Summer Blog Post 2

The season here at Waterfall for me is winding down.  While Nate will stay out her for three more weeks, I’m set to head to town on the 16^th or 17^th, where I will begin preparing for Saltery.  I’m not really looking forward to leaving. Returning to town means morning chit chat at Fish and Game, the never-ending mess that is the ADF and G warehouse, and the “bunkhouse blues.”

What I leave behind is our new skiff.  Plungebob Squarebow, a name given by Nate and his co-conspirator Thomas at another field camp years ago, is twenty some feet long, made fully of aluminum, and outfitted with twin sixty horse Yamahas.   The boat has an aftward cabin with depth sounder/GPS unit, VHF radio, and provides a dry place out of the rain.  This is in direct contrast to our 12 foot aluminum Lund, which was barely seaworthy in the best of weather.

            The boat has proven itself invaluable in many ways.  First, its new space-age electronics (at least for field camp) have been helpful in locating bottom fishing hot-spots.  Halibut generally live on pinnacles or in water of changing depth.  In the Lund our fishing was more of a drop and pray, but now we can plan drifts to float over these hotspots, which has already proven itself effective. 

A few days ago, we pulled ourselves from the kerosene stove warmed cabin to investigate the fishery and do some jigging.  We walked the half-mile to the boat and did our rounds with the purse seiners.  With four boats in all, it didn’t take long.  Afterwards, we set out to our favorite halibut hole, a sloping bottom against a bluff on the west side of Big Waterfall bay. 

Being a windy day, we rigged up our heaviest jigs, about 8 ounces apiece.   On our first drift Nate hooked a big fish.  Wrestling it from the bottom for five minutes, it broke his line to our devastation. We have been working all summer for a large halibut, a shared homepak our goal.  In one drift we had hooked and lost what probably would have been enough flaky white meat to last us both the winter.  Still though we persevered and reset our drift (using GPS technology no less).  In approximately the same place, jigging, I came up hard on another fish.  This one I too tried to wrest from the bottom.  Pumping the rod, I realized I needed to loosen the drag as the flatfish was likely to break my 40 lb Dacron line.  Switching the rod from right hand to left, I reached for the wheel on the reel to loosen the tension.  Just as my fingertips touched the metal, my line snapped.  I crumpled to the deck of the skiff, line hanging limply from my rod tip.  Again, we had lost our homepak.  So, we picked up again, and, using GPS technology, we reset our drift.  Determined this time, we loosened our drags and readied ourselves for another fish.  I re-rigged and dropped again to the bottom.  Jigging with the exact same rig I was using before, save for a new piece of cod flesh, I again hooked into a halibut.  With my newly loosened drag, pumping the fish from the bottom was a chore, each pump loosing almost the same line I gained by rising the rod. After a fifteen minute fight, a large halibut appeared beside the boat, mottled brown, with its offset eyes staring up at us.  Nate grabbed the gaffe and set about hauling the fish onboard.  It the deck with a resounding slam, we had our homepak.  Now, approximately 40 lbs of halibut sit in our freezer.  At about 55 lbs, it wasn’t the biggest halibut caught in Alaska, but it was a heck of a start for a winter feed.

Other notable events have also passed since I last wrote.  The Waterfall commercial opener was June 9^th.  Four boats were there and caught 25,000 fish between them.  That day we worked 14 hours and we returned and 12:30 to find our makeshift bench knocked over, trash spread across our porch, and bear prints on the window that looks out on the deck.  Otherwise, we have befriended a fox (well I have, Nate holds grudges against the animals from past experiences at Litnik), who appeared at our porch this morning and Nate chased off.  He said something about peeing on our porch and getting fox-stink everywhere.

Summer Blog Post 1

A note: Given the limited power we have in field camp, most of these posts will be written in an hour or so.  Because of this, I really haven't had a great  chance to edit, so please excuse any incorrect grammar, bad spelling, or just downright confusing stuff.  Otherwise, please enjoy!

With March turning the page, we are once again met with rain showers.  With the rain though, came fish.  An early morning net clean revealed our sneaking suspicions that once again, sockeye were returning to Waterfall.  The 300 fish at the net this morning signal the start of the season in which we are expecting to see upwards of 12,000.  These fish will all be caught, not one going up river to spawn.  The many waterfalls on our river keep the young sockeye from reaching the lake above where they necessarily spend as much as two years of their lives.  From their they will travel out to the Pacific for a couple of years and then will return as the four and five pound chrome fish we were seeing at the net this morning.

            In the meantime though, we’ve been keeping ourselves busy with non-salmon related business.  The 4-wheeler road is in constant disrepair and has been drawing our attention over the last few days. Mostly we’ve been fixing particularly sticky sections with trailer loads of gravel.  When we’re not working and the weather is nice we’re usually outdoors either in the bay or in the woods, or, if it’s raining, inside next to the kerosene drip stove with book in hand.

            Bear sighting have been few and far between.  In the almost two weeks we’ve been here, we’ve seen the bear maybe three times.  Given the ornery nature of our ursine neighbors last year we were wary about the inevitable close encounters of this year.  So far though, the one time when we were “up close and personal” we chased him/her off without issue, only being met with a few snorts and bush crashing as the bear moved off.  This year’s bear, there probably will be more, is likely one of a pair from last year.  She, I believe she is the sister of the pair, has honey colored ears but a dark coat.  Her print is approximately 7.5 inches in length, making her about an 8 foot bear and probably weighing 500-700 pounds.  In Afognak terms, she is not a particularly impressive bear.

            Last Sunday we celebrated Nate’s 30^th birthday by climbing Bruin Mountain, the closest peak behind the cabin.  At about 2300 feet, it’s not a huge mountain.  But, coming straight up from sea level it looks more imposing than it is.  Still though, it’s high enough to have permanent snow fields and provides a beautiful lookout for the rest of the island.

Conservation in 2011

                This past week I had the privilege of attending the Montana Chapter of the American Fisheries Society’s state meeting in Great Falls.  As a student, it was an awesome opportunity to get some face time with our state’s leading fisheries professionals and a chance to get a look at work I could be doing for a career.  After three day’s time at the Best Western in Great Falls, I was surprisingly left with more questions than answers.

                With the rise of environmentalism in the United States, protecting the environment has literally become an international, multibillion dollar industry.  One only has to look as far as Trout Unlimited, a grass roots organization founded in Michigan in the 60s, which now has regional offices around the country and more than a few fulltime employees.  What disturbs me though, something that caught my attention at the conference, was how caught up as conservationists and fisheries managers we are with with the specifics. 

                It doesn’t come as a surprise that scientists tend towards the specific, it is their job.  But the majority of the work presented at the conference was very narrowly focused.  Given the rigorous scientific hoops needed to get anything done through government, it is not surprising that our state and federal science projects tend toward specific and more easily controlled study areas and subjects.  The thing that has me worried though is the work it takes to say fish acts or lives a certain way takes away from the action that can be taken to help preserve or distracts from areas that need more pressing attention.

                Let’s look at a case study

                The fate of the westslope cutthroat has been long on the radars of fisheries biologists and conservationists in Montana.  This iconic species is threatened by hybridization from invasive rainbow trout, competition from other fishes such as brook trout, and loss of habitat from a number of sources.  What is disturbing though was the fact that, of six twenty minute presentation one morning, probably four were on the fate of this fish, which we have a fairly good idea of already.  We know what threatens the cutthroat, the type of environment they live in, and that there isn’t a lot of stopping the factors that threaten them.  Yes, for sure, we need to minimalize the impact of these factors on the fish, but is it really worth all the money we throw towards conserving a fish, at least in this area, whose fate is pretty much sealed?  Now, in areas like certain forks of the Flathead, there is a different scene playing out, and I will note that many presentations centered on areas where strong populations exist.   But, we know, true breeding lines of cutthroat are mostly contained in headwater areas, in streams that aren’t large, are sometimes spatially disconnected by blockages, and survive better than most salmonids in a fire prone environment.   A lot of science too, is saying that the resulting generations of hybrids between rainbows and cutthroat are less fit.  But given these circumstances, we would expect these fish to either be less competitive or to establish themselves as more fit, and then as a more sought after gamefish, in subsequent generations.  So why are we spending thousands of dollars to reaffirm these known facts in different waterways, whether it be the Bitterroot, the Flathead, or the Yellowstone?

                Now, this is not the only case of its type.  These same applications are being used on bull trout, steelhead, and pacific salmon.  I will be the first to admit that it would be stupid to jump into conservation and preservation without knowing a good amount about the species of concern.  In the same right though, we cannot wait to gather all the facts before we get something serious done.  For example, we know steelhead in the lower 48 are generally facing dire straits.  Rather than study the fish system by system, setting escapement numbers and harvest limits that are extremely hard to control for; pass legislation that will take a holistic approach and that will require tribes and sportfisherman to meet stringent guidelines.  The conservation of fish has less to do with what we need to know and control for and more to do with action.  What I was disappointed to find at the conference was the lack of a large scale action by professionals        

                I am hesitant too, to blame fisheries biologists.   It is instead the system of requiring such specific data in order to prompt action that limits the field of conservation biology.  Again, I will admit this is the way of science. 

                But, let’s look at this on a broader scale.  There are still fish populations out there that are wholly viable, some of which are rather unknown.  Why not preserve those now?  Conduct the research necessary to profile the system and then lock it up from invasives, disease, and environmental degradation the best we can, rather than fighting an uphill battle that will cost much more money and time in the long run.  And for those species that are threatened, perhaps we need to cut our losses, accept change in some areas, protect others, and move on. Pike in the Clark Fork are here to stay whether we like it or not.  While for a time they seriously wreaked havoc on the system, they have settled into more realistic numbers and have established themselves as an interesting divergence from trout fishing.  This happened from both man made acts and from the natural processes of Mother Nature herself.  We need to let both work hand in hand.  I doubt we will fully lose true strains of westslope cutthroat, but we might need to cede defeat when it comes to catching hybrids in our larger and less remote rivers.

                What it comes down to, as in most situations, is the lack of people wanting to change.  The westslope cutthroat is western Montana’s iconic trout, but we need to recognize our influence here has changed the game in ways that are irreversible given the current attitude.  Unless we are willing to move back to the East Coast and  let the system balance itself over the next few decades we will have to accept our role in the dynamics of fisheries ecology and see to it that we adapt just as the environment will over time.

Learning Goals:

1.       1. As much as I have made it sound, fisheries biologists are not the villains! They are smart, work hard, and care more about our natural resources than any group of people I’ve been honored to be a part of.

2.       2. In some instance it may be better to put down the rod and pick up a shovel.  Try and minimalize impact while taking advantage of our beautiful waterways.

3.       3. Saving cutthroat is important, but so is taking care of our other fishy friends, especially those who still exist as they always have regardless of the heavy handedness of expansion in the west.

Frozen Feet and Forgotten Brownies

          The more days I spend on the river, the more I am reminded of why I fly fish.  And in preparing to write this, it made me think of the four stages, once described to me, of fly fishing.  When you first start with a fly rod you just try to catch whatever fish will take the fly.  Once you’ve gotten a handle the technique, you start to pursue the largest fish.  And after you’ve caught your share of big fish, your quarry becomes the most difficult fish.  And eventually, the whole point of the sport is less about catching than it is about being out on the water.  While this could as much be a description of maturing through life it serves well to describe how we progress with a fly rod.

I think though, what makes our time out on the waters so great is that these stages are not black and white.  I am admittedly probably best described by my search for big fish, as are my friends mostly, but my last trip to Rock Creek cut away from the stages of which I discuss above.  Given my successes on the Bitterroot River a little more than a week ago, I was excited to get done with my classes and get out on the river.  We knew it would be another fair weather weekend (above freezing) and figured fishing would be good for February.  So we jumped in my buddy’s truck and prepared for another day out on the river.

Fast forward four hours. 

In our rush to hit the river I had stuffed my brown sugar pop tarts down my face but had forgotten the rest of the food (a giant brownie no less) in the car.  Now, I was a mile up river, trudging through six inch snow, frozen enough to make it no fun to walk through, but soft enough to sink me down past my boots.  With no fish to my name, it had been a long cold day on the river.    By this point, especially in February, most of us, myself included, would probably be thinking of a hot drink in a comfortable chair.   But, this wasn’t the case that day.

A warm day for February but definitely cold feet.

When you’re spoiled like I am and within walking distance of a world class river, sometimes we take our time on the water for granted.  But, as a double major and a president of a campus group, more and more I am beginning to appreciate the time I spend fishing.  Time on the water is not just a chance to go fishing, it is a chance to slow down and appreciate where I am.  While I am blessed here in Western Montana with rivers like the Blackfoot and Flathead, I have never fished an “un-pretty” river, even in the city.  And the more and more that I fish and the less time I have on the water, the more it becomes about the sights and sounds rather than the tug on the lines.  Ryan Peterson, a guide from Kamchatka and the fly fisherman philosopher featured on the new Felt Soul Media film (how about that for alliteration) Eastern Rises, said, “The whole sport of fly fishing, at root, it’s kind of a selfish game, it doesn’t benefit society in any way, except that your soul is enriched in a way that is not calculable…”  Whether it’s the bright colors on a trout’s side or the softness of the water as it flows over the rocks in a freestone river, Peterson catches it.

The more that I go fishing, the more I walk away feeling as though something within myself is satisfied, at least for that moment.

Learning Goals:

1.       1. Why pay for a shrink or marriage counseling when I am sure there is a lake or a river within driving distance?

2.      2.  If it has been too long, call in sick and convince your rich friend to take you out in the boat.

3.      3. If all else fails, take out a second mortgage on the house and buy a little shack in Mexico to chase roosterfish on the beach ( I promise you, drinking corona on a Mexican beach will put your mind at ease).

A Partridge in a Pear Tree may be a Better Circumstance than Expected

           While Missoula, Montana isn’t known for particularly rough winters, this week so far has Missoulians hunkered down and cranking up the thermostats to battle the -20 wind-chill outside.  It would come as a surprise though that only three days previous, temps were pushing 40+  prompting Missoula area anglers to take down their fly rods from their garage rafters and from behind their truck seats.  In similar fashion, myself and some other hardy, mostly neoprene wearing, compatriots set out in search Western Montana’s most put down salmonid.

The previous year, before the spring semester had really gotten into the swing of things, I earned myself the title of Whitefish Slayer when my impatience got the best of me and I searched out the shallow riffles, catching twenty whities in about two hour (little did I know, had I stayed with everyone else, the hole from which I had departed now was producing 17”+ cutts about every half hour). Having enjoyed myself greatly in these exploits, I decided it was time to reassert myself as the King of the Whitefish.

So, in seeing as though conditions were similar to those of the previous year, myself and some friends decided to take a short afternoon trip to the Bitterroot in search of anything that’d take a fly.  While I figured I would stick to my previous strategy of standard whitefish habitat, I was rerouted when the water I thought crossable turned out to be too deep and too cold.   Another fifty yards upstream and I was on a high bank overlooking a pretty nice run.  Had I been a more observant angler I would have noticed this as prime lower Bitterroot bow and cuttie habitat.  And needless to say, I wasn’t more than 100 ft back down the bank in the other direction, when my day’s focus was completely turned on its head.  There, feet below me, was a beautiful 16” rainbow.  The next twenty minutes was spent throwing just about every small wet fly I had at it.  Natural nymphs wouldn’t rise the fish, but it soon fell to a #18 partridge in yellow, my fool-proof Montana trout slayer.

Now, seeing as I had just turned 20 but a few weeks earlier, I have yet to come into the classic fly-fishing patience.  Having just gotten my hands on a new underwater camera I was eager to get some underwater shots of something wet and covered in spots.  This being the case, I brought the fish in handily.  But given my youthful exuberance, my landing technique left a lot to be desired and the full bodied and full colored fish threw the hook as soon as I set my wetted hands on it.

Given that the fish I had cleared from the run was the only one in the hole, it was time to move on down the river (and maybe brag a little about the fish I just landed).  I met up with a friend working a deep hole just after a log jam and mentioned he might be more well served with an attractor pattern rather than the natural nymphs we had all vowed to use before we got on the water.  I handed him another partridge in yellow in the same size and set off down river in search of similar water.

Not half an hour later my ears were met with the yells of another twenty-something, clearly marking some interaction with a fish, whether for better or worse.  I marched my way up the bank, as my patience was waning again.  Upon arriving on the scene, I was soon informed that my friend had lost two monster trout and that he was giving up on the hole and I was welcome to take a few casts myself.  I thought that a great privilege and decided to test my line.  Fifteen minutes of drifts later and the 6x that had the little yellow soft hackle fly attached to was taut and my new Konic was being baptized on its first serious run by a nice trout.  Unfortunately, the hole led into a deep fast current with a nice sized, beaver felled, cottonwood right in the middle of the current.  It didn’t take long for the bow to recognize this as an obvious place to put some dings in the Rio Classic I had just outfitted on my new Lamson (hallelujah for the holidays and a chance to update gear, piece of crap Okuma!)  As one might suspect, even the dumb Montana trout turned out to be smarter than a University of Montana sophomore (perhaps because the trout consumes less alcohol).

With so much more excitement than I had previously expected and temperatures quickly dropping, I thought it was time to put the rod down and pick up the camera.  I couldn’t have asked for more out of a midwinter fishing expedition, especially since it wasn’t too long ago all the rivers were choked with ice.  I happily spent the rest of the evening snapping pictures and  enjoying the setting sun.

                As the case had always been, when I was a child fishing mountain lakes in BC, my top producing wet fly was a soft hackle attractor.  For all you natural nymph folks, maybe drop the bead head for a couple of casts and try out something different.  My best luck here has been on flies I thought would be the least likely of candidates, hell that’s why we fish with foam in the first place.  Anyway, hit the water soon, and those of you who are snowed in, sit down at the tying bench and break out some colors other than brown

Learning Goals…(They’re all the rage at the U)

1.     .        If there is a partridge in a pear tree…shoot it!  His feathers will be better spent tied in as hackle on a size 18 fly than in a tree.
2.              Don’t believe what you read, THERE ARE NO TROUT IN MONTANA, even though this post may say otherwise, and especially don’t get any ideas about coming in winter.
3.        Finally, take every chance to get on the water, not much is better than a few hours with a fly rod in your hand, even if your guides are frozen and you can’t feel your toes (or just move to Mexico and fish permit and roosters)