I began my love affair with Arctic Grayling in 2004 on a 6 week fishing / road trip from Las Vegas, NV to Prudhoe Bay, AK.
I was on some unknown little stream way above the arctic circle when I spent the whole day picking off little grayling with a Parachute Adams. Even though the fish were small they probably had never seen a fly and were full of spunk. It was one of those beautiful fishing moments that you over romanticize and always remember.
I recently discovered a nearby spot with grayling who are willing to play… and these aren’t tiny like the ones I remember.
I caught this 16 incher this afternoon.
Of course I’ll be heading back tomorrow.
Decided to take advantage of opening weekend in the park and headed to fish the Firehole, which for some reason I’ve never fished. I usually shy away from crowded spaces. But, I have a friend who told me that if there was a trout stream in heaven it would be the Firehole. So I figured it was time to give it try. Well… I don’t know about heaven but I had a really good time and it is a sweet little river. The weather was hit and miss depending on the hour, it was brutal yesterday with really heavy wind, snow, sleet and rain but warmed up in the evening. Even so, there was a pretty good PMD hatch with a few BWO’s here and there for spice. I saw plenty of fish feeding on the surface and took a few but most were caught swinging soft hackles. All in all it was a pretty good trip; I caught quite a few fish, saw a lot of cool wildlife and had a swallow try to pick my sparkle dun up off the water a few times.
I am, however, sad to report that tragedy struck while playing my last fish of the day. The fish headed up under a weed bed and I lifted the rod up to work him out and snap… broke my favorite stick, my Winston BIIx 5 wt… broke clean right in the middle. I had to haul this little guy in stripping the line by hand while my prized possession dangled helplessly at my feet.
I thought about crying but it had been such a good trip… why mess it up.
Guess I’ll be heading over to Twin Bridges later this week. 
Even though I’ve been fishing pretty much every day for weeks now I really haven’t had much to report. It’s been a series of mediocre days, a lot of time spent splashing around looking for the fish that everyone else is catching. So, in that way… today’s report will be no different.
I woke up this morning not really wanting to go out but with no furniture to sit on, being pretty much caught up on work and nothing else to do but tie flies… I forced myself to go fish. (I know it’s a tough life.)
The Madison hasn’t been treating me to well lately so naturally that’s where I headed, only to find the midge hatch has increased exponentially in the last few days since my last trip over. However, in spite the biblical midge hatch it was windy and sunny and I never found one fish feeding on top.
Look close… that scum on the water is a midge cluster the size of a house boat.
So it was another beautiful day enjoying the great outdoors. Six hours on the water and ony one fish… although I am happy to report that one fish was a 21 inch brown, who I might have lucked into by hitting him on the head with that size 20 zebra midge.
I set off this morning with a the intention of going to Livingston to fish the Yellowstone but with a last minute change of plans I ended up on the Lower Madison. After a bunch of nothing the midges started coming off really heavy and I found plenty of fish interested in dries.
Turned out to be some of the best dry fly fishing I’ve had in a few months. A beautiful cloudy, midge filled day.
We’re seeing temperatures pushing up near 50 this week so you can bet I’ll be on the rivers.
After my beating on the Madison Friday I figured I’d head over to the Gallatin to see if I could change my luck. I did, and managed to catch a number of decent browns; all on #18 midges. Unfortunately, I lost a couple that were really nice… one in particular which was easily 20+ who broke me off… stupid fish.
All in all, a good day on the river.
I know it’s been a while since I posted but I’ve been both a little preoccupied and a bit unmotivated. I guess starting a blog during a major life change wasn’t the best idea but I think the move is finally complete and I’m settled enough to get back at it. Well… at least as settled as I can get with only the things I could fit in a Expedition and a dilapidated wooden drift boat.
As some of you know I recently made the permanent move from Las Vegas to Bozeman, MT to run the camp full time. I’d like to say it was a smooth, well planned and organized move… but if I did, I’d be lying.
We packed our 3000 sq. ft. house up and stuffed it into a 20×20 storage unit, Emily and the fingerling moved into my mother in laws house temporarily and I took what I needed to live for the summer and headed north. I’ve rented a little farm house and upon arrival realized I have perhaps allowed the trout bum thing to get out of hand. Apparently all I thought I needed was a truck load of fishing gear. So, after spending $200 on things I should have brought like towels, a light, and a chair… I’m rattling around in one room with no furniture except a folding table for fly tying and one for a desk and sleeping on a mat on the floor. A mat!
The good news is that I can now purchase a resident fishing license.
I have managed a few fishing days since arriving. I stopped on the way up to fish the Beaverhead; only had about an hour but made a couple of hook ups. I fished the Gallatin a couple of times this past week with a little success and then today I fished the Lower Madison. Folks around here claim it’s fishing great… well, either I picked the stretch with no fish or something is rubbing off from some of the blogs I read.
For the most part it’s going well and I’m glad to be out of Vegas and in fly fishing Mecca.
Wild Bonneville Cutthroat caught in Leeds Creek in St. George, Utah.
As some of you know one of the only things which can rival my passion for fly fishing is my passion for homeschooling (actually “unschooling”) my daughter. My approach relies heavily on sparking passion and experiencing life in a practical form. If you’re interested you might see my other blog on homeschooling: www.scottthrasher.com.
Fly fishing has been a great class room and I’m lucky that the small fry shares in my passion for the outdoors.
So, I’d like to share a few photos of my little fishing and fly tying buddy and a video taken the other day at the tying bench.
Note: Thanks to www.365flyfish.com where I discovered this nifty little flipbook plugin.
I’ve followed these guys for a long time and have just about worn through my first Fishing Music CD. I was glad to get the second this past summer so that now I have twice as much music to tie to. If you haven’t heard them you should, they are must have CD’s. Check them out at: www.fishingmusic.com
Speaking of music… congratulations to my wife Emily who begins her run in the Las Vegas production of Phantom of the Opera at the Venetian Casino Resort today.
Thrashin’ Trout’s first fly tying demonstration video. The “Brassie” is a simple but classic fly which is a perfect start for the beginning tier.
About this time last year we took a weekend trip over to Yosemite and stayed in the town of Mammoth Lakes. The Mono Council for the Arts commissioned about 50 artists to paint these trout sculptures which were auctioned off for arts education in the schools. The project was called Trail of the Trout and being an artist and a fisherman I was all for it; however, it was my wife Emily who took the time to photograph every piece while I spent my time fishing Hot Creek. I’ve wanted to post these for a while and now that I have a place… here are just a few of the dozens that were all over town.
Olive Bead Head Midge Emerger
Hook: TMC 2487
Bead: Black Tungsten Bead
Body: 8/0 UNI – Olive
Rib: Silver Ultra Wire – Small
Under Wing: Crystal Flash
Wing Case: Foam
Collar: Ice Dub Peacock
Repost: This is a post from this past summer which I wanted to migrate here. Originally posted on Stories Along the Way – May 2009
Taking a slight departure from my standard haunt I’ve been fishing the Lower Madison lately.
The Madison is one of the most famous fly fishing destinations in the world and for good reason. It’s full of character, with more faces than Lon Chaney and stretching from Yellowstone National Park to its confluence with the Gallatin and the Jefferson to form the Missouri River. My lack of experience on the Lower stretch of this river is not for lack of want mind you; but I usually either have my daughter in tow or just side on ease and general laziness. However, recently my usual fare has been muddy and high and being alone I’ve enjoyed the opportunity to venture to parts un-fished in pursuit of bigger fish. That’s where the Madison comes in; a welcome departure and a perfect opportunity to broaden my repertoire.
I’ve fished it before a handful of times with minimal success so I figured it’s high time I familiarize myself better with the “50 mile riffle”.
The “Mother’s Day” Caddis hatch has been in full swing lately, with caddis as many as stars in the sky, so for four straight nights I had been fishing what I thought was a cleaver spot. A hidden away bend with difficult access which I was sure held all the hogs that everyone in their drift boats pass by. I have discovered over the years that what I often view as a cleaver spot is only clever to me and usually the spot there are no fish. Such was the case with my secret out of the way bend.
I probably should have realized this a day or two prior as I stood amongst a blanket of caddis that clung to me like I was a willow with no fish feeding, watching a couple of guys on the far bank land fish upon fish. I am apparently either a glutton for punishment or hopelessly hard headed because I continued my foolish pursuit each night to no avail.
Desperate and defeated I mentioned my dilemma to a local fly shop guy who nodded knowingly and seemed to laugh internally at my misfortune as if he had dealt with this sort of idiot before. “Yeah, that used to be a good spot but a couple of seasons ago the river really changed during the runoff.”
“Really?” I said, nonchalantly poking at a few flies in the case not wanting to seem too stupid or inept.
“Yeah, there used to be a great drop-off there where the fish would stack and feed but the high water cut away the upper bank and leveled it off, so now it’s all changed in below that rock.” He continued as if I knew what he was talking about and I scrambled to catch up, constantly searching for a nugget of useful information.
I figured I should say something intelligent but pretty much all that came out was, “Huh… How ‘bout that?”
Perhaps sensing that I was in need of a successful evening and a little guidance he finally divulged a useful tip. “You know… I like to fish that stretch across from there on the other side.”
Oh yeah, I thought. The stretch where I’ve seen a dozen other guys catch fish? I said nothing and opted to play dumb.
He elaborated. “Yeah just park at that boat access and cross the little creek… there’s a trail that will take you along the cliff face. On down from there you’ll find some great runs and some good rocky areas. It’s beautiful back in there.”
It sure is. I thought. I had a camera full of photos of it taken from the other “fishless” side of the river.
Grateful for the information, I bought something I didn’t need and that I would probably hear about later from my wife once she saw the bank statement. I find that I have a vast collection of useless gizmos purchased as courtesy tips for fishing information. I sometimes wonder if I’m the only one who falls for this ploy.
So, armed with local knowledge I headed off to the “other side”; hopeful that my luck would change.
Luck is a funny thing. It occurs to me now that occasionally luck, the drive to find big fish, and just enough knowledge to be dangerous can sometimes blend together in one glorious casserole of misfortune. However, misfortune never comes at you straight on and from a distance so you can prepare yourself. Instead it coils and strikes from beneath some rock.
I arrived at the boat access, parked, geared up and stood at the river’s edge posing dramatically to survey the biblical like swarm of caddis which appeared like a thick fog just above the surface. You never want to just rush in to fly fishing. You must center yourself properly, analyzing carefully the situation like a painter does his blank canvas. This sets the scene and generally makes you feel at one with the river and the fish that wait within.
Following the fly shop guys advice I eased into the river, crossed the stream and leisurely headed up the trail all the while examining insects and wind direction like some Apache Indian guide. Because of course, that’s part of the process.
The trail was well maintained but narrow and as it rose in elevation above the river it became steeper with one side dropping dramatically 100 feet to the river below and on the other side a crumbly rock face with rose up the mountain side. As I walked up the trail I peered down into the river below only to clearly see feeding trout in a series of pools and shallow runs. Naturally, the only logical thing to do was to find a way to reach those fish because who knows, they could be the only fish in the river. I decided that it wasn’t too steep and that if I dug my boots and wading staff into the crumbling sandstone rubble I might not plummet head over heels to my death. Even if I did… it was a beautiful evening and I would go out it dramatic fly fishing glory. So, down I went in hot pursuit. Luckily it wasn’t as difficult as I had imagined and making it to the bottom in one piece; I carefully placed an Elk Hair Caddis and landed a nice rainbow on the first cast. Satisfied and gloating over my fishing mastery I eased on to the next pool and proceed to pick up two more one after the other.
At this point I had caught three reasonably sized fish in less than a dozen cast and had all but forgot the past three days of frustration and the few times I had contemplated simply lying down in the river and drifting quietly downstream to the sweat release of a watery grave. Yet, now as I looked ahead I could see that my initial plan to remain in the river and work my way upstream was foiled because the cliff jetted sharply into the river and was now a shear face that ended in a deep boiling pool well over my head. With no way past I was forced to turn my attention to the crumbly slope back to the trail. Now skidding down is one thing; but going up is an all together different proposition and with wet wading boots, a bad right arm that I’ve been nursing and my new $1000 rod and reel, was not something I found inviting. But, with a feeding fish just out of reach on the opposite side of that cliff I saw no other choice. Putting my new Winston into my teeth I began to scale the cliff hand over hand until finally was able to drag myself wheezing back onto the trail.
From this new vantage point I could now see that the just out of reach feeding fish I had spotted was the fish I had been hunting. It was a big brown at least 22 inches, lying steady, munching caddis like Pringles in a perfect foam line trailing behind a boulder. Access should be no problem now as once past the cliff I could easily slip back down a gradual slope to make the perfect cast. The sun was setting and it would be the perfect finale to an evening adventure.
I paused on the trail to catch my breath, took a couple of photos from atop the cliff and watched a raft drift by full of scantily clad women; which is common this time of year on the Madison, and then forged on to the task at hand.
Taking only a few steps down the trail I heard a distinct sound that thinking on now, feel unsure I’ve actually ever personally witnessed; but instinctively knew precisely from which it came. Years of ballet training coming back to me as I leaped into the air and executed a Double Rond de jambe en l’air that would make Balanchine proud. I whipped around to see coiled and unhappy a Western Rattlesnake with mouth open wide only inches from where my foot had previously been. Hey, I’ll be honest. I was a little scared because in my haste to retreat I had wacked my rod tip onto the overhanging rocks and had to check to see if I had broken the tip. Luckily I hadn’t and could now turn my attention on the very disturbed and large snake that stood between me and the feeding 23 inch behemoth below.
While surveying the situation and placing a safe distance between me and the Mr. Snake I took a couple of pictures and a video that I’ll share at a later time. I could see that from my current position that there was no way around him and that if I was going to beat the sunset and catch that 24 inch fish he would need to move and that was all there was to it. To one side was a sheer cliff which dropped off into the deep river below and to the other was the steep rock face. I briefly considered that I could somehow hold him off with my wading staff as I passed but became greatly concerned that he might puncture my waders which I can’t afford to replace at this time. That plan seemed impractical and with leaking waders I wouldn’t be able to catch the 25 inch brown that I could still see feeding. After some careful thought and strategy I devised a feasible plan to safely remove the snake; a plan which would not only be safe for me and my waders; but for the snake as well. Because after all I’m a conservation minded angler who cherishes our valuable natural resources. So, with surgical accuracy and the advantage of higher intelligence and an opposable thumb, I pelted him with rocks. Not a particularly graceful solution I admit but at the time it seemed a plausible approach. The snake was unfazed by my barrage of pebbles. Unfazed, meaning he coiled, hissed and rattled with even more fever than before.
Finally, our 35 minute standoff apparently bored him and he slowly and defiantly slithered across the trail and down into the rocks below. By now of course the sun had almost completely dropped below the horizon and just as I arrived at the river’s edge that 26 inch brown had pushed his chair away, unbutton his trousers, shook his head and gave me only a belch.
Thinking back on it now I wonder if they weren’t in cahoots.
Over this past year I managed to catch the carp bug and found that there are actually some reasonably good opportunities here in southern Nevada.
Here are some photos of carp and strippers at Lake Meade. Unfortunately, it’s not so easy. These fish seem to like the safety of a boat dock where fishing isn’t allowed. But not far away, carp are to be found.
Just making sure I can get videos embedded so here’s the Drake clip. A fantastic video which makes me drool for New Zeland ever time I watch it. Will be tying mice… just in case.
Okay, well after about two weeks of tinkering with this site I think I finally have things pretty much ready to launch. So… welcome to Thrashin’ Trout; my fly fishing blog which I hope will become my venue for sharing all things fly fishing, fly tying and stories about my fishing experiences.
I imagine I will keep adjusting things as my vision becomes more focused so please feel free to comment on problems or if you have suggestions I am open to changes. Thanks for stopping by and look for more content in the near future.
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