Pro Tips

2009

Fall Trout Hunting on Henry’s Lake
November 13, 2009
Rene' Harrop
     There is something bordering on sinister when a half dozen top Henry’s fork guides are joined by still water master Gareth Jones from Wales and one of Japan’s most aggressive and effective anglers, Masa Katsumata for a four day assault on a single body of water. But this was the picture in late October on one of the world’s most renowned still water fisheries.



     Located near the Continental Divide in eastern Idaho, Henry’s lake is the headwater for the equally famous Henry’s Fork of the Snake. Though at times fickle, Henry’s Lake is known for its heavy population of especially large cutthroat, brook trout, and cutt bow hybrids. Hungry for some personal fishing and weary of squinting at tiny Baetis and Midges, the staff members of TroutHunter were also anticipating the opportunity to learn from one of Europe’s most accomplished authorities on still water trout. A Henry’s fork regular despite its distance from his homeland, Masa was even more pumped up than usual for his first shot at the lake known as Henry. While Masa and Gareth had shared numerous days on various waters around the world, this would be Masa’s first opportunity to watch Gareth apply his specialized still water strategies.



     There are times when the lake gets hot and everyone seems to be catching fish. This is how things began on the first day on Henry’s when the weather was reasonably comfortable and the trout unusually charitable. Whether fishing from a boat in open water or wading the edges, fishing was fast and furious with no one from the group landing fewer than twenty fish ranging from eighteen to twenty four inches in size.


 
     Limited by a stiff breeze on the second day, boat fishing gave way to wading the shallows along sheltered stretches of the shoreline. Despite this limitation, the catch rate was at least equal to the previous day or even higher. Double hookups were common and Masa stayed busy running from angler to angler with his camera. Leeches, Scuds, and big Chironomids fished on slow intermediate lines were the fly order of the day, and no single pattern seemed outstanding. Though outdistanced to some extent by our Welsh friend, we locals were beginning to think we might be something close to Gareth’s equal, at least on this particular lake. That would change abruptly, however, on the third day.



     With more than one hangover following the season end party at TroutHunter Bar and Grill the night before, the group arrived at the lake to find twenty feet of ice rimming the edge. While essentially calm, the temperature was at least twenty degrees colder than during the first two days. As if iced guides and numb fingers were not complication enough, the fish seemed to have developed lock jaw overnight. And it was then that Gareth’s still water skills truly began to shine.


 
     While no one went fishless, takes became few and far between for the locals who continued to apply the same techniques that had produced so well during the carnage of the previous two days. However, pride eventually gave way to practicality as Gareth demonstrated clear superiority in dealing with the radical change in weather and trout behavior. Generous to a fault, Gareth shared his personally tied flies and helpful tips that allowed everyone to improve upon their initial results. By days end, we had accumulated a respectable tally, especially when you consider that we saw no one outside our group land a single fish that day.



     Temperatures improved on the final day but a pesky wind again kept us mostly confined to wading the shoreline. Unfortunately, however, the fish failed to return to the voracious feeding activity that made the first two days so exciting. With a new set of problems to face due to an unfavorable wind direction and discolored water we again turned to Gareth for solutions. Fly adjustment and depth changes soon had us back into business although the catch rate continued to be comparatively low. On the bright side, however, the day produced two big hybrids of more than five pounds and a real giant was lost early that morning before wind forced the boats from open water. The average size improved as well with only a few fish smaller than twenty inches taken.



     The vagaries of autumn weather in the high country were manifested by a fierce blizzard overnight but fortunately the roads were clear by noon the following day when Gareth and Masa were scheduled to depart for home. Though their respective flights exceeded 5,000 miles, I’m sure they both carried smiles along with fond memories of a very special lake for the entire distance.
 
Rene’ Harrop 
 
Drake Withdrawal
July 28, 2009
Rene' Harrop
While easy fishing is seldom associated with the Henry’s Fork, a month long period beginning in mid June produced something that came pretty close.



Green, Brown, and Gray Drakes are all size twelve or larger and the effect they have on trout is quite different than the usual insect fare on the Henry’s Fork. The appearance of any one of the three is an event to be savored but when they are hatching simultaneously, it can be almost more than one can bear.
 
Green Drakes are mostly a morning affair while Brown Drakes usually appear at around dusk. When combined with the Gray variety that can be found from late morning until dark, this impressive trio represents as much as a twelve hour window of what can seem almost suicidal behavior on the part of the trout.



 
For angler and river guide alike, the days become a frantic scramble from one location to another, and the distance between hot spots vary as much as forty miles. Deserving or otherwise, everyone seems to be catching trout of a size that normally would be considered an impressive accomplishment by even the most experienced veteran. Forgotten are the days when anything short of perfection in tackle or talent is met with utter disdain by the snooty rainbows and browns of the upper and lower Henry’s Fork. Reality has a way of coming around, however, and that is where we are right now.



 
It is amazing how small a size 14 Flav or Callibaetis can seem when you have become accustomed to fishing flies that are several sizes larger. PMDs in size 18 and the even smaller Tricos become almost invisible while abrupt adjustments are forced upon Drake spoiled anglers. But the river is much quieter now, and the big trout are still there.
 
Most of those whom only a few days ago, were celebrating the bounty of the Henry’s Fork are now off chasing Golden Stones and Salmon Flies on the Madison or Yellowstone. And while fishing here has resumed its normal demanding ways, it is still a fine time to be on the river. Hunting big trout along the open banks is now less likely to be disturbed by human competition, and the quiet is undoubtedly enjoyed equally by both angler and trout. Maybe I don’t miss the Drakes so much after all. 
 
 
Rene’ Harrop
Island Park, Idaho

 
A Message of Spring
April 29, 2009
Rene' Harrop

As the original fair weather fisherman, the Osprey’s autumn departure from the Henry’s Fork warns of winter’s arrival. Always the first to leave with the approach of cold weather, Osprey do not return until winter storms become a memory and the hatches of spring bring trout into a position of availability.

 As of tax day 2009, all of the nests along the lower river are occupied and Osprey have joined trout hunters of the human variety in search of rising fish. Baetis, March Browns, and Skwallas are the current fare, and caddis are due at any time.

 As the water begins to rise from an abundant snow pack, we are seeing signs of an early appearance of Salmon Flies. The giant nymphs are easily found in significant numbers a short distance from the edge of the river. With this indicator, many of the Henry’s Fork guides are loading their fly boxes with dry and subsurface patterns in preparation for the Salmon Fly action that could start as early as May 15.

 Rainbow activity on the spawning beds indicates excellent numbers of mature fish. And as this ritual nears completion, hungry trout recover depleted strength by feeding voraciously on spring’s bounty of early and diversified hatches. It is a great time to be alive on the Henry’s Fork.

Rene’ Harrop


Baetis CDC Thorax


Hook:   TMC 100 Size 18-22

Thread:   Tan 8/0

Tail:  Whiting Coq de Leon

Abdomen:   BWO TroutHunter Goose Biot

Wing:  Natural or dyed Blue Dun TroutHunter CDC

Thorax:  BWO TroutHunter Pro Dubbing

Hackle:   Whiting Grizzly dyed Dun-Trimmed to a wide “V” on bottom.


 
A Henry's Fork Forecast for 2009
February 16, 2009
Rene' Harrop
For more than a decade, members of the scientific community have attributed drought related trout mortality to inadequate water flows. If this assumption is correct, anglers should expect to see considerably improved trout numbers in
the coldest months, and severe icing is less likely to occur when flows exceed 300 cfs. Logically, hatch producing insects will also benefit from these improved winter conditions.
 
Combined with a nearly full reservoir, an adequate snow pack will likely produce spring flows that are similar to last year. Higher levels in late May created ideal conditions for the salmon fly hatch, and the resulting fishing for big trout was the best in recent memory.
 
Higher water levels should also encourage greater dispersal of trout below Box Canyon from Last Chance Run on through Harriman and the Pine Haven stretch.
 
Upstream from St. Anthony, the lower Henry’s Fork has been spared from severe icing that marked last year’s extended winter. Access to the river, including boat launching facilities, should not be delayed beyond mid March which is at least a month earlier than last year. I expect to be fishing Midges and the first Baetis hatches by that time as well.
 
While there is guess work in any prediction, it is extremely comforting to see the positive signs that have been missing during so many winters of the recent past. Water is the gift of life to our fishery and 2009 appears to be the recipient of this vital necessity.
 
Rene’ Harrop    
 
Henry’s Fork Browns
February 9, 2009
Rene' Harrop
In the proper season, my thoughts and attention are dominated by the big rainbows of the upper Henry’s Fork where copious hatches of great diversity dictate the refined application of a 3 or 4 weight rod. The constant disciplines of patience, concentration, and determination come into full play when the engagement involves long leaders and often tiny dry flies. But while I enjoy the intensity of this kind of fishing above all other aspects of the sport there comes a time when the distraction of a completely different game takes temporary control over my time on the water.
 
For several decades, my appetite for chasing fall runs of over size brown trout was satiated only on waters of considerable distance from my home. But in the years following their introduction in the mid 1970’s, brown trout have become a solid factor in the Henry’s Fork fishery below the massive Mesa Falls. A giant brown in excess of 25 pounds taken last year above Ashton Dam verifies the lower Fork as trophy water for this relatively new inhabitant. But while nothing I have taken thus far is even close to this record size specimen, autumn streamer fishing for sizable browns lies virtually at my door step.
 
The brown trout run has usually been underway for several weeks by the time we have returned to our winter home in St. Anthony. Early November finds me wading a stretch of the Henry’s Fork that is roughly double the size of its upper reaches in Island Park, forty miles upstream. I rely on a weighted fly to achieve needed depth rather than resorting to a sinking line, and prefer a double taper for its mending ability when swimming the streamer through likely lies.
 
My favorite fall streamer pattern for Henry’s Fork browns is a Black Leech tied with an orange head and Silver Dazzle Eyes added for weight. Palmered black hackle secured with copper wire over black chenille completes the body of the fly, and the tail is black marabou with a few strands of Crystal Flash.
 
Periods of low light during morning and evening hours are most productive although an overcast day can keep the fish active throughout the day. The brown trout run on the Henry’s Fork coincides with the final days of fall Baetis which joins with Midges in providing an option when streamer fishing is slow.
 
Lone Wolf
January 29, 2009
Rick Kustich
Sitting on the ground, I was physically and mentally spent. Seriously depleted of electrolytes, food, and water, nearly every muscle in my body was sore and stiff as if I had just run a marathon or participated in some sort of iron man competition. Though not quite so extreme, the day’s ordeal was close. I had just completed eleven straight hours of wielding a nine weight rod, a four hundred grain sink-tip, and a ten inch long fly in search of the most elusive of all freshwater game fish ─ the muskellunge. The left side of my body was as worn out from repeatedly stripping the fly as my right side was from casting it. In truth, I did take about seven minutes for lunch while traveling from one likely spot to another and about thirty seconds to drink some water on a few other occasions. But when it comes to chasing musky, especially with a fly rod, a full commitment is essential.
 
Esox masquinongy is historically known as “the fish of ten thousand casts.” Positioned on top of the food pyramid, it is only natural that the number of musky in a given body of water will be much less than any other species. Fishing pressure from the bygone glory days of past decades with low minimum sizes and high kill limits as well as reductions in suitable spawning habitat took their toll on historic musky populations. Add these factors to a musky’s keen hunting skills and arrogant swagger that allow it to selectively feed on its own timetable with discerning caution, and one can easily accept that its reputation as an aloof, cunning predator is well founded.
 
But with enlightened management practices that include an expanded catch and release ethic among many anglers, there is greater opportunity for a musky encounter today than in past years. Also, vast technological advancements in equipment along with a better understanding of musky habits have more than increased the odds for anglers, especially for those casting fly rods. But even with this encouraging news, catching a musky is still not easy. However, it might be time to adjust the musky slogan for the twenty-first century ─ something like “the fish of nine thousand, nine hundred casts.”
 
Of course, do not ask my friend Rob McCormick about the subject. His first time ever fly fishing for musky occurred one June day on my boat. He hooked and landed an impressive post-spawn female within the first hour. To him the musky is “the fish of ten casts.” But to put things in perspective he also hooked and landed a tarpon the very first time he cast to one.
 
Growing up on the Niagara River, I have always been intrigued by musky. I can still recall photos when I was a young boy of the lunkers caught by adult friends and family. A taxidermy mount in the local fishing club probably had the greatest impact. The fish was so large that it appeared a full-grown man could fit half his leg inside its gaping mouth. I was amazed, and even a little scared, that this leviathan came from the waters so near my home. I knew then that I wanted to catch one, but it would be years before I developed the skill and patience to even have a chance.
 
Despite the fascination and nearby availability, I never became a full-blown musky fisherman. My love for fly fishing and all its many facets got in the way. True musky anglers have a one track mind. Most fish for little or nothing else the entire fishing season. But that’s all right. Throughout the past many years I have found a way to combine my passion for fly fishing with my childhood captivation with old Mr. Esox. And since I have always been a bit of a challenge junkie, goals like catching a particular species or size fish with a certain technique has been the best approach to continually keep my fly fishing enthusiasm fresh ─ always raising the bar. After fishing for musky with a fly for more than fifteen years I am quite certain that the bar does not go any higher.
 
Muskellunge are native to the Northeast and upper Midwest of North America. Stocking programs have also spread their distribution southward past the historical range. Actually, until I studied a map of musky distribution, I never realized that the species occupied so many of the continent’s lakes and rivers. Thus, opportunities to fish for the species with a fly rod are more readily available to millions of anglers than one would think.
 
I recently read an article that described the muskellunge as the “water wolf.” When comparing teeth, the parallel is quite apparent. Musky have a frightening mouthful of them ─ some for cutting and others for gripping their less than fortunate prey. But for me that is where much of the comparison ends. Wolves are social creatures ─ hunting and living in organized packs. Except for spawning and occasionally gathering in wintering areas, the muskellunge works alone. This savage predator lurks in weeds or other cover to ambush with decisive precision. It will also wander the depths to strike out at unsuspecting prey like a street thug playing by its own rules. If a musky were to be compared with a wolf, it would be the lone wolf — dark and misunderstood.
 
Since it seems that human nature is attracted to mysterious characters, it is likely that the cryptic lifestyle of the musky lures anglers to pursue it. For me, fly fishing for musky is a way of trying to understand more. Placing my fly in musky water provides a conduit to an eat-or-be-eaten world that I can only imagine.
 
Fly fishing can actually be a successful method for pursuing musky. There can be sight fishing opportunities for post-spawn fish found cruising or laid-up on sandy flats. These situations give the fly fisher the advantage. But most of the time it is many hours of blind casting to likely musky structure, such as above and through weed beds, along weedy edges, near fallen timber, and around significant changes in bottom contour. The key to success is to identify some structure, make good casts with a fly that exudes confidence, and be patient ─ extremely patient.
 
Musky are known for routinely following one’s offering as it is stripped back to the boat. On more occasions than I would like to admit, a whole day of musky fishing has boiled down to a heart-stopping follow from a big fish, only to be snubbed inches from the boat. A glass half full type of person will find excitement in the encounter, and after many years I still do. But the experience can also be heartbreaking and discouraging.
 
Techniques like speeding up the offering or performing the “figure eight” move with the fly near the rod tip can elicit a strike from a follower. It is not known why a musky follows a fly or lure with such regularity. Maybe true to its reputation, the nefarious creature just enjoys striking terror into prey before chomping down for a bite. I use the opportunity to observe the fish’s reaction to particular patterns or retrieval techniques so that I may be able to improve upon them the next time out.
 
Steve Wascher has been my partner in the musky game for the last five years. Together we have fly fished musky waters in our home state of New York as well as in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Ontario. He understands structure better than anyone and fishes as hard as I do with no whining. We occasionally share a few stories while fishing, but most of the time our focus remains intently on the task. What happens in an instant can make or break the day — or maybe the entire season.
 
While fishing with Steve on a New York lake a few weeks back, I was in a particularly tough streak. I had failed to land a musky on my previous three outings. As I laid out cast after cast, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I would be better off pursuing something I could actually catch. But as I stripped in for my next cast, a shadow that began as a long dark strip behind my fly grew in length and width as the large streamer moved closer to the boat.
 
“Follow!” I yelled to Steve. I sped up the fly first by a faster strip, then by sweeping the rod with my arm and then by running up toward the bow of the boat. The big fish closed to within millimeters of the fly, but did not take. I then did a 180 degree turn with the fly and swept it rapidly toward the stern as the musky wheeled around to steadily close in on the bait pattern once again. With the enthusiasm of a five year old kid on a megaphone Steve yelled “IT WANTS TO EAT IT!” At the rear of the boat I began a figure eight and sure enough, the lone wolf ate. When I set the hook the fish flew out of the water in pure defiance. After a good battle, the big Esox was brought to the net. With my heart still pounding, I figured that was enough to keep me casting another nine thousand, nine hundred times.