FLYMPH FORUM

Beautiful Norm..........

What willowhead said ...

Otter, Howdy;

This makes 3 votes...all the same.

hank

Hank surveyed the water that he had sampled the previous day, slack close to his side, a gentle stream a few yards out , snaking downstream until it joined the main flow on the far side. ‘Hmmm, Rascal, I guess different bugs will prefer different types of water, I have half a dozen canisters, I think I will sample three different spots. The slack, the small stream and the main flow. How’s that for a plan’. Rascal however was staring at a small embankment some forty yards away, ears cocked. Hank followed Rascals line of vision and eventually found the source of Rascals interest, a Bullfrog sat astride a fallen log. ‘ Whey hey, Rascal, it’s the frog hunter, he has come to see us at work. Hey, froggie , keep an eye out for the ranger’



Hank commenced work, okay, work is probably a poor choice of word in this instance but if we call fishing at play then sampling could be at work. Whatever you wish to call it, it sure beats the crap out of sitting at a desk doing mundane tasks for faceless customers in the monotonous cycle of commerce. Okay, you got to earn a living so that you can live, but to live one needs time and therein lies the crux. The almighty in all his wisdom as far as anglers are concerned made a right mess of things. if he had made the sun a bit larger and placed earth a bit further away from it so that there was 36 hours in a day then an angler may just have enough time over the course of a lifetime to figure it all out, on reflection probably not.

Working his way downstream Hank soon got into a nice rhythm, well equipped with his prowess at Indian War dancing , raising enough silt for the trail to be seen miles downriver. Stumbling once or twice on unseen rocks he eventually left the river with a heavily loaded net. It took an age to be rid of unwanted debris but as he tipped the bugs into the canister he hummed with delight. ‘Bug man calling Houston, Houston this sample is hot.’; Hank took a pen from his pocket and scribbled Zone 1on the canister.

Glancing at his watch Hank reckoned Joe should be along any minute so back into the river he set to work on zone 2, a riffly shallow stream, little more than a foot deep , occasional pot a foot and a half deep.
This proved a little harder, so many small rocks to manoeuvre around. Back on dry land, canister number two was filled with the most wondrous of bugs.

Is it a dream
that beneath is alive
strange ugly alien creatures
revealing natures perfection when they take to the skies
the incessant call of the bubbling stream.

‘Good morning Hank’; Hank sprung to his feet in fright, so engrossed in his task that he failed to notice Joes arrival. Where the hell has Rascal gone, rabbit hunting guessed Hank crossly, so much for being on the lookout for me.

‘Jeez Joe, you certainly move around the woods with the stealth of a mountain lion, I darn near wet myself. How are you today!

Joe beamed, high praise indeed for a Ranger. ‘I’m good Hank, I try my best to move quietly, a bit of a game I play, not that there are any poachers about to worry about being stealthy but its good fun pretending that some day I’ll meet one. I see you are collecting plenty of bugs. I was telling my brother about meeting you, he fishes a bit, asked me to give you this.’ Joe handed Hank a scrap of paper, http://www.troutnut.com scribbled on it. He said to take a look at this website, great stuff on bugs, might help you identify those critters.’

‘Mighty thoughtful of your brother, thank you, that sure will be a great help.’; Hank feeling a little guilty at the generosity of the ranger and his brother.

They made some small talk about this and that, not knowing each other well enough yet to go anywhere near politics so the conversation was pleasant. Bidding Hank farewell, Joe winked; ‘ If you come across any poachers be sure to let me know.’

‘Will do Joe’; replied Hank sheepishly.

Hank had to tell his conscience to bugger off; ' don't matter that Joe's a nice guy, I am going fishing and thats that.'

TBC

I just took the time to read this thru again, savoring every word. "Marvelous", seems an understatement...

Reading this is certainly one of the highlights of my day.

Hank sat for a few minutes, chewing over the morning’s events. Joe’s brother’s generosity really put the cat amongst the pigeons, allowing Joe to sneak up unnoticed, that was unforgiveable and Rascal would get a good telling off. Thinking out loud, ‘Hank, that was a poor performance. ’

A few upwing flies dancing over the water caught Hanks attention, deft hands soon seen one trapped in the palm of his hand. Perfection he thought, slender olive hued body with the merest hint of orange, two tails, perfectly formed wings. As he marvelled at its beauty a splash from the strong stream on the far side caught his attention, Joe’s trout perhaps. Then another, a few yards further down, tight to the far bank regular rise forms. Hank released the mayfly and taking out his binoculars he concentrated on the far bank, He could see a few duns floating down but they remained unmolested, they are taking emergers he surmised.

Laying down the binoculars he quickly grabbed the sampling net and waded across to the faster water. This time he submerged the net so that it sat with its top at the surface. No dancing this time. He simply stood there facing upstream, net held out in front and let the conveyor belt do its job. With no distraction of casting or trout spotting , no pressure to catch, Hank soon became aware of the minutae of the stream. The little bulges and flat spots revealing the presence of underwater rocks, darker water where the stream deepened, curling stands of current, defelecting, merging. Hank was mesmerised and soon he was forming a picture of the underwater topology and bit by bit the stream revealed itself. This was without doubt a Eureka moment, possibly the most important revelation of his short fly fishing journey, it would forever change his perception of the river, its inhabitants and how it all fitted together. Hank was ready to embrace the world of 3D fly fishing.



It was a different Hank that waded ashore, like a new university graduate he was elated and the breadth of knowledge that he knew awaited him now that he had unlocked a door to a hidden word was simply overwhelming. The adrenalin rush was so intense that he nearly dropped the net. Quickly placing the contents of the net in a canister, he scribbled emergers on it. 'Super duper, these will the templates for some flymphs.' He rushed back out to the faster water and sampled the depths, then filled his zone 3 canister.

When he whistled, Rascal was soon dancing around his ankles and Hank fondly scratched one of his ears, the earlier indiscretion of rabbit hunting long forgiven. Hank was lost in thought as he made his way to the RV, ‘Way too much input Rascal, I need a strong coffee, a very strong coffee. After that we have a lot of sorting and internet searching to do.’

Is it a dream
that hides a world
of watery measure
oh to understand it secrets
the incessant call of the bubbling stream.


TBC

"Hook.....line.....AND sinker." ..... .....and it's all Rascle's fault.

It seems odd, if not a little unfair that some people simply soak up and retain knowledge with little effort. Recalling at will the name of a fly, its lifecycle, even its latin name. Hank smirked, ‘ don’t mean Rascal that they can put the knowledge to practical use.’ Hank belonged to the learn it slow and learn it well society, once assimilated and understood, it is locked away and ready for practical application when required. Hank had read loads of books on fly fishing , had surfed fly fishing sites following link after link, all the while soaking up a morass of information, much of it contradictory, some of it exhilarating.

Many months earlier he had formulated a plan of attack should he ever have the inclination to become a student of fly life and trout. First thing was recognition of the fly life, second was an understanding of its lifecycle and habitat preferences and finally, how the trout feed on each phase of each insect. He knew that this would take years, even a lifetime or two. One thing Hank was not short of was time and patience, he had both in abundance, though he had a tendency to sometimes jump in feet first he had learned to control that particular beast.


Eager to open the emergers canister, in the certain knowledge that Joe’s trout would succumb to a well tied, well presented emerger, Hank had to restrain his excitement, ‘ Them be nymphs Rascal before they try to emerge, that’s where we will start, start at the beginning.’

Deciding to start with Zone 1 he emptied the canister onto one of the plastic plates and quietly sat sipping his coffee looking at the contents. The scuds or shrimp were the most active and caught his attention first, quite a number of them in fact. Hank removed these first, taking a small, medium and large he placed them on some towel, letting them dry and then placed them on a sheet of the maths paper. Below them he wrote,

Scuds, Zone 1, 13th Jan 2012. Sample 1. Noting also the size distribution in the sample.
Large 20%, Medium 20%, Small 60%. ‘ That could be important Rascal, not now, but in a few years after many samples it may tell a tale or two’.
Sample : Scuds 30%, this was the figure that showed their overall representation in the whole sample.

Satisfied with the layout he reached for his camera and took a photo, then placed all the scuds from this sampling in a jam jar, half filled with water. This jar would eventually hold all the bugs and he would return them to the river.

Next came the blood worms, not particularly exciting critters, though their constant wriggling was a little mesmerising. He repeated the process of taking three sizes , logged and photographed. Interesting fact is they represented at least 50% of the sample. Now it got a little more difficult, the nymphs were not very numerous so he decided to leave them for the moment so set the remainder of the sample of Zone 1 to one side.

‘Best see if the photos will work Rascal ‘; Hank attached the camera to the laptop and printed out the pictures on A4 paper. ‘Purrrfect, these are dang diddly perfect, me and you Rascal, we will be the best darn Entomologists in the whole of New Mexico. See I even said it right.’

‘Lets go chase some Rabbits, I need some air’; Rascal did not need a second invite and soon the pair of budding experts were sauntering though the woods.

Freedom......, it is immeasurable .

Is it a dream
when the air is fresh
a muddled brain
is released from stress
the incessant call of the bubbling stream.

Otter, Howdy;



lol,

hank