Now Flip🥺

I didn't know him personally, but millions of us knew him through his television, narration, writing, and presence throughout the fly fishing world.  Walker's Cay Chronicles is still the best fly fishing show ever on television.  It captured the essence of the sport, and drew me and countless others to fish the salt.  I hate losing all these greats, but each one reconfirms the lesson. Live every day, don't waste a breath.  It's finite.  

My Mentor. My Teacher.

I admired you, listened to everything you said, and learned so much from you. You set the foundation for my fly tying life.  I'll never forget you, your smile, you're demonstrations, your laughter, your guidance, your stories, and the best damn fly tying advice on the planet.  

He's best fly tier I ever watched.  Saturday mornings at the old Western Angler.  The man behind the counter every time I walked in, along with Gierach.  Gierach spoke about all things fishing and outdoors. A.K. spoke mostly about flies, dry flies.  The tools, the materials, and what you're supposed to do with them.  He's responsible for the HMH vise I still clamp hooks in today, the shoe box full of Metz necks I still pull feathers from, the Wiss clips I still clip materials with, and the Thompson Ice scissors that cut anything as well today as they did in 1980.  There are rods, reels, and accessories all purchased under his tutelage.

I still hear his quotes every time I tie a fly, even if I have finally succumbed to using a whip finishing tool instead of "the best whip finisher there is." (Middle and index fingers.) On wrapping hackle, "Don't worry about it, just wrap the damn thing and it'll be fine." "How many turns in a whip finish? As many as it takes to cover your mistakes."  His books chronicle his Gospel wisdom. He was my father of fly tying, always providing the right answer for every question and every problem. He was assertive but not pushy.  Authoritative and funny at the same time.  Always to the point, never ambiguous.  It was his Henry's Fork stories that got me packing to go there for the first time.  "Bug factory.  You cast downstream on the Henry's Fork."

At the vise he was buttery smooth and made it look so easy. Every wrap and cut was like watching a magician.  He'd make everyone smile and shake their heads in amazement.  Just wow.  He was the great influencer that shaped my life of fly tying.  First John, now A.K.  Both unforgettable.  I got to thank A.K. later in time at a trade show, but I wish I could have thanked him one more time more recently.  The fly tying world has a hole in it today. 

Home Water

The holiday weekend is over, so might as well!  Forty-five minutes away.  It's late July, and as I descend down to the parking lot at 7:30, there's one, count 'em 1, lone other car in the lot.  The trail up river is empty, and I pass the other angler half way to my destination knowing I have the whole river to myself.  The boat ramp is 6 1/2 miles up river, crowded with guides followed by splash and giggle rafts that won't reach me until I'm done. There's a riser or two as I walk up, but I never see any bugs.  Nearly all the fish I target eat one fly or another. 

She's fully green

Forest fire smoke really blocked the sun for the first half of the morning.

This pool is always full of trout and a few risers.

Sometimes.  Should have went to it earlier.

Some other times, and some long-follow refusals.  The fish here love to nose bigger flies for several feet of drift.

And a few on this fly that originated right here, so they say.

They're skinnier than their Beaverhead Valley cousins.  This is a less-fertile tailwater.

It became sunny and bright late morning.

Simply The Best

It "fishes" every day, but never the same.  A change of scenery is always available.  Create your own challenges.  Walk a couple miles, or a couple hundred feet.  Fish the tailrace, or 20 miles downriver.  Slow flats, quick riffles, or anything in between.  So many options, so many insects, so many weeds, and so many big rising trout.  

Trico clouds. Summer, sunny morning scenery

They cover the water.

The whole river, bank to bank.

Weed season.  More as you go downstream.

River right always has more weeds than river left, even when there's no wind.  Not sure why.

More weeds.  There's more in the evening than in the morning.  So fish downstream early, and closer to the dam late.

Most of the big fish are eating PMD spinners. The jacked up No Hackle is a good one.

This works all day.  Hell, all season.

This has been the standout in several ways. First, the fish eat it all day. Second, it stands out on the water amongst all the other bugs and weeds floating down.  It also casts and lands better in the wind than most flies. It's easier to punch to a perfect landing. I've neglected it this trip, but that brief stop on the Madison reminded me of it again, and now it's the go-to in the stretch run.

Yes, we have calibaetis on the Missouri.  I haven't seen a fish eat one yet, but this one paid me a visit.

Some perfect warm cloudy days.

It was once asked, "how much backing you got on that thing?" I found out here. I have just enough to stretch from the top of this riffle to the white rock on the bank in the background. Near as I could guess, judging by the length of the fly line and a little math, I've got about 150 feet of backing!  I did wade down and meet the fish halfway to get the hook out.

The magical junction pool early afternoon and still glass calm.

There were damsels flying everywhere on sunny afternoons.  I used to fish these things daily in the summer back when I came on vacation and lived in the back of my truck.  I'd park in the afternoon shade of the now-gone lone tree to minimize the oven effect.  I probably tied this one with the vise clamped on the steering wheel sometime in the late 80s or early 90s.  

And this giant Mister Missouri River steelhead said yes to the damsel at the junction pool!

Cloudy days.

Sunny days.

Sunsets at Phd.

Brilliant in either direction 

The "spring creek" known as Sterling channel.  The current slows, the river narrows, and the spookiness factor increases.  It's more Phd than Phd Island, one of the most techy stretches on the river. 

Looking down towards Craig.

The inside of this riffle held a little pod of fish this morning.  I got below and pulled a couple before they went down. Inside the riffle was far less weedy than the main push on the outside too.

The fish move around like on Annie's at Depuys.  You have to see 'em and get the fly there quick, but still stealthy.  It's a good high water channel. At this flow I can walk up and down easily.

First island below camp.  I can wade to it at this flow.

It has a great seat on the downstream end to watch all the trout.

The islands below the money bridge.

Don't worry, still plenty of weeds!

A cool, if not cold, drizzly morning fish.  There were no bugs this morning.  All day.  I found this one rising to something once every minute or two and got lucky.  Only had a couple other eats all day. Guess she was grateful for anything.

This channel has very few weeds, very few bugs, and no weekend splash and giggles.  Some tank fish barely sip on the edges of the rifle.  They are visible from 25 feet away or closer, but not from 45.  Ya really gotta look hard. The water is textured with a bubble line.  Get below 'em and lay it in there, correctly, until they eat it.

High hopes for one of my favorite spots the morning after the rain. It worked, but wasn't magic like last week.

Haven't fished this much, but the 18 got a tiny bit of interest.

Don't forget the black Sharpie to turn those white wings into a visible black against the light glare.

This one was only because I could see the black wing.

This one is special. One of the fish of the trip for sure. The arrogant bastard rises in my face for almost 2 hours while I flail away at him. I throw every PMD spinner I've caught a fish with this trip on my standard 4X tippet to no avail. Not even a refusal. I leave him once for another fish that I don't catch, but come back to him and get schooled all over again. I finally back off, cut off my tippet, and add 10 ft of 5x and the magic little hackle spinner. About 10 casts later he eats it. I land him 130 ft down, at the top of build-a-cabin Island. How appropriate. Sometimes all it takes is one, and I almost left him, defeated. This fish also sets off a chain of eats that continue through early afternoon at the junction of the barbed wire side channel.

A few kept doing it here all morning.

Look what they did to me!  The last afternoon prior to the last morning.

As weedy as it gets.

Unfishable weedy this evening.  Windy too.

It's a miracle there's any trout left in this river. These bastards are at the bottom of every island from top to bottom. I know they are part of the ecosystem and all that malarkey, but they have never, ever, been as thick as they are in recent years. I'm not worried about global warming, but there needs to be a pelican season, like maybe all year. People are worried about barbed hooks, fish handling, and warm water, but these son of a bitches eat bunches of trout every single day.  Not to mention there are no rising fish anywhere near them, where they sit and consume at the bottom of every good run.  There, there's my waterfowl rant for the week.  

Last morning trico dance, but it's not as good as it looks.

These last mornings always feel different, including this one. I try to soak it all in walking up The trail, reflecting over the last 6 weeks before heading south this afternoon. It's sunny and calm, the weeds are down from the bump, and the tricos are dancing.  The fish never really get on them. There's a late morning PMD hatch that brings up a couple, but it never really happens.

The best day of the eight was the first cloudy morning, after the rainy day. The slowest day was the cloudy morning after all the partly sunny days. Go figure. The density of the trico hatch seems directly proportional to the intensity of the sunshine and heat of the morning.  Pmds are waning, but they sure were thick that first night/morning, and they're still what the trout are looking for.

Eight days and nights, and I've fished about every access from the dam to Stickney. Bull Pasture, Phd Island, Wolf Cr. Bridge, CA Island, Barb Wire, Lone Tree, Sterling Channel, Ladders, and the Money Bridge. So I missed a few like no name bend, the shooting range, and the dam road, but not many.

This River has it all and does it all. There's always a spot to minimize the crowds, the weeds, and the wind when needed. I keep coming back, and hopefully always will. The Henry's Fork is still my favorite, for its location, atmosphere, camaraderie, tradition, and it's wonderful large rainbows. But the Missouri, the mighty MO, is the best dry fly river there is.

Last fish. Last cast.  On the tricky side of Lone Tree.  It took a while, but as I've said, there's always one somewhere.

On the little mole, up close.