp and to see if I could track any adult caddis in streamside environs.  Found only a smattering of Caddis at Pinacle Rock, a few loners back in camp, huh.

Sunday I attempted to repeat Saturday's glory, but you knew that couldn't happen again, huh?  Spent my morning fishing turbid water first above Cotopaxi, then just below Coaldale, mostly smallish browns kept it interesting.  Hopped back up to below Salida, found a better mix of browns, bows, but not in numbers nor  size like Saturday's silliness.







The morning's fun complete, I headed back down to Texas Creek where I found a good number of adult caddis streamside.  Round 3pm, in break of cloudy weather, adults took to the water, while a few more began hatching in the momentary sun.  I managed four quick fish on  the pupa in about 30 minutes before the clouds hid the sun, hatch was done.  But man, that was fun, if a bit of a tease.  Left me with a taste for Monday's potential allright.

My high hopes for Monday were dashed before the day even got started.  5am, and I'm listening to sugar snow splattering the tent, sheesh.  Lay awake til around 7am just listening to my day's plans of hammering fish on the swing going down the tubes.  Made my coffee & breakfast in sleet now adding insult to injury.  Attempting to make lemonade from lemons, I set up an emergency fly-tying field station in the tent, tying pheasant tail bead heads and softhackles for the day's bonanza BWO hatch sure to come with the crappy weather.  Crack the tent about 8.30 under clearing skies, by 9.30 I'm in the water wondering where all those clouds have gone, that's Rocky Mountain springtime weather for ya.

So at what was to be the apex of my trip, I'm instead faced with weather conditions of the worst sort: clear weather damping the BWO hatch, cold temp's keeping the caddis snug in their underwater cocoons. Gonna have to really work for it today, sigh.  Which I did, managing maybe 8 fish for the day, on a mixed-bag of patterns: black copper johns, BHFBPT, golden stones, caddis larva.  I wound my day down at 4pm down at Texas Creek on a bit of moral victory, however:  a slinky 14" brown on caddis larva.  Broke down the rod then and there- better savor the high note, than leave the river after more fruitless pounding.


Overall, a decent enough trip allright, if not quite up to expectations.  Still, I had my best day on the Ark on Friday, seems the weather doth provideth and taketh away, huh?  Just read the BWO's are still breaking out while the caddis remain stalled down river, looks like the best fishing is still yet to come.  I now find I'm already toying with the idea of bringing the boy with me back up there mid May, if snowmelt and bugs allow.  Naw, that's just crazy talk, right?  Then again, in this crazy spring, why the hell not?

with my best girl!

dos amigos on the juan

The boy and I had some domestic responsibilities Sat AM, making 0ur arrival at the pumphouse parkinglot on the Juan precisely at 2.30 PM. The thin overcast skies had me hoping for a baetis hatch, so we targeted the lower flats area for the afternoon's fishing. I had fun playing guide, showing the boy Dad's 'secret' shortcut to the river, winding thru the beaver trails and willow tunnels to break out at the lower reaches of the flats precisely at 3.10. And right into the lap of another angler- oops! pardon me my friend! Where'd you boys come from? Dunno, got kinda turned around I guess...;-)

We round the corner only to find an angler in each of the three pockets we were hoping to start out on....welcome to springtime saturdays on the Juan, boys! No worries little man, let's just set up on this pod of risers right here, look at them go!

Looking more closely, the water is all milky, from lake turnover, darnit. For those in the know, sight fishing can be half the game on the Juan. I've found fishing with indicators only gives you an idea of where your float is, to really achieve success you need to observe the fish to pick your hookset: it might be the wink of open mouth, or sliding out of the feeding lane, an up or down-turned nose, you get the picture. Those fish are so wily, they often will take and spit the hook while your indicator just sails merrily on its way, oblivious to the scene below.



With the occluded water obscuring most of the fish, looks like our skilz will really be put to the test this weekend. Which is not at all what I was hoping for my young Jedi in training.

So we work our way up the lower braids, managing to find a few fish feeding in shallow pockets overlooked by the crowd. The first two proved to be too much for a youngster with 6x tippet, and part ways after the first coupla runs. I set the boy to fishing another smallish hole, scout up river looking for more willing pupils. Hey Dad! Looking back I see the rod bent double as the boy gives the fish da business. Schweet! and there's the !pop!, and the boy ducking the rig flying back, the fish leaving a wake across the pool. Shoot! Nice fish, gotta let em run when they want to buddy!


No baetis that afternoon, we head on up to the Texas Hole parking lot toward dinner hour, see if we could squeeze a real kid into the Kiddie Pool. No go however, as the pool was lined with a bunch of 30-something 'kiddies' casting fruitlessly about. Jeeez o pete!



We head on over to my series of honey holes, the boy landing his first fish of the trip, maybe fourteen inches, but the grin said twenty. Fun! Finally had our chance in the Kiddie Pool towards dusk, to no avail, bummer.

 

Whaddaya say we go get a burger?

Now for those of you who haven't been, the Sportsmans' Inn is a literal icon on the Juan. Seems everyone there fishes the river, even the matronly waitress can give you 'catching' advice, solicited or no! Saturdays are almost always crowded in-season, with anglers from across the country sharing their day's stories, laughs, outlining plans for the next day's outing. To top it off, virtually half the establishment is wall-papered in dollar bills, all decorated and plastered up on the wall by patrons (plastered themselves from the looks of many of em), dating back to the 80's at least.

As the boy soaked it all in, over and around his Reuben sandwich dinner, we laid plans of our own to return and post our saga the following day.

Sunday AM, we wolfed down an angler's breakfast. For the uninitiated, an angler's breakfast differs from say, a rancher's breakfast or banker's breakfast, in that an angler's breakfast is made purely to stuff fuel in ya, so you can get on to the day's business at hand- fishing. Like, duh! I've found a coupla packets of instant oatmeal, coffee or hot chocolate to your preference, and a power bar on the drive down to the river seems to fit the bill. Breakfast? Sheesh, we don't need no stinkin breakfast- you can eat that tomorrow! ;-) But I digress...

I chose the Cable Pool area for our morning's fun. A good plan I still maintain, excepting the catching part. On the river by 8.30am, I had two fish only, LDR'd, before 11, not cool dude. The boy was starting to lose interest, I figured we better change venues. We took a roundabout route back to the truck, just to walk by some different water, come round this small island to see a nice pod of two-pounders rising in the small tongue of current. Shhhhssh, watch this! I pitch in, one of the larger fish slides over, there's the wink, fish on! Now that'swhatI'mtalkinaboud!



We set up slightly behind the pod, angling from our perch on the raised bank. We manage to hook and play two more trout (!pop!) before our upstream wading silt muddies the pool. We rest the pool, waiting for it to clear, chomping more angler's breakfast, enjoying the day. The boy can finally stand it no longer, counting 4 ghosts finning once more at the head of the pool. I rig up a fresh red hot and zebra combo, pitch it in, fish on! The boy wrangles a good 20incher around the small pool, steady....steady...now hand off the reel....he's a big one...careful....watch your hand he'sgonnarun.....!pop!.....dammit! he was huge!

The boy stands crushed, no thanks to his Dad, not my proudest moment let me tell you. Ah, buddy I'm sorry, he was just sooo very big. We both take deep breaths, I coach him carefully thru another dry run of fish darts and runs, how to best fly by the seat of your pants when all hell is bustin loose on the end of a 6x tippet.

Cmon, buddy let's go get another one.

And we do just that, on our very last red hot and zebra midge combo. Fish on! and never was a 15-incher played, brought to hand with more deliberate skill, aplomb and ultimately, pride, than that one fish Sunday, on the fabled San Juan river, New Mexico.

Epilogue: The boy and I sat down to a well-earned angler's dinner (Bartender! Two Reubens, with onion rings, root beer, por favor!) that evening at the Sportsman's Inn. There we recorded our saga, added now to the annals of the Juan. You can see it there, posted in the SE corner of the dining room, proudly announcing not just the results of our trip, but also the promise of trips to come. Mike and Will, 2010: 5 landed of 17 hooked, largest at 17".

captura y libera mis amigos~

prime time

This took me back to a past life: bustin-out on some steelies on the PM near Baldwin, MI.  Except maybe not me tying into four steelhead in a single hole.  Or landing any 12pounders, either.  Or leaving the river with any photographic evidence at all, come to think of it.  Hmmm.

But I did in fact live in Western MI and listen to Led Zeppelin, at one time in my life (causality there?), so I have that goin for me~ ;-)


A few clips from March 10th, 2010 from Steve Fraley on Vimeo.

kidding aside, that took me back a few years allright-  March-April is, was, hopefully will always be, PT time on the PM.

refueling

We had plans to hit Gallup's High Desert Trail today, which promptly got called off on account of the winds forcasted- trust me, you don't wanna be out there when the wind's howling across the mesas at 40mph. Think Lawrence of Arabia. But substitute Gallup NM for the Arabian Peninsula, keeping the blasting sand, wind, and you get the picture.

So I started kicking around a Plan B mtb trip thru the foothills, maybe some geocaching too- that'd be fun, huh kids? Weeeell, Plan B planning didn't get too far along before my team members started to wilt under the temptation of candy, sun, general neighborhood mayhem offered by the glorious spring day.

Reluctantly, I realized my planned family ride was just not in the cards this day, sigh. Knowing better than to fight it, and make a mess of everyone's day in the process, I figured there was room for all us to get a little something we wanted today yet.

For me that proved to be what's become an annual rite of spring, the Tour de Foothills: stringing together a giant figure-8 by riding both ABQ foothills North and South in one monumental spin.

So noon found me setting off from the Copper TH, ipod tunes banging away, a whistle on my lips, a spring in my pedaling as I reveled in the sunshiny day all around me. Mile 6 found me questioning my resolve, as my bandy legs just couldn't get into the groove, warning me we'd remain friends if I was wise enuf to cap the ride at, say, our usual 11 miles. Any further, the relationship would most certainly suffer, don't say we didn't warn you.

So I pulled up at mile 9 to give them some juice, let my conscious mind try to work them over, show em who's boss. The Mike and Ike ploy seemed to distract the peanut gallery for the time being, I cruised thru the neighborhood connecting South to North easily enuf.

Mile 11 had me pulling up at Embudo TH, to start the next leg. Thankfully, all body parts now seemed equally resigned to the journey, grumbling let's get this over with, it's our fastest way back to the truck. Right where I wanted em.

A quick refueling, I'm pounding up the trail, stopping only briefly to capture a desert bloom or two. Before I know it, I'm ascending infamous Blow Chunks Hill with one thing in mind: a delicious splash in the creek at my journey's exact midpoint, 12.5 miles in. Ahhh, I can almost feel the cold snowmelt dunking I had planned in celebration.

Grunting along in granny gears, squinting thru dripping sweat while attempting to catch first sight of the Wilderness boundary sign, pushing on, repeat every 1/8 mi or so. Seemed to take forever, the young dude blowing by me halfway up only added insult to injury. Oh he must've just started back at Elena's picnic area. Gotta be it, right? Sensing my mind's weakened state, my legs take to taunting me in unison- nya nya told you so, we told you so. Hey, STHU already, I'm tryin to bike here!

Finally, I make the crest of Blow Chunks, wobbling past a family of hikers, their jaws agape. Jeez, you'd think they never saw a guy on a bike in the throws of heat stroke before. wheeze...Mom, is that you?...wheeze.

Just down from the crest: salvation! Simply the loveliest little watercourse, freezing cold, having just found its way down from the Sandias. Never mind the other mtb'r relaxing streamside, I stumble a bit downstream, shedding bike, gloves, helmet, sunglasses like a dying man, to plunge face first into the first pool that falls within my wavering vision. Dam, but that's good!

From of Dry Flies & Fat Tires...

You could not pry me from that spot for a good thirty minutes. Kicking back, slowly drying in the springtime sun, a creek of all things gurgling in this most improbable of places, slowly refueling on starburst gummies pilfered from the kids' stash: the very definition of heaven indeed. Wait, they have gummies in heaven right? That'd be a dealbreaker you know, just sayin.

Checking my watch, I realize I better get a move on, before I take root right here by the creek. I'm impressed my legs seemed to have recovered with the refueling, and I kick it up a notch to make the best of the next mile of tread: a snaky downhill run we've coined....Snake. Clever, no?

The pain of the seemingly endless climbs now behind me, I'm faced with the better part of 5 miles of speed runs interrupted only briefly by minor climbs to set up the next. I'm not long into the second run, carving turns at speed, leaning into the banks like never before, expertly ducking overhanging junipers, and actually bangin off some of the more moderate drops, when it hits me.

What the dudes in Bike like to call The Ride, it's all about The Ride.

Yup, nuf said!

Epilogue: what they don't tell you I find at Mile 21, where I drain the last of my water, despite milking it for the past 4 miles. I have to refuel again leaving Menaul TH, mid hill, within sight of Indian School, choking down my last Mike and Ikes, throat all dry and raspy, croak. Oh and that hill overlooking Indian School TH is off my Christmas card list, lemmetellya. As is that one-time wimp the next ridge over, how'd he get so big overnite anyway? Finally, I'm able to blast that last run back to the truck, sink into the sanctuary of the a/c on full, today's ride is done.

Refueling. Word of the day, no doubt. Sitting here, wry grin still on my face as I write this,  it seems today's refueling is just what I needed.

happy easter

from la casa de Roughriders

a new season is upon thee!

Snow flurries swirling around ABQ today, no matter, everything's smelling like roses round here. Why so chipper you ask? Well I just spent some time supporting my fly fishing dependency local fly shop while also laying the groundwork for flyrodding next week. To wit: 2010 fishing license purchased.

Oh and I couldn't resist these two sitting on the shelf, looking all lonely-like. Being the charitable person that I am, I brought them home with me. They should fit right in round here, huh?

Now comes the hard part: how to tell Mrs Wulff I've adopted twins?

daylight savings

was able to take advantage of the extra hour after work for the first time- luvin it!

spring has sprung

our seasonal springs in elena gallegos have awoken once again- making for refreshing pit stops along the trail

still a good bit a snow up high, there's good chance the springs might run on into June.