Fishing the Prairie Ocean – On the Blue River

| March 4, 2010

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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Category: Culture on the Skids, Fishing Reports, Oklahoma Report

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I write. I photograph. I fish, and I live.

Comments (2)

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  1. shannon says:

    Well, lets go get some. I had no idea we were catching some “rare” bass if there really is such a thing. I can put you on them mr. guideman.

  2. Joel says:

    Yeah, yeah, yeah – where’s the spotted bass photo!?!?!?!?