Just thinking back and taking it all in, my memories of fly
fishing through the years, and this past winter. The crazy stuff. Where
conditions are so prime, yet your quarry is an elite professional athlete, navigating
this big tail water fishery, where it calls home. The Yuba creed is another
wild angry trout that tests skills from success, to utter shame. I sit here at
6,200 feet above the Truckee area thinking back on the most awesome dry fly
fishing I've had in over a decade. 2014 and the low water on the Lower Yuba
River favored the bugs, and the persistent trout stalker patrolling the banks.
It was sick. From my crew, to my friends, to my fellow GCFF club members, and by
other fans who heavily emailed me, called, and texted the most amazing results
that were day makers. These are folks that
fish all the time, have extensive knowledge, and a highly set skill rate.
That’s what it takes on the Lower Yuba. That’s the allure that keeps hardy
veterans, and aspiring walk and wade adventurers coming back and experiencing
that golden moment of “the take”. But
don’t forget those unexplainable lucky days where you can do no wrong. It so
weird isn't it? Why does it happen? I don’t get it. Never will.
Patrol the bank, that’s what you do. When you put in
multiple days on any water you become in tune with your favorite section.
That’s your area. You know it well. You’re the ruler. You know exactly where
they like to lay, and what time they come into the skinny bank water to feed on
those twitchy legged, Skwala stoneflies. By opening your senses to the rhythms
of the land and water around you, more questions are answered, and your
knowledge increases. Processing information and applying it to your next
challenge, only to get your ass handed to you once again. Most anglers just
give up, others like me just stop and observe. Another question answered.
There were days when I went solo, and after hiking across
the cobbles and gravel bars I was rewarded with nobody around me. A solitude
day on the Yuba is one to appreciate. The weather this past so called “winter”
was unbelievable, above average temps, and little precipitation. I would get out
onto the river, or on a good hike, and just say out loud “Really?”, “Is this
really happening?” “Come on, make it rain dude!” We did get some pretty good
onslaughts of weather in the foothills which translates to the Yuba being
blown. We had at least a half dozen days where it was perfect mayfly weather with
low sticky clouds, a light drizzle, and warm air. I saw the biggest BWO hatch ever;
it was so profuse and thick! I was wading mid river up to my thighs, looking
upriver and watching dun after dun float by or emerge in the hundreds, which
translates to thousands as the clock ticked by. When I see events like this I’m
distracted from fishing, it’s tough to concentrate. Why the hell do I like bugs
so much? Fascination leads to a better presentation.
Every trip out there, something new with technique was learned,
or modified, on those long technical dry fly presentations of precision. With
big water comes complex shifting seams, every drift is different, and always
changing in accordance with the fluctuating flows. It’s got to be drag free.
That’s the goal most of the time anyways. When it all goes right and you make connection,
the button is engaged on the missile launcher, and out comes a 18” Yuba rainbow
model at pace! They’re so pissed. Better check your knots again.
Man, I really miss it, but it’s time to move up to the high country as
the Northern Sierra awakens and warms up. Despite low water conditions that lay
ahead of us for summer, I have a feeling this one is going to be a special one,
with some great times on the water. I can’t explain it, you know, you've been
there. It’s just a feeling, a hunch if you will. Bring on the heat.
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