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Monthly Report One cannot say that summer is winding down, as it put in such a brief appearance. Or has it? Last week was “perfect” summer weather for fishing, those golden days of summer, cool mornings gentle breezes, clear skies and temperatures in the 70 –80’s. The week before we had snow down to 700 metres, 5 days of cold south winds with rain and hail showers! Good fishing was hard to find for both weeks, 4 or 5 fish taken in quick succession then long periods of nothing would highlight days. The big question is where do the fish go? Well, I have a theory but then we all have theories and that’s what makes fishing fishing, and not catching. The simple truth of the matter is that some days the fish are not in the mood. Why not, well that is the question; there need not be an answer. For those of us that put pressure on ourselves by guiding and therefore having to produce fish we perhaps have a longer list of excuses than the average angler to explain why there are no hungry fish about. The simple truth is we haven’t got a clue! As frustrating as it is I rather like it that way. Okay we look at the weather systems, moon phases, water temperature, etc and from those we can glean snippets of knowledge but does it tell us why fish are not to be seen and not eating, No. Funny thing about fishing is that there are always more guest ions than answers. It should be such a simple sport, after all our fish would seem to have just 2 basic requirements, food and safety. Ever wondered how a gin clear run could have no fish visible one day and the next day have 4-6 large fish sitting out feeding away for the entire world to see? The vision of an angler is no different to that of another person, in that we see what we want to see, we are focused on a mindset of searching the water for our quarry, the places we most expect to see them feeding, the depth of water, the structure of the river, we are looking for fish in catchable positions. We are not looking for fish that are not feeding or even if we do see fish that are not feeding we hopefully do not spent too much time attempting to catch the ‘uncatchable’. How often do we make the wrong assumption about what we see, thinking we have made the right one, because what we see is what we want to see and therefore look no further than this fact. What happens more often when we are fishing, we are not seeing or catching fish, then on occasion we catch fish so we deem that to be normal when indeed it could be the very opposite. Perhaps we should ask ourselves why are the fish feeding? Instead of why aren’t the fish feeding? Fish are such wonderfully
uncomplicated animals that are pursued by some of the most confused
and complicated anglers. “Ahh such is our sport!” So amongst all this
confusion and complication where are the hungry happy fish going to
be next month and how are we going to expect to catch them and how
are we going to catch them? Hang on a minute that could be the
answer, or is it the question? We expect to catch them! We can’t
catch them unless they are feeding right, what if that’s wrong,
and instead of having a quarry with a brain the size of a small
green pea we are actually up against fish that are a lot smarter
than we are lead to believe. Maybe, just maybe these trout we angle
for have intelligence closer to a dolphin? And from time to time
they let themselves be caught just to humour the strange beings that
walk up river edges in funny clothes with long sticks in there hands
with the stupidest excuse of an insect imitation ever seen in the
world of entomology! Nah far easier to say the weather sucks! Things
like this happen to people that spent long periods of time exposed
to the suns radiation and the subtle super telepathy mind waves of
trout. The cooler autumn temperatures will see a steady decline of terrestrial insects; the fantastic cicada fishing will end. To be replaced one hopes with steadily increasing mayfly hatches and evening caddis rises. It will be shorter more intense periods of fish activity. Lets hope that the fish are going to miss the “big bugs” – us, much as we are and be a little more greedy when they do see a food offering. I’ll be making sure that I have plenty of elk hair caddis and parachute mayfly patterns. Two patterns that I have had outstanding success with lately are the Hemingway Caddis and my old favourite the Quigley’s cripple; Jackson Hole fly tier angler Joe Burke introduced both these patterns to me. I couldn’t imagine fishing without a box full of either. I had this brought home in
trumps a couple of days back while fishing a favourite beat on the
Waipahi, the very place where all those years ago (30) I had my
first frustrating attempts at fly fishing, indeed it had to be the
Waipahi as my “home” water the Waiwera was still recovering from
all the willow trees being removed below SH1. Which as Mike so
rightly implied in last months issue is a fine Brown trout fishery,
4 miles of which runs through my brothers farm, and that’s a sheep
and crop farm not one of the many dairy farms that are having a huge
impact on so many of our downland streams. Now back to the Waipahi and
a couple of very active surface feeders that showed considerable
class in turning down both a parachute Adams and an Elk hair caddis
dry! 3rd time lucky I hoped as the 14 Hemingway sailed
out to land to far to the right of the target fish, a cast that at
first I thought had spooked the fish, but surprise surprise that
fish was just very happy to finally see some food it wanted and
along with 6 more of his friends “nailed” that caddis in the
next hour, and yes I did change flies on a couple of occasions just
to see what would happen and the fish wouldn’t have a bar of it. Get out and enjoy the next 2
months, it’s a long wait for spring fishing in November. All
waters will continue to fish well, just be persistent and aggressive
in your days fishing, cover the miles and hope to hit those
“purple patches” that will happen when the fish are ready to let
it happen. Gerald Monthly Report To a
hunting and fishing addict with a pilot wife it’s the next best place
to New Zealand. An earlier trip in the fall of 97 with Sue was my first
experience of this wonderful playground. With the aid of an Anchorage
friend and his floatplane we explored the rainbow trout fisheries around
lake Iliamna and King Salmon. Playing hopscotch in the Super Cub put us
into some amazing fishing. It also exposed to us to the strong hunting
opportunities that draw hunters from the lower 48 and indeed worldwide. The many Caribou we saw, were
mixed with sightings of huge moose, sheep dotted the mountainsides and
the bears certainly owned the fisheries. That fall trip planted the seed
for a dream to one-day return to Alaska and hunt. Positive thoughts
often bring positive solutions, and so it was to be with Alaska. Levin
friend and hunter Davey Hughes was planning a return trip to Ketchikan
to hunt Mt Goat after an earlier successful trip hunting bears. It was a
simple choice; if the guide was good enough for Davey he was good enough
for me. E-mails flow and soon the dates were set to hunt Mt Goats with
Johnnie Laird. Johnnie operates Muskeg Excursions out of Ketchikan. With
black bear and goat hunting in the Bocha de Quadra region of Misty
fiords and black bear and Blacktail deer on Prince of Wales Island. I have to say that I left most
of the details of the trip to Davey and simply worked my way through my
own guiding season knowing that at the end of it I had to begin to focus
on Alaska. I managed to explore Johnnie’s
web site and hunted around similar operators in the SE to glean a little
information on the terrain we would likely encounter and equipment
needed. I started building a mental
picture and I knew not to get to locked into these thoughts as I have
often miss read the clues and had my mind tell me things that the map
and information had different opinions off. Still one has to believe in
ones dreams every once and a while. The 10th of Sept
finally arrived and the journey from Wanaka in the South of NZ began
with a connection flight out of Queenstown of 2hr 20 to Auckland.
Baggage was checked through to Los Angeles. The back pack and travel bag
where accompanied by my bow case and fishing rods, you would think I
could have found a 4 piece 7-8 wt fly rod in amongst the dozen or more
rods I have but alas it was not to be. It would have made for an easier
carry if I could have put a travel rod in the bow case. Next time. After an uneventful 12 hour flight from Auckland to Los Angeles I effortlessly cleared customs and made my way to the transfer desk and checked my gear through to Ketchikan. A brisk walk from terminal 2 to 3 was barely long enough but welcomed. 2hrs latter I was on Alaska airlines bound for Seattle. I was pleased to find Don waiting for me on my arrival. I had no baggage to collect, as I would find it tomorrow as I continued to Ketchikan. Don had a cold beer waiting at his home in Seattle, it was a brief but good catch up with Don and Beverley. The Jefferson’s and I first met in 1999 in my hometown of Wanaka. On that occasion we fished together without great success, but did establish that there was some hunting and more fishing to be done in NZ. Don returned in 2001 and we had a great hunt for Tahr, Chamois and Red Stag. It was good to see Don on his home turf. One of the great things about hunting and guiding is the great people you meet all over the world that share the common bond of adventure and hunting. With 6 hours good sleep under my
belt and a refreshing shower it was back to Seattle airport for the
final leg of my trip into Ketchikan. 2 hours and 10minutes later I was
warmly welcomed to Ketchikan by Fran. Fran quickly had me out of the
airport and on the ferry to Ketchikan. Fran explained that Johnnie was
hunting on Prince of Wales and would be back in a couple of days. A
quick tour of town and it was to the Gilmore Hotel to unpack and rest.
Davey was due to join me at 9.30pm as he was making his way up from
Bozeman. The next couple of days were
spent exploring the town of Ketchikan and making the final arrangement
before flying into Misty Fiords. A trip to the local range had the bow
tuned and rifles zeroed. A 40-minute Beaver flight on the 15th
found the 4 of us at base camp doing a final gear pack ready for the 3-4
hour hike to the alpine camp. With a mild day and light rain we
shouldered our 50lb packs and began the climb out from base camp, at the
lake, that would take us above the tree line onto the muskeg and finally
to the ‘big tent’ for the next 8 days. The benefits of good advise
soon showed as we were dripping wet on arrival. The zip lock bags had
worked well and croak boots were now fully understood and needed. Having
seen a black bear on the way in our spirits were high with expectation
of the days ahead. We were soon into dry clothes and getting settled in
our new surroundings. The large and roomy big tent complete with stove
was a blessing. Bobby, Johnnie’s assistant
guide and packer soon had the tent warm and the stove busy. The light rain had become steady
and the radio forecast was for more rain, we soon realised we were in a
rain forest! That evening wolves were howling a short distance from
camp. As Davey had a wolf tag the presence of wolves generated mixed
feelings in camp. Davey and I were reminded of where we were and what we
were here for. Bobby and Johnnie saw the wolves as competition in
respects to goat hunters. Next morning dawned wet and
misty, the plan was for Bobby and I to hunt our way over the pass behind
camp to a spike camp that Bobby had established on the back of the
mountain. Davey and Johnnie would follow us to the pass then move to the
west and hunt there and return to Big tent. As with all good plans this
one changed very quickly when Bobby and I walk into a wolf enroute for
the pass. I was quickly sent back down the mountain to find Davey and
Johnnie and make them aware of the wolves. Bobby went to work howling at
the wolves. The result of
Bobby’s excellent howling quickly had a nice wolf in the crosshairs of
Davey’s rifle. At 120 yards it was no contest and we were off to an
amazing start. That wolf had no idea what we were and to watch Bobby
draw that animal up over our tracks into range was a good reminder of
the wilderness we were in. Johnnie
and Davey now had to head back to base camp at the lake and finish
skinning and get the hide on salt. Bobby and I would carry on to the
spike camp and drop our loads and return to the big tent. Prospect for
goat hunting were not good as it was Bobby’s opinion that the wolves
would have hunted the goats down into the woods and cliffs. As the rain lifted I was greeted with a panorama of our hunting area, it was the last time I would get to see the full magnificence of our hunting area. An hour later with light rain again falling Bobby and I began our ascent to the spike camp. With detours here and there to look at likely goat areas, our ascent was quickly halted with Bobby spotting what appeared to be a goat 300 yards below. Leaving our packs we moved cautiously in for a closer look. Sure enough here was my first look at a mountain goat and still on the first morning of our hunt! With Bobby’s knowledge of the country we were soon 150 yards from a mature nanny and yearling. Bobby and I had already discussed what I was looking for and how I hoped the hunt would work. Now it was stalk time, the goat was a keeper. All we had to do was get 20-30 yards away and see if we could get a shot. After much watching and waiting the goats finally moved off their beds and walked away over the ridge, now we could make our move. The plan was to cover the first 100 yards as quickly as possible and then move up hill to get into position for a shot. Good plan, it was ruined as we crested the ridge to find the yearling 10 yards away coming straight at us! “Close, oh so close!” We were not out of the game, the goats had cut back towards our spike camp and Bobby was already planning plan B. From spike camp the goats could be seen 150 yards above us on the edge of the snow pack. The plan was to let them settle, set up camp and see what else was about. Several more goats were in a basin directly below camp and more off to the east. With our first goats moving quietly up the snow shoot towards the pass we had crossed earlier, plan B was put into action. As we approached the pass we edged out and there were the goats bedded directly below us at about 40 yards, and I mean directly! Again the waiting game, with time running out plan B-1 was hatched. Bobby surmised that the goats could go 3 ways from their present position. I was to move up hill to the pass and cover one escape route, Bobby would go back to the spike camp and quietly work up in full view of the goats thus blocking a second escape route. This time the plan worked like a charm, almost. From my position I could peck out and see the goats moving slowly but steadily towards my ambush. I had marked off 4 shot options all at around 17 to 22 yards, the trick would be to have the goats out onto the edge of the snow pack and moving up hill and away from the cliffs for me to take the shot. What happened next will haunt me for years to come. As the goats approach shot option 1 the large nanny turned and came straight at my position, at 6 yards she stopped turned broad side and offered the shot you dream about. 6 yards!! Here my inexperience with bow hunting exposed a huge chink in my shot options. I have shot several deer and spend a lot of time on the range, I’m lucky to have a natural ability to hit any target with good accuracy from 20 to 60 yards and have the kills to prove it. I had never taken or until now dreamed of getting such a close shot!
With a couple of seconds to get the shot off I hesitated, I doubted my thoughts as to where to aim at such a close range. That was round two to the goats. With my cap pulled down over my face to hide my embarrassment I offered my apologies to Bobby. Like the true professional he is he simple thanked me for not taking a shot I wasn’t happy with. I figure that he really should have given me my just rewards and slung me of the cliff! How often should a hunter ask for a point blank shot with a bow at a 10-inch nanny! Sorry Bobby. The mourning howls of the wolves in the basin below reflected my mood well as we crossed the pass and in steady rain returned to the big tent. What a day. Next morning like the next
several dawn wet and misty. With visibility down to 100 yards there was
little point in wandering around in the rain and mist and spooking
unseen goats off the mountain. We busied our selves with firewood detail
and awaited the return of Davey and Johnnie from the lake. They duly
arrived in mid afternoon and together we watched a large cinnamon bear
in the berry fields below camp. The object of the hunt was to get goats
then if the opportunity arose go for bear. More rain and mist the next
morning, but with a better outlook Bobby and I again packed up to the
spike camp. The goats were still in the basin below us but
unapproachable in such wet and slippery conditions. This is seriously
steep country and must be respected. Its little wonder there are such
good goat numbers about as it is not easy country to hunt. Our only
option was to wait out the weather. For the rest of the day and most of
the next we were camp bound. Having heavy rain and 60-70mph winds
beating at our small tents certainly had the imagination working well.
This wind was not what I was wanting to give me access into the basin
below. There comes a time when you just can’t stay in a tent any
longer, so despite the rain I just had to stretch the legs, As always
Bobby had a plan and was willing to hunt. We walked away from camp to
see some new country. We were rewarded for our efforts with some short
breaks in the rain that allowed us to get the necessary glassing of the
cliffs and basins around us. One thing was clear, there were plenty of
goats about, it just needed the weather to break to bring them out of
the trees off the cliffs and back onto the tops. Did I mention we were
hunting in a rainforest! More tent time as the weather
still wasn’t ready to release its grip off our mountain perch. With food supplies and dry
clothes and sleeping bags at a premium our options were becoming
limited. A return to the big tent to dry out and resupply was needed in
the next 24 hours. Why had I not taken that 6-yard shot? With the snow
pack next to the spike camp I now had no doubts with what to do with
6-yard shoots. Luck was about to give me
another opportunity, or was it? Sitting cold and wet under the flysheet
having taken our mountain house dinner early I was ready to crawl back
into my sleeping bag. The rain was still lashing our camp, the usual
small trickle of our camp creek was crashing in a torrent down the
mountainside, and the wind buffeted our refuge. With an hour of light
left I had had enough. Bobby hadn’t. With a wet grin he poked under
the fly and said that a pair of goats was making its way up out of the
basin. If they continued on their present ascent they would pass 150
yards above camp and walk out onto the snow pack. I learnt the reason
for our campsite. Bobby had
put the spike camp smack in the middle of 3 major goat trails.
A mere 150 yards above camp a waterfall provided access for goats
and goat-like creatures to access the basin under camp, even as we
worked into positions the goats were already out of the cliffs and just
below the crest of the waterfall, there was little doubt they were going
to come out onto the snow pack. In driving rain it was difficult to get
a solid range test, it was further compounded by the fast fading light. Interestingly I was no longer
cold, firmly focused on our goats and ear tuned to Bobby’s
instructions we waited dead still on the slippery rock and heather. The
goats began to cross the waterfall, to the 35 yard mark.
They crossed hesitated and went back, come on goat! Bobby was
down under some scrub totally out of line of sight. I, on the other
hand, was almost fully exposed, that goat just wasn’t sure what that
strange looking white object was, you could see her ears twitching and
watch her nose working the wind, in the end curiosity got the better of
her and over she came. I could see the top of her back and tips of her
horns as she made her way past the small hemlock tree. Now if she would
just step up out of that depression, I had the tree marked at 37 yards,
up she came, there was no doubt she knew I was there, it was more a
matter of what is that white thing? Is it another goat? At full draw the
arrow cut the distance in an instant. Her response was predictable, back
over the water all and off around the cliff, gone in an instant, we
vainly searched in the gloom for a sighting. Bobby was gone a moment
later, reacting rather than thinking he was over the waterfall and down
that cliff before he had time to reflect on what exactly he was doing or
where he was going. He had to get an indication of where our goat had
gone. It was important that he did, I was just glad it was him and not
me on that slippery cliff. 500 feet below was our prize. It transpired that the goat had
run less that 30 yards before expiring, the rest was a fall and tumble
to the grass selves below. Our luck held, as both horns were still
intact and apart from a cut beside her eye the cape in great order.
Bobby secured the goat and had no option but to leave her where she fell
and climb back up the cliffs, a task that was a little more difficult
than he would have wished. After a restless night filled
with thoughts of wolverines and brown bears, and what nasty things they
would do to my trophy, Bobby hastened back down that cliff and retrieved
the meat and skin in one mammoth pack load. I was instructed quite
firmly that I was to stay right where I was. I didn’t protest too
much. I couldn’t help but think how much simpler things would have been if I had taken that 6 yard shot 4 days before. Somehow I don’t think Bobby would have wanted it to be any other way. My shot had taken the goat chest on with a slight away quarter; the arrow had passed through both lungs, and the liver and exited high in front of her offside flank. I was more than pleased with the shot, the Beman ICS400 with a Muzzy 3 blade 100gr had preformed to perfection. A goat with a bow, I was and still am very proud of the trophy, indebted to a great guide and in total awe of the South East Alaskan rainforest. Gerald
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