OnTheFlyWitHKy
Smolt
This past weekend I made the roughly two hour drive to a coastal oregon campground that I thought would be a nice, relaxing, and quiet get away for the long weekend.
I was mistaken.
I had not realized that this was a HUGE campground that was filled with families and rvs as far as the eye could see. Well my parents didn't raise no quitter so I set up camp on Friday night and settled in for my fate of hearing throngs of camping children screaming on the nearby playground.
Sure, the water and power hookups (on every site) were a nice touch, as were the developed shower and bathroom facilities, but this didn't feel much like camping. Still, with a well stocked lake nearby, and a float tube needing to be broken in, I was hardly going to stand on principle and instead opened a beer.
Saturday around 10 (I should have gotten an earlier start) led to me kicking my way down the eastern shoreline of the lake to fish some weed beds, some promising strikes but I missed! This would be a common theme of the weekend.
That night I fished the convenient dock near the Northside of the lake again some strikes, but nothing to the hand. What really was intriguing was the crusing 24" stocked "steelhead leftover." I noticed a couple of these bruisers cruising the shallows swimming near enough to the surface that I could sight fish to them. I'd drop my favorite search patter in front, they'd make a b-line straight to it, then snootily refuse my offering. How rude.
Sunday morning I woke up as early as reasonable and made my way to the dock, intent on getting a bite from these large fish. With my 5wt in tow and stood of the dock for a few hours watching for these cruising behemoths and attempting to pique their interest. No such luck this morning, but I did land a fine little perch to avoid a good skunking for the day. A switch a to a hopper dropper rig with a bh prince yielded a strong strike from a hatchery trout, but a poorly checked clinch knot yielded nothing, but disappointment and a curly bit of tippet end.
The final morning, I had spent the evening thinking about how to elicit a strike from the large salmonids that had been skulking in the shallows. I decided that a dry dropper technique was the right course of action. I woke up and was on the water with the sunrise (and the mosquitos) after a couple of hours, and another fine little perch, the beast had shown itself again. Half heartedly chasing a streamer stripped towards the dock, he slid stealthily back to the depths underneath. I waited until he began his patrol. I saw him off one corner of the dock and with my hopper dropper tied on, using 6x tippet for the dropper flashback prince, I made my approach. I successfully landed the flies just a few feet in front of him. He moved towards them, and then I saw it: he opened his mouth, and took the nymph. I set the hook, then the fight was on. I felt the weight of the fish as I held the tension on him, he walked me to the opposite end of the dock, and set himself towards the bottom. I started to lift and that's when it happened, he made a crazed and desperate sprint for the open water and my 6x tippet gave out.
My hands still shaking from the visual of him eating that nymph. I pulled my line in and watched that trophy trout swim away, my mouth slackjawed like a hungry bass in the weeds.
All in all, a fun weekend camping on the coast. Photo of my camp attached!
I was mistaken.
I had not realized that this was a HUGE campground that was filled with families and rvs as far as the eye could see. Well my parents didn't raise no quitter so I set up camp on Friday night and settled in for my fate of hearing throngs of camping children screaming on the nearby playground.
Sure, the water and power hookups (on every site) were a nice touch, as were the developed shower and bathroom facilities, but this didn't feel much like camping. Still, with a well stocked lake nearby, and a float tube needing to be broken in, I was hardly going to stand on principle and instead opened a beer.
Saturday around 10 (I should have gotten an earlier start) led to me kicking my way down the eastern shoreline of the lake to fish some weed beds, some promising strikes but I missed! This would be a common theme of the weekend.
That night I fished the convenient dock near the Northside of the lake again some strikes, but nothing to the hand. What really was intriguing was the crusing 24" stocked "steelhead leftover." I noticed a couple of these bruisers cruising the shallows swimming near enough to the surface that I could sight fish to them. I'd drop my favorite search patter in front, they'd make a b-line straight to it, then snootily refuse my offering. How rude.
Sunday morning I woke up as early as reasonable and made my way to the dock, intent on getting a bite from these large fish. With my 5wt in tow and stood of the dock for a few hours watching for these cruising behemoths and attempting to pique their interest. No such luck this morning, but I did land a fine little perch to avoid a good skunking for the day. A switch a to a hopper dropper rig with a bh prince yielded a strong strike from a hatchery trout, but a poorly checked clinch knot yielded nothing, but disappointment and a curly bit of tippet end.
The final morning, I had spent the evening thinking about how to elicit a strike from the large salmonids that had been skulking in the shallows. I decided that a dry dropper technique was the right course of action. I woke up and was on the water with the sunrise (and the mosquitos) after a couple of hours, and another fine little perch, the beast had shown itself again. Half heartedly chasing a streamer stripped towards the dock, he slid stealthily back to the depths underneath. I waited until he began his patrol. I saw him off one corner of the dock and with my hopper dropper tied on, using 6x tippet for the dropper flashback prince, I made my approach. I successfully landed the flies just a few feet in front of him. He moved towards them, and then I saw it: he opened his mouth, and took the nymph. I set the hook, then the fight was on. I felt the weight of the fish as I held the tension on him, he walked me to the opposite end of the dock, and set himself towards the bottom. I started to lift and that's when it happened, he made a crazed and desperate sprint for the open water and my 6x tippet gave out.
My hands still shaking from the visual of him eating that nymph. I pulled my line in and watched that trophy trout swim away, my mouth slackjawed like a hungry bass in the weeds.
All in all, a fun weekend camping on the coast. Photo of my camp attached!
!
