Five inches of Snow.
The Hummingbirds will remain in Yellowstone after a spring snow. They eat the sap out of the holes that the Woodpeckers have created.
That is another time and place. I’d imagine that our hummers are gone
The Hummingbird Feeders hang forlornly in the Snow
Snow really builds up and attaches itself to felt-soled boots. We’ll see if the same is true for the Simm’s StreamTread sole.
The Boots camped out last night
I studied the weather maps and the forecast on Thursday night. I had misread Friday’s forecast for Royal, 30 degrees and snow. I did a double take.
I had thought that the cold front would not come through until Saturday. It was calm. And although it was chilly, I could walk out to my truck in my bare feet without wincing.
I refreshed the page and studied the forecast again. For whatever reason, I had misread the data. The forecast?
50 degrees, winds calm. Cold front moving in on Saturday.
I had resolved long ago that weather would not keep me from fishing. This was one day when it definitely wouldn’t. I hadn’t fished since July.
I put any thoughts of canceling out of my mind. I went to bed at 12:30.
###
I overslept my alarm by an hour. At six, I jumped out of bed and prepared. I was on the road by 7:00. I had just passed Fremont and had turned North on US275. I glanced at the thermometer on my mirror. 31(0).
###
Fishing was slow. I started with an indy rig with a big, rubber-legged, green Copper John in front of a couple of size 22 midge pupae. I didn’t see anything coming off the water, I did notice a few caddis hovering about, though.
I tried a few pools and finally seined the water to see what was working. Caddis were pupating. I adjusted the dropper and the action started.
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I’ve fished Verdigre Creek for over thirty years. I fish it year around. I can tell you that there are three or four days every year, usually in the spring and the fall, that are unreal.
Friday was one of those days.
For the next three hours, the action was non-stop. Cast after cast, trout after trout.
Verdigre 'Bow
Another Veridgre 'Bow
Yet another 'Bow
Rainbow on the Verdigre
This 'Bow liked a Red, Rubber-Legged Copper John
The caddis were busy, as were the midges, and the trout made haste to gorge themselves; perhaps they knew that the impending cold front would shut things down pretty quickly.
Caddis
At about three o’clock, the Blue Winged Olives started hatching. I had been fishing the brush hatch with a size 16 olive caddis after the action cooled down on the pupae. I added a size 22 Stubby Parachute BWO as a dropper and managed to raise a few fish.
Unfortunately, as I was walking back to one pool that I hadn’t fished in a while, I slipped into a hole, fell, and face-planted into a mud pool. There are no pictures. You’ll have to take my word for it.
As the light dimmed, I added a size 10 olive stimulator to act as an indicator with the caddis and the BWO as a dropper. The cold front was moving through, though. I could feel as I moved up Brown Alley. The action slowed. I started to make mistakes.
Drying my fly, I dropped a bottle of Top Ride into the stream and ending up chasing it a few yards before I stopped it.
I turned the corner in front of the Rearing Station. I hadn’t landed a fish in a couple of casts. I figured it was time to pack it in.
###
There are a couple of places that I consider Heaven on Earth. Deckers, CO and Mammoth Springs, CA come to mind. Verdigre Creek is a little slice of Heaven that I get to experience more often than the South Platte, The Upper Owens, or Hot Creek. I thought about that as the wind brushed my face, bringing the cold with it.
I heard two flocks of specklebelly geese riding the wind on their way to Texas or Louisiana. I called my son and reported my sighting. I took my waders off and started home. It was a good day on the Creek.
Lots of Turkeys at the Lake and at the Bridge
Friday Night Lights - From the Front Seat of the Truck
This economy sucks.
Several years ago, when the economy was fat, dumb, and sassy, the fishin’ was good.
Get your forty in and then take Friday off to go fishing. That was the norm. Four or five days off every month to drive to some new fishing spot? No problem. A vacation day every other Monday? Meh!
Not so today. When the going gets tough, employers get going.
About twenty people at my company got their papers in May.
The spectre of layoffs hovers over those of us who remain like Goldfinger’s laser threatening to slice James Bond into two.
Those of us who are left standing have to pull up the slack. We’ve gotta work. No more fishing websites at work. No more sneaking out at 2:00 to get some fishing in. Now, we’ve gotta put in the hours and produce.
Sometime along the line, though, it hit me that the decision on who stays and who goes will be based on arbitrary criteria that someone up the ladder deems important. The team will survive, the remaining members will have to pull up the slack and work harder.
I had succumbed to the desires of my employer over the last couple of months. I hadn’t fished since July. There was always some meeting, some product that had to be finished… I had just completed a two week effort to finish a product. Fourteen to twenty hours each day. My mind was numb, my body was tired.
No more excuses, time to fish. My employer be damned!