On The Water

I often wonder why the Blue River does not get more coverage in online and with fly lines, but it has ups and downs just like anywhere else. It may be the general conditioning necessary just to get to the top of the CNR area, or any other laundry list of small deficiencies sometimes knotted to the Blue. The most extensive coverage I did of the Blue back in 2008 may have lead to a bit of extra traffic there, as there were much greater visible signs of wear than anytime since then. Except for the hike, it really is a user friendly place to the point I call it a water park. One of the reasons I waited to revisit the Blue River is so this report can perhaps fade into the late season woodwork, and quickly be overcome by what is shaping up to be the spring of all springs.

The falls had more water running over than last year, and it was a bit cloudy from recent rains. Still, the whole place is highly navigable to the point that waist high waders can be more than enough. Hiking in is much easier if you stow stuff in a day pack and just backpack that in to the area. It’s far enough in that if you are thinking about walking out for lunch at the car, it could be a day breaker. Bring the kitchen sink, plan on a full day, and bail when your body says bail. It only took a minute to realize I left my main box of streamers behind, so starting the day with woollys would depend on scrounging a few from the guys. Thank goodness there were enough to share.

I worked the depths of the upper pools and realized the added water was keeping the buggers shallower than in past, but without my box I was going to have to work a bit harder. The guys moved over to another fall on the same level, and we spent the first hour with the whole area to ourselves. A couple of more guys showed up, one sliding into the water on the same level as us (no matter plenty of room), and another further down the southwest run. And we fished on into the noon hour with nothing showing for our efforts. I switched over to double droppers, weighted a bit and indicator. Still nothing. I silently wondered if it would be just another bloodless Sunday.

The cloud cover firmed up to a consistent grey day, the water seemed to start clearing a bit and a north breeze came down the line dropping early afternoon temperatures another five degrees, nothing like last year’s report; 17 degrees not including wind chill and frozen guides. Back to the woolly buggers and longer drifts to the back of the pools, slower drifts and longer strips, and finally on with the first fish of the day. It was a nice 18 inch rainbow, surfaced, took drag and used the current wisely to give my TFO four weight the first fish it had ever felt. I hoped the short rod would give me a better chance than the TFO two weight at landing these slabs in a fairer way, and it performed just as I had hoped – a fair negotiation to net, and released.

I was really beginning to miss some of those crawfish colored woollys I had tied, in different variations. They would have been the bomb … maybe. After lunch, we explored a bit more and ended up back where we started. The fish were few today, and far in between, so we decided to drop down and hit some of the lower pools. Finally, using the same kind of woolly dredging “technique” we were able to get into a few more very nice rainbows.

An all day affair was topped by a drive through at the Dairy Queen at Tishomingo. Tishomingo is one of those towns you will want to drive through slow, if not to stare at the unusual business fronts, then to at least check out the strange murals. Both of the teenage girls working at the DQ drive through, a window in a wall, had somewhere else they wanted to be on this late Sunday afternoon – church maybe. They missed a burger, not me, and after waiting fifteen minutes at the window, they only took about five more to extend a hand with a burger – not a Hunger Buster, not a Belt Buster – just a burger. Earlier, when talking to the teens, we asked if they had Belt Busters and they looked at us like we were from another dimension. Explaining would have been futile.

It was a weary but quick ride home, and the fish rested, and they swam in their prairie ocean pools not knowing tomorrow was kill day.

 

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–“The Prairie Ocean” as it relates to fly fishing the Blue River in Oklahoma, is borrowed from a blog title “Drifting The Prairie Ocean”, a blog by friend and guide Barry Shrader.–

As I was gathering up all my gear for a quick trip up to the Blue River, it struck me again; fishing for freshwater trout is infinitely more complex than any other fly fishing out there. Sure, we can argue about it, but even stockers can get picky somedays. For whatever reason Sunday was one of those days, but nobody told me there would be days like these. Strange days indeed.

My ride pulled up on time, we loaded my bags in the back of the sleek SUV, and I slid in, and almost across, the back seat along fine grey leather seats. Somehow, I don’t think Gierach would be proud of, or comfortable in this ride, but plush it was. I had to wedge my feet just to keep from sliding around and the driver was not being impractical at all, even leaving the baby seat across from me – I guess to have something to hold on to. I thought of Ricardo Montalban talking about “fine corinthian leather” in those old Chrysler advertisements.

We made our way north on I35 to Oklahoma, and then east on 70, with a final destination of the Blue River. It wasn’t bass early, or carp late, but it was the last day for the catch-and-release (CNR) area before the catch-and-killers are allowed in to mercifully cut short stocked rainbow trout suffering from rising water temperatures, and brain boil. They truly are mercy killers.

The fish in the CNR area are usually notorious for being big and slabby with an attitude to match. It’s almost as if they get caught enough times to know they will be released, but most of them develop attitude problems from the constant sticking. Even though their tails are worn tragically, and the big ones are much worse for the wear, they can fight a four weight into a rainbow shaped arc and peel drag within the confines of small to medium pools of green and jade water.

I found myself trying some new writing habits, getting down a few notes along the way, especially when timely topics rolled from the front seats and round back to me. We were all over the conversational map – from music; a bit of Janes Addiction, to high school cars and sexy Avatars.

In the music realm, we agreed there is still something about Jane’s Addiction. Even though we were in one fine ride, the driver copped to owning an El Camino in high school and spent all summer helping a friend install a flat wood planked bed – on a U Haul truck the friend had purchased – stained and varnished. Imagine a U Haul with the box replaced by a huge wood flatbed … not exactly a chick magnet. Would I drive it today? You bet. We unanimously agreed there is something a little interesting about twelve foot tall blue chicks with long electric tails.

TOMORROW – On The Water