An Escape to Iowa.......Winter Fly Fishing in the Driftless

Iowa trout stream in January

It's hard to believe I was enjoying a calm 30-degree day on the water exactly one week ago.  Sure, my guides froze, but I was able to get in at least a dozen casts before I had to chip away the ice.  Sure, my feet got a bit cold at times, but it was nothing a brisk walk upstream didn't cure.  After the below zero temps we've been experiencing this past week in the Midwest, I imagine it would be difficult to find much open water or rising trout these days.  It makes me very thankful that I was able to enjoy a beautiful winter day on a nice Driftless stream at the start of the new year.  The midges were hatching and the trout were rising in every run.  Though the ice was thick in spots, there was enough open water to fill the day.  I was hoping for a little dry fly fishing on this trip but didn't expected to do it exclusively.  I ended up casting to rising trout with tiny midges all day long:)

 

Scouting Water and Sleeping Babies

Spring has been making brief appearances in Southern Wisconsin this past week.  There's been a lot of melting going on and the sun has been shining.  It makes a person want to shake out the cobwebs and find any reason possible to get outside and feel the warm-ish breeze and listen to the birds sing.

This past winter was rough.  I normally really enjoy the snow and sometimes lament the loss of it this time of year......but not this season.  With the prolonged frigid temperatures that never seemed to let up, it was difficult to enjoy time outdoors.  Even when my husband offered to watch our son for a few hours, I didn't feel like hitting the cross country ski trails with -30 degree wind chills. My son was born in October, and I think I can count on two hands the number of times we've spent any amount of time outside besides rushing to and from the warmth of the car. So to say I have cabin fever is an understatement, and I think my son is feeling it too.

 

On one of these inspiring days when spring started to peek through the curtains of winter, I found myself driving with a sleeping baby in the backseat.  Instead of heading straight home, I took a detour to scout some trout streams near my hometown.  I've spent so much time driving into the western portion of the Driftless Area, that I've rarely fished the streams in my own backyard.  With a baby at home now, my time is a little more valuable and I don't want to be wasting 90-minutes driving to a particular stream when I could be rigged up and fishing within ten minutes of leaving my house. 

On this particular drive, I "discovered" a class II trout stream that is exactly 8-minutes from my driveway.  It wasn't very big, but the water was clear and I could see several nice runs and undercut banks from one of the bridge accesses.  After looking up the stream later on the DNR website, there's apparently 10 miles of stream to cover, which means I won't be lacking for water this season even if I stay close to home.  I had spent so much time fishing water a couple counties to the west that I never realized how much good trout water is much closer to home.  It's exciting to know I can likely spend this entire season exploring streams within a 10 mile radius from my house without getting bored.

After my son woke up, I ended the scouting mission and turned towards home, but I couldn't get the image of the perfect bubble line out of my head.  Luckily, my in-laws were visiting for the afternoon and were more than willing to babysit, so I quickly threw my gear into the car and returned to the stream.
 

I only had an hour, which led to me feeling rushed, which led to me hooking everything possible except a fish;)  It didn't help that, despite the sunshine, the air temperature was still low enough to freeze up the guides and the water was probably still pretty cold due to recent melting.  As every fly fisherman has said at least once, "It was just nice to get out."  Though I didn't kick up any fish on this particular stretch, I'm sure they're in there somewhere.  I'll certainly be heading back soon to do some more exploring.

 

Fly Fishing for Two

With the Wisconsin inland trout season coming to a close soon and my due date less than three weeks away, I figured I needed to squeeze in a few hours of fly fishing before I lost the chance.  I decided to stay close to home, so I chose a well known stream just ten minutes from my front door.  I haven't spent much time fishing my local waters--I'm on more familiar ground with streams an hour away--so I was looking forward to exploring a new stretch of water that was so conveniently located.


The first point of concern was whether my waders would still fit.  It had been a couple months since I'd last worn them, so I had no idea whether they were going to fit over my belly or not.  As luck would have it, I had about an inch to spare.

After gearing up, I headed down the well worn path from the parking area into the trees.  Normally very nimble and sure-footed, I found myself being extra careful on the steep parts of the trail.  My extra weight out front has apparently affected my balance a bit. Once out of the trees, I entered a meadow of grass reaching above my head.  I silently thanked the previous fishermen who had laid out a maze of trampled paths for me to follow.

Once I reached the water, I followed it downstream a ways so I could fish up. There wasn't much going on in terms of hatches or risers, but on the first cast a little guy made a splashy take at my Pass Lake dropper as soon as it hit the water.  I assumed that was a sign of good things to come.  I continued fishing upstream and had a lot of quick takes on the dropper as it floated along the undercut banks.

As the sun got higher, my stamina got lower.  I could feel my energy waning fast, so after only an hour on the water, I headed back to the parking lot.  It was hard to abandon the runs I saw ahead of me, but I didn't want to test the baby's patience.  Temporarily gone are the days of being able to fish for an entire day without even stopping to eat, but I'm glad I made it out to explore some new water.



As it turned out, I managed to get out one more time before the season closed.  A couple friends were heading to the Driftless for an afternoon and invited me along.  We ended up fishing the same stretch of water we ended the 2012 season on.  It was a similar sort of day, too, with the sun shining, a cool breeze blowing, and the leaves beginning to change color.

There were lots of risers around, and although more fish were missed than caught, enough of them took my flies to make the trip a successful end to the season.

One season is now closed, but a different one is about to begin for me.  I've enjoyed my independence for a long time; I've been able to do what I wanted when I wanted for the most part.  As I prepare for this new adventure, though, I'm beginning to look forward to having responsibility for someone else.  I know I'll miss having the freedom to pack up and leave for a weekend of fishing whenever it suits me, but I predict that spending a weekend with my husband and newborn will be even more fulfilling.  And down the road, I'm looking forward to having a new fly fishing partner by my side.

While Visions of Hoppers Dance in My Head......

Word on the street is it's hopper season in the Driftless.  I wouldn't know, since I haven't had a fly rod in my hand in over two months.  Instead, I get to hear tails of trout making splashy takes for foam hopper patterns and big, bushy stimulators.  With just over a month before my due date, it's not my pregnancy that's kept me off the water or the fact that my waders probably don't fit anymore.  I just haven't been able to escape work.

Since our greenhouse season began last April, I've had a total of three whole days off from work.  Once for my birthday because my mom was in town, once for my baby shower, and once when the heat index was over 100 degrees and my husband was worried about his pregnant wife dealing with the heat.  I'm not exactly complaining; I have a lot of stamina for working.  During the peak of our greenhouse season, I probably put in close to eighty hours each week without losing a step.  As the season starts to slow down in August, I take half days here and there but still put in a good sixty hours in a given week.  It helps that I enjoy what I do.  It also helps that I have slight control issues.....probably more than slight.  I take pride in what I do and want things done in certain ways.  Being physically present at our small business every day leads to consistency and helps us develop good rapport with our customer base.

Now that it's September and we only have a few weeks left  before we shut down for the season, it's still hard to get time off because most of our employees have gone back to school. Being a seasonal business requires us to hire seasonal employees for the most part, and many of them are college students.  This means we lose half of our staff after Labor Day.  So even though our days are much slower at the greenhouse and I would feel comfortable spending more time away, we just don't have employees to cover my absence anymore.  So I just keep plugging away.  Our season will officially end on September 22nd this year, which means I'll have one week to get in as much hopper fishing as I can manage before the Wisconsin trout season closes on September 30th.  Then there should be just a few weeks remaining before our baby enters the world.  From what I hear, I may look back fondly on those eighty hour work weeks once there's a newborn in our midst........

Shrinking Waders

After working about ninety straight days at the greenhouse, I scheduled a full day off for myself in order to spend some quality time on a Driftless trout stream.  While packing up my gear, I suddenly realized that my waders may have shrunk over the past six months.......or my waistline may have grown.  As it turned out, the hand-me-down waders that barely fit prior to my pregnancy (because they were too big) still barely fit (because of my growing midsection).  As it turns out, I have a couple more inches to spare before I'll be forced to wet wade.

I met up with a friend for the day and was looking forward to some good dry fly fishing.  I hadn't been on the water since early April when olives and midges were hatching, so I was hoping to see some caddis.  It took a lot of driving to find a stretch of water that was both clear and free of other fly fishermen.  I knew the Driftless had been hit hard by flooding in June, but I didn't expect the streams to be in such bad shape.  Most of the water we drove along was overly muddy, and we saw many sections of washed out roads and eroded banks.  The stream we ended up fishing looked very different from what I had seen last season.  I've fished this stream many times---it was one of the first I ever fished---and it was a little sad to see it now.  A lot of work went into restoring this body of water and now there's only a handful of lunkers and other structural improvements left.  At one point during the day, I noticed high water marks in a tree well above my head.  There must have been massive amounts of water moving through this coulee at some point.  It's just another example of how powerful nature can be. 



 

I saw zero risers throughout the day and nothing hatching, but I did see my first hopper of the season.

 

 

It was no surprise that I couldn't get a fish to take a fly on top, but they did take a dropper.  Only a handful of fish were caught, but the ones I got were nice and healthy

 

I think I'll be letting the Driftless waters recover a bit before I make my next outing.  Once the sediment settles hopefully things will return to a new normal.  When that time comes, I hope my waders still fit.



Sunshine & Tiny Flies

The 2013 Wisconsin trout season has been open for almost a month now, but I've only been on the water a few times due to the unseasonably cool temperatures.  There's something about freezing guides that dampens my desire to fish these days.  The temps have recently begun to stay above freezing during the day, so I headed to the Driftless to meet up with some friends on the water.  There were plenty of tiny flies and sunshine.

 

 

WI 2012 Trout Closer

Fall color is in full force in Wisconsin.  Who knew after a summer of so much heat and dryness that we'd be rewarded with such an amazing show.

I managed to squeeze in one more afternoon of Driftless fly fishing before the closing of the season.  The fish weren't real active, which seemed to be the norm the last few weeks of September, but, as usual, the surroundings easily made up for slow time on the water.

With the forced senescence that occurs every September 30th for inland trout fishermen in this state, it's now time to move onto fly tying, daydreaming, and steelheading (in no particular order).

The Enchanted Run

We've all heard tales from fellow fly fishermen about an unbelievable run where big, fat trout were landed after every dry fly cast, and the fish were un-spookable.  I finally experienced this kind of magical run myself.

For about the third September in a row, I met up with some of my usual partners in the Driftless for a few days of camping and fly fishing. I love fishing this time of year. The red pigments of sumac have begun revealing themselves, the early morning air has started showing signs of frosts to come, hints of fall aromas fill the valleys, and the underbellies of brown trout have transitioned to a deep, buttery yellow. Though the fishing was slow for the most part of the weekend due to bright skies, warm daytime temperatures, and low water levels, as most fishermen will tell you during tough fishing: it was just nice to be on the stream.

It was during one of these slow days that I came upon a very special run; the type of run existing only in my daydreams up to this point; the type of run I may never come upon again; the type of run that warrants the line, "You shoulda been there last week/month/year!" 

It was an enchanted run.

I had been fishing hoppers most of the day with little interest from the trout.  I persisted despite the lack of action, assuming that things would eventually turn around, and if not, it was just nice to be on the stream. I've had days fishing hoppers where there was a trout under every undercut bank and below every overhanging branch.  The trout were where they were supposed to be, and a good cast--or even a sloppy one for that matter--was consistently rewarded.  I'm actually amused by slow days on the same water when the perfect cast goes unrewarded; when a hopper drifts tight along the grassy bank and there's no splashy grab for it.  I find it both amusing and reassuring when a particular stretch of water doesn't fish well every time and when trout are fickle and uninterested.  It's evidence that fly fishing isn't always easy and trout aren't stupid.

I began fishing a stretch of stream that flowed tightly against the side of a bluff, while one of my fishing partners hiked further upstream and the other fished below me.  This was a beautiful stretch of water with nice pools that required technical casting around and through overhanging branches.  Limestone rocks rose above the water and falling leaves made it apparent that autumn is on a fast approach.  At a certain point, the stream made a 90-degree left turn into a tall meadow filled with goldenrod, thistle, and asters.  It was about thirty yards from this bend that providence decided to reward me.  Perhaps it was a reward for my patience and persistence in the face of many challenging days on the water.  Perhaps it was a reward for my respectful attitude towards Mother Nature and her trout.  Perhaps it was just dumb luck that I found myself at the right place at the right time with the right fly.

I know by putting the following events into words that some of the brilliance of the run will be tarnished, and I know I won't find the appropriate words to convey the magnificence of the run to its fullest, but I'll give it a shot anyway.

I carefully approached a nice looking bend with a textbook riffle and run below it.  The outside corner of the run was fairly deep and shaded by overhanging vegetation.  I was fishing a hopper with a mayfly cripple trailing behind it, and I began casting to the lower end of the run along the bubble line.  On my first cast I landed a plump brown trout on the hopper.  After powdering my two flies in desiccant, I casted again into the bubble line.  I saw two splashes just as the flies hit the water and was shocked to see two trout at the end of my line.  I had heard tales of such doublers from other fishermen, but had never seen it firsthand, let alone at the end of my own rod.  After releasing both trout, I took a minute to appreciate the milestone and consciously decided this event marked a great day of fishing.  I could go the last two weeks of the season without catching another trout and hang up my waders on a high note.  With that feeling of contentment enshrouding me, I dried my flies again and casted further up the run.  I got a nice drift along the outer bank with no interest, so I assumed the two previous trout spooked the run with their splashes.  I casted again to the bank and floated my flies under an overhanging branch.  I saw a rise and set the hook, which resulted in a buttery brown in the net that was too large to hold with one hand.  At this point I began looking up and down the stream, hoping one of my fishing partners would appear to witness the events.  During the course of landing the last fish, the trailing fly had wrapped around its body, so I snipped it off leaving just the hopper.  I dried the fly once more and casted closer to the head of the run.  I was sure the last fish was the biggest of the run, so I was completely flabbergasted when the fly hit the water and I pulled in an even larger trout.  At this point, I was probably in mild shock and thinking there couldn't possibly be any more willing trout in there, but just to be sure I casted the hopper into the head of the run.  Unbelievably, I landed another brown large enough to have a hooked lower jaw.  After releasing this fish and watching it disappear into deeper water, I sat down on the bank in utter disbelief.  After a few moments, I reeled in and headed upstream.

In the untruncated version of the story, I landed about a dozen trout in fifteen casts, the smallest of which was 14" and the largest pushing into the 20" range.  I caught the three largest Driftless trout of my season there along with my first double take.  There are no pictures to prove the existence of the larger trout and no witnesses to corroborate the events.  Like the best fishing tales, the story sounds too good to be true, and as the details become fuzzy, the size and number of trout may slightly increase over time.  One detail I hope will never become fuzzy, though, is the elation I felt during that moment in time on that stretch of stream.

Some fishermen would immediately make plans to return to this enchanted stretch of water, but I'm holding off from doing so any time soon.  I know some of the magic will ware off from the experience when I return, since the run is unlikely to fish as well next time.  And why should it?  The stars only align so often, so I won't be pushing my luck.  I know I'll make it back to this stretch eventually, maybe even as early as next season, but I'll approach it cautiously and surreptitiously.  I'll keep my curiosity subdued and work my way up to it slowly from downstream.  When I reach the bottom of the run, I'll treat it like any other stretch of Driftless water.  I won't expect it to fish exceptionally well again and, honestly, I'll be a bit disappointed if it does.  These moments should occur serendipitously--when your guard is down and your mind is open. 


That fleeting hour on the stream is gone, but I'll keep it logged in my memory to be pulled out now and then for my own revelry.  I'll bring it forth to share with other fishermen around tailgates and campfires when prodded or bolstered by inebriation, and I'll savor the memory this winter when the season is closed and I'm daydreaming of hoppers and buttery yellow browns.

Low-end Gear. High-end Enjoyment.

The opening of inland trout season in Wisconsin can be a bit stark.  Picture snow, bleak skies, an openess of the landscape, stinging fingers, numb toes, and frozen guides.  The last month of the season is quite different with its high grass and weeds, bright blue skies, constant snags on surrounding vegetation, mosquitoes, and sweat trickling down your back.  Since my summer months are filled with keeping our greenhouses running, these are the two periods when I do most of my trout fishing.  Therefore, I love both March and September fishing, though I think I'd still love these two months of the season even if my fondness didn't grow out of necessity.  So when I managed to fit a rare day off into the work schedule last week, I jumped at the chance to head to the Driftless for a day. 

The trout weren't very active, but when they hit a hopper pattern they hit it hard. I found myself totally zoned out, just going through the repetitive motions of casting upstream, stripping line, taking a step, and casting again. The only thing that would disrupt my trance would be snagging my fly on one of the inumerable overhanging weeds in an attempt to float the hopper as close to the undercut back as possible, or by a sudden, splashy take that would snap me to attention.

Like most outdoor recreational activities, fly fishing lends itself to the accumulation of gear.  Anyone with some money in their pocket can quickly spend mad cash on fly fishing "stuff."  I have a couple friends who are true gearheads, and buying new fly fishing gear makes them happy. More power to them, especially when they occasionally let me borrow said gear.  I, on the other hand, seem to rebel against the newest and greatest fly fishing paraphernalia. It was the same way during my college softball days. The newest and most expensive bats might help a bit with distance, but they weren't going to turn a good hitter into a great hitter. I stubbornly stuck with my dinged up bat and re-laced glove, and I did quite well with them if I do say so myself.  I've ended up doing the same with fly fishing gear.  If your casting is lacking to begin with, the newest and greatest rod isn't going to make you a great caster.  I think my avoidance of new, high-end gear is in part due to my own frugality and in part my desire to avoid the accumulation of "stuff."   I like simplicity.  So I enjoy getting by with average hand-me-down gear.  Perhaps a better rod would help get me get more distance and accuracy, but it wouldn't necessarily make for a more rewarding experience.

My husband and I recently visited my brother and his family for a grill out of wild turkey and venison kabobs and fresh corn on the cob.  It was delicious.  My little brother and I share a lot of commonalities:  we both love the outdoors, we're hard workers, and we'd look like twins if I shaved my head and were six inches taller.  Yet, whereas I appreciate a Spartan-like lifestyle, my little brother definitely likes "stuff."  He already owns enough hunting and fishing gear to last three lifetimes.

Despite my aversion to extra gear and because he has more than enough, I took the opportunity during our visit to snag a special fly rod from his garage.  My brother doesn't trout fish much, but he spends fifty times more days on the water than I do.  As a graduation gift several years ago, I had a friend build him a fly rod.  My brother uses it quite a bit for pan fish, but I wanted to take it back to its roots as a trout rod.  The friend who built the rod actually took me out on my first fly fishing adventure before I knew anything about the sport let alone owned a pair of waders.  I basically tagged along and became overwhelmed with all there was to learn, but I came home knowing it was all something I wanted to learn.  We get chances to fish together now and then, and it's always a nice reminder of how far I've come in a short amount of time.  Living five hours apart, we don't get to fish together as much as I'd like to, so I figured taking this rod to the stream for a day would be the next closest thing.

The rod casted like a charm.  Technically, it may be no better than my regular rod, but because of its origin it was like having an extra friend on the stream with me for the day.  I'll continue using it during the last month of the Wisconsin trout season or at least until my gearhead brother asks for it back.  I'll be the one enjoying my time on the stream despite (and in part due to) my leaky waders, rusty reel, and other low-end gear.

A River of Change

We've all heard the phrase, "You can't step into the same river twice."  Though Heraclitus apparently made this statement over 2500 years ago, I've found it to be applicable to several trout streams this season. 

I haven't been fly fishing long, so I haven't had a chance to really get to know one particular stretch of water yet.  That's starting to change this season.  I've hit a lot of different streams this spring, yet most of them I've fished previously at one point over the past couple years.  It's been interesting to return to familiar stretches of water where I've caught fish before and know where the trout are lying. 

It's also very interesting to see the same stretches of water fish so differently on different days, whether that means during different seasons or just different days of the week.  It amazes me how differently the trout act depending on sun/clouds, warm air/cold air, rain/dry.

On one particular stretch of stream that I've managed to fish on three separate occasions this past month, I've had three very different fishing experiences.  On my first visit, the rain had just subsided and I was faced with bluebird skies, wind, and warm temperatures.  The trout were very spooky, but I managed to get some on a Royal Wulff with an olive caddis emerger as a dropper.  My second visit was on a cloudy, cool, and damp day.  The trout made it easy, and though there were #20 and #22 olives and midges hatching, I had success with the "Usual" and a pink squirrel dropper.  On my most recent visit to this stream, I faced another bright day with spooky trout, but the flies that had worked my first time out were pretty much ignored by the trout this time.  Eventually when the sun started setting, I ended up catching some nice fish on a black X-caddis pattern.

 So obviously the weather impacts trout behavior, whether it's the brightness that makes the fish skittish or the air temperature that determines insect hatches.  Regardless of the influencing factors, I enjoy the fact that trout fishing is not guaranteed to be the same on a particular stretch of stream on any particular day.  I guess I like the challenge of never being able to step into the same stretch of water twice and catch trout the same way each time.


Although these three experiences differed significantly in the fishing, they all shared a few things in common:  trout were caught, good times were had, and new flies were added to my arsenal.