Upper Delaware Report - EARLY MAY 2019

So far its been a high water season here in the Catskills. The consistent rains have not broken for long and sunny days have been few and far between. The higher water has kept temperatures down and caused a later than normal emergence of our Hendrickson mayflies. But now is the time to find these large afternoon insects breaking the film and teasing trout to the surface. The higher flows have pushed much of this feeding activity towards the flooded banks and protected areas along our tailwater sections. We’ve seen lots of Apple Caddis hatching as well along most of our freestone sections that has continued well towards dark — giving the trout another surface bug to consider.

The boat fishing has been excellent under these flows. The fish tend to eat better with less vulnerability within the high water and also seem to be less likely to spook upon anchor drop — meaning closer shots and some of the “easiest” dry fly fishing of the year. Although the fish have been taken larger Catskill traditional style dries — our guides have been having most of our success on snowshoe emergers.

The Streamer fishing has been productive between the dry fly shots — especially on the nastier weather days. Avoid the fastest water and fish areas with the slowest water possible. This is a great time of the year to target large Brown trout in the late evening hours with big streamers.

The West Branch has been fishing well and the upper reaches have benefited from the spilling Cannonsville Reservoir — pouring warmer surface water into the river below the dam. This spring feature has created ideal conditions for Blue Quills #16-18 and Hendricksons #12-14 to hatch in mass.

The shad festivals along the mainstream have also began to creep upriver. The guides floated south of Callicoon on Monday and had great early season Smallmouth and Walleye action — while still a little early for the Shad. But soon!

With May weather patterns beginning to set — expect some of the best fishing of the year to take place over the next 5 weeks! Call 203-554-5853 or Beaverkill Angler to book trips.

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4/25/2019 - STREAMER FLOATS

The early season on the Upper Delaware is always a bit of chaos.

The seasonal rains — mixed with runoff and bloated reservoirs — and cold water temperatures create conditions that call for very certain tactics to locate and catch fish.

The cold water — not yet 50 degrees in most parts — along with the high water has yet to see prolific insect emergences.

Infrequent Hendricksons and Blue Quills have not yet been noticed by our resident trout. The water is also lacking definition — meaning that riffles, current margins, holes, drop offs, and seams have yet to take shape in the overflow.

@beaverkillangler

Streamer fishing has been the most productive way to catch our tailwater trout during this early season period. Streamers allow you to cover the water quickly and efficiently as well as imitate the bounty of Alewives currently spilling over the reservoir dams. Streamer fishing is also best done from a boat…

The River Range Adventures guides have been running these streamer trips for a couple weeks now with regular success. Call to a book a trip today.

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Upper Delaware Trout Season April - June

Located atop one of the bigger drainages on the eastern coast — the Upper Delaware fishery is composed of both small tailwaters and a number of larger freestones such as the Beaverkill and Willowemoc. During the spring, when cooler temperatures and larger water tables allow for optimal trout temperatures — the fishery explodes in cycles of surface feeding. Each week brings a newly emerging Mayfly or Caddis species that conditions the trout to look up. The dry fly fishing can be spectacular during these 3 months — and during periods of intermittent rain storms and subsequent runoff — the streamer fishing for large carnivorous Brown trout can be excellent.

The River Range Adventures season is spent in drift boats on the tailwaters as well as walk/wade trips on the smaller and more intimate freestone sections. Please follow along as we document the coming spring guide season in the Catskills — one hatch at a time!

We operate out of the Beaverkill Angler Fly Shop in Roscoe, NY.

Call the River Range Adventures team (203-554-5853) or Beaverkill Angler in Roscoe to get in on the action. Dates filling up fast!

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BAHAMAS TRIP 2019

Dakota Richardson and River Range Adventures head to Abaco

Day 1: Finding our Way

The River Range Adventures team arrived in Marsh Harbor on Jan. 6th to the small Abaconian airport and an entirely new weather dimension from that of JFK.

The afternoon was 85 degrees with salt permeated through the air. We rented the only suitable large car available from the airport —which happened to be a Minivan (the van did quite well at getting across the coral ridden backroads of southern Abaco). The road south was long and straight, like the Pine trees that sprouted from the brush on either side of the one lane highway. This was once a British settlement — so driving was done on the opposite side of the road, which was easy enough, until you came to a rotary. I scanned the tree tops for the Abaco Parrot — a species unique to only a few Caribbean islands that brings with it a sense that you are now in a tropical landscape — one filled with an entirely new set of fauna and fish.

We had arranged a house just outside the small settlement of Cherokee, which lies on the southeastern side of the island. The settlement was once the home of British loyalists escaping the American revolution. The small concrete streets are not marked by lanes or lights, or even street signs. There is a small grocery store and shell museum and town docks — where fresh fish can be bartered for each afternoon. The town lacks common modern amenities, such as gas stations, restaurants, and bars. What the town did not lack was its proximity to world class Bonefishing.

The first night we took a drive just outside town along a winding jungle road that was clearly prone to washing out. The rains from previous days had the limestone soaked and small brooks of chalky water washed down each hill in the road. As the road gave way to hard packed sand — we could see the secluded bay and at the end of the way was Pete’s Pub.

My brother and I traded games of ring toss with sweating Kaliks in hand. We explored the long dock leading into the bay and planned our week ahead. I remember being excited with even the small Barracuda that hovered beneath the dock — for it meant that this was like so many trips we had taken to the Florida Keys, or Mexico, or Belize. In these tropical places, far from where I had grown up — you could walk out into shallow water, with a fly rod, and you were never sure of what you would encounter. It was set to be another great adventure.

After Mahi tacos and Conch, we headed back to the house. Our gear was spread into corners and maps were placed across the tables. Fly rods were rigged and clothing was laid out. I stepped outside in shorts to heed the ocean winds and days to come.

A glass of rum and the warm night sky was another welcome, a nostalgic reckoning of adventures past.

Day 2: The Morning Low

With a morning low tide, Gryphon and I grabbed our rods and walked beneath the Palm trees atop our ridge until we hit the beach.

There were clouds overhead and a flat light that barely illuminated the shallow bottom. This trend was expected to continue the next couple days so we had better get used to seeing shadows in the dark.

The long Cherokee dock was in sight and so were the flats. The hard white sand was easy on bare feet — but would there be fish we thought? Not sooner than we crossed the first sand bar did I spook two small grey fish from a trough. They must’ve been Bonefish I thought — though it had been some time since I had last seen one that my mind began to second guess. Maybe they were small snappers or cudas’ I wondered. And then came the unmistakable waving flag of a large Bonefish tail — dancing across the surface as if it were taunting yet another group of fisherman. “There’s one, see that tail?” I called out to Gryph — “Right where the grass starts.” He was closer and quickly fired a backhand shot into the morning wind. The fly landed behind the fish, which suddenly disappeared into the dark grass. We had heard that these oceanside fish would be tough to fool.

After an hour of walking further into the bay — we came to a point where chest deep water hugged the shoreline. We crossed back into the thick Mangrove roots, stepping over forgotten crab pot lines and sandals that washed in from storms past. The soaked flotsam and brown turtle grass — surrounded by scurrying ghost crabs and glass chards — quickly made us regret leaving our boots behind.

As we ducked and climbed through the tangled forest, we could see the beach from under the nearby canopy. Stepping back onto the sand — we stood before a small creek that drained from the shallow inner bay. With the incoming tide pushing water up the creek — we noticed that Bonefish were lining up on the outer sand bars — waiting to ride with the surging water into the shallows. This was our shot.

I crept into position — my eyes set on a school of shadows as they floated with the pushing waves toward a forest of Mangrove shoots. The fish were lazy and waiting for any well placed fly to hunt down. Definitely Bonefish, judging by their low profile, the puffs of mud, and glistening fins that would catch the sun as they broke the surface. I kept eyes on the group, almost within a long fly cast now — when out of nowhere, one of the biggest Bonefish I had ever seen (13 lbs.?) came rushing up the creek from behind me. I nearly fell over from the fish coming within a rod’s length of my feet. With that commotion — the entire school of smaller Bones scurried further up the trough and out of sight.

One of a couple smaller Bonefish from the morning.

As the morning progressed, Gryph was able to stick two smaller bonefish at the creek mouth. Both ran a modest 3-4 pounds — small for what we had already seen on this flat.

As the incoming tide began to slow, we knew our window was nearly over. I watched as Gryph began to work the sand bars back towards town. I still had fish cruising the now deeper trough in front of me. After nearly reeling up several times — I saw a two large shapes float in front of me, this time holding against the current. They seemed to be resting in place — waiting for food to wash toward them. I quickly yanked line from the reel and fired a backcast, against the wind, toward the fish. It wasn’t a long cast, maybe 35 feet — and once the fly hit the water it began to drift toward the fish. I remember not being able to see my fly with the passing clouds overhead, just the shapes in the muted water. When my fly was close, I gave two short strips to breathe life into the tan shrimp imitation. The larger of the two fish rolled — and paused — then shook his head violently as my line came tight. The fish raced to deeper water as I braced for the backing knot to hit the rod guides.

After a back and forth of runs and head shakes and tail kicks — Gryph was able to tail the fish and hold it up in shock. “That’s a f**kin fat Bone!” I took the fish in my hands for a quick photo — realizing I was holding the biggest Bonefish I had ever caught.

Day 3: Sandy Point

If the resorts and tourist crowds of Treasure Cay and Marsh Harbour are any indicator of the tourism growth of the past decades — then Sandy Point is a stark reminder of what the entire island once was. Nestled at the very bottom of Abaco, this small fishing village is truly out there. Most supplies are shipped in by ferry to the town dock — and there are no gringo restaurants or eateries. Instead, a contingency of small shacks and storm-bashed homes exist at the whims of the sea.

Our plan was to drive south and access some of the more remote oceanside flats on the island that we had acquired from satellite imagery. Rumors of better Permit grounds had our hopes high.

Upon arrival we decided to park just outside town at a beach pull off that was barren and inviting. The beach was positioned only a stones throw from the open ocean. Standing in the wash — you looked out at an expanse of blue — with deliberate uncertainty of what creatures might come up onto the flat.

We immediately hooked into smaller bonefish that nosed into the wash beneath our feet. They chased chartreuse jigs and flies and required only a short roll cast to reach. It was surreal and almost too easy — as if some impending fishing disaster must be near.

As the long beach stretched east towards the point, the shoreline became noticeably rockier — a mix of eroded coral and washed up debris.

The deeper water was now much closer to the beach. It was no longer Bonefish water — but instead seemed more predatory. The tempered waves now splattering against stout coral, as opposed to sand. There were dorsal fins that cut through the cerulean sea.

I quickly switched rods to one stiffer, with a larger reel, more line, and thicker leader. The fly was larger — with giant feathers and marabou, a sharper steel hook, and, this time, knotted to a section of thin wire. The first group of large shapes were difficult the make out. They moved in unison, unlike sharks — but they also didn’t porpoise, unlike dolphins. As the group of shapes dipped into the deeper water and out of sight, another appeared. This time a group of spotted eagle rays flapped playfully across the surface. I had never seen them so close to a beach before. After the eagle rays had cruised past — another, less playful, set of fins glided into range. The reef shark stood roughly six feet long in his storied grey suit. I began false casting towards the shark — unsure whether I wanted him to eat my fly or not. I was not prepared, per my rod or the rest of my tackle — but I couldn’t just let him pass. I fired a long cast and quickly retrieved the line, hand over hand, until the fly pulsated in the shark’s path. He continued forward — eager for a meal it seemed. I let the fly sit, sinking slowly, then began a quick cadence of strips that caught his eye. The shark kicked his tail and suddenly was tracking the fly directly towards the beach. Before long the shark was within a few rods leaders of my feet. Bucking his predator lust, the shark kicked again, this time sharply back out to the deep blue water from which he came. I have caught sharks on the fly in the past, but that would’ve been the largest by far — and with an open ocean to flee into — I doubt that I would’ve been able to land him.

After enjoying a cold cerveza and a Peanut Butter sandwich on the beach — it was time to move on to another spot that we had researched. But not before we had our fun catching ghost crabs around an old and forsaken fruit stand.

Driving north, we turned west towards the southern marls. There are no marked roads on this part of the island, and fewer have access to the water at all. Crossing past a mostly abandoned subdivision, the road narrows in front. It wasn’t actually a road at all — more of an overgrown two track across the island limestone. The satellite imagery had the road heading nearly to a promising looking flat — but we had no idea if there were down trees, or sink holes, or if the road would simply disappear into the abaconian Pine forest. Driving a minivan across some of this terrain was enough to make you worry. If you blew a tire or got stuck, there was no such thing as AAA, and we were not likely to see anybody back here — if ever. Yet the idea of an adventure has the ability to overshadow concerns.

We made it far enough to a pull off — where the path became too tight to drive — and so we geared up and continued on foot. This time in wading boots — we trudged through puddles of chalky mud and underneath tall pines. The underbrush was pleasantly clean, until we neared the water — where mangroves and thick mud took over. Making it to the cool open water and adjacent flats was enough of a struggle, but worth it, as we were in prime shallow water habitat.

Immediately we encountered giant pushes of water from schools of small bonefish that numbered in the hundreds. These smaller “Marls” fish were easy to fool as well. A simple cast to the outside of the school would draw two or more fish shooting out in a race to track down the fly. At one point, our group had a school nearly surrounded — to the point that they simply circled between us, as if in an aquarium. We took turns picking the school apart until we had our fill.

It was time to head back to Cherokee for some rum drinks!

Day 4: “Were Getting a Boat”

After discussing the previous days of fishing, it was clear that we wanted to explore areas on the map that required a boat. A flats boat would be a useful tool in accessing these areas own the map. These areas — away from the small fishing villages and far from boat ramps — were haunting in that there were rumors and that was it. I envisioned these shallow flats that teemed with Bonefish and Permit — the areas where no one fished — where cosmic secrets and fishing epiphanies were greeted. We just had to get there.

Unfortunately the island didn’t rent flats boats — and the closest thing we could find was a 25’ Center Console — which may have been a blessing in disguise given the coming weather conditions.

So we rented a Dusky from a marina in Marsh Harbour — along with our non-resident sport fishing licenses. The dock crew had sent us on our way not realizing what we had planned to use the boat for — or just how far we’d go to reach the bonefish grounds.

With strong north and easterly winds — the play was to head around the town point and towards Elbow Cay. Located on the out island — Hope Town was one of the more colorful settlements on Abaco and the most visited among sailors and island hoppers.

We headed south to a cut in the island that poured water across a turtle grass flat with the incoming tide. Gryph and I jumped out of the boat to cross the river of colder ocean water and began working against the current, looking for fish. This may have been one of the fishiest places that I never caught, or even saw a fish. Actually, we did catch small Barracuda and Triggerfish, but not the giant Bonefish as we had planned. One thing we noticed about the water was that it was considerably colder than on the flats of Cherokee. And the weather was still not cooperating as passing rain storms and dark cloud cover continued — with only fleeting bits of sunlight to tease the flats. It was like a broken light that would flicker for a moment, illuminating the task at hand — before cutting again to black — and returning us to hunting in the dark.

Green Turtle Cay would be next.

Day 5: “A Dangerous Crossing”

The Sea of Abaco was angry — as if the center console was not meant to leave Marsh Harbour on such a whim — with little more than some charts and an idea of where some large Bonefish may be found.

The wind was gusting 20 knots from the north — exposing Abaco and it’s islands to large swells that blasted across the shallow interior sea. The sky was grey again — but today there was also the chance of rain — sideways rain that was.

We motored slowly out of Marsh Harbour. The slips were full — a fleet of boats that were stored and waiting for a better day.

I remember noticing the discrepancy of shifting sand bars to where they were marked on the GPS. In a sea that often ran around five feet deep — this was a concern. We continued towards Green Turtle Cay, as the skies to the north continued to darken. We had taken a chance on heading across the Sea of Abaco because there were expected pockets of sunlight and a coinciding low tide and pressure system that could be perfect combinations — but maybe we had read things wrong.

The wind had shifted westerly — now creating a lee inside the outer islands from which a small window of calm water existed. The breakers in the distance shattered over the coral reefs as we had arrived at New Plymouth — the island’s safe harbor.

I had been to Green Turtle nearly a decade ago — where I had seen giant Bonefish cruising the town flats. I had always hoped to return — as a better angler.

We crossed through the colorful town towards the water. The flat was blown with drifts of turtle grass and flotsam. Visibility was bear and we managed to spook several large fish at our feet. After several low percentage shots, we continued around the the tip of the town where the flats quickly disappeared. Beneath the crumbling break-wall were mountains of conch shells — a seeming graveyard of what once was.

We decided to motor over to another part of the island with white sand flats and even more protection from the wind.

As we pushed off the dock — a large thunderstrike shook the ocean off in the distance.

“Maybe we should head back,” Noah wondered. We all wondered — was it worth it? The decided answer was yes. And so we loaded up on some extra gas from the pumps next door and headed north.

The notch on the northwest side of island contained a quiet bay of white sand that was rumored to have large ocean-going Bonefish at most cycles of the tide.

As we idled slowly into the bay — there was an atmosphere that we hadn’t seen in days. The wind had settled, the clouds broke for a moment, and the flats began to light up. We could see everything. A curious Green Sea Turtle even came over the boat to investigate. He was a welcome sign we thought.

I grabbed my gear and we jumped into the waist deep water — anchoring the boat just off the deepest part of the beach.

Just as we unhooked our flies and began scanning for life — the floodgates opened. With a loud crack in the sky — the rumble blew overhead and the bay was pelted with heavy raindrops. We took cover in the trees — hoping it would pass, and it did, but only after a soaking hour of watching and laughing — we decided it was not going to get better.

Then came the gnarliest boat crossing I’ve ever experienced.

We battled four foot rollers that poured over the gunwales and sideways rain that pierced your skin. The sand bars were now hidden under the dark surface. Several times the sounder read less than three feet of water — a scary thought to run aground with such violent swells threatening. The westerly winds and waves provided no cover or lees to duck into. I was forced to modulate the throttle between swells so as to not have water go across the bow. It was more adventure than I think I was looking for.

Finally we crossed inside the Marsh Harbour point and into the protected bay. We pulled into our slip as the heaviest of the rain came down. Luckily there was a restaurant close with plenty of cerveza.

Day 6: Back to Cherokee

7 A.M. Sunlight poked through the windows and a calm ocean breeze blew over the small coral mountain. The storm was over. It was amazing how quick everything had dried. The chalky puddles baked into hard lime and the Bermuda grass stood tall and straight.

As we walked to across the lawn and towards the forest leading to the flats — several Abaco Parrots squawked from the Breadfruit trees above. Their red throats and green bodies ruffled under the warming sun. They too were enjoying the changing weather.

With the early start — we would catch the tail end of the ebbing tide and the subsequent low. There are two small cays that lie across a shallow trough out into Cherokee Sound. These cays — no larger than a grocery store — marked the dichotomy between the shallow bay and the open ocean. If large Bonefish would enter the bay — they would need to access the system of troughs and channels that lead through the two cays. The rumors of Permit were also said to have been seen here. Catching the dead low tide would allow us to cross the shallow trough and stalk those very flats that had been out of reach in the past days.

We watched as the seams of churning water that fell over turtle grass shelves and cuts began to fade. The distant bars grew dry and the channel separating the two small cays was now only a faint depression.

Crossing the trough, we lifted our belt packs above our waist so as not to fill our boxes with saltwater. We spread 50 feet apart and began working the edge of the flat that wrapped itself around the two cays. Several deeper cuts of contrasting blue acted as highways for fish to enter onto the feeding grounds — and with the open ocean only a stones throw away — there was an excitement of what might swim towards us.

The sun and lack of wind had come with a cost — the fish were now much more difficult to feed. Longer casts and thinner leaders were needed — as well as a smaller, more neutral colored fly.

Pescavita Fly Co. Custom — *River Range Adventures* Custom

As the morning floated on — our focus began to fade some. We hadn’t seen many fish — and staring at the water as long and as hard as we did could make anybody start to see things. Shapes and shadows began to move — or at least they seemed to be moving. The twirling of the tide didn’t help this psychosis — and we were now on a race against the channel becoming too deep to cross.

I continued just a bit further, following a slight depression in the flat. Several shadows quickly burst from across the light sand. I had missed them — focusing on the edge of the flat instead. It was hard to not scan for fish in the distance with the great visibility that we had no experienced previously.

The tide was now moving swiftly between my boots. It was time to begin working our way back to town. A caught the large shadow of a Frigate bird overhead — his wings spread motionless. I wondered if he was out at sea that last few days — or weeks? A desirable way of living I thought.

Returning the water, suddenly a large lone shape was cruising up with the tide. He reached the shallowest part of the flat and stopped — as if he were waiting on something. Before I could even check the fly — my line was shooting back and forth in the air. With a strong tug on the slack in my left hand — the graphite eight weight rod was bent over — ready to fling the fly out towards the fish. I aimed right — careful not to spook him. The fly landed 10 feet in front of the fish. He waited for a moment – then sped forward — more eager than other fish had been. It was like he hadn’t eaten in days — or maybe hadn’t seen a fly that year — or ever. Without even a pause — the large Bonefish flared his gills and nosed down into the sand. I stripped hard — feeling the weight on the line.

Gryph yelled in excitement and came charging through the shallow water to see what I had hooked.

The large fish ripped line from my reel as he fled for deeper water. There was so much line out of the rod tip that it was hard to prevent slack. The line bowed as I raced backward — reeling frantically to stay tight. I was worried about the channel as well. The longer the fish struggled out in deeper water — the better the chances of him getting noticed by something bigger. I continued running back in an effort to pull the fish out of the channel — envisioning the line suddenly going limp and just the massive head of my bonefish remaining. Somehow there were no sharks or Barracuda around as I fought the fish into the shallows. Gryph helped me tail the long Bonefish.

We knelt in the warm sand – as water continued to flood — in awe of another special fish.

The trek back across the channel was much more adventurous this time. Placing our packs and rods high over head — we tip toed through the shoulder deep water back to town — a victory in hand.

Later that afternoon — the higher water in the bay made for perfect Snapper fishing along the town docks and in the channels snaking through the flooded flats. We even donned the snorkel gear and were lucky enough to find a few Spiny Lobsters hiding under the coral shelves just off the beach.

I filleted our Snapper along the docks with several residents who had just returned from the water. Their tan skin was eager for the shade of the Palm trees overlooking the docks. One man cleaned dozens of large Yellowtail and Grouper as he had probably done for years — with just a few quick cuts the skeleton was bare and tossed to the begging Pelicans.

Day 7: Heading Home

There were many moments beyond just those recounted above — too many to list in detail.

We had close encounters with sharks and Barracuda, we off-roaded to hidden flats with a rental minivan, and we navigated the island in a small center console. We laughed with locals, drank rum and kaliks, talked of our next adventures, and slept each night atop a small mountain of coral that overlooked some of the best Bonefishing in the world — eager to do it all over again in the morning.

I would do this trip again and again — and highly recommend this adventurous fishing experience to anyone who wants to join the Cherokee Bonefish Club.

Cherokee Bonefish Club. @pescavita_fly_co — Cherokee Bonefish Club.

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@waterman_kota

Snake River Report 03/30/19 - "Fish Starting to Look Up"

At the time of this post, the River Range Adventures team is between seasons. Our winter of guiding backcountry snowmobile trips has come and gone and Head Guide Dakota will be heading back to the Beaverkill Angler in the Catskills to hunt large wild fish in the surrounding Upper Delaware Watershed.

Having said that, the Snake is coming into some of the best fishing of the entire year. With low flows, not yet bloated with snowmelt and muddy runoff, the Snake is quite defined. The holding water is obvious and the trout will become active in these slower pools first. Look for tail outs, slow confluences, flat water, and eddies that contain enough depth to provide both safety and easy meals for these still lethargic trout. Look for subtle rises within these water types, and often the trout will be feeding just beneath the surface on emerging midges. Notice the below video, how difficult it can be to distinguish rise forms in broken surface water.

With several guided trips going out this week, keep an eye out for the next river report coming soon!

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Snake River BLITZ!

The warmer months and hatch periods between the banks of the Snake River sometimes bring about saltwater appetites. A Snake River Blitz!

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Upcoming Spring on the Delaware!

The River Range Adventures will have guides running trips on the Upper Delaware River system for this coming spring 2019. Please inquire if you’re looking for large trout, streamer floats, and head hunting with Dry Flies.

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Launching into Summer

Looking forward to adding a few scars to the boat in hopes of bigger fish and wilder places! Snake Drake Custom flies have been coming off the vise hot as of late…

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PRODUCT REVIEW: Cortland Lines

Earlier this past fall the River Range Adventures team had the privilege of testing some newer lines from Cortland. The tippet material has quickly become our favorite for trout and saltwater applications. Here are some thoughts on the lines.

Big Fly 5 wt:

This line has become one of my favorite go-to winter lines for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, the aggressive taper helps to deliver a quick load to the rod without the need for much of a backcast. This is extremely important on a river where bank side obstructions and difficult wading persist year round.

During the colder months on the snake river, the flows have come down quite a bit, though still mostly too fast and deep to wade some of the best winter holding water. The trout take to the deepest and most consistent water they can find, often beneath large eroded banks, man-made dikes, and far into the slow sweeping center of long glide pools. The most productive way to get eats is by either slow swinging a large streamer or indicator nymphing with a brace of two or more large and heavy nymph patterns. Both methods place considerable weight at the end of an already outstretched leader. Without this super aggressive taper, the rigs fail to turn over properly and also are impossible to cast more then a short distance, even without much wind. Also consider that the Big Fly Line doesn’t just place a short oversized head near the front of the line, instead the taper from the head towards the line tip is abrupt, creating additional energy transfer between the line head and the leader. This is most important where a smooth energy transfer is not needed, but rather the straight power to hurl rubber legged, lead wrapped, nymphs two at a time. I have other more traditional indicator nymph lines that have more roll casting in mind with the taper, however some water types require such weight at the end of the leader that no matter how well the line is designed, a roll cast simply will not have the distance to get to certain pockets. This requires more of a casting taper, like that of modern streamer lines. The high floating tip helps the buoyancy of my indicators so I don’t need to go up a size and potentially spook fish within low water.

I wonder what the difference in the line performance would be if the rear level step would be altered towards more of a longer back taper. I only wonder because I tend to raise my elbow and use more arm when trying to open the loop in order to decrease the chances of my nymph rigs catching one another. This causes an additional false cast up over my head and I can feel a hitch in the energy transfer, which I wonder if an extended back taper might smoothen the transfer just enough the mitigate this.

Again this is not the intended application of the line, however I have enjoyed the ability to carry one line that can handle both large nymph rigs as well as punch water-pushing streamers through the air without over forcing the amount of line you carry on false casts.

Trout Boss:

I utilized the trout boss line for much of my September and October season on the Snake, throwing large foam dry flies from a drift boat. The line performed well within these parameters. I actually cut several feet from the tip section because the high winds often made casting difficult for my clients, and the nature of the large flies and prospecting method negated the need for the tip. If I was using the line purely for personal use, I don’t think I would’ve done this, as I can see the versatility offered by this line.

If I could customize a line for the Snake fishery, I would probably use this exact line with an altered tip, body, and front taper. A slightly longer front taper would give just a bit more control in placing foam hoppers near the bank. Often the difference between someone catching fish and someone catching BIG fish on the Snake is the ability to target within parameters of inches and not feet. I’d cut the level tip back a few feet, take 5 feet off the body, and extend both the front and rear tapers with the resulting line. The lack of a tip might sacrifice a subtle landing of the fly, however this matters little, and while having increased control through the extension of the tapers, and a more compact head to help cut wind, the line would excel at accuracy with foam flies in the wind on a fast moving large western freestone river.

I was most impressed by the lines coating that seemed to last longer than most of my other lines. Under a Wyoming summer sun, most lines begin cracking after a month or two of everyday use. The lines I’ve had from Rio seemed to be the first to crack while my SA sharkwave lines do a little better for obvious textured reasons. The trout boss line is still going strong after two months of use without a single crack, which is impressive considering the line doesn’t sacrifice a smooth and quiet nature.

The trout boss also floats incredibly well, even when uncleaned for weeks at a time. I’m very excited to test this line next season for the entirety of the summer.

Ultra Light:

Flat Creek in Jackson Hole, WY might be one of the most technical Spring Creek fisheries that I’ve ever experienced. Often the trout can feel your coming vibrations from beneath the cutbacks, even as you slowly tip-toe into position. I’ve fished the stream for years now, often using a Winston Air 4 weight and a matching Orvis Superfine line. The reason I’ve used a 4 weight is because the superfine line in a 5 weight doesn’t have the right front taper or diameter. Even well placed loops and proper mechanics can have vibrations across the water surface. The same line in a 4 weight is certainly easier when making delicate presentations on calm days, however the lack of grain weight makes it challenging on the usual windy days that rip across the open meadow. Any lighter of a line requires a rod less stout and with deep undercuts and disproportionately large trout, I’ve lost big fish as they bent 3 weights over to the cork. This has been the challenge, finding a line that pairs with a 4 or 5 weight rod, but casts delicate presentations on pair with much lighter and thinner diameter lines.

The Ultralight Iine seems to do just that. I’ve used the 5 weight and found that the front taper is almost twice as long as my previous choices and the diameter even much thinner. I can get away with using a stiffer rod to fight fish and punch loops through the heavy wind but still rely on the thin tip and long front taper to transfer this energy smoothly into a very subtle presentation.

What I like most about the line is that the front section actually seems to sink into the surface film a bit, which I’ve noticed, along with the choice colors, seems to spook fewer trout. I’m not sure if its some kind of surface light refraction opposed to cast shadows from those lines that ride high, but the line definitely seems to skirt over the heads of feeding fish without putting them down. I think the ultralight tip diameter probably plays more of a role in this than I’m giving it credit.

I’ve also noticed that the diameter of the tip seems to act almost like an extension of the leader. The significance of this is that when fishing to spooky trout, sometimes within gusts of wind, I can get away with short leaders that turn over, while starting my butt sections with thinner diameters than I typically would. This increases the delicacy of presentations while still maintaining enough of a quick taper down to light tippets that can turn over properly.

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Can't Wait For Summer

Hiking the small water on the Snake River, far from the drift boat, will never get old!

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Hopper Season

With the cold and snow hitting Jackson Hole, we can’t help but think about mid summer and fishing hoppers!

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August Tricos

When late August hits and surface fishing on the Snake becomes insanity!

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Only 6 Months Away

The deep freeze of winter will come and go and raise the flows and soon the trout will be hungry again!

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Snake River Fishing Report 11/19/2018:

The typical winter weather patterns have set in for the Jackson Hole Valley. Expect temperatures below freezing and snow accumulations to bog down trails and reach further into the Snake from the slower banks.

The summer terrestrials have come and gone, and the Snake has become an entirely different river from its summer form. Having lost most of its water, the river is now small, intimate, and friendly to those on foot.

The trout will be quite easy to find. Look for slow water with enough depth to afford protection and adjacent currents that stir passing food items slowly down the course. Most of our Cutthroat trout will have settled into a winter resting phase, a near hibernation state, interrupted only by the occasional temperature swing above 40 degrees.

These warm periods offer some of the best fishing of the year on the Snake. The trout and whitefish, now congregated into the deeper holes and slow current seams, will break their inactivity and rise through the water column to feed when it happens.

The “it” I’m referring to is an abundant hatch of small macro-invertebrates that go largely unnoticed most of the year. They buzz around exposed rock and slow back eddies, forsaken to the larger insects that anglers choose to imitate; the Hecuba, Hoppers, and errant Stoneflies.

And now they are regarded as a saving grace that bring fish to the surface all winter long. The insects are called Midges and they can hatch into the thousands, even on blustery December days while snow and ice engulf the trickling Snake.

There is much to be grateful for this time of the year. The rivers are quiet, full of congregated trout and Mountain Whitefish, and just waiting to break open into hundreds of feeding mouths.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

A winter Snake River Cutthroat. Look at all the Midges in the surface film!

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Head Hunting on the Delaware

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A Season on the Snake Coming to an End!

Another summer season has come to an end in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The River Range Adventures team is eagerly awaiting several fall fishing trips and getting back to some custom fly orders before the Snow starts flying.

Stay tuned for upcoming posts and a published travel catalog along with some upcoming projects.

Below are a few highlights of the 2018 season.

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