I had caught several fish already. Fishing was good. A size 16 pheasant tail with a zebra midge dropper. Most of the takes were on the midge. It renewed my confidence in this confidence fly, and in the idea that my fly mattered far less than the rest of it. My casts were landing softly. My drifts were sliding smoothly. The fly line flowed evenly with the indicator and my hooksets were effective. It all felt right. I was in the groove.
Carp fishing and permit fishing are extremely similar. If you had told me this before speaking with Justin, I would never have believed you. After talking with him, I am convinced. Of course it is not exactly the same, but if your living far from the ocean, chasing carp may scratch the itch. Justin's enthusiasm is contagious and this episode is one of the deepest dives we have had on the Wadeoutthere Podcast into all the intricate details that can bring success while fly fishing for any species.
Podcast
Podcast 66 | Southeast Wyoming, Fishing with Family and Winter Tips with Phillip Chamberlain.
My journey to home waters has left me staring cold, difficult winter fly fishing in the face and it makes perfect sense. It seems the things in my life that have brought the greatest joy, reveal themselves on the backside of the greatest struggles. Our move to Utah was not easy. Now that we have finally unpacked, cleaned, re-modeled and settled into our new home, I have the opportunity to fish trout streams more often and attempt to answer the question: what makes winter fly fishing special?
We were teenagers when we found the fly rods in the lodge at the bottom of the hill next to the Stillwater River. The lodge sat across from the small trapper’s cabin. Both remnants of generations gone, when the ranch we worked as children, brought men on horseback, hunting elk into the Beartooth Mountains. The lodge held the treasures of that time. Looking through the drab green packs and canvas tents and dusty boxes we found a tin fly box that brought life to the rods. In it were the large, fluffy, feathered flies that became all we had, so they were all we fished.
Fly fishing can be fun no matter where our lives, or even our day-to-day takes us. For most of my life, I viewed fly fishing as fishing for trout, in the Rocky Mountains, and in a river. Probably with a dry fly. It was all I knew. In hindsight, I had many opportunities to keep fly fishing a part of my life if I would have just been willing to explore other species, waters, and aspects of the sport.
We all go to the river for different reasons, but there is a solitude we all seek from fly fishing. In some way, at some time that solitude haunts us. Through the patterns of wading alone in the natural world we come to know ourselves. That experience is a treasure. Shall we give up on it because of pressured waters? Or will we keep walking?
There is something about the doing of it that makes fly fishing special. About going deeper into a world and connecting with something special at a basic, visceral level. When I look at the mountain, I see it from a distance. I know the river flows below beneath it, and that trout sway in its currents and seams. I know it, just as I know that fish swim in the sea. When I gaze at the beauty in the waves and colors and sounds of the ocean I see it as I see the mountains and rivers and forests. Out there.
Getting to know the river is important for finding your own spots that you know will produce fish. Even if it is a short stop at the stream, every little bit of time on the water counts. If you are fortunate enough to live close to a trout stream, but short on time, stopping to wet a line even for fifteen to thirty minutes can add up and help build experience.