One of the ways I find I learn the most about the character of a
river, is by listening to the tales told by those who cherish their moments
spent in pursuit of the oft hidden treasures held below the surface of its waters.
So often they have the key to the unlock the myriad secrets,
that casually in passing or throwing a cast or two we may never get to see.
This is one of those stories, about one of those rivers.
You
may retell the story, but it cannot be copied, reproduced, plagiarized, sold or
otherwise misappropriated.
"UB
Wet" A tale of the Upper
Bow River
Morning has broken and the clouds hang low to the valley floor, the three
sisters and Ha-ling (until recently
Chinaman’s peak) are nowhere to be seen. It had rained heavily most of the
night, and now the precipitation continued (arguably it was still rain) all in
all it had the makings of a fine November day the Merc was hovering at a
delightful 47 degrees F, so what if it happens to be
mid August.
On most any other river,
and other parts of the Bow these conditions would spell disaster, but here on
the Upper Bow this spelt the end of the heat wave, and as I hooked up the
drifter I felt the tension fall away from my neck and shoulders, this would be a
day to remember, on days like this she let her guard down and you could touch
her, this would be the Upper Bow at her best, days like today she would very
directly throw mud in the collective faces of all who have written of her lack
of fish, and the punitive size of her fish, and the lack of invertebrate
presence due to cold Glacial water
As I pulled up at the hotels front entrance my client of the last four days
Perry Yelles waited there, I could
see the look of concern on Perry’s face, his concern turned to puzzlement as I
bounced lightly out of the truck and greeted him with “ We’ve got a truly
awesome day Per.” The look he gave me assured me he was convinced that I had
lost more marbles overnight than we both had lost the day before baking in the
90 degree heat. “You have got to be kidding, this is the Yang of yesterdays
Ying, surely the river is blown out?”, “Not
the Upper, not on your life” I assured him,
“Yang of yesterdays Ying indeed, today I absolutely will guarantee you
fish, big fish lot’s of fish and all Dry fly. How’s that for a Cocky
guide”.
Our trip together began
mid afternoon at
Calgary
airport, where after a three hour delay Perry’s flight finally found it’s
way into the
Rocky
Mountain
gateway city. Our planned short city float for the afternoon was shot, and so
we decided to do a bit of the city’s Lower Bow waters on foot. Temperatures
were brutally hot with the Mercury leveling somewhere in the 90’s. We did not
last long on foot, a couple of easy Brown trout came to Perry’s hand in short
order, falling victim to the Lower Bow’s oh so productive combination of the
Calgary version of a“San Juan” worm, with size 18 flash back Hares-Ear
dropper fished repetitively under a strike indicator. In favor of cold Barley,
and Hops, we retreated knowing tomorrow was to be a full day of maximum UV
exposure on the Lower Bow.
Our Day 1 would have been for many the be all end all of a fly-fishing
day, somewhere upwards of 30 fish to the boat many over 20 inches, with a few
really good bruisers thrown in. Although Perry and I were together for the first
time, he was my guest by referral from a guest with whom I fished often two or
more times a year, and so I knew while he derived pleasure from all moments
spent fishing, the gratuitous nature of the day left something to be desired. A
measure of honesty maybe, the desire to work a little or a lot was not sated, so
in the end we loaded the boat in near darkness at McKinnons Flats South and East
of Calgary and headed for Canmore, it was in truth a good day.
Our Day 2 would be a long drive along the frontal range to fish the
Cutthroat and Bull Trout of the headwater streams.
Predictably Day 2 was blistering
hot, but now there was humidity and the weather network had threatened us with
late day thunder storms and heavy precipitation. The headwater streams would
fish well in the heat and bright sun, for that was the nature of the Cutthroat
and Rainbows of these waters, we could expect the Bulls to sulk, except in the
fastest head ends of frothy deep pools where we could anticipate large shapes
chasing streamers out of the foam The day went well and the the fish of all
species present predictably performed, Perry enjoyed a day of dry fly
presentations, some simple, a few demanding, we even enjoyed a period of about
an hour of absolute selectivity which proved to be too tough a nut to crack in
the time allowed. Indeed as I was sure we had finally derived the correct
hatchling, the fish reverted to wonton feeding where most any bug drifted
reasonably well would yield a strike if not a hook-up. Another easy day of
catching, totally burnt we retreated to the truck, and pointed our noses North
and West to the Trans Canada highway and Canmore, I steeled myself for the
concentrated effort and focus required to navigate the almost three hour trip
home without making contact with the numerous Deer, Elk and Moose who would
attempt to prevent our return.
Notably there was not a
cloud in the sky, as this thought occurred to me I remember tensing a little as
I thought about our float on the Upper Bow for the next day, “we can always
just do a Sundowner” I thought to myself “we will be sleeping in anyway,
it’s going to be 1:30 or 2:00 in the morning by the time we get in”. Perry
must have been reading my thoughts as his sleepy voice rose out of the gloom of
the interior of the truck, “Hey John! We get to sleep in tomorrow, right?”
“Absolutely Perry” came my immediate reply, “no worries”.
As I had feared day
three broke crystal clear, and the mercury was in the mid to high 70’s by
08:00
, this was likely going to be the hottest day yet this summer. Despite our late
arrival time into Canmore in the wee hours of the morning, I had a hunch Perry
much like myself would not really be sleeping in. On cue the phone rang, old-man
time had made it to
08:15
, and Perry was up and raring to go.
A quick breakfast, a
lightning pass through the grocery store and we were boat wet and floating by
10:00, not real early by a Bass fisher-mans standards, but for the Canadian
Rockies on the Upper Bow River in August where you know you want (need) to be on
the water until around 11:00’ish (p.m.) to match wits with a few low light
sippers, or at least until you break off and are just too bug-eyed to get
another flimsy bit of 6x through the eye of a #16 anything. As expected the day
was hot, very hot, I didn’t take the water temperature there was no need. The
surface was devoid of any bug life, I convinced Perry to use a 6 Wgt Horizon
from Thomas and Thomas, the #4 streamer (a “bloody cut”) dangled without
much play from a very brief 24 inch length of 2x, the perfection loop allowing
it just the slightest of free swinging capacity. “Well Perry, for the next 3
miles or so we’ll stay on a dry line, but I need you to get that thing into
and under the overhangs, no shaded area gets missed, o.k.?”,
“You got it John, I’ll pick us some leaves”.
“Hey Perr? One more thing, on your retrieve when you think you are
stripping really fast and hard? Go faster, and harder with good long pulls.
These create a bit of a pause and the fly will “die” between those long
pulls ”. Had Perry not spent a day or two with me previously, I am sure he
would have certified me as totally nuts, as it was the look he gave raised some
doubts as to whether he might just sign off on that certification anyway.
Well it took a bit of convincing
to get Perry to truly try the method with any level of confidence, once he did
we started to move fish. While it was exciting to see these aggressive chases
from the shadowy overhangs, most remained just that “chases”. Short strikes
often become the order of the day given these conditions, by
2:00 p.m.
or so, Perry needed a break, as did I. We opted for a rivers edge stop as
opposed to an island stop. The air temp had moved into the low 90’s and here
in the
Rockies
that starts to feel like Cactus country.
A lazy lunch, followed by an unscheduled siesta moved us through the day
to almost
4:30
before we were once again on the water (we should have slept some more), Perry
cast and we drifted we walked, we fished all my favorite log jams, dark
sheltered woody havens, we switched the rig, the fly the method. The Browns were
in a funk, and let me tell you when an Upper Bow Brown pouts it is time to count
the Beaver, the Deer and the Bear, and so that is exactly what we did until
about 8:45 when the first Blue Dun landed on Perry’s nose as if to say
“We’re here”. For the next hour I watched as Perry who had been deprived
for so long, tried desperately to regain his composure, and adjust to the
delicate Light Presentation Series in 5 Weight equipped with 12 feet of tapered
6x leader terminating at a size 16 Blue Dun, while trying to filter out one
specific fish (which I would desperately try to direct him to) to present to, as
opposed to trying to cast to the entire pod which had surrounded us like magic.
All too soon our light faded, and it was then that I felt the soft touch
of a light South Easterly wind, looking up I was surprised to see the ceiling
was about 80% occluded, and low.
With one more day to play, I was
thrilled at the prospect of what could be. Perry deserved to experience what
could occur with this shift in the weather. He had taken all of day three in
stride, and found pleasure in the smallest fish, the nearest short strike, and
the moments of counting game instead of fish for the better part of almost four
hours. I could happily guide someone like Perry for an extended period of the
toughest fishing, he epitomized the guides ultimate client, and complained not
once as he seemingly found joy in every moment of the day, and in every aspect
of those moments.
This was day four, and it was truly going to be a classic
Upper
Bow
River
day.
Join
me again sometime, as I plan on sharing the rest of Perry’s stor and likely
one or two more before the winter is over.
