VISITNG NEW RIVERS IN SEARCH FOR DRY FLY ACTION

My father and father-in-law were from "Old School."  They were raised in an era when dry fly fishing was the purist means to trout.  Sadly, both have passed on however their love of  ways still lives and gladly adapted by their offspring. Our paternal grandfather, a consummate sportsman had a keen interest in all outdoor pursuits ranging from water fowling,  dog training to Big Game hunting  but above all, he loved fishing.

On one of his early community developments in the Fox River in Northern Illinois that he acquired  from the Hertz Estate and Curtiss Candy company from Chicago was an outgrowth of his passions.  Beside race horse stables, Bull Barns and corn fields for pheasant hunting, Hearst copied the gilded English estates of the Edwardian age.  He made twelve trout ponds with three miles of interconnecting streams holding brown trout with names like Bertha and Tyrone.  Father named it Trout Valley, Illinois.  There he perfect casting Orvis and Payne cane rods and tied dry flies. He  became a master rod builder under the mentor ship of Dale Clemens and tied flies worshiping Helen Shaw.  And when he moved West, he switched to early Lamiglass blanks and perfected deer hair dry flies for the rough and tumbling water for rivers like the Madison and Clear Creek and bass lakes in Sonora, Mexico.

Back in the 1960's, before the Redford's movie, a 12 royal humpy, he called strawberry sundaes would readily bring many rainbows up from their lies on the Madison. Today one must deploy an 18 soft hackle flav. My father- in- law was raised in eastern Washington but after through West Point and graduate work ended up in the Pentagon and adapted quickly to 10" brook trout using #20 Hendricksons and Quill Gordons.  He fished each weekend on funny sounding, dark colored slow moving mosquito infested water.  He loved every minute on the streams but he was more steadfast and a purist than my father.When I meant my future wife in grad school trying flies for a fishing trip with her father it was the love of fishing that brought us together. And when we married it brought the two father together who hit it off immediately. They set a date to fish the West

I can remember picking my father in-law up a the Yellowstone airport. He  dressed like a model out of an Orvis catalog and within minuted upon arriving at our lodge he was fishing fishing the Madison. Not a productive stretch but the enthusiasm was contagious. He was totally military and at 5:00 pm mountain, 7:00 east coast time, he broke off the wading to retire to his cabin and delight in his martini always dangling a Salem menthol cigarette. We knew he was in heaven.

All next day he fished hard with no hookups. We were handily catching many rainbow on dry's many over 17 inches, each one frustrating him. It aggravated more when his daughter and son in law doing well.  After all, I was just a  punk lieutenant,  just married his eldest daughter while he was a full bird Ph.D. Colonel with 25 years in the Army.  My father informed us that he must come to us for advice when he is ready. Finally it happened during out stream side lunch

Mom packed a delightful lunch and while the Colonel continued to fish a trout filled pool without success.  The lunch time audience gathered on the banks to watch the ordeal.  He had a magnificent cast perfected after many dry fly fishing but he was unable to score.  I could not take it any more and slipped in and began casting 20 yards behind him with a 12# Royal Wulff.  Immediately hooked into a huge rainbow that bounced several times slapping the water.  The Colonel turned to see  the commotion and just stared in disgust.  Quickly he returned to casting but to avail.  When he reached the head of the pool, I could see my wife and parents enjoying the show while munching their brie  and fruit lunch sipping cold clear Madison water. I hooked two more trout. The Colonel turned to watch the struggle having passed the water five minutes before.  At last he got the message and reeled his Argentinian Orvis CFO and joined the group sitting next to father.  I continued to fish the pool

"Its the material in your fly," my father finally said to him. "Profile and drift are is everything on these pocket water.  Eastern small hackle have no drift out here." The master East Coast dry fly fisher was hooked on deer hair dry flies and never looked back.