Another reason to be particularly happy, is that right now it is July, the river has dropped and is running clear, and the dry fly fishing is off the charts. Gone are the cold winds of spring, the layers of goretex and fleece, nymph rigs and rock dodging at 250 cfs. Right now, and hopefully for the next several weeks, is as close to fly fishing nirvana as you could hope to see around here. Lots of fish, all hungry, sitting tight to the banks, and looking up.

And there is plenty around for the fish to be feeding on. Caddis, stoneflies, mayflies and hoppers. On a recent trips down the river, it hasn’t mattered what fly was presented, as long as it floated on the surface, close to the bank, with a natural drift and the odd twitch being thrown in for good measure.

It is amazing how quickly summer is flying by. Memo to the Creator, whoever he or she may be – why can’t summer pass by as slowly as winter seems to? These conditions, with good hatches, warm weather and stable water flows will hopefully continue for the next several weeks. If you are only going to fish a few times a year, now is the time to get out there. If you are contemplating taking up the sport of angling, now is the time to call up your local guide service and book a trip. And if your spouse or significant other is bitten with the fishing bug, now is the time to loosen the leash and let them get out there for a bit. After all, soon it will be winter again, and then you’ll be looking for any excuse to get them out of the house.

So it is fun to be able to step outside of your comfort zone every now and then, leave the crowd and the truck behind, and experience the call of a place that at least has the impression of being wild and remote. Encountering fresh bear poop on the trail serves as a reminder that we are not always top of the food chain. The sight if a fox, scampering through the sage brush, the cry of a red tail hawk as it surfs the thermals, remind an interloper such as myself that I am a guest only in someone else’s domain. This is the time of the year the wild flowers are starting to bloom, the meadows cloaked in a veritable rainbow of different hues.

Of all the different types of trout I fish for, the ones that inhabit these high alpine streams, lakes and beaver ponds are the ones I admire the most. A short growing season, limited food source and long, harsh winters are testament to their resilience. Their ability to conceal themselves from predation never ceases to amaze me, materializing from the rocky stream bed or under cut bank to quickly snatch a passing morsel and dissolving, phantom like, back into their surroundings. Their very presence is witness to the universal push of all living things to survive and procreate.

Late spring and early summer, with the larger rivers swollen and high, is the perfect time to escape to the high country for a little solitude, and with it the opportunity to gain a wider appreciation of the world we live in, and the creatures we share it with.

By the end of the month, we should be back into some great dry fly action, but for a poor sap like me who has been too busy to take a trip up into the mountains, a look back at a great day of spring fishing will have to suffice. Certainly, it is hard to imagine we are looking at the same river, but I guess a ten fold increase in volume will change the complexion of most rivers.

On this particular day, I had the pleasure of floating the river with a couple of gents from back east. While this is normally my cue to hide my wallet and car keys, and lock away the silverware, on this occasion I knew I would be in good, civilized company. One of the great things about guiding, in fact probably the only thing that keeps you going, is the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends. Having fished with Cliff before, I had a feeling whoever he brought along with him was going to be fun, and so it proved to be. Hopefully, this ill be the first of many trips out this way for Joe also. Any man who ties on his own flies, and brings cold Modelo, is welcome on my boat anytime.

We had a great day on the river, not the heavy dry fly action we had been hoping for, but a terrific day with the fish hitting bead heads throughout. Once the river clears up, hopefully right after FIBark, we should start to see some great stone fly action. Already I have noticed both golden and yellow sallie adults around on the bushes near the river, and with the pmd’s getting ready to hatch also, we are on the cusp of what for me is the best time of the year to be a fisherman living in the Arkansas Valley.

And did I mention that it has been windy? The last few weeks have been some of the windiest I can recall in twenty years of spring time floating. Some days you come off the water feeling like your shoulders have been stretched out of their sockets from standing on the oars trying to slow the boat down and avoid high siding on rocks in a tail wind, or else pushing grimly into the teeth of a gale like you are using a bench press machine for seven hours straight. The trick for the fisherman has been to get the flies to where the fish are, that is along the banks in the slower water where they always hang out.

And when you can get them there, the fishing has been great. Fish have been feeding consistently on baetis and caddis patterns, until recently mainly below the surface, taking pheasant tails, hare’s ears, hot wire princes, RS2’s throughout the day. Now they are looking up consistently, taking caddis dries, royal stimulators, wulffs and blue wings. This particular day on the video, floating from Trading Post to Texas Creek,the afternoon in particular was spectacular, with the fish feeding off the surface, actively chasing anything that came their way. And it looks like we might get another week or so of great conditions before run off begins in earnest, so take advantage of it while you can.

Those fishermen turning up with the expectation of balmy spring days and casting dry flies to eager, brainless fish have been offered a reminder that in fishing, as in life, things don’t always go according to plan. Bhuddism teaches us that attachment is the source of unhappiness, and consequently expectation the mother of disappointment. On the other hand, being grateful for what is, is the first step to appreciation of how much you really have.

In his highly readable and perceptive book, Pavlov’s Trout, author, psychologist and fisherman Paul Quinnett posits the theory that when ranking the reasons why men and women go fishing, actually catching a fish figures way down the list. They call steelhead “the fish of a thousand casts” on account of their elusiveness, and Quinnett, a North West steelhead fisherman, sat down one day to do some rough mental calculations. No doubt at the suggestion of his wife, he began to figure out the amount of time, money and resources he spent chasing steelhead relevant to the amount of time he spent with one actually on the line.

It rapidly became obvious to Quinnet that economically speaking at least, for a pastime he would be better off taking up bowling and tossing twenty dollar bills out of his car window as he drove around town. The same could be said for fisherman of any persuasion, be they Bubba with his bass boat, Bahamas bone fishermen, or the humble Arkansas River fly fisherman. If fishing is ever reduced to it’s economic components, it ceases to make sense. If catching a fish is the be all and end all of the endeavor, then ultimately the fisherman will be left empty handed, both literally and spiritually.

Now don’t get me wrong – I am no saint. If I didn’t catch a few every now and then, I would probably give it up pretty quickly, but sometimes, you need to go looking for the real point of the day. If you get too wound up in equating success with numbers, you often fail to realize that that vaguely irritating feeling in your nether regions was actually a good time biting you in the butt. You were just a little too wound up in the process to notice. As a guide, my heart sinks a little when I encounter the competitive fisherman, the fish counter and the “why aren’t they biting?” worrier.

Just being able, physically, geographically and materially, to spend time on the river for pure recreation puts you ahead of the vast majority of the world’s inhabitants. Sure, we all want to catch a bunch of fish, but making that the measure of success or failure is only setting yourself up for disappointment more often than not. Fortunately, on this trip, I was with kindred spirits. Spinning yarns and having a laugh were the order of the day, especially as the fish didn’t keep us, particularly me, very busy. We caught a few fish, and at least on my part, managed to botch a fair few opportunities, while some great drifts went unnoticed and unappreciated by the fish. But how bad could it be? A lovely spring afternoon, a couple of brewskis, friends and a river to float.

A shortened leader makes it more difficult to present a fly delicately, but it does help the leader to roll out fully, and the disturbance caused by the wind on the surface of the water helps hide most blemishes in technique. Making longer casts may sound counter intuitive, but the more line you have out there, the more mass there is to power up the rod on the backcast. Lastly you need to throw a real tight loop. The further behind vertical your rod wanders on the backcast, the wider the loop, and consequently the greater the wind resistance.

This time of year, the blue wings are particularly active, so arriving at the river I went for a dry / dropper rig with Klinkhammer on top and a micro olive mayfly as the dropper. For the first part of the day, the dropper worked extremely well. The fish I caught seemed to be holding in water around knee to thigh deep in places where there was a steady current, particularly at the tail outs of rapids and riffles. Jim stuck to a dry fly rig, and got several fish also. After an hour or so, we moved to another spot downstream, and a drop in the wind also coincided with a pretty nice blue wing hatch. It was here that the fun really started.

Give me a choice, and I’ll fish with a dry fly over any other kind of fly any day. Fishing with dries is to me both the most fun, but also potentially the most frustrating way to fish. Fishing with nymphs involves a lot of guess work as to where the fish are, and what if anything they are feeding on. When fishing dries to rising fish, you can see the fish, you can see what they are eating, and yet they can still manage to make you look foolish. Patience is the key. A fish that is close to the surface actually has a very narrow range of vision, so unless you get your fly in exactly the right place, it can easily float by them unseen. Then there is the competition from the naturals. When there are dozens of real ones floating by, you need to be spot on with your choice of fly, and presentation, especially when the water is low, slow and clear. After messing around with several different patterns, the good old parachute adams came through and delivered a few fish.

The result was some of the funnest action I have had in a long time. Certainly I got spanked more often than I succeeded in hooking up, but it is often the spankings that you remember long after the catches have faded from memory. And so a day that was very nearly called off at the outset turned out to be most memorable. So, thanks to the fish, thanks to the blue wings, and thanks to Jim for not laughing too hard.

Noel, gentleman that he is, obliged on both counts. This is not to imply any deficiencies on Noels account, or to make any claims for the primacy of one style of fishing over another, but rather that Tuesday was a day for flies over spinners. Although anything can happen on a daily basis, it seems that the fish are still a little too lethargic to aggressively chase a lure, while they are slowly moving out to the edges of the river to feed on the stonefly and mayfly nymphs that are currently active, as well as the awakening caddis. While Noel was up the back of the boat engaged in his dark arts, Kevin and I were fishing a golden stonefly nymph with a small caddis larva or an RS 2 behind it. Each fly was effective, in itself reflective of the propensity and variety of insect activity taking place right now. It is not just we who are emerging, cold and cramped from our hovels into the light of a new season. The stoneflies are molting, there were blue wings floating in the back eddies, and we even spotted a few early caddis flying about. There are over forty species of caddis on the Arkansas, so while the main hatch of brachycentrus is still a few weeks way, there are others active right now.

Despite the bugs flying around, we didn’t see a fish rise the whole afternoon. It will probably take a couple of cloudy days and a prolonged mayfly hatch or two to get them looking up with consistency. I would expect a nymph rig to be the most consistent producer for the next couple of weeks, but still keep a dry fly rod with an adams and a sprout baetis handy if you spot any risers. The most productive water for us were the riffles and the associated pockets of water along the banks. There has been some cloudiness to the water on account of the low level snow melt going on at the moment. Castle Gardens just east of town has been particularly responsible for much of the discoloration, but that should be pretty much passed by now, unless more snow comes along. Besides, at these lower flows, I prefer a little cloudiness to the water over it being gin clear. That little bit of murk helps to hide the flaws of a hack like me.

One door closes, and another opens. So while Monarch is getting ready to wind down after what has turned out to be a pretty good season, it is getting near time to put away the boards and skis for a few months. It is also time to break out the bikes, kayaks and fly rods and look forward to another great summer season in the mountains.

Spring time, it tends to be more of a roller coaster. Red hot one day, flatlined the next. Summer time, they will feed on pretty much anything – stone flies, caddis, pmds – if it floats, they’ll eat it. Spring time it seems they are a lot more finicky, keying in on one stage of one particular insect. One day it will be stone fly nymphs, the next baetis emergers, the next caddis larva. Sometimes all of the above at different times of the same day.

So all of this is a round about way of trying to explain why we didn’t catch anything. Below town, the water was murked up some owing to the work currently being done on the whitewater park, and while that didn’t help, its not like we were slaying them above town. Incidentally, it is great to see the next phase of the park happening. This is an excellent project, and kudos to the Arkansas River Trust and all others involved.

When in doubt, blame the weather, so maybe the day was too fine and sunny. Or maybe the fact that we didn’t have any beer along was to blame – getting skunked was the fish’s way of revoking our Man Cards. We can read all the books, have all the gear and spout all the theories, but still we are only one half of the equation. If the fish haven’t reading from the same book, then all fishing really is about is a fishing rod with a jerk on one end. The point is that at this time of the year, we could go and float the same stretch again tomorrow, throw the same flies, and catch a bunch of fish. I thought about erasing the tape and starting over, but one of my intentions with the videos is to show fishing how it really is, not like some heavily edited ESPN show where the fisherman never screws up a cast, and never misses a fish. So while my initial reaction was to delete the footage and try again next week, I decided I had better be true to my creed and celebrate a day on the river for what it is – always fun, sometimes challenging, and always better than most other things you could be doing.

A beer would have been nice though. Of course, all the usual accompaniments for a day on the river came along: a bit of wind, some tangles, a few lost flies, everything but the fish. And beer. Did I mention we left that behind?Hopefully the fish will be gracious enough to return my card to me next time.

But it does raise some interesting questions, both genetic and cultural. In my native New Zealand, your average fisherman would quietly back away, lock the door, make a mental note to be more discreet in their choice of friends, and toss another log on the fire if you showed up in the middle of a snow storm and suggested getting a line wet. This is in part because down there most rivers are closed to fishing over the winter months to allow the fish a modicum of peace and privacy as they wine, dine and procreate with each other. Thus, the likelihood of such an invitation is greatly reduced. Also, while we do get extremes of weather in New Zealand, for the most part things are a little more temperate than here in the mountains, so fishing in the rain is more of a reality that in snow and ice.

Here, it seems there are many fishermen who think nothing of braving the elements in search of a hook up or two. While I have guided plenty of times in snow, sleet and hail, I have at least been getting paid to do so, and usually question the sanity of the guy paying for the experience. Of course, venturing over to South Park for a trip to the Platte is often an exercise in rolling the dice with hypothermia no matter what the time of year. There is a case to be made for heading out in inclement weather if you have driven a thousand miles or so to get to the river, but surely for those of us that live in the mountains, there is no such pressure.

So what other predispositions set apart the North American fisherman from his southern counterpart? One is perhaps an over reliance on gear. One of the traits we Kiwis pride ourselves on is self reliance. Give us a piece of #8 fencing wire and a roll of duct tape, and we’ll build or fix anything. Give us a couple of flies, a spool of tippet, and a six weight, and we’re ready to go. Compare that to your average American fisherman, with a vest that weighs thirty five pounds, eight fly rods, fifteen reels, and of the twenty-six fly boxes in his possession, the one he ‘needs’ is back at home on the kitchen counter.

Another is the difference in need for a certain level of information to feel comfortable in their surroundings. This was perhaps first brought home to me after my first year of guiding here on the Arkansas, back then primarily as a whitewater guide. The comparison and innuendo between New Zealanders and sheep is well known. [ All I will say on the matter is this: don't knock anything until you've tried it. ] Anyway, take a Kiwi on a river trip, and all you have to say to them is ” Put on a wetsuit, grab that lifejacket, pick up a paddle, and get in the van. We’re off.” There is an unacknowledged level of trust, for better or worse, that the person in charge knows what they are doing, and all will be revealed in good time. Say the same thing to an American, and you get the following response: “Which lifejacket? How many paddles did you say? Should I sit in the front of the van, or the back. Is there a bathroom in the van? How long is the ride? Can I bring a snack? Will there be a bathroom at the river? Should I go to the bathroom now? How many rocks are there in the river? Where’s your bathroom?”

So, as we move into winter, you probably won’t see me on the river too much, except for maybe on a blue bird day. I’ll probably be up at Monarch, or keeping the crown jewels safe and warm by the fire, dreaming of long summer days, clear water and big fish Down Under. But I do salute those hardy souls who choose to venture out on the river when all measures of common sense say to stay inside.

Against this backdrop has been the Arkansas itself, confirming its status as one of the West’s finest dry fly rivers. Things got off to a great start this spring, where a closer to average snowpack meant there was no nervous desk jockey at the Bureau of Reclamation messing with the water levels. The resulting steady flows and water temperatures meant a great caddis hatch, unlike last year, when wild fluctuations prevented the bugs from hatching consistently.

After runoff, the summertime dry fly action was excellent. Hoppers, caddis, pale morning duns and stoneflies were all prolific, and the fish made pigs of themselves as they should. The yellow sallies and pmds in particular seem to get more and more numerous as the years roll by. Mayflies such as pmds and blue winged olives are the canaries in the coal mine as far as water quality is concerned, so this bodes well for the future of the fishery.

But of all the seasons, fall is my favorite. Fall is the time of the year when we come face to face with our own mortality, and realize that time is inexorably advancing. Much like the days of youth, spring and summer have slipped by at an unbelievable pace. It seems only yesterday buds were blooming, birds were chirping and the grass was greening. Fall completes the cycle, and reminds us that despite our over inflated sense of self importance, we are really still a part of the great cycle of life, death and rebirth.

Far from being depressing, this I find comforting. Fall is a yearly reminder of life’s ephemeral nature, a reminder to not take any time for granted. With the onset of the cooler weather, and the knowledge that cold and snow are on their way, comes gratitude for a warm safe house and a well stocked larder to see it through- not to mention the prospect of those vintage powder days at Monarch where you collect a covering of snow riding the lift to the top of the run and the trees materialize from the mist as you drop in and ride the clouds back to the bottom.

A few days ago, I was fishing a beautiful stream far up in the La Garita Wilderness area. Already, with the sun arcing lower in the sky, ice had formed along the northern banks of the stream in places. Here and there the odd aspen was clinging to the remnants of its foliage and the fish were feeding hard, sensing the limited time available to them to fatten up before winter’s enforced slumber. Two emotions were foremost – a certain melancholy, and also a sense of privilege at being witness to it all.

And so, as another year hastens to its close, there are many reasons to be thankful for the change of season. Just as without pain in life we have no measure for joy, so too does the cold winter give extra reason to value the balmy days of spring and summer. A special thanks to all those who have expressed words of support, encouragement and appreciation for these reports. I for one am looking forward to many more.

Once you know what to look for, a redd is easily identifiable. The clean rock bottom will often stand out from the surrounding riverbed vividly, whiter patches distinct from their surroundings. This time of the year I like to make sure I am not casting anywhere near a redd, to ensure that any fish I catch are not actively involved in the love game. After all, how would you feel if someone kept throwing things at you while you were between the sheets so to speak? Hardly sporting.

For this float, we chose to throw single dries, with small caddis and humpies being the best producers. From tha boat, casting to the shallower edges and away from the redds ensured the fish we caught had their mind on feeding, not romance. The wind made things a little tricky at times, but most times you got a good drift in the slow, shallow edges, there was some kind of action. Getting a fish to take is one thing, hooking him is sometimes another, as witnessed in the video. But I have always maintained that if you were to hook them all, it would get pretty boring pretty quick. And let’s face it, who among us is averse to a good spanking every now and then, right?

Right now, the flows are low and clear, and will probably remain so throughout the winter. I would expect the fishing to stay strong throughout October, and even into November provided the weather stays mild. So my advice is to get out there,enjoy the fall colors and the last vestiges of summer before winter lock us in its grip. But once again, I have to pinch myself, for then its away with the fly rod and hello to Monarch and the snowboard.

Phil: How many fish did you catch this weekend on your dry fly Jim?

Jim: Peasant, when will you ever learn? Fishing isn’t about numbers. It’s about asthetics, that fleeting moment of beauty as the fish leaves its watery realm, crossing the divide that separates mankind from his piscatorial brethren and snaffles a size 10 pmx.

Phil: Not many, huh?

Personally, I’ll throw whatever I need to in order to catch a fish, except for maybe an egg pattern. OK, I’ve thrown a few of those before too. But if I had a preference, it would be a dry fly. Watching the fish leave it’s watery lair, rising to the surface to take the fly adds to the experience, and makes for some memorable takes and misses. Many a time in New Zealand my heart has been in my mouth watching a big brown rise slowly to the surface, push it’s snout out of the water and nudge the fly gently with its nose, open it’s mouth around it and then refusing to take, sliding silently and effortlessly back to the depths. It’s difficult to get that kind of adrenaline rush when the action is taking place unseen below the surface.

But what to do if the fish aren’t taking dries? Some dry fly fishermen will continue to fish with a dry only, not deigning to go sub surface. In this they are paying homage to the origins of fly fishing, when before our knowledge of entomology grew, coupled with a lack of polarized sunglasses, the the only time trout were observed was when they ate off the surface. Nowadays, we know that close to eighty percent of a fishes’ diet consists of eating nymphs below the surface. Consequently, most of us will now add a nymph to our dry fly rig and fish with a dry and dropper. “Ah hah,” says the nympher, “you’re nymphing now.” “Yeah right, ” says the dry fly guy, “It’s only nymphing if you have an indicator and weight.” “No way man, you’re nymphing.” And so the argument begins, which I take as a good sign because if this is all we fisherman have to occupy our minds with, then life must be pretty damn good.

And I take my hat off to Phil. Coming all the way down here from Sodom and Gemorrah, thrown before a hostile crowd of dry fly types, he steadfastly refused to fish a nymph, even though way more fish would have been caught. When in Rome, do some Roman, as the saying goes. And of course, he would no doubt put on a real clinic for Jim and I were we to go to one of his favorite haunts and show us the dark arts – definitely welcome on my boat anytime.

As the days cool and shorten, the window of opportunity to fish will naturally diminish, and the fish will take more and more of their sustenance from below the surface. That said, all is not lost for we dry fly folks can still expect some great days of casting to rising fish throughout October. This should happen both on cooler, cloudy days when the blue wings will hopefully be hatching, and warmer days when the caddis and hoppers will still be active.