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I had an awesome opportunity to join Dave Sawyer on the West Fly Swing Fly Fishing Podcast. Our conversation was a high level overview of the fishing here in the great state of Arizona. If you haven’t had the chance, give it a listen on your drive to work. I’m very thankful for the opportunity to share a bit of my story, and thanks to Dave and the fine folks over at the Wet Fly Swing Fly Fishing Podcast.
Check out the podcast – here
Full Wet Fly Swing Blog Post – here
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One of my favorite places in the state of Arizona is Lees Ferry on the Colorado River. My wife and I were looking to get out of town, and we headed north for a day of fly fishing with our friend, Dave Foster. Dave is an institution. Growing up on the canyon edge at Marble Canyon, Dave has spent his years guiding, rafting, researching, and writing about Lees Ferry and the Colorado River.
Late September in the canyon is still cool in the morning, but as the sun rises over top of the red rock walls, the river comes to life. We fished the standard tailwater fair – zebra midges, scuds, and San Juan worms under an indicator, and multiple fish came to the net on these pairings. Several more brightly colored rainbows fell to a well swung bugger on a heavy sink tip.
Red rock canyon walls, crystal clear water, feisty rainbows, a good friend, and a beautiful wife who likes to fish. Living my best life.
PS. Fish with Dave – Fly Fishing Lees Ferry
Fly Fishing Lees Ferry
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I drew a tag and was staring down a long lonely road trip by myself. So, I asked my four favorite people if they wanted to explore Wyoming together. We spent a full week looking over antelope bucks, wading in the river, riding horses, and playing in the Wyoming high desert. Although my goal was to find an antelope for the freezer and the wall, the most important souvenir I brought back from Wyoming was the time spent with my wife and kids and the memories that will last forever.
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This quote from Tom Kelly is my turkey hunting anthem.
He (the turkey hunter) will experience moments of tragedy of such depth and feeling as to preclude them form having been written by anyone but Euripides, and he will exalt in periods of piercing rapture previously understood only by willing Christian martyrs being eaten by willing lions. He will operate primarily in a climate not of desire but of compulsion. This is painfully evident in my own case. I do not hunt turkeys because I want to; I hunt them because I have to. I would really rather not do it, but I am helpless in the grip of my compulsion.
Tom Kelly from his book Tenth Legion
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Hunting turkeys has a way of making me question my sanity. I’ve killed plenty of turkeys before, but there is usually a moment on every trip where it feels like getting a turkey to gobble, let alone call it into range, seems like a Herculean task. It just seems impossible.
I felt like this as I sat with my back to a giant alligator juniper tree, shaded by its overhanging branches. I had made three setups that day with my decoys and had spent two and half to three hours at each stand waiting with agonizing patience. The wind howled, and I wondered if there was any point to being in the field. My tired, closed eyes burst open when a ringing gobble cut through the blustery afternoon. After a few light strokes on my box calls and a couple more gobbles from him, he walked confidently into range looking for me.
As I tightened the straps of my backpack around him for the long hike back to the truck, I couldn’t help but admire the lonely beauty of this tom turkey which paired perfectly with the lonely beauty of the rugged landscape.
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When a friend with a boat asks if you want to go fishing, the answer is always yes.
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The backstraps of this buck have long since been grilled and eaten, and if you stop by our house on a Tuesday night, you will most likely be eating tacos with ground venison. The kids are tired of me saying, “Don’t leave any of that meat on your plate. Daddy carried it out of a canyon.” It get’s an eyeroll every time, but they are starting to figure the importance of a clean plate.
And while the venison has kept us in red meat these past few months, the skull and antlers of this coues deer buck are currently hanging on the family room wall. I see them daily when I spend time in that room, and the kids like to ask questions about the different species and hunts that they will be able to go on in the coming years. Although the hunt only lasted a couple of days, the memories made in the field and the hours spent with friends live on at the dinner table and in the stories told in my home.
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The big canyon walls and tall pines made a majestic backdrop for the crystal clear water to weave downstream. The eager, hungry Gila trout were a bonus. We had made a couple of fly changes early, and we found that these native trout preferred a very small Frye Creek Special stripped slowly under the surface. Sight fishing for trout in late November is what makes Arizona a special place. Within a few hours we had each caught a dozen or two fish and started working our way back down stream toward the truck. It had been a few years since I’d fished this creek and it was good to find it in such fine form.
