Carrion, My Wayward Son

Hard to get a fly to the fish through that kind of surface tension…

Winter has finally closed its icy grasp on the state of Arizona, with nighttime temperatures in Phoenix dropping to near-freezing, and the Mogollon Rim waters beginning to ice over. This marks the start of truly tough fishing, as water temps dip below the trout’s active range, and the time comes for long, light leaders and tiny flies.

Fox tracks on the frozen creek

I arrived at the creek to find much of it frozen over, with only a few holes open at the headwaters. It was going to be a tough day of fishing. I sent my fly swimming through the depths of every open pool I could find; under rocks, logs, and undercut banks without so much as a nibble. Oh, well. I decided to explore the area instead. No hikers, passing cars, or other reminders of civilization were to be heard; only the lonely breeze whispering through the pines, accompanied by the soft flitting of birds scouring the area for food.

One of the few open areas of stream

As I hiked, I noticed something gleaming white in the sun, a sharp contrast to the subdued grasses and dull gray rocks. Closing in, I realized it was the shoulder blade of an elk. I looked around for more bones, and soon spotted the partial spine and hind leg of the deceased animal. I crossed the creek for a closer look, and saw torn earth and a large amount of “snipped” fur. A lion kill. A tinge of nervousness washed over me, but I brushed it aside. The kill was old, every scrap of meat had been picked from those bones, and the widely scattered bits indicated that coyotes had scavenged what the cougar left behind. Still, I no longer felt like the top predator in the area, and touched my pocket, feeling for the firearm I knew was there. Reassured, I looked around some more, marveling at the size of the bones scattered before me.

My 6wt looks more like a fairy’s wand next to that hoof!

By this time, Elizabeth had caught up to me, and we looked around for the skull, hoping to discover whether this once-majestic beast was a bull or cow elk. Finding nothing but the bottom jaw, we gave up the search and went on our way. We began noticing turkey feathers here and there, and upon further investigation, found the wing and ribcage of said bird. I quickly began to gather all the feathers I could hold, happy to have stumbled upon a treasure trove of free tying materials.

A fly tyer can’t pass up free feathers!

Our hands full, we began the long hike back, paying close attention to the creek this time so we wouldn’t miss any opportunities. Lizzie pointed at a patch of grass in the middle of the stream, and I leaned over to have a closer look. A dead brook trout was caught up in the weeds and dead grass, so I fished it out to see what had done it in. On closer inspection, I deduced that the fish had died of natural causes, probably old age. It was a rather large trout for this stream, at around nine inches in length, his kype indicating that he had seen several spawns.

Once a beautiful fish, now returning to the earth…

A few pools up, I spotted two brookies swimming at the tail end of a pool I had fished earlier. I crouched down and approached the pool cautiously, dropping my fly just ahead of them, but neither fish seemed interested. The wary trout must have seen me as I attempted to change flies; they fled to their respective hideouts, leaving me disappointed, yet happy to see life still forging ahead in the creek.

 

Urban Fishing: An After-Work Adventure

Pioneer Lake

Sometimes, it can be a struggle to squeeze a fishing trip into your schedule. Luckily, decent trout fishing can be found in the various parks around Phoenix, thanks to the Arizona Fish and Game Department’s Community Fishing Program ( http://www.azgfd.gov/h_f/urban_overview.shtml  ). This program has ponds around Arizona’s urban environment stocked regularly with catfish in the summer, and trout in the winter. Knowing this, I stopped by Pioneer Lake in nearby Peoria one day after work to relax and practice my casting, hoping to maybe pick up a trout or two along the way.

A feisty rainbow, courtesy of AZGFD!

Being careful of what was behind me (I figured a jogger would be too much for my 6wt.), I began to work on my double-haul. On the fourth cast, my indicator dipped, and a healthy 14″ rainbow headed for the other side of the lake. After a fight that made my reel buzz and my smile grow, the fish was in the net, and the people who had snickered at my fly rod and vest were now green with envy as I was the only one catching fish. I slid the fish back into the water, and returned to my casting.

A fish doesn’t have to be large to be fun!

By this time, Elizabeth had joined me, and I switched to fishing tiny dries for equally tiny bluegill. This gave Elizabeth a chance to fish the deeper areas for trout, while I cast along the shoreline to practice my accuracy. We had a few laughs about the size of the fish taking my flies, when Lizzie suddenly hooked a trout as she was bringing the line up for a backcast. I rushed over to net the fish, and we snapped a few pictures and sent the surprised rainbow on its merry way.

This trout thought it was getting an easy meal…

After a few missed fish, including one that had tried to eat my strike indicator, our fishing time had come to a close; so we packed up our gear for the short drive home. It doesn’t take much travel to get an afternoon of fishing in, only a bit of research and an hour or two of free time.

A sneak peek at next week’s fishing trip! Can you guess what we’re targeting?

This weekend, I scouted a new water for next week’s blog post! It’s got a pretty rare species for Arizona, one that’s not native here, but is stream-born. Can you guess what it is? Come back next Sunday to find out!

Lessons from Christopher Creek

Christopher Creek

I’m a small-stream fisherman at heart. I grew up fishing tiny mountain creeks in Pennsylvania for trout and chubs, and I love the intimate feel of fishing those types of waters. It’s minimalist fishing, requiring only a rod and a pocketful of flies. In fact, bringing much more gear than that would actually be a hinderance. It is for those reasons that I decided to fish Christopher Creek this weekend. This miniscule creek in the Tonto National Forest is the embodiment of a small stream; winding its way down the mountain through the open pine forest with deer and elk sign littered along its pathway, while the chatter of squirrels mingles with sound of flowing water, playing a forest symphony for the enjoyment of anyone who’ll listen.

 

Even this is overkill for a small-stream trip.

I tend to bring too much gear on my fishing trips, always thinking, what if…? This time, I left the vest at home. I decided to bring only what I deemed absolutely essential: nippers, forceps, a loaded foam fly patch, a 3-pack of leaders, a spool of tippet material, my net, camera, and a fly rod. I could have left half that stuff at home. The only pieces of gear I actually used were the fly rod, nippers, net, camera, and a single leader and fly.

A squirrel enjoying the view

I headed upstream to do a little exploring first, dropping my fly any place that looked fishy. I saw several trout, but in such shallow, clear water, even my stealthiest approach sent them packing. The creek got smaller and the brush thicker the further upstream I went, and I began to doubt that I would catch anything  in these conditions, so I made my way back downstream along the trail until I came to my initial access point. Heading downstream from there, I noticed more larger and more frequent pools. I carefully fished each one, and managed to take a beautiful little wild brown trout.

This little guy took my simi seal with gusto

I let the fish return to its home, and continued on my way. I passed a posted sign stating that the property beyond belonged to a church retreat, but that anglers were welcome to access the creek. At this point, the water really started looking fishy, with fallen trees, undercut banks, and large rocks providing hiding places for the creek’s finny inhabitants. I came across a particularly thick logjam with a small hole that looked like it might hold a trout, but couldn’t find a good way to reach it. So I carefully climbed onto a fallen tree and inched my way over to the pool to try and get a cast in. If there was a fish hiding there, it wasn’t interested in what I was offering, so I moved on.

I’m not sure I could have landed a fish from there anyway…

I soon found another great-looking spot, and crouched down to make a cast. My fly landed perfectly next to the log, and drifted underneath. I gave the fly a twitch, my hands shaking in anticipation of the strike. The strike never came. But why? It looked so perfect, there HAD to be a fish in this pool. Curious, I stood up, and promptly spooked two nice browns. They didn’t come from underneath the log, so I looked down, and realized I had been casting from an undercut bank. I had been so focused on that log that I didn’t scope the whole pool out, and consequently missed a chance at landing another fish.

A beautiful sunset along the highway

The sun was starting to go down, so I swallowed what was left of my pride and headed home. As I travelled down the highway, the colors of a desert sunset flashing across the sky, I reflected on the lessons this simple creek had taught. Next time I’ll bring less gear, and more observation.

Stalking Wild Browns In Horton Creek

Horton Creek

Sure, rainbow trout make for a fun day on the water; but there’s something about fooling a wily small-stream brown that really brings pure, primal joy to my heart. The vibrant colors, from the rich yellow of the gill plate to the flaming red spots running down its sides, speak of the wild nature of a stream-reared brown trout. So for this week’s adventure, I decided we would head to Horton Creek.

Horton Creek trailhead

Arriving at Horton Creek trailhead, Elizabeth and I began our hike. We noticed that at the beginning of the trail, the lower reaches of the creek were dry. This was slightly alarming, but I had heard that this portion of the creek runs underground during the fall and winter months, so we pressed on. As we moved farther upstream, the creek revealed itself, and we reached the first fishable pool. I walked up to the pool and peeked in, spooking a small brown. I smiled, knowing I had found what we came for. We split up at this point, knowing that stealth would play the biggest role in a successful day here.

A tough pool to fish

The first pool I fished contained a trout that looked to be around 11 inches in length, which surprised me, considering the size of the creek. I attempted a cast, and immediately got hung up on a fallen log. My attempts to free the hook spooked the fish, so I moved up to the next pool. The next few pools resulted in either inadvertently scaring trout that I didn’t notice upon approach, or failing to set the hook in time as the fly was quickly ejected.

Hiding behind a fallen log to avoid spooking the fish

I finally came across the tiny pool that was destined to give up my first catch of the day. Sneaking upstream, I used a log that had fallen across the creek as cover from the trout’s wary eyes. I dropped my size 12 blood/black simi seal leech in the current at the head of the pool, letting it drift towards me. BAM! A tiny brown smacked the fly. After a short tussle, the little fighter submitted, and was brought to net. I looked in awe at the brilliant fish, its small size in direct contrast with its voracious appetite. A new energy filled my body, and I continued on, ready to challenge more of this creek’s toughest denizens.

Nobody tells a brown trout it’s too small to eat something!

As the day wore on, confidence in my fishing skill began to fade with the remaining time. I hooked and lost two more fish, including a brown that was pushing 10 inches. I met up with Elizabeth, who had lost several fish without landing one, and was busying herself with some photography of the beautiful landscape. We decided to head back to the trailhead, and fish some pools we had skipped along the way. The peacefulness of the forest took over, and we moved downstream in silence, enjoying the serenity of the forest.

Moss creeping up the roots of a tree

Soon we came upon the last pool of the day. Lizzie moved downstream to take a few pictures, and I positioned myself at the head of the pool to get a good drift. I let the streamer tumble down in the current, drifting next to some likely-looking cover. Nothing. I moved a few feet downstream, and made another drift, this time letting the fly swing into the run at the tail end of the pool. A trout darted of hiding to grab its presumed meal, and the fight was on. The feisty brown raced around the pool, making a few desperate leaps, but to no avail. The barbless hook held firm, and the fish was in the net. I let out an involuntary whoop, which brought an envious Elizabeth over to have a look at the gorgeous trout.

A fine specimen from Horton Creek!

After a quick picture and some excited admiration, the defeated fish slunk back to its hiding place in the run, hoping to snag some real food next time. As the sun began its slow descent below the treeline, we left Horton Creek, sent on our way by the bugle of an elk in the distance, and eagerly planned our return to this marvelous place.