Crazy? No Way...

The howling of the wind against the cold exterior seemed to grow continually louder. Frost covered every window of the car, blocking visibility completely. I searched for more warmth in my sleeping bag, only to engage in a losing battle with the cold. Upon turning the key, the strong, old engine came to life, providing heat and comfort. The temperature gauge read 33 degrees, but the weather app indicated that it was 12 degrees with windchill. To say that it was tough to get up and out of the heated car would be an understatement. Slowly, we managed to add layer-after-layer of clothing, before finally putting on our frozen waders, still wet from yesterday. With every twist of the clinch knot came decreased feeling in my fingers. The wind burned as it singed my exposed cheeks, and the water would freeze my legs beyond comfort after only ten minutes. However, big fish lurked below the water's surface, and those big fish were our goal.

Again, we began the process of casting tirelessly, hoping that the monster fish of our dreams would pick up our offering on the next cast. Cast, retrieve. Cast, retrieve. This same routine, all day. Taking rotations was necessary, as one person would warm up while the other fished. We would get a small tug or bump here and there, but nothing wanted to commit it seemed. As the day progressed, the bumps got a little more solid, though still nothing had committed 100%.

Lunch time yielded hot coffee and ramen noodles, both of which were a very welcoming addition to my frozen body. Each gulp of coffee warmed me from top to bottom, and the warm mug provided comfort to my hands, which were numb. It made me question why I was out there, freezing my a*s off for a bunch of fish, but looking off into the distance at the windblown water, I knew that I had to keep going; I had to get that big fish.

After awhile, it was back to the water. Again, the process resumed. Cast, retrieve, rotate. The bumps and hits were becoming a lot more aggressive. Both of us kept getting increasingly excited, when just like that, the hit that we'd been waiting for arrived. The fish voraciously attacked the massive streamer, and it was game on. Running, jumping, and trying to wrap the line around any underwater object that it could, the fish battled with nothing less than all that it had. Thankfully for us, we were able to win this battle, scooping the fine specimen into the net as it began to tire out. It was a sight for sore eyes -- a gorgeous brown trout. The fish provided smiles and laughter, and a weird kind of warmth that seemed better than any heater.

Both of us relaxed, knowing that we had gotten what we came for. Countless casts yielded fine fish, and many pictures to take home. It's amazing what we do for these fish; call it crazy, but it's an amazing feat every time we get to put such a creature in the net.

Let's try this again...

Needless to say, it's been awhile. Between all of the joyous things that accompany preparing for college, and now being a full-time college student, I'll be the first to admit that I don't have much in the way of free time. I've had at least one exam (sometimes two or three), every week since September 29th. I bring home an average of 4-6 hours of homework per night. Get the point? Yeah, free time is hard to come by.

Having said all of this, I want to start fresh, if you will. It's been a long time since my last post on here, and I guess you could say that I kind of miss it. I love the ability to write about my adventures in the amazing sport of fly fishing, and as I sit here at my fly tying table during Thanksgiving break, I couldn't help but think about writing another post.

I suppose it's not exactly an opportune time to get things rolling again, seeing as I now live in Wyoming, where nearly every bit of water is now frozen solid. However, I have plenty of fairly recent stories to tell from before my move to Wyoming, many of which include some rather nice fish. So, without further ado...

It was a blustery day to say the least. Upon our arrival, it was evident that the water was significantly lower now than ever before, and that fishing might be a bit challenging. Staring through the cracks in the windshield, the ultimate decision was to be made. Water so cold that you can only manage to stand in it for five minute periods, howling winds, and, in simplest terms, not much water to work with all presented us with a tough choice. However, we hadn't driven this far to turn back around, so I'll be damned if we didn't give it our best go.

Now, I'm sure you can already see where this is going. We sat there and fished our hearts out for hours on end. Cast after cast, nothing wanted to cooperate. We would change flies incessantly, assuring ourselves that with each change of the fly, our chances of catching a monster would increase. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. In fact, it seemed that changing flies was having an opposite affect. Nonetheless, we continued. As the sun began to sink, we were beat. Casting heavy streamers on fly rods similar in stiffness to telephone poles all day had taken its toll.

Here is where the classic, "last cast of the day" comes into play. As the sun set further behind the mountains, I suddenly felt a tug on the end of my line; something I had been waiting for all day. Upon setting the hook, it was noted in my mind that this fish was no pushover. Runs that made my drag scream also mad my heart race and before long, he lay in the bottom of my net, admitting defeat. The fish turned out to be my biggest trout to date ~ an accomplishment that I always enjoy achieving. After quick photos and a hasty release, neither of our hands could handle the bitter windchill any longer, signaling the end of the day. It was a promising event, and one that would lead to a stellar day of fishing come daybreak.... Stay tuned for the rest of the story!

Photo by Forrest Carpenter

Summer.

Summer. It's a busy time for most of us, filled with long days at work, with little allowance for free time. So, when the opportunity arose to spend a weekend camping with my friend Trevor, as well as with my brother, I couldn't let it pass me by. We enjoyed hotdogs over the grill, lots of laughs, and plenty of fish. 

Trevor managed his first fish on the fly, and then proceeded to catch many more eager little bass. I, on the other hand, used some time to pursue carp, and succeeded a couple of times. Here are some pictures from the weekend... Enjoy!

Decent sized Common!

Trevor's first fish on the fly

Second Carp...

Doing alright

Hey guys. I have received a tremendous amount of support from all of you in fighting the district on their decision to cancel the fly fishing club. I have been busy working back and forth with them, thus the sparse amount of updates on the situation. Thanks to countless letters from all of you and a little bit of fighting spirit, we were able to convince the district to let us continue meeting as of now. While we don't have as much freedom as before, the solution will work for the time being. 

I did talk to 9 News, but as we all know, the news can damage your cause just as much as it can help it. I made it clear that I wanted to work on the issue a little more by myself and at least try to figure out a solution before jumping right into a national television rant. 

For now, we are doing well. To those of you who wrote letters to help the cause; I very much appreciate your kind actions in doing so. Those letters were an immense help in gaining back our club. I appreciate all of the support, as do all of the other members of our club, but as of now, the situation is under control.Thank you for your time and support.

Best Regards,

Jake Ruthven

In need of some help

As most of you know, I am a high school student in Fort Collins. Ever since my freshman year, I have been fortunate enough to be involved with the Fly Fishing Club at the school. Through the club I have formed valuable friendships with students and teachers alike.

So, as of yesterday, the school district informed me that it has cancelled the fly fishing club, and has prohibited any meetings from commencing due to the "Inherent danger associated with the sport". Now, I don't know about you guys, but that is a load of crap. We can have football but not a fly fishing club? 

That is where you guys come in. It would be amazing if at least one of you was able to find the time to write a short essay regarding the benefits of the sport of fly fishing, reasons behind keeping the club, etc. In short, just try to write a paper that would help build my case as to why the Fly Fishing Club should not be shut down.

I know how much he sport means to me, as well as how much it means to all of you. Having a school prohibit its students from having a club that many student's love is absolutely ludicrous. Please feel free to eMail me at jake_ruthven@hotmail.com for more information.

Thank you, your help is much appreciated!

The Mufasa

As most have probably noticed, streamers are pretty common on this site. This week highlights the Mufasa, a pattern created by none other than Mike Schmidt. This is an excellent pattern for slightly deeper water, and it has tremendous movement in the current. I'll be tying lots of streamers at each of the fly fishing shows this year, so keep an eye open for any upcoming demos and shows!

A carpin' surprise

"There's a tail, 12:00, about 25 feet out... you got one shot, don't mess it up."  My brother sat on the bank teasing me as I did my best to convince the large "carp" to eat.  I stared into the water for a few minutes following his every movement in hopes of determining his pattern.

Every few seconds, bluegill would come leaping out of the water hurriedly, and disappear back into the depths.  One presentation after another ended up being stolen by a pesky panfish, and it was starting to annoy me.  Trying my best to avoid the panfish, I waited until the tail came closer to shore, and only then would I present my offering.

What seemed like hours passing turned out to be only a few minutes as I waited for my shot at the fish.  As the large, looming tail approached the bank, I dropped the fly on his nose, and watched as the tail accelerated quickly, and then came to an abrupt stop.  I waited, "one mississippi, two mississippi, set!"  I gave the line a tough strip set, and before my eyes, line began peeling away from my reel.  Game on.

With nothing but a mud bottom, the fish didn't have much to do but run, and with 2X tippet, he only lasted a short time before succumbing to the constant pressure of my line.  As I slid him on shore, I realized hat this was no carp.  With whole bluegill tails hanging from his throat, I couldn't believe my eyes as I hoisted the largemouth from the water.  While I was hoping for a carp, I was equally as happy with a fish of this caliber.

Excited? Yeah, you could say that!

I revived the fish carefully, and watched as he swam slowly back to his feeding grounds.  It puzzles me as to why he was tailing like a carp, but I guess I'll never know!

The Ice Pick

Colorado Caddis

Colorado's Own...

Colorado's own RA Beattie showing how its done.

It's that time again...

We are starting to see an increase in the number of Baetis on the rivers nowadays.  Not a thick hatch yet, but it will come!  In preparation, tie a few of these up, they won't let you down!

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.

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.

Dedication and its Rewards

Thought I would throw up a cool video of my buddy Jake Forsline sticking a monster 'bow this winter... Check it out!

Midges and Meat

Swing by Charlie's Fly Box in Arvada tomorrow, February 18th, for a little fun at the tying bench!  I will be hosting the Saturday morning demo, and look forward to seeing a lot of familiar faces in the crowd, as well as meeting a myriad of new friends.  I will be twisting up everything from midges to streamers, so don't miss out on a chance to learn a few new tricks.  The demo will run from 11 'till 1, and more details can be found here!

I look forward to seeing all of you there!