The AVIAN-DAL

....to the Fish Gods...

The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web. 

Pablo Picasso


... And some times from a washed up black flip flop.

Confession... I'm not a creative person. I'm very good at picking and choosing the creativity of others and transforming that genius to my own advantage. In fact, I don't know if I've ever had a creative original thought in my lifetime. Therefore, I'm in awe when I witness that aha, light bulb moment when other's display that creative genius because it's not something that I can do.

Frequently these rare quanta of brilliance occur at the most unexpected times. Years ago, I managed to lose my car keys in the middle of nowhere near the White River in Arkansas at the end of a day. That car had security that Fort Knox would envy. The tow truck driver tried several methods without success to open the doors in a large abandoned farm field. At this point he suggested breaking the window to which I told him that a back up pair of keys were within the glove box and too bad that he couldn't figure out a way to thread a wire through the window, press the lock to the glove box, lift the keys and bring them back through the window. In just a few minutes, he did exactly that to which I remarked "that is one of the most amazing things that I've ever witnessed".

On my recent trip to the Seychelles and specifically Farquhar atoll, I had a similar experience. Amongst the group of us was Jeff Hickman, owner operator of "Fish the Swing" guide service and Kimsquit Lodge, B.C. Jeff and I shared one day walking the edge of a small island within the atoll looking for Giant Trevally, GT's that patrol the drop off waiting to ambush unsuspecting prey. Our guide that day explained that occasionally that prey includes bird that nest on the island. A BBC crew had been to Farquhar early in the season to film GT's that ambushed these birds as they skimmed the water surface. We were dumbstruck with amazement given these sea birds were roughly the size of a raven.

Later that evening when we returned to the lodge to the common's area, I witnessed Jeff taking a knife, epoxy and feathers to a black flip flop. He explained he was creating a "bird fly" to use the next day. The overwhelming majority of us heaped abuse upon Jeff and doubted the creation of this fly that I took to calling the Avian-dal. To be frank, despite years of education, I am an idiot for doubting Jeff and it eventually cost me $100.

The next day Jeff returned with my buddy Steve with tales of a GT that exploded on the Avian-dal. I still doubted them until I witnessed the unedited version of this video to which I guarantee it's authenticity. Watch for Jeff's reaction for it is priceless.

"Atal Bird Flip"

Creativity strikes many forms in the most unanticipated venues including the middle of the Indian Ocean. The key is to recognize, and wonder at the miracle of it's creation.

As Wayne would declare, "we're not worthy"!!!!

Charlie Chambers
Gorge Fly Shop Contributor 

"Fly Fish the World with Us"

How far would you go?

The dark side

"There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it's all dark. "
Pink Floyd

Great hypothetical questions of all time: if you won the lottery would you quit work? Would you travel to the ends of earth to catch fish? Is it possible to eat too many tacos?  I've always thought there this is no limits to where I would go to find aggressive bad ass fish, like Giant Trevally. Hell, if they were on the dark side of the moon, I'd go there. Recently, my hypothetical was tested by a dose of reality by traveling to the Seychelles to chase a number of species but specifically GT's,  the psychopath of the jack family.

The Seychelles are a group of over 100 islands with a only a few inhabited that lies about 1000 miles off the east coast of Africa in the Indian Ocean. The largest island is Mahe which hosts a number of flights from Europe and the Middle East. A few of our group made a detour for a few days in London. And yes, you cannot travel further to find fish since the Seychelles lie 12 hours ahead of our own Pacific time zone. From Mahe, we took a small plane to Farquhar atoll to a small landing strip. The atoll forms a semi circle to an approximately 60 square mile area with only about 5 square miles of land where Fly Castaway, headquartered in South Africa runs one of several operations throughout the Seychelles.

Simple yet clean

Lodging at Farquhar is clean, comfortable, and simple with a/c but certainly not luxurious. A large porch sits facing the beautiful turquoise waters of the atoll. A thatched open air area serves as the dining area with the best view of all towards the water and the sunsets. Food is exemplary and plentiful especially when you realize that everything has to be imported to the atoll.

We were there for a week of fishing with some of the most accomplished and knowledgeable guides from South Africa, France, and the Seychelles who speak excellent english and are highly motivated to make sure the week is a success. Be prepared for extensive wading over large flats with uneven terrain and coral, therefore, boots are a must. Ratio of guides to clients is 2 to 1 being ferried around by very nice open console boats. In the morning one option is to start by trolling teasers for sailfish with bait and switch to fly options. Guides are adept at discussing the fishing options depending on the flat and the tides. The night before everyone gathers in the “rec room” to discuss pairings and strategies for the next day.

The ecosystem in Farquhar is truly amazing given the lack of impact from man and no commercial influence. Across the flats are numerous non game marine life including large numbers of sting rays, Manta rays, turtles, many species of sharks and bird life. In a subsequent article, I explain how the bird life can influence fly choice. Just walking the flats and spying all this wildlife is worth the trip. But since I had traveled to the “Dark Side of the Moon”, I thought I might make a cast or two.

A few friendly faces.

Game fish include GT’s, permit, bonefish, trigger fish, sail fish, barracuda, snapper, grouper, milk fish, Napoleon wrasse and a fish that looks like it’s from the movie “Avatar”, the bumphead parrotfish or bumpy. Through the day you might catch any number of species. And any number of these fish will test your gear to it’s limits, just ask my new reel that decided to hiccup on a bumpy. Thank god for my guide who was willing to wade out and chase down my fish. Fishing is primarily done with 12 weights for GT’s but one always carries a 9-10 weight for other less fearsome species. GT’s are definitely worth their reputation in terms of attack of the fly and their strength.

All in all, a trip of a lifetime where I’ve proven that I’m willing to travel any distance to chase fish. Now if I can just win the lottery to to test one of my other hypothetical scenarios. 






Charlie Chambers
Gorge Fly Shop Contributor 

"Fly Fish the World with Us"

Spey Casting Errors by Charlie Chambers

Spey Casting That Prompts Cursing

Original photo and Credit by Larimer Outfitters - Photo edited by GFS for this blog post.

He who loves practice without theory is like the sailor who boards ship without a rudder and compass and never knows where he may cast.
Leonardo DaVinci

I don't pretend to be an expert when it comes to spey casting but I've screwed up my cast without any outside influence enough times that I have become moderately skilled at troubleshooting my cast when "the train comes off the tracks". Anyone who has spent much time with a two handed rod can profess many experiences where the casting was going perfectly then suddenly went from a little bit off to full on incompetence. A flurry of curse words inevitably follow. When you are dealing with a fulcrum that is 13 feet long, a small change at your hands can translate to a huge mistake at the tip of the rod. And frequently, we try to troubleshoot our casts by doing the exact wrong thing in attempts to heal our sins. So, here's my list of my most common spey casting mistakes and some suggestions to help. I'm not a guide or a casting instructor so these aren't the most common mistakes for everyone but these are my most common evils, but I'm willing to bet that you've done these a few times as well.

TAL ON TAL

There's no sensation to compare with this

Suspended animation, a state of bliss

Can't keep my mind from the circling skies

Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I

Pink Floyd

Okay, David Gulmore was singing about planes, but it applies the same to my feeling as a helicopter takes off leaving me on a small gravel bar on the Taluchulitna. I had the chance to experience the Talaheim lodge on the Talachulitna river thanks to a friend who had been their previously. The "Tal" lies about one hour by small plane northwest from Anchorage. The location requires a shorter journey compared to rivers in the Bristol bay drainage yet a similar atmosphere of remoteness. The owner of the Talaheim lodge, Mark employs a staff who strive to provide to the needs of all the guests. You can't help leaving without feeling spoiled. Guides are first rate and professional. We had the pleasure of the company of Scott, Mason and "Doc" who lead us each day in the pursuit of Kings. I couldn't ask for a better trio of guides who definitely excel at flyfishing the area but are equally adept at using gear if that is your preference, not that there's anything wrong with that. Each day begins with a hearty breakfast concluding with a discussion regarding the possible fishing options and split up according to preferences. Our purpose was to swing for Kings but the trout fishery itself is equally impressive as evidenced by the dozens of "bycatch" trout that I landed on King flies during the week. The trout could definitely be described as fat and frisky, and I spent a better part of a day skating mouse patterns for 16-20 inch leopards. I'm told that the Silver Salmon season is not to be missed as well.

CARPE' THE NOW

Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh. W. H. Auden 

The original intent of this piece was to regale everyone with the follow up to my insistence on practicing your cast especially before a distant trip to salt water. My plan was to recant Heminway-esque tales of fishing for tarpon accompanied by the requisite fish porn, But alas, sometimes the fishing gods rear up and hit you with the butt end of a 12 weight with moody fish that are few and far between. During this recent humiliation in the Keys, the time on the water gave me time to pause and savor each moment while being poled around into a head wind.

The Fate of Your Fly

The villain from Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men, Antone Chigurh, soliloquizes rather elegantly especially for a homicidal psychopath regarding fate when he encounters a gas station clerk, He proceeds to explain that the clerk's fate is about to be decided by a flip of a coin. In wonderment, he details that the clerk and coin have traveled through time, distance and happenstance to converge on that very moment when the clerk might live or die. I've often pondered the same peculiarities of fate when placing a fly in front of a fish especially a migratory fish. I'm amazed that my plans placed me on that flat, at that tide, at that moment in order to place a hunk of fur and feathers in front of that tarpon, bonefish or permit who at that moment in time decided to be in that same place possibly ignoring other similar offerings but now wants to destroy my offering. Wow. I think of all the preparation that we take, all the money we spend, all the gear prepping we do to essentially deliver a fly to that fish. Kind of crazy when you consider that all that effort and dollars are consumed to insure a 1-0 hook gets to its fated destination in front of Mr. Bucket Mouth. All these factors we fine tune to near perfection but for some reason we all will frequently skimp on the most critical aspect of this dance of angling fate, our cast.

Candy

In June, I will be making my yearly foray to the Keys to chase tarpon and I will be doing daily drills like a prospect awaiting the NFL draft, Here's a few thoughts on what I need to work on and thought perhaps it might be helpful to share. First off, I find that for a few weeks, getting out every day for 10 minutes is much more beneficial than a last day or two marathon session of panicked practice. It's best to use the rod weight that you might be using but I've also used the Redington Form Game rod if convenience is an issue. I'll need to determine at what distance can I consistently lay the leader straight out with 1-2 false casts. I like to start each "rep" with only a few feet of fly line extending out the end of the rod while holding a piece of yarn or preferably a hookless fly with barbell eyes. I'd rather know what distance I can cast to with a tight line effort than longer casts with a pile of leader like a colander full of spaghetti. Having your fly land in a pile of leader delays how much longer it'll be until the fly will appear alive, and complicate matters more so if there's any current. I'll focus on my double haul making the sure the timing and amount of haul keeps my loop tight and air resistant. If you haven't developed a double haul, here's a simple method to learn. Start by casting side arm and break your cast into halves, First, make your backcast with a double haul and allow the line to land directly behind you to its full extent. Pause for a moment, then make the forward cast with a pause as the fly lands on the grass or water. Keep repeating these half casts and as you feel more comfortable, decrease the length of each pause till eventually, the pause is eliminated then merely rotate your casting axis until you are casting overhand.

Charlie - Palometa Club

Ascension Bay Permit

I also will take time to cast directly into the wind where I find that I can really sharpen my double haul skills. One of the guides from the Palometa Club in Punta Allen, Mexico taught a technique for casting into the wind. Again, he emphasized the point of shortening the cast as long as I can get a tight line cast. In normal conditions, casting requires a nice high stop with the forward cast but if you do this in a strong wind, once the cast straightens, it will be blown back by the headwind. Instead stop almost parallel to the water but making sure not to speed up the cast. In addition, make the timing of the forward haul just a moment later with a little more speed and length. And, really make sure that you still come to a nice crisp forward stop.

When making longer casts, I've learned to employ a little bit of wrist snap in my forward and back casts. I find this especially helpful in that troublesome headwind. Most of us were taught to keep our wrists stiff like a board when we first learned flyfishing but as you progress in length of cast, you need to slightly increase the travel of your rod tip, A wrist snap can help this more efficiently and keep that loop nice and tight.

Lastly I find that practicing while trying to tighten up my forearm muscles helps me deal with big fish fever when I'm standing on the casting platform. Yes, it's exactly what you don't want to do but doing so in practice helps make me much more aware of NOT doing it during the real McCoy. Kind of weird, but it works for me.

So I'm sending out a warning to Mr. 3 digit tarpon, start prepping. I'm doing all I can by practicing my casts and my technique. Hell, I'm going to work on my left handed cast as well. I'm doing everything in my power to deliver that fly to it's fated destination. Sir Tarpon, I expect you to prep by getting yourself faster and able to jump that much higher to such an extent that my knees knock and my extremities shake. We have a date with destiny. I'll see you soon.

Charlie Chambers

"Fly Fish the World with Us"

No Rhyme nor Reason for Frostbite

Kast Steelhead Gloves (Call to Action)

"But damn if these things aren't sweet."

My hands be cold
The tips so numb.
I cannot hold the line
My casting now so dumb.

But lord behold a miracle
Waterproof Kast gloves so snug.
I can deftly hold my Skagit
No muting of the steelie tug.

The grip and grin I do not dread.
The wrist cuffs waterproof like none.
Though river temps are frigid
I do not freeze once release is done.

Style with gloves rarely is a concern
But damn if these things aren’t sweet.
Black with fluorescent green highlights.
Provide a rare visual treat.

I’ll no longer dread jet boat runs.
Those rides with cold wind blown
Kast gloves block those gusts
No fingers red like nose of clown.

The fit is true
The price is right.
Call my friends at the Gorge Fly Shop
They’ll set you up tonight.

- Charlie Chambers

www.GORGEFLYSHOP.com
"Fly Fish the World with Us"

Charlies Journal...Steelhead Date 10/28/2001

Date: October 28, 2001, Sunday

Time: 6:30a till 10:30 and then 3:30p till 5:30p
Where: AM: Above Harpham flat, PM First run above Maupin

Steelhead today: 1
Steelhead ever: 5
Flies: Purple Peril     

Thanks goodness for a wonderful wife who lets me go out to fish when her sister visits. This weekend, Sue came for a visit, and today, I get to go out and frequent my new home waters, Deschutes River. The fall has been record in terms of steelhead though alas my take has been a new record for me given my recent steelhead efforts, but pales in comparison to that of others.

"I only eat these on fishing trips"

Tried to get up early to meet the sun. Something so invigorating and meditative about being alone in the car first thing in the morning with anticipation of not knowing what the day will bring. Add to the ambiance, fresh brewed coffee and a cheap piece of danish. It ranks up there with what I consider life's other perfect moments, holding your child while she sleeps, a fresh glazed Kruller, watching a meteor shower, observing your most hated sports team lose at the hands of your favorite team. I really can’t get a handle on why this A.M. ritual is so special to me. Perhaps, some wrappings should best be left on the box only to marvel at the wonder of the surprise. Or maybe, I just like driving anywhere that leads me to emerald rivulets and potential for silvery wild fish.

Tried getting to the moss hole, but found someone already plying the waters. Decided to try to work the area above Maupin. My first guided steelhead trip to date, with John Smeraglio was successful  above Harpham flat. That was a memorable fish. My first wild steelhead,  my second steelhead of all time. That fish was so strong and for what seemed like hours, I was linked to the inner prana. I chased that fish from the riffle above Harpham to the boat ramp. Such a mixed sensation to see the flyline backing. First the joy of the strength of the fish, and then the “oh shit, that’s my freakin backing”. As an aside, why do we feel the need to conjure up this objective endpoint to fellow anglers. “Oh yeah, that one took me well into my backin.” As if, only partially into the backing weren’t enough. Or better yet, took me to within two cranks of the end of my backing. Well, a simple tip, set your drag so light that a stiff wind or butterfly flutter would rip line off like a shrieking ghoul. “Yep, that monarch took me to the end of my backing. Should have seened the smonofabitch. “ Anyway, that first wild steelie dragged me down around a quarter mile to the boat launch at Harpham. I told John to let me sit for awhile and get my breath back. Perhaps, a little winded but more likely to soak up the wonder and the thrill of it all. I remember how long it took to revive that fish. How I held his strength in his hands and watched him undulate away into the deeper water. That kind of simple joy strikes the cords of my soul with the same impact as the coffee, danish, car in the morning event.

Anyway, today, I went to the same area. More from default, than from any real determination. As I was gearing up, some chap suddenly showed and worked the water I intended. I was momentarily perturbed but decided to settle down. After he had worked well downstream, I thrashed the water with my line. Had a two fly system with a “Joe Gert” and Purple Peril  After just a few casts, something struck the back of my legs scaring the hell out of me. I looked up to see a mink on a large rock with a mischievous grin on his face. Of course, the “Joe Gert” was store bought and like the unknown ensign from Star Trek on the landing party, would be the first to be horribly lost in a tragedy. Sure enough, 5 minutes later, no “Joe Gert” to be found. But shortly thereafter, a beautiful hatchery steelie. Not a great fighter, but that connection to the prana intact and invigorating. Recently, Judge Hoagy has reversed the decision that suggested that wild and hatchery fish are different. I had in my mind to sacrifice this hatchery fish. One less hatchery fish competing for spawning ground with the wild cousins. One less hatchery fish for some half-assed judge to consider the same as the wild version. Sure, argue the genetics or the watershed, but until you’ve hooked and fought both, you can’t possibly understand that the difference is obvious and doesn’t need objective proof.  I knew that the buck would be on the dinner table this evening and not wasted or spoiled. I brought him to shore and struck him with a grapefruit sized rock. I felt so futile because I don’t know how many times I had to strike him. But the method to this madness, instilled upon me how life struggles to stay on this plane of existence. However, once the fate of the beautiful anadramous creature was decided, a sense of calm came over him as I lay stroking him and looking into his clear eye. Almost an accepting, and with my voicing saying an awkward prayer of thanks, peace came about both fish and fisherman. Throughout my life, death has literally scared the life out of me. But at this moment, I knew that at my passing, I hoped someone that respected me for who I am despite my frailties could stroke me, whisper to me and help me to accept my fate with a quiet awkward but sincere prayer.

I cleaned the fish at the river bank, and placed him in the cooler. I felt a strong urge to preserve him as well as possible. Nothing seems more a rape of nature than the wholesale killing of fish by “sportsmen” only to stock the freezer. After coming back to the run, I found not one but two fisherman. Initially, I had the urge to go over and turn their two piece rods into travel rods. But calmed down to realize that maybe they were just naive and that every fisherman has the potential to be a steward of the resource. However, in contrast to the convention, they didn’t work downstream allowing the water for others to pass, but stayed in a holding pattern. Moments such as this sometimes make me feel that I have more in common with my recently sacrificed steelhead than some anglers and people. By this time, I had had my fill and went to Maupin for the requisite cheeseburger at the local greasy spoon. Man, I love those places. Unabashedly, serving up plain heart warming “grub”. I love cuisine as much as the next guy but occasionally I need to have something that isn’t covered in a guava chutney, blackened with a side of confit and dressed with radichio. I need a place that doesn’t bother to ask how I’d like that burger cooked. Where the refills are always free and the food comes in a basket. Just like some days, I crave spam and eggs, chicken-fried steak, fried bologna sandwiches, and hamburger helper. Maybe I like these simple things because it reminds me how stripped of all my airs, I can be wholly satisfied by fundamental food, relationships, sports and moments. Or maybe I just like greasy food because it’s damn good.

Chase down the river

Afterwards, wandered to Oak Springs for some trout fishing. The day started so promising that I thought those beautiful river sailboats, blue wing olives would hatch. But the sun came through and ruined my hope. Nonetheless, the fishing was reasonable, and I didn’t waste my time. Late in the afternoon, went to just above Maupin at the first run below a short rapid. Not much luck, but my heart didn’t seem in it. Perhaps, my morning spiritual sojourn had filled me and there was no room for any more experience. I picked up and left and found my way home to the ones I love and the ones I adore. I’m not sure what constitutes the perfect day but it was a day lived perfectly. I had a boyish grin as my youngest, Camaryn, had more than one helping of fresh steelhead.

Charlie Chambers

"Fly Fish the World with Us"

Kharlovka - Eastern Promises

Gather around me, my brethren of the swung fly. I have tales to share with the guild of the two handed rod. You hear stirrings of a magical place where anadramous fish up to 40 pounds return in numbers unaffected by nets, hydropower, hatcheries or clear cut forests. Myths abound about streams where a floating line can be cast at high noon with blue skies uninterrupted by cloud. Whisperings percolate about a virtual shangri la, where a skated fly can be tickled across the current like fingers across guitar strings regardless of the time of day. Legends are whispered about rivers where you are guaranteed to be the only one fishing the pools and no boat traffic occurs. Yes! A place where no commercial fishery exists and no indigenous people live. I’m here to tell you that I’ve been to such a land and promise you that it does indeed exist. And like Dr. Jack Shepherd from Lost, I have to proclaim, “we have to go back” either with or without Kate. The place is in Russia on the Kola peninsula.

Sage Spey Switch Rod: Method 9119-4 Review

I'm a little bit country
I'm a little bit rock n roll
I'm a little bit Memphis & Nashville
With a little bit of motown in my soul
I don't know it's good or bad

Donnie and Marie Osmond

Yep, sometimes life is a dichotomy of preferences. Occasionally you want a farm to table culinary masterpiece of elements put together like a swiss watch, or sometimes you just want a big greasy burger. Our sports gear reflects the same bipolar attitude, on beautiful mountain days after a fresh dump of powder, you need your fat waisted skis that float like milk foam on top of a latte or when we have concrete, you need your skis that turn with the slightest bit of pressure change. I was thinking of the same split minded thinking when asked to compare the Sage One to the new Method series. Bottom line, which one is better?

The Sage Method 9119-4 or 9 weight, 11 foot 9 inch, 4 piece is definitely the rock n roll, head banger of the two. The Method series replaces the TCX series whose most famous member was the 7126-4 or the “Death Star”. The TCX was a fantastic series of rods. However, the TCX was an unforgiving blank that when you hit it right went for miles, but be off a little bit with your timing and you would be rethinking if you ever really knew how to cast. The Method series remains an extremely fast and powerful rod that throws loops so tight they almost break the laws of physics yet having a more forgiving nature. I had a chance to try out this rod in Alaska swinging for kings and in Russia, swinging for Atlantic salmon. It matches well with
shooting heads in the mid 500 range both Skagit and Scandi. The Ross CLA #6 or the new Sage Evoke 7/8 balanced the rod well which weighs less than half a pound. But the Sage Evoke blaze reel seems destined to be paired with the dark red Method blank. Though this series seems to be more forgiving, the Method is definitely not a rod for beginners. In the right hands, it’s the perfect rod for windy conditions or when throwing what amounts to an entire chicken on the end of a hook. I love fishing and fighting fish on these short spey rods but they do have less leverage when pulling a heavy fly out of deep water.

Sage One Spey

Going back to the original question of which is better Sage One or Sage Method. I love both but they have an entirely different feel. The Sage One is like a smooth George Jone ballad that’s easy on the ears. Whereas, the Sage Method leans towards Metallica or AC/DC. One isn’t necessarily better than the other
but they both appeal to different halves of our psyche. The Sage One is much more forgiving with a nice gradual progression of flexion through the blank, “easy like Sunday morning”. The Method will lay out line so fast that you’ll have to adjust the drag on your reel. The contrasts in rods is likely the reason why very few spey fisherman only own one rod. Guarantee this fall, on many a day, you can call me Method Man.

Charlie Chambers

Gorge Fly Shop Contributor

"Fly Fish the World with Us"

Hail to the King, Baby - Alaskan King!

Alaskan King

British royalty. I’m dumbfounded by the obsession of the American public to any news of the monarchy. The name of the new prince took center stage on all the major networks. The only U.S. coverage I enjoyed was the Saturday Night LIve skit discussion the appropriate names for the royal birth canal. The only royalty that I swear fealty swim in the rivers of the Pacific Northwest, the Chinook or King salmon. Trying to get the anadromous royalty to come to a swung fly is a challenge especially in the lower 48 where run numbers are a fraction of their former glory. However, Alaska bears a number of rivers that support large healthy runs of salmon.

Most anglers when talking King salmon.. continue reading

"Fly Fish the World with Us"

Tips and Tricks for Traveling Fun

John Garrett: Traveling Fun

Traveling Fun

One could certainly wax poetic and become mired in philosophy while trying to channel your inner Norman in order to understand this obsession with fly fishing. But at the core,fly fishing is so much damn fun. And we spend thousands of dollars for travel fly fishing because it’s really really fun. Last month, I covered what to pack to remedy our medical woes when abroad, and this month, I’d like to suggest tips, tricks and gadgets to maximize the fun aside from the fishing aspects.

Read More

Find the rest of this story and future articles in our Travel section at Gorge Fly Shop.

Doctor Recommended: Medical Kit for the Travelling Angler

"Put the lime in the coconut drink them both together, Put the lime in the coconut, then you feel better, Put the lime in the coconut, drink them both up, Put the lime in the coconut, and call me in the moooooorning!"  -Harry Nilsson

Ah, if only medicine could be so easy especially given the over the counter availability of limes. I must confess a bias towards the Western Hemisphere as evidenced to my lack of any journeys to Europe or Africa. The blame lies in my obsession with Mexico and Alaska which leaves me no vacation time to travel to other destinations where I can ponder old buildings, historic art and overpay for espresso. On one of these excursions to Mexico, a friend began to suffer from gastrointestinal issues and having a medical background, I felt obligated to explore the pharmaceutical stock of Punta Allen, Mexico. Interestingly, the local clinic had medications that were free to the public, but I’ve seen better supply in my wife’s purse. From that point on, I made sure to be well supplied for future fishing trips. These supplies I keep in a waterproof near-indestructible box that you can get at any camping supply store. A few of the things that are rarely used, I vacuum seal and keep in the box as well. I can remove and add items depending on how remote the location. Here’s my suggestions:

One Guide Tip to Reign Them All

Slow down, you movin' too fast You gotta make the MORNING last Just kickin' down the cobblestones Lookin' for fun and Feelin' groovy.  -Paul Simon

Originally this article was going to list my top 5 guide tips. The plan was for a distillation of wisdom that I have received from fly fishing guides the world over. After all, this is the time of year that our existence seems to be whittled down to a parade of top ten lists so we can reflect on the year gone by. I've been keeping a list of tips on my smarter-than-me phone to help determine the finalists. But the basic tenet of each tip seemed to hinge on one core philosophy, SLOW DOWN!

Cheers

Gift of Gab

Yes, it is time for another Travis Duddles story.  Sorry Travis!

This time our good friend, Charlie Chambers, "lets the cat out of the bag," with this comical tale from Deschutes River Steelhead Camp.  Thanks Charlie, this is a true classic!

Travis with daughter Mattie on, what once was, Northwestern Lake

And the story goes...

Anyone who has the fortune of spending time with Travis knows that he clearly has been blessed, maybe cursed with the "gift of gab". I think this attribute has contributed to the success of the Gorge Fly Shop. I don't blame Travis because I think there's some genetic basis. I remember having long involved discussions with his brother Scott about our favorite topic, food. However, at least Scott seemed to need a participant. I've been fortunate to spend a number of river camps with Travis who I am blessed to call my friend.

On one particular occasion, several of us were up sharing stories, and finishing off our booze of choice. Adding liquor to Travis and his ability to converse is literally akin to throwing jet fuel on a fire. Over time, one by one, each of us said our goodnights and headed for the comfort of a tent. However, while waiting to fall asleep, I could still easily hear Travis' voice carrying on an animated conversation. Given that with a little liquor, he wasn't allowing someone else to get an word in edgewise, I wasn't struck by the absence of any other voices until the next morning.

Over a nice cup of coffee, we shared the same amazement at hearing Travis' voice carrying on a conversation alone. Much to our surprise, none of us could confirm that any of us were actually the one's sitting there with him telling stories. In other words. Travis was having a very engaging conversation by himself. Not a problem because he clearly sounded like he was really having a great time.

Happy anniversary Travis, looking forward to many more camp trips together.


-Charlie

"Fly Fish the World with Us"

Anchor vs Oars - A Tribute to Late Fishing Icon, Tom Helgeson

This post comes to us via local fish hound, Charlie Chambers of Hood River, Oregon.
Thank you Charlie for sharing this entertaining bit of history and helping us to recognize this influencial man!

Anchor vs Oars

Anchor Always Wins...

2011 marked the passing of a beloved icon of Midwest fly fishing, Tom Helgeson. He was instrumental in the growth of the sport in the mid west with his magazine and his regional fly fishing show. A number of anglers including myself owe a debt of gratitude to Tom for the development of our passion. The spark to the flame of my fly fishing ambition was from Mike in a small fly shop in St. Paul but Tom served to stoke that flame to a bonfire. Early in my obsession, I attended a weeklong fly fishing school hosted by Tom and a number of his colleagues in Montana. The week would encompass several days on private lakes catching huge stocked trout and then several days on the Missouri river fishing Trico and Caddis hatches. Mixed between the fishing were classes in all the foundations of our sport, chances to break bread, tell stories and do 12 ounce curls.

The private lakes on the ranch surrounded our accommodations. The trout in these lakes were monstrous deserving of call letters and they were very surface oriented. However, they clearly knew to cruise just beyond my casting distance which at the time was feeble. After dinner one evening, Tom asked if anyone would be interested in taking a drift boat for a quick nightcap of fishing on the nearest lake. Given the chance to narrow the distance to these triploid torpedoes, I jumped at the chance especially given that at the time, I had no idea how to row. Needless to say, the fishing was incredible given the combination of the proximity to the fish and the magic twilight. Tom and I fished till we could no longer see our fingertips. The only way to mark our location was by the light from the nearby bunkhouses.

Eventually we relented to the nighttime and elected to head back in. I sat on the bow and I savored the evening’s experience. After 15-20 minutes, I began to mentally question our progress in the forward direction. Of course, trying to be well mannered, I thought that it would be rude to question my host’s rowing abilities - just as one avoids being a backseat driver when someone else offers to take the wheel. My doubt increased until finally Tom spoke up and asked if it seemed like the bunkhouse lights were not getting any closer. I finally had confirmation of my suspicion. After a few moments to further assess the situation, Tom came to the realization that we had failed to pull up the anchor. Amazingly, with anchor pulled, we moved quickly to the shore.

At breakfast, Tom quickly let it be known that I had failed miserably as a navigator. In addition to putting me onto some of my first reel-screaming brown trout sipping in shallow water with their dorsal fins sticking out, I can thank Tom for several memories that will live with me for the rest of my life.

To this day, my ear to ear grin while amateurishly holding a brown trout is directly the result of Tom Helgeson.

Thanks, Tom.