Back Again

I'm always looking for new places to fish. Sometimes that means heading to a new stream or lake and just trying it out to see what lives there. Other times that means talking with people to see if they'll let a hint drop on where they fish. Usually, people guard their best spots pretty aggressively but if you read between the lines sometimes you can get an idea of where to start looking. Then there are the places that you've been, you know it's supposed to be good, but you've yet to have a stellar day that could turn this occasional spot into a regular. That's the way the stream that I headed to the other day is. It's supposed to be good, but I've only ever caught fish from one little section of it and I've never had a banner day. 

I arrived and decided to walk down a little further than usual before starting to fish, hoping to expand on my successful area. Before deciding which fly to start with I flipped over a couple of rocks to find ridiculous amounts of midges that were very active. So, a couple of zebra midges in red and black went under an indicator and I started fishing the first hole. I played with the depth, starting shallow and working my way deeper but nothing seemed to want to play. Rather than panic and start changing flies, I decided to move up to the next spot to see if that would yield anything. Almost right away I was into a great fish for this size of stream and after a quick fight I had my first fish in hand.

I kept hoping that the midges I'd seen when I first arrived would soon be hatching and I could get some dry fly action but I didn't see any rises. The section above where I'd caught my first fish was pretty shallow, but I did finally manage a couple small fish. 

Then I was back in the water where I usually started, but fishing really didn't improve. The water being so low was definitely making things tough on me because of the nymph rig I was using, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while and I managed another fish. When I went to take the standard one handed picture I noticed the picturesque towering cliffs. It's kinda funny how we can get so focused on what we're doing we sometimes don't notice really cool things around us. 

After this hole I decided to jump back in the car and try a new spot. What I found was basically still water and not what I was hoping for. So, back to the car to head down river and try one more spot before heading for home. What I found was exactly what I was looking for: a meandering river with pools deep enough to hold fish. I thought for sure this would be the prime spot and tried everything I could to get into some. The fish had to be there, but they didn't seem too interested in what I had to offer. I did get into one more fish and decided that was a great way to end my day. Maybe that's how this place will become one of my regular spots, by giving me just enough success to lure me back again. 

Hope you're as lucky, 

Kidder

Video: Atley and Del's 2018 Muzzleloader hunt!

Here's a video we put together of Atley and Delvonie's Muzzleloader Deer and Elk hunt.

Favorite Hunt of the Year

I know that it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, but I still have posts to write from September! Expect a few in quick succession so I can get caught up.

Del and Atley both drew out for deer tags for the Utah Muzzle Loader hunt this year, and Atley had a cow elk tag! It's our families' favorite hunt and the one that we always try to make time for. My brother Jeff had a limited entry deer tag for a unit just to the south of where we usually hunt so my Dad, Weston and him were down there hunting before we could get away. Jeff's hunt was a success and they shot a nice buck before we arrived. Dad didn't want to move camp so we spent the first day with our trailer set up outside of our unit, making drives north into the south end of our unit and not where we usually hunt. Really beautiful place to camp!

The first evening we drove some roads that none of us had ever been on, seeing lots of deer but only one little buck. Del and Atley both said they didn't want to shoot a "baby" (Del's word), but with us not knowing the area it felt like we were just wandering around looking for a needle in a haystack. The next morning headed into an area that I had been only once before with high hopes. The area seemed more likely to hold to pronghorn antelope than deer and elk, but I knew that we'd gain some elevation and get into some great looking country. Just when the topography starting getting interesting we spotted a couple of elk. Atley was asleep in the back seat! A "Fire Drill" doesn't accurately describe trying to get out and set up before the elk ran off. Atley did manage to get a shot, but in his sleepy haze he decided to try for a 100 yard head shot. Probably not advisable, but at least it was a clean miss. Fully awake now, we only saw a few does, some pronghorn and a coyote for the rest of the morning. Atley was able to somewhat redeem himself on a grouse though.

Frustrated with the lack of buck deer and any encouraging leads, we picked up camp to move it to one of our regular spots. The move took all afternoon, but we were happy to get one of our favorite spots. Once camp was situated we headed out towards a spot that we had seen some bucks on the archery elk hunt (you can read about that hunt HERE). Del hated the rough road we decided to take for our evening hunt, complaining about it right before she spotted a deer off to her side and then spotted a buck with it. She told Atley to jump out and I told her to do the same, "It's on your side!" The deer looked like they were going to start working their way up the hill, so I had Atley walk up the road to see if he could get a shot. Right after that the buck gave Del a shot and she took it. 74 yards, open sights, head shot, buck down! Atley was a little bummed that he didn't get a shot, but he was also happy for his mom. 

Tagged out, Del took the opportunity to sleep in the next morning and enjoy being in camp with Caden. My Dad took the opportunity to ride with us and try to help Atley get another opportunity. We didn't see too many deer, but we did get to see some mountain goats which was a first for me! 

Dad and Atley were making fun of me for geeking out about the goats and for blowing an elk bugle every spot we stopped. So the next spot we stopped I made sure to grab my elk calls. Right away a bull responded, really close by. Atley and I worked our was towards it making sure to check the wind as we went. Somehow we wound up between that bull and another with the perfect wind. A little more calling and then we spotted a cow within range working it's way through the timber. Atley made sure to aim for the body this time and took the uphill shot. We reloaded and kept calling hoping to keep her and the herd close by. Grandpa joined us after hearing the shot and I was hopeful he'd get a chance to fill his cow tag too. The wind decided to swirl and the elk uphill of us took off so we moved up to the spot where the cow had last stood to look for blood. Atley felt the emotional roller coaster that is hunting when we didn't find any blood. 

The lowest of lows hit him hard as we recounted what had happened trying to figure out what our next move should be. He thought that he'd missed and we should give up. I was pretty confident that his shot had hit the cow, which made the situation with no blood to go on feel even worse because of the potential of a wounded animal that may not be recoverable. After giving her some time, we followed tracks scouring the ground for any sign of blood. The herd had been using this hillside as a bedding area, maybe for weeks, which meant the ground was covered in elk tracks making it very difficult to know which ones could be hers. My Dad had stayed where Atley had made his shot to ensure we didn't lose our starting point and it put him in a good spot if those downhill elk decided to join the party. The bull below him bugled and I returned the favor while still looking for Atley's cow and we heard some rustling not far from us. Atley snuck forward and spotted his cow unable to get up but still alert. He put another shot into her to end it quickly and Atley had his first elk!

I love how Atley has these awesome memories with his grandpa. Both his first deer (read about that HERE) and his first elk have been harvested while they were hunting together. Del's deer and Atley's elk meant lots of meat for the freezer and lots of good memories made. 

Hope you're as lucky,

Kidder

Opening of the Archery Elk Hunt

Opening morning dawned with much anticipation and confidence. This was the hunt that I was looking forward to, practicing for, and probably had the best chance of harvesting an animal. Some people probably would question that with the low success rates for archery hunts, but it's the longest hunt and allows you to get either a spike or a cow elk. The plan for this hunting season was to not only take pictures and write about our experiences but also try to make some videos. With that in mind Weston and I headed into the elk woods before light in hopes of finding the elk where we have in years past and maybe get lucky. The morning overlooking a clearing was beautiful, but devoid of elk. The lack of elk sign was also disconcerting, so we began our retreat before the heat of the day made our hike more miserable than it had to be. When we were working our way through the timber a group of elk came up from behind us. A cow call stopped them about 10 yards from where Weston and I stood. Their momentary hesitation gave us a chance to see that the first three in the group were a spike and two cows. Weston chose to parallel them down the trail while I elected to find an opening to the trail they had been on and wait to see what else came through. The camera was quickly forgotten at our feet.

Weston ended up coming to full draw on two cows only to have his potential shot blocked by some brush. He decided not to risk having his arrow deflected and resulting in a shot that he would regret. Electing instead to watch his only elk encounter for the archery season walk away. 

I found my opening and made a soft cow call, hoping to encourage the rest of the herd to keep on coming down the trail. As I drew my bow a bull stepped into the clear only 3 yards away from me! Unfortunately, I only had a spike or cow tag... As he spooked and turned uphill I saw a spike behind him but didn't have a shot. So close!

The rest of opening weekend was spent walking and not finding elk or any sign of elk. The next weekend we went with Dad on his antelope hunt (you read about that here and watch the video here).

I'm sure that Utah has good intentions, but most residents agree that their intentions seem to be more geared toward the limited entry hunters and the outfitters than towards the hunting majority. This year they decided to shorten the spike archery season, having it end just after Labor Day weekend, effectively taking the hunt completely out of the rut. Makes me want to try hunting out of state!

Hope you're as lucky,

Kidder

More Than The Fish or The Water

My boys and Del gave me a "Go-Pro" style camera for Father's Day this year and I decided to get out and try it sooner rather than later. The state of Utah seems to be on fire right now, so I had to be sure that I could still get to the water but luckily the road in question was still open. Listening to the MeatEater podcast makes for a short ride on these solo trips and soon I was there.

The cold water trickling down my leg had me thinking about a new pair of waders as I tried to figure out what the fish would be willing to take. Years ago, I used to wet wade this stream but the cold water made me glad that I had half a pair of waders for today. This is one of the first streams that I ever fished, when a single fish would've made for a great day. Our family would come camping to the reservoir above this stream and I would beg Dad to take me down the canyon. We caught plenty of fish from shore or out of our small boat at the reservoir, but fishing the stream was an early obsession. Back then we only fished one fly and would have to wait until late July for the stream to come down to fishable levels. Our long-term drought has changed that, so fishing in June is now possible even if the water was a little high and cold.

I brought my little fiberglass rod thinking that it would compliment these little browns perfectly, but I kinda forgot about the usual canyon breeze and how hard it would make casting. This stream can be tricky to wade even when the water is low, but with it just a little higher than normal I had a hard time navigating my way upstream and even a tougher time casting across stream when I couldn't wade over there. I didn't find very many willing fish to start, but a few came up to my Chubby Ant even if I couldn't find a consistent producer to use for a dropper. 

The Go-Pro didn't seem to want and cooperate. For much of the morning the SD Card wasn't reading, once I figured that out it wasn't long before the first battery died. I still have a lot to learn, but it could be fun to do more fishing videos without having to coerce Atley into being a cameraman. 

The fishing got better as the day wore on, but I headed for the truck a little earlier than usual to try and make up for the mistakes of the past trip (Read about that HERE). I try to make it to this stream at least once a year, but the fishing is only part of the equation. Memories of being with my Dad and learning how to fly fish are as much a part of this canyon as the the fish or the water in my mind. 

Hope you're as lucky,

Kidder

For The Birds?

I'd never been turkey hunting, but they seemed to be everywhere around my house all winter. So I ponied up the dough and bought an over-the-counter permit just too see them disappear before the season started. My brother Weston also got a tag so we headed to where we hunt deer and elk each year to see if this turkey hunting was for us. My Dad was in need of getting out, so he came and picked me and the boys up on a Friday afternoon with plans to meet up with Weston and his family later. 

Access to where the turkeys like to hang out in the Fall was limited by the Spring snow that met us surprisingly low on the hill. The good news was that there weren't many people out and about, but the bad news was that it didn't seem like there were many turkeys around either. We met up with Weston to set up camp and discuss our plans for the next morning, without any leads our first morning hunt was more about scouting out some flocks rather than really getting after them. 

I was surprised that Weston's plan involved riding in a separate truck with his wife and daughters while Dad, me, and my boys were in another. I guess that should've been obvious, but I couldn't see how we were going to have much success in a makeshift convoy. The snow had continued to melt through the night so we were able to get further up the hill than the night before, though it helped that Dad was pretty bold pushing his truck through more snow than he probably should have. Early morning a coyote was spotted a couple times, but no turkeys.

Mid-morning, just about the time we started thinking about turning around and re-evaluating our approach, Weston spotted a group of turkeys just off the side of the road. Not knowing what else to do, we went straight at them. Got to about 40 yards from the tom but wasn't sure about the shot (should've spent some time patterning my shotgun before the hunt...). When they headed down the ridge Wes and I tried to get out in front of them, but we only saw a lone hen after that. Other than a giant herd of cow elk, the rest of the morning was uneventful and left us feeling like we'd blown our opportunity.

After lunch and a nap we tried the low lands, hoping to see some birds in one of the fields and trying to intercept them as they moved to roost later, but all we saw were deer. Hundreds and hundreds of deer. As evening came on for real we headed up the hill and split up with Weston. The road that had been snow covered just the evening before was dry and we got to a good vantage point overlooking a draw that seemed to always have turkeys at other times of the year. I sat out and made some calls as the sun made its way below the horizon. As I walked the hill back up to the truck my Dad met me half way and said that he'd heard a gobble just down the ridge. The tom called back when I hit the box call, but too late to make a move. So we made a plan for the next morning. Weston wasn't too impressed with our idea when we got back to camp, but the millions of midges (about a size 10, really big) from the nearby lake may have put a damper on his enthusiasm. The bugs were everywhere driving his Wife and daughters crazy. I couldn't help but think about the evening rise that I had missed, but that's why I can't bring fishing gear on a hunting trip - way too distracting.

Weston said he wasn't interested in the morning plan, so we headed up the hill without him. Gobblers were sounding off from the other side of the steep draw and responding to our call which got me excited. I didn't think Dad would share my enthusiasm, but to my surprise he was up for the hike and we headed down the hill. The gobbles always seem to be a little further up the canyon as we would setup, call, hear them further on and move up to repeat the cycle. Probably should've had a bit more patience, but I just didn't seem to have it in me. At 9:00 the gobbles shut off completely, was it something I said?

Back to the truck for another ride, this time not having to push through snow we were able to drive to some of our regular haunts. Right when we were thinking all was lost a tom and hen crossed the road in front of us! Not sure where they slipped off to after that, but it was nice to have hope restored as our time started to run thin. Seems like turkeys like the roads up there as I spotted another one that crossed in front of us. I bailed out of the truck and found an angle that I could've gotten a shot from at 15 yards if it wouldn't have been a hen!

Since "road hunting" was turning up a few birds we decided to take one more road before heading for home. Another spotted turkey, another shot presented, but it was another hen!

Hope you're as lucky,

Kidder

Dropped

The day after Atley and I found the elk dead-head (read about that Here) the itch to catch some fish was working on me. So I headed South to not only seek out some fin, but also get back to some mountain lakes which I've been missing badly. Anyone who has ventured up a mountain with a fishing rod in hand knows the best things happen when you're up high.

It was to be a solo trip, Del offered to go with if we slept in and went somewhere close to home. Atley couldn't fight his way out from between his sheets, and Caden didn't even flinch when I tried to wake him in the morning. While en-route I called my Dad who I thought would be working just to find out he wasn't, and probably would've gone if I'd thought to invite him earlier. Time out fishing with my Dad doesn't seem to happen nearly as often as I'd like, so I was still kicking myself for missing that opportunity as I passed the first lake. 

My first stop was a small lake where Atley, Caden and I caught some nice tiger trout on a previous trip (See the video Here). That trip the fish were willing to come to a slowly worked bugger, so that's where I started even though I knew that rarely does it happen the same way twice. I worked the fly in close to the bank, then out into deeper water, trying to figure out what it would take today. After fishing all the easily accessible shoreline I decided to put my float tube on the small lake to better unravel some of it's mysteries. The float tube was a gift from Del and the boys for Father's Day....last year. The house building project had distracted me from taking it out, but I plan on breaking it in - thoroughly - this Summer. I figured this would be a great trip to start with and I was pretty excited as I pumped it up. It was once the boat was ready that I reached for my waders, only to find that I had forgotten them.

The deflating boat seemed to succinctly describe my mood as I returned it to the backseat of my truck. There will be other trips, most likely in the near future, but I was disappointed with the loss of an advantage I obviously needed. Instead of giving up I changed flies to a Tri-Colored Nymph (see how to tie the fly Here) and started working some of the harder to reach shoreline. Just when I was sure this approach wasn't going to work either, I missed a small fish that struck only a few feet from where I stood. He looked at the follow-up cast but only to memorize what had bit him, in order to never try and eat one again (I assume).

A cast to the deeper water required a creative roll cast (or two) but I got it out there and let it sink to a ten count. Once the fly came into view at the water color change a nice tiger appeared out of the void beneath a log and took the fly like it hated it. The fish fought like it was still hating the fly but I got it in the net after a few nice runs complete with a memorable tail-walk before sliding across the bow of my net. 

I worked that fly around the rest of the lake, but when it turned up only a couple of half-hearted strikes I decided it was time to move onto lake #2. This lake has been kind to me in the past, providing fast action for little cutts and tigers with a few notable exceptions. One of those "exceptions" was one of the best splake I've ever caught, both in terms of size and color (read about that trip Here).

Rising fish were waiting for me after my short hike, so I put on a family favorite Barber-Pole fly and started catching fish right away. Beautiful tiger trout that seemed to be a little bigger, and a little healthier, that the last time I was here. The fish seemed ridiculously eager to take my fly and it seemed like I caught or saw a fish on every other cast. I took pictures of some, but only the most impressive by size or color got the photo opp. Fishing slowed as the clouds rolled in and the temperature dropped. Fish were still rising, so it took me a few minutes to realize something had changed.

The rises were much more aggressive now, but more infrequent. So I thought maybe they were taking water boatman flies and I changed my rid to a dry dropper set-up. I like the dry-dropper in this situation because I can let the bottom fly (a Copper John because I didn't have any water boatmen in my box) sink and if that doesn't get a strike I'll retrieve in short strips which brings the nymph close to the surface and then I can pause again and let my bottom fly sink back down while keeping tabs on it to detect a strike. At least, that's what it looks like in my mind and as far as I can tell from shallow water tests. No one is as sure of themselves as a fisherman who's catching fish, no matter how little evidence he has to support his hypothesis.

My catching continued as I worked my way around the lake and across the boulders that make up much of the shoreline. Beautiful tigers and one little cutthroat all saw the bottom of my net. From the top of a large boulder where years before I had sat with Caden and caught cutthroat, I stood and caught an amazing looking little tiger. The pattern on him made his back look like leopard print and I wanted a picture. Worried that his time out of the water might be too much for him I tried to hurry with my phone. In my rush I dropped the phone, it bounced off the boulder and out into the water. The phone was surely ruined, but, after releasing the fish, I still took off my shoes and tried tried to wade in after it. The clouds in the sky made it hard to see into the water, but I thought I could just see the phone if I was on the right angle. The breeze that had come up with the clouds seemed to have a cold bite to it now that I was up to my thighs in the water. Once the shivering started I realized that letting the phone go and getting out of there was probably the smart move, no matter how mad the wife was going to be or how large the bill to replace it. 

On the drive home I thought about how much I wanted to return with someone that would appreciate the amazing fishing these lakes offer, and sense enough not to tell anyone about them. It would be a bonus if they could manage to take pictures without dropping the phone (or camera).

Hope you're as lucky,

Kidder

Drive-by Fishing

I went in to Sportsman's Warehouse for no other reason than to have a look-see and probably end up spending more than I should. Walking right back to the fly fishing section, I noticed an older gentleman there getting help from a store employee and overheard him ask a question about the fly line that he was holding. The employee stated, "I don't know" and walked off. I was so shocked that I may of stared a little bit. The older guy noticed and asked if I was a fly fisherman. I told him I was and helped him pick out a new fly line, backing and tapered leader. Wish I would've known a different store that I could've referred him to, but not being from the area I didn't know of any. After helping him, and listening to how he used to fish a lot while he lived in Wyoming, I picked out a couple things I needed and a couple things that were on sale. 

Every year I go to Southern Utah for the midwinter Utah Music Educator's Conference, and usually I take my fishing stuff so I can stop on the way back and fish for a few minutes. For some reason I've never had much success with this plan. Usually that's due to having to get back for some reason, or the streams not being in good shape, but none of that stood in my way this year. I stopped by a river that has given me some great times in the past, but one that I haven't fished much for the last couple of years. 

A couple of midges were coming off when I first arrived so I started with a nymph rig with a Zebra Midge. When that didn't provide any action, even after changing the length of my leader and adding weight, I tried about everything I had in my box. Only after putting on an egg pattern did I finally get a response from a confused looking little snub-nosed rainbow.

Working my way upstream was more difficult than usual because of the higher-than-normal flow. At one point this kept me from crossing the river and made me instead climb up and over some boulders that lined the bank. Well, I tried to climb up and over the boulders when my foot slipped out from under me and slammed my hand down on the boulder before falling backwards into the river. Not exactly the most graceful move I've ever made, and it messed up my hand a bit. Luckily, my rod & reel didn't suffer any damage and that made the icy cold water not seem quite as bad. Having my fill of high water, literally, I decided to check out another stream in the area to see if I could turn my luck around before heading home.

This stream is one that I need to spend some time at soon. But it's super low and cold right now which made for a pretty sight, but not the best fishing conditions. After a few pictures I headed for home with a plan to return in the near future.

Hope you're as lucky,

Kidder

Not Dead.

No, I’m not dead and I haven’t given up on this blog. I’ve just been busy building a house and moving. Although I’m not completely done (we haven’t gotten our internet hooked up and my fly-tying/rod building stuff is still in storage) we’re in the house and close enough to done for me to take a little time to update you on the goings-on even if I haven’t been fishing.

Yes, you read that right. I’ve gone from fishing about once a week to not fishing for a few months. I have been hunting a couple of times because, as I reminded my wife, “Hunting season comes but once a year.” The nice buck that I missed on the archery hunt was on my mind so I was really excited to head out during the black powder deer hunt with Atley. Atley  had his second deer tag and a cow elk tag to try and fill while I was still carrying my dedicated hunter deer tag. Our first morning out we came across a couple of cows that didn’t want to play in the fog. We walked a little further down the ridge then bailed off chasing some bugles. After calling a bit and raking a tree we watched a 5 point bull work his way to about 60 yards where he screamed at us and took his frustrations out on the vegetation for about 30 minutes. Another bull had come into the draw to see what the commotion was so we moved into position hoping we could get close to his cows (assuming he had any, the five point didn’t). The bull didn’t like us getting close and let us know by stomping up the draw to about 30 yards. He even had a spike tailing him, but no cows! 

Atley was freezing in the fog so we climbed back up the ridge and headed for the truck. We decided to head over towards where the bucks had been a few weeks before, but before we got there we spotted a buck and Atley jumped out of the truck. I got out too, just in case he needed some help, but I had barely said that it looked like a good buck when Atley made a great shot at about 70 yards with open sights and filled his tag. 

My Dad was shocked that we had gotten Atley his deer so quickly, and I think he was sorry he hadn’t been there for it so he decided to hunt with us the next day. The morning hunt had us chasing elk and trying to get Atley’s tag filled (especially since we weren’t sure if we’d be able to make another trip) but the elk preferred to stay down in the canyon where we just couldn’t go after them with little brother Caden. A few deer were spotted, but nothing that I wanted to hang my tag on.

That evening we decided to head back towards where Atley had gotten his buck, which was the same area where I’d seen some nice bucks on the archery hunt and a few elk too. Deja vu. We spotted a good buck on the way there and I bailed out of the truck. It was a nice enough buck to get me excited and I missed! Luckily the buck stopped to look back at us and gave me enough time to get a second shot and I took advantage of it. I kept my eye on the buck as it went about 20 yards before going down. I stood there making sure the buck didn’t get back up and was joined by Atley while my Dad made sure his truck was off the road enough. When we decided that we’d waited long enough we walked up on the buck. My best buck to date was waiting for us, a tall three point.

Caden and my Dad joined us up on the hill to help with the field dressing and I knew that we had been particularly lucky. Not only to find bucks that we were happy with (and that we could close the deal on) but also to spend time with family in the outdoors. 

Hope you’re as lucky,

Kidder

Sometimes

I've been focused so much on building our new house that I haven't been able to get out lately. This past weekend my Dad came down and we were going to try and get some concrete done. Unfortunately (fortunately?), we couldn't get any mud and decided to do what we could then take my Dad's fifth wheel trailer down to storage near where we hunt and get a little R & R while we were at it. Caden has been talking about going hunting for the past few weeks so he was really excited to come with.

Getting a late start on a Saturday usually isn't that big of a deal, so we took our time and got groceries and everything we thought we'd need. We headed out talking about what needed to happen at the house, the possibilities ahead of us and the challenges of being a teacher (both my Dad and I are teachers). My Dad casually remarked on how if he got 15 years out of his truck it would make retiring much easier. Not more than 15 minutes later we blew a hydraulic line and came to a stop in an awkward uphill spot. Trying to get off the busy highway didn't work out too well as the trailer threatened to smash into the bed of the truck because of the steep incline. There we were, sticking out into the highway and making the road dangerous for traffic traveling both directions. Luckily, some good samaritans stopped to help direct traffic as we hooked up a tow chain to try and get off the road. While we didn't get to a great spot, it was definitely more comfortable than the previous one and we were able to call a tow truck. 

The tow driver was a really nice guy that pulled the truck and trailer to a safe spot then took the truck to a mechanic in a nearby town. The mechanic wasn't going to be able to work on it until Tuesday, so we called my brother who borrowed another brother's truck to come and haul the trailer the rest of the way. Del and Atley brought us some dinner as we did the only thing we could think while we waited, pulled out the binos and glassed for deer. Once it got dark we somehow started playing 'Name that Tune' with movie and television soundtracks. 

When Brett arrived we hooked up the trailer and continued on. I drove with Del and the kids because she was too tired to drive back home. In the morning both kids elected to head back home with Mom rather than head up on the mountain with Grandpa, Uncle Brett and their Dad. (I don't blame them, the truck breaking down was pretty upsetting for Caden). 

We spotted some little bucks right off the bat and thought our luck was going to drastically improve, but it turned out that those were the only ones we'd see all morning. I did luck into seeing a 5 point bull elk, but as cool as it was it would've been nice to see an animal we were after. We decided to head down off the mountain and chase after some fish. Just his luck, Brett felt sick and spent the afternoon puking and sitting in the truck. I felt bad for him, but I couldn't miss this opportunity to fish after more than a month without casting a rod. It didn't take long for me to find some willing brownies as the afternoon slipped towards evening on a Bead-headed Hare's Ear and no doubt would've had some caddis action in the evening if I would've stuck it out. But we decided to head up hunting again. 

The evening started off much like the morning had gone, a couple of does but not much else. Then I spotted a nice buck just off the side of the road and slipped out of the truck. I ranged the buck at 60 yards and went through my shooting mantra (lock, level, loose) before letting the arrow fly. I must've missed with the range-finder because my arrow flew over the bucks back. Disappointed doesn't really describe the feeling but I wasn't going to give up that easily. I backed out and ran around to another opening I knew the bucks (he had a smaller 4 point with him) would probably be going through. There he was at 50 yards quartering away. Again I felt like I took my time and made a good shot, but he jumped the string and turned away from where my arrow passed. He decided to take his buddy and get out of dodge so I went in search of my arrows. The lowest of lows crept over me as I collected my arrows. The only comfort that I could find is that I hadn't hit the buck poorly, and that a clean miss meant that he was still out there. 

Glad we had a trailer...

A sleepless night followed with visions of the buck that seemed to grow while I laid there listening to Brett's snores. We were up early to get to where the bucks were the night before. I slipped out of the truck just before first light and took up a post where I could see some potential game trails. Cold crept over me in the gray light as I heard a bull elk bugle. Not much else broke the silence as I waited. Then I heard what I thought was antlers scraping a tree and went to investigate. After sneaking along for about 50 yards, I spotted a small spike buck that was trying to rid himself of his velvet on a small aspen. I was a little let down, but it was cool to get to about 10 yards of the buck before he noticed me. I kneeled down to get a better view and was thinking about taking a picture when I spotted a mature buck that had been hidden from my view only 5 yards behind him. They were both aware of me but didn't decide to run until I tried to pull my bow back for what would've been an easy shot. Just like that they ran and my hopes for the morning, and the weekend, were dashed. 

Even though the hunt wasn't successful, I was very grateful to be able to spend time with my family in a beautiful place and am excited to get back up there. 

Hope you're as lucky,

Kidder

Hog Hunting

It's been awhile since I last fished with Lane. It's funny how schedules work out sometimes, or in this case, how schedules don't work out so you stop trying. Lane invited me last week out of the blue but I couldn't make it. I had a hunch of what he was planning, so I made sure to give him a heads up when I could make it out this week. Turns out I missed an epic day where Lane caught his personal best cutthroat. 

It's always good to get together with Lane. He's a good guy that just happens to also be a music teacher and a really good fly fisherman. His style is different enough from my own that I always learn a ton whenever we fish together. 

When we arrived at the stream it was pretty obvious that the water level had dropped considerably, and we wondered if it would hold any good fish. Luckily, we spotted a couple of decent fish as we sized up the situation before getting out the rods. 

With the low, clear water the fish were a little spookier than we had hoped. Our best tactic was to take turns on visible fish while the off guy played spotter. I really enjoy sight fishing like this, especially because I get to see how someone else approaches different situations. I'm sure with the wrong people it could feel like a high pressure situation, but with a good friend it just makes it fun to laugh at each others mistakes, and cheer at our successes. The first of those successes came when Lane managed to hook and land a nice cutthroat.

My turn ended with a bigger fish breaking me off in some midstream sticks. After Lane did the same, I managed to land a smaller cutt, so at least the skunk was off. 

As we worked our way upstream we spotted fish here and there that we would cast our dry/dropper rigs to catching more than our fair share, and missing others. Lane was fun to watch as he worked some tricky tight quarter casts and managed to start finding some good rainbows. 

When we moved up near where we both knew that we'd be turning back for the truck, Lane hooked and landed a slob of a rainbow. It seemed that he had caught the fish of the day, and I couldn't have been happier. 

Some risers took our attention away for a little while, but we couldn't get them to touch anything. After changing rigs a few times looking for the magic dry I said screw it and put on a streamer. Didn't take long till I was into a fish. 

During Lane's turn a nice fish was feeding aggressively on dries, unfortunately for him his cast went a little long and got stuck on the opposite bank. He held his line up and out of the way while I lobbed my streamer under. To our surprise the fish ate! It happened to be a nicer fish than either of us thought and once it was hooked lane broke off and got ready to help me land him. The big bow tried to get to the under bank and when he couldn't manage that he ran down into the next pool. I hate when fish get below me because I always feel like I'm going to pull the fly out of their mouth. A quick move downstream by Lane made the fish stop and I was able to catch up and put some rod to him. Thanks to lane and some 4x I had the big rainbow in hand- best bow of the year so far.

We both had caught nice bows and the mosquitoes had taken their fair share of blood so we started back downstream towards the truck. Still looking for fish we spotted a decent one against the far bank in another hard to reach spot. Lane was up and the fish waited for him to basically throw the streamer into its mouth. Really fun to watch, but I wish the connection would've held. 

My turn, but we didn't spot another fish for a while. We stopped to try a spot that had a few fish in it earlier and as I was swinging  my bugger a couple fish false charged. I kept at it mixing up the retrieve, and when I swam it just right the big boy of the pool ate. Lane positioned himself at the bottom of the pool to cut off his escape through a spot I would've had trouble keeping up with him. So he turned and ran me up and down the pool a few times before I managed to get his head up and Lane got him in his small net. A great fish on my last cast of the day, a best of the year cutthroat.

Lane's turn was spent swinging a bugger through likely looking spots to no avail. He let his line drift under a bridge and was swimming his bugger back and forth when he got hit so hard it startled him. How a fish can hit like that and not get hooked is one of the great mysteries of fishing. Unfortunately, no amount of coaxing would get the fish to hit again and we called the day a success. 

Hope your as lucky,

Kidder