Ants, ants, Buggers, ants, twirl and repeat

Last year, our first dedicated to the high country, we struggled. We found fishless lakes, were stymied by savvy cutthroat, and were left feeling a bit disenchanted.

Whey duh f*^k are the trout?

But such struggles are often the prerequisites of fishing glory. This summer has been better, and maybe we're figuring some stuff out. Or it's just been a better summer in the high country.

Our season started in late May, when we happened onto a spot we came to know as the aquarium. This was not a lake I had any expectations for, but we caught several 16- to 18-inch cutthroat trout, under a  dense canopy of pine trees, that were eager to run down a big pink scud. Stir in a few nice-sized grayling and it was easy to note that this felt a bit like a harbinger.

I see that smile...

Among the things we've figured out, or at least become confident of:

• Ants. Ants. Ants. Ants. Ants. Ants. Bloom's Parachute Flying Ant. Ants. Hoppers. Beetles. Ants. Rubber-legged ants. Scuds. Ants.
• Get flarping wacky. Use that old chewed-up, lead-wrap-showing hackle-dangling Bugger. Strip a foam hopper on sinking line. Jig flies. (More on these techniques coming in the January-February issue of American Angler.)
• If at first you don't succeed... hike around the lake. Wait. These fish and fisheries are as moody as they come. Multi-mile scrambles on top of Jeep-trail journeys rarely allow for much time, but do your best. 
• Use ants on the end of your leader or tippet, which should be connected to your fly line. Tie them on and cast them. Ants. Just so we're clear. 
• The adventure is worth the effort. The post-hike beer-endorphin cocktail is also nice.

It wasn't all lifestyles of the fishy and fjellvant, though. This past weekend I hit six lakes in one afternoon, while waking and falling asleep in my own bed. It felt a bit like Double Dare's obstacle course where I got to a lake and whacked a button and then ran on to the next. At those six lakes, I caught an entire fish. It turns out that these lakes, from 8,200 feet to 9,200 feet in the Pioneer Mountains, are still actively used for irrigation and get terribly de-watered by the end of summer.

Yeah but it was a good fish. 

As the season winds down and we prepare for a trip to the Adirondacks, I feel content with our efforts. And we still have hope for a 4-pound 7,500-foot-high cutt and maybe a 17-inch brookie before the trick-or-treaters' knock, signaling the forming ice...

Fairy Shrimp

I'm pretty good with bugs as they relate to fly fishing. For some reason, learning the aquatic entomology was one of my first priorities (should've probably focused on reading water and downstream hook sets). But recently at a high-elevation lake I was stumped by the creatures before me, so I thought I'd share the find.

(sorry for the low video quality - that's partially Blogger's doing)

They are kind of scud-like, but propel themselves differently. The have lateral filaments similar to some burrowing mayflies, but are not mayfly nymphs. This is why god gave us entomology professors. Professor Malcolm Butler from North Dakota State University had no problem identifying them as fairy shrimp.

It seems that they are so slow and meaty, trout often eat them up to the point of complete extermination. Therefore it's likely that if you see fairy shrimp, you won't see trout. That held true where I found them. And for some reason, they often occupy seasonal pools - indeed, I found them in a cutoff oxbow from a lake's outlet stream.

Trout apparently do coexist with them in some places like Montana's Blackfeet Reservation lakes, however, so do further investigate if you find fairy shrimp. If there are fish, they'll probably be fat.