Temptations

I couldn't help it: temptation raged inside me like a violent winter sea.  A new Rascal Flatts song played on the radio.  The lyrics "You gotta go deep, way on back, cross a few creeks, and a couple little shacks... You gotta get lost, way on out!" were belted out as proudly as can be, and my judgement finally surrendered as my desires broke loose, resembling a pack of wild dogs running for freedom (figuratively speaking of course).  I speedily cruised the winding hills of the far reaches of Fort Collins, gradually building up anxiety as the river entered my plane of sight. 

Similar to the undisturbed focus of a child perusing the walls of a candy store, my dedicated mind drove every action as I dodged the punches of my only enemy: the clock.  My waders were on and layers assembled before my lousy opponent could bother to reach minute five; a tremendous personal accomplishment for 7:30 in the morning on a sunday.  Rods had been rigged throughout the week: a product of fishing almost every day after school.  A trusty wooden net was strapped to my waist as I descended upon the section of water, hoping for the best.  Scanning the surface and its structure below, it didn't take long for my tired brain to realize what was transpiring before my eyes.  Bicyclists stared in wonderment as I jumped up and down in celebration of the midge hatch (admit it ~ you've done it too), bringing seemingly every fish in the river to the glassy surface.  

Approaching stealthily, a single riser attracted my attention, and a few quick casts produced a wily brown trout: something that would become common throughout the day.  Glaring at me as the hook that pinned him tightly to my tippet was removed, I carefully set him free to continue feasting himself on the buffet of midges now drifting down the delicately flowing river.  Continuing upstream, one rising fish after another was targeted, and as the hours drew by, several willing fish were brought to hand.  Time after time, the low-riding dry fly danced elegantly amongst the complex currents, only to be rudely (but welcomely) interrupted by the tug of a hungry fish below.

If you look closely behind the gill plate, you can see the scratches from where this little guy almost became a snack...

By high noon, fish began to descend into the depths of the abyss, and my satisfied self returned happily to the car.  "Take that, clock" I muttered under my breath, slowly removing my cold waders, and leisurely placing my gear back into the trunk.  I had all the time in the world it seemed, and it had been a good day.  Every once in awhile you have those day where everything just happens to go right, and while this was not exactly one of those days, it was pretty close.  

Got Parachute's?

This is a great little video of my great friend and mentor Vincent Su tying one of his parachute patterns on the 720 Vice... Check it out!

Vincent Su Parachute 11/21/09 from Juan Ramirez on Vimeo.

Colorado Gems

The ferocious wind howled as it dove between tree branches and hovered across the water's surface.  High hopes were gradually reduced to actualization as tippet fluttered every which way in the myriad of wind currents, making it nearly impossible to attach flies to my line.  But we couldn't give up, we had to at least give it a shot!  

Upstream, Sanders stood knee-deep in a run dropping his rig in front of countless risers.  Before we could even say "hey" and shake hands, Sean angled his rod backwards, and was set into a quality brown.  I assumed the position of net-man, and after a hard fought battle, we had a beauty of a brown in the net.  Pictures and fist bumps followed, and the beautiful creature was then released back to its chilled home.

Sanders' Brown... Like 5 minutes into the day

"Damn Sanders... not even a minute into the day you have a fish in the net?  I gotta quit fishing with you!" I said jokingly as my dad hopped into the river in hopes of bringing the next riser to hand.  As sanders and I sat clumsily re-rigging, my dad started working a single rising fish.  Cast after cast was rudely ignored by the picky fish, until finally the dry was attacked from below.  "Got him!" he yelled as he raised the rod slightly, sending the frightened fish into an astonishing fit of headshakes. Minutes later the tired little fish was slid into my dad's hands as he hoisted it proudly for the camera.  After a swift release, we proceeded up-river in search of a few more willing eaters.

As my fingers slowly lost feeling, I barely managed to finish assembling my rig, cinching down the last knot as quickly as possible.  The wind battled my balance as if I was being pushed over by a ghost of some sort.  Leaning into the powerful storm, I speedily laid down a cast on the water's surface.  Watching intently as the flies drifted downstream, I reacted immediately to the feel of a fish on the line.  A smooth lift of the rod produced a nice cutbow, and as I released the fish to call it a day, sanders yelled out requesting help on the net.

Sanders' Last Fish of the day... 

Shivering violently, I netted Sean's fish, and after quick pictures, I hurried back to the car in search of heat.  the radio came to life as the engine hummed, and warm air gradually brought the feeling back to my frigid fingers.  It was awesome to fish with Sanders (as usual) but I was really happy to have gotten my dad out on the water again, and watch the smile run across his face with each hook-up.  As we sped towards home, I couldn't help but think of how lucky us Coloradoans are to live in such a beautiful place.  As my mind expanded on this thought, I watched as the fiery orange sun nestled itself to bed for the night behind the purple mountains that Colorado is so well known for. "This has gotta be the good life" I muttered under my breath as a smile came across my face.

Old Favorites

I know, I know, most of you have seen the zebra midge more times than you can remember.  It is a super simple little pattern, and for how common it is, it catches fish.  Anyways, give this one a shot!

My Dream Trip...

Red Like Winter: the Trailer from Waterline Media on Vimeo.

Bass Pro Shops Spring Classic

I will be spending the weekend down at Bass Pro Shops in Denver for the annual Spring Fishing Classic. Myself and many other local professionals will be tying flies all day Saturday and Sunday, so stop by and chat if you get a chance!  

For more information, click here!

Stopwatch Offerings

"One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four mississippi... there he is"  My mind spoke quietly as I timed the gap between each rise-form.  Though the surface was boiling with risers, I would target only one at a time, hoping for success.  

A small black parachute was drawn tightly to the hair thin piece of tippet, and a minuscule drop of floatant accompanied the soon to be meal.  As the fish rose again and again every four seconds, I sat, kneeled in the river, doing my best to get the fly in front of the fish on the fourth second.  Presentation after presentation, the fly escapes the fish's grip by a mere second.  As if the trout is snickering at me, his mouth appears once again, and a flick of the tail is given as he descends back into the water column.  One last attempt must be made I think to myself, and without hesitation, the fly is dropped inches upstream of the fish.  "One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four mississippi... " I watch intensely as the miniature fly drifts toward the awaiting mouth.  What had been the longest four seconds of my life suddenly came to a swift end as the head of a fish broke the surface, gently sipping in the tiny dry fly.  Twists, turns, and small, half-hearted runs followed immediately after the hook set, and a short time later the small brown trout was brought to hand.  "Nice Fish" hollered another angler as I carefully returned the fine specimen to its watery living room.

Quieting my emotions temporarily, I set my sights on the next riser, positioned immediately upstream of the previous victim.  I counted again between each rise-from, this time glad to be given a fifteen second gap.  I knew that with a considerably larger gap of time, I could hook the fish easier, and so the first cast was dropped onto the water.  Cast after cast I was beginning to question my theory, when finally a nose showed itself through the glistening surface.  Jumping twice, the fish quickly lost energy, and came tiredly to hand for pictures and a swift release.

Last fish of the day had been chewed on a bit...

The process repeated again one last time, and as the sun began to drop behind the mountains, I decided to call it a day, knowing that my parents would soon start wondering what had happened to me.  I threw all the gear in the back, and drove off into the sunset, blaring the country music.