Big Sugar Creek

When talking to my buddy Jerry the other day, he directed me to his local (Rogers. AR) paper and a story they ran about one of our favorite streams from days gone by. Big Sugar Creek.

I’m not sure how we came to know of this beautiful little stream located in southwest Missouri, but for a number of years his family and mine spent many days enjoying its beauty and its fishing, and thanks to Jerry, the reading of the article filled my day with memories of the times we spent there.

A few years ago I learned that it had become a state park, and while that designation surely was deserved, I just know that a “someday” repeat of those quite days will not be possible due to the crowds that must be there now. In all of the times that Jerry and I fished it, I cannot recall ever seeing another angler. Sure, the creek had its share of picnickers on pretty days, and of course it had its share of canoeists when the water level was high enough, but the average weekend was just about as empty as the picture above. (And speaking of that picture...back in the day there were no digital cameras, so I could dig out no shots from the archives to show you. This one was copied from the article that Jerry directed me to.)

The guy is standing at the low water bridge near the community (if you can call it that) of Cyclone, and just upstream of where he is standing is a long glassy pool, whose “glassy-ness” is perfectly matched by the streams bottom. “Greasy” might be more descriptive. This spot was our starting off point for fishing the upper reaches of Big Sugar, and stepping off into the water in tennis shoes was a sure way to test ones coordination and balance. We had never heard of studded wading shoes at that time, so negotiating the algae covered, fifty yard long slab was the price we had to pay to get to the better water.

I’m not kidding...it was slick. So slick that more often than not I would be on my hands and knees at one point or the other, trying to get across it. But it was worth it. Whether we were outfitted with our fly rods or our ultra-light spinning gear, we always managed to catch fish. And some nice ones too. Four and five pound smallies were not unheard of, but Big Sugar’s bluegills and smaller bass were great fun on the light tackle as well.

On another front...
The evening skies have been reminding us daily of the coming winter weather. The past few days have shown us not the more familiar and recent summer-time skies of puffy cumulous clouds, but the stratus clouds so common in the winter months. Looking toward Mount Pisgah in the west (12 miles as the crow flies) we have seen some beautiful sunsets...each one reminding us that cooler weather and better fishing is right around the corner.

And speaking of seasonal changes...
I don’t want to hear any whining from the black bears this coming year. In recent years they have complained constantly about their lack of food...as if their dietary deficit gave them license to raid our trash cans and bird feeders. This year’s mast crop should keep them close to home (their home!)...content to gorge themselves on natures bounty instead of ours. Check out this photo taken right out of my office door. For the past week the acorns have been falling like rain! This shot, taken beneath one of the larger oaks on the property, was not staged. The entire ground beneath this huge trees canopy looks just the same.

The next PHW Cherokee Event!

WOW! 50 of our nation’s heroes are set to join us on the spectacular Cherokee Nation waters for an unforgettable two days of trout fishing. There will also be fly fishing clinics, a banquet, a raffle and a silent auction. The event takes place September 18th, 19th and 20th.


Thanks to Project Healing Waters and a lot of good folks who have donated their time, talent and finances, we’ll be showing our veterans that their sacrifices are not forgotten!

I CAN’T WAIT!

Soft Hackle

According to the late legend and member of the Fly Fishing Hall of Fame, Jack Gartside, the soft hackle wet fly "is quite simply, beautiful. In its bareness, in the liveliness of its soft hackle fibers it suggests all that seems necessary to tempt fish. Because of its simplicity it's also one of the easiest flies to tie—and often one of the deadliest."

WHEW! Finally finished all 40 flies for the upcoming book, Fly Fishing the MidAtlantic. Beau Beasley, the author, seems to be pleased with my efforts and I know that I am. Prior to this project I had sketched out a few of my favorite flies, primarily for my own enjoyment, but this was different. I had to illustrate flies that I’ve never used and probably never will, and flies that were nothing like the classics that I grew up fishing and admiring.

I had my favorites and my not so favorites, but topping the list of favorites were the two flies designed by my buddy Kevin Howell, of Davidson River Outfitters. Perhaps it’s the friendship that swayed me. Of perhaps it’s because his shop is just about 15 minutes from my front door. Then again, maybe it’s because these two flies catch fish! All of the above, for sure.
The one on the left is "Kevin's Stone" and that ugly thing below it is "Howell's Big Nasty."

Hope you like them!
(Prints ARE available...)

Cooler than the other side of the pillow

Heading up the mountain from Lenoir we watched the temperature drop at least one degree per mile, till it registered in the mid 70’s when we rolled into Blowing Rock.  Ahh...the mountains!  It was great to be back.

Shirley and I took the weekend off and headed for the High Country of North Carolina over the weekend.  Well actually, we were working...sort of.  Scott and Dottie Farfone, the owners of Foscoe Fishing Company, were hosting a special fly fishing event on Saturday at their beautiful log cabin shop in the Foscoe area, and they were kind enough to allow us to set up our display on their front porch.

Tim Cummings (see below), our fellow Project Healing Waters volunteer, heard we were coming their way and offered to share the house he and his wife Melinda were occupying just off the Blue Ridge Parkway, so with the promise of their hospitality, some cooler weather and the chance to meet some new trout art aficionados...we jumped on it. 

Scott and Dottie put on a great event and we had a great time meeting some of the local, and some of the not so local, folks.  (Seems we weren’t alone in our efforts to escape the heat.)  It threatened rain through most of the day but it held off till later that night.  Going to sleep to the sound of a billion little forest critters, then awakening to the sound of rain pounding on the window panes sure was more restful than the constant hum of our air-conditioning at home.

We made some sales; we ate some great meals and managed to spend some time strolling the streets of Blowing Rock, revisiting many of the shops that we knew from years ago.  The Cummings’ hospitality was more than we deserved and the ride home on Sunday was without incident.  Except for one little thing.  One little helmeted and goggled thing that passed us on the highway.

There on the back of a fully decked out Harley sat the coolest dog you’ll ever see.  With his master in the front and his American flags fluttering behind him, this guy was the epitome of cool.  As he passed us he glanced our way with a “Don’t you wish you were me!” look, and sped off to parts unknown.

We were still laughing as he pulled in front of us, turned around, and graced us with one more “Ain’t I cool” look. 

The LETORT HOPPER

Another fly for the book, Fly Fishing the Mid Atlantic, the Letort Hopper originated in Pennsylvania where it was designed by flyfishing legend Ed Shenk in the late 50's.  As realistic as the new foam body hoppers look, they loose their effectiveness when underwater.  Not so with this bug, which can be fished with three different techniques on each cast.  Starting off with a dead drift on top, you might give it a twitch or two.  Then allow it to sink on the swing to represent a drowned hopper, and finally strip it back for the next cast.

At last...

Finally finished up the C&R Brown for Chris.  What a fun project.  22 inches is a good sized trout and if you don’t think so, just try drawing one at actual size!  A gazillion dots of stippling and a dozen layers of color later, here it is.

Laying here before me on paper, it looks huge...maybe even larger than it seemed to Chris the day he pulled it from the Missouri River.  Gosh, I wish I could have been there to see it.  As Chris gets this framed and hung on his office wall, I hope that every time he sees it he travels back to that day.

A little color

Here is the latest version of Chris' Brown Trout.  I have added a couple of layers of color, but before this guy starts to look as it should, I'll have to add at least half a dozen more.  So far, so good.

On another front, I have now completed twenty new fly illustrations for Beau Beasley's new book, Fly Fishing the Mid Atlantic.  Here are two of the latest ones.  I only have another twenty to do.

This first one is Cowen's Baitfish...a pattern that presents a realistic baitfish pattern when in the water.  It probably wouldn't do the trick with our local trout, but the sea going variety would gobble it up for sure.

And here we have Chocklet's Gummy Minnow...a pattern that even our locals would appreciate.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent...

There is a creature, lumbricus terrestris, that is found in or near virtually every trout stream. A trout dietician’s dream food, this tasty morsel and its imitations have probably caught more fish than any other Latin named fare. Yet few of us, until quite recently, would have admitted to using them...especially the “natural”, but also its many imitations.

Deep in the hidden away pockets of your fly vest, you probably have such imitations, and when the fish are not cooperating you have been known to use them. Lumbricus terrestris is an earthworm. Of course there are more popular variations which include Paleacrita vernata, otherwise known as the Inchworm, and perhaps the most famous of all to trout fishers, members of the phylum Annelida and the class Oligochaeta, the San Juan Worm.

For those of you relatively new to the fly fishing game, in days of old no self respecting fly fisherman would have considered using these imitations...we fished with FLIES! Nor would we have attached split shot to a leader. We would have used wire weighted nymphs, but the thought of using split shot was as unthinkable as adding tap water to a fine single malt Scotch.

Years ago I would cuss the guys catching all of the trout using little pink rubber worms with their spinning gear. Imagine the horrors!  Some were drifting these weighted worms to the dark depths of the stream with little bobbers firmly attached to their line! What they were doing was unfair, un-sporting and downright redneck to the core!

Sound familiar?

We’ve come a long ways, but we still have our biases. We use “strike indicators”...just a fancy name for bobbers, and the angler without a full assortment of split shot sizes is severely limited in the number of trout he will catch. In other words, “Trout Flies” have come to mean many things. Some are made of plastic; some are made of beads; some are made from anything the imaginative angler finds at the local crafts store. And we...unlike the trout...are all the better for it.

A Better View...

My apologies for the previous images.  My local printer was having installed a new scanner that could handle the 22 inches of Chris' trout, and I guess before posting anything I should have waited for the final installation.  Anyway, I couldn't wait to get some images up as I completed them.  I know that Chris wanted to see them, but I guess I should have waited.  The above image is from the new scanner and it will show - especially if you click on it - the details I've written about in the previous posting.

Next Steps

OK...just about ready for color. NO, as I slap myself, it IS ready for color! At this point with every piece I could go on and on with the detail. If this were to remain a pen & ink drawing I would spend a few more hours – maybe days - getting everything just right, but since it will be colored I had better stop. After adding the color I can always go back with the pens to touch it up here and there.

Comparing these views to the previous ones you can see that I’ve added a couple of thousand more dots to it. My stippling technique is a little hard to explain. I’ll work on the piece in segments...going back and forth from one section to the other, all the time trying to keep everything in balance regarding density and strength. I’ll work a section with the .25 pen, keeping everything pretty consistent and orderly...meaning dot placement and strength, and then with the same pen I’ll get a little crazy. I call it “planned randomness.” I’ll grab the pen at an angle (as opposed to my first work with the pen pretty much upright) and go at it in a more haphazard and heavy handed manner. Angling the pen slightly will make the marks a little irregular, and I’ll place the marks when looking at the piece from my peripheral vision. At this stage I do not want to consciously place the marks with any sort of precision. I want them to be random. In the deeper or more shadowed areas I’ll then have a go with the .35 and .50 pens to give the drawing even more strength.

And finally I’ll go back with the finer pen to fill in any spots that need touching up. This last step is very precise. It’s amazing what one little dot in the right spot can do.

So now comes the color...the hardest part for me. Being colorblind doesn’t help...and having no training complicates things even further. There. My excuses are made. Time to break out the pencils.

Beginning stages

OK...Here we go. As promised I am going to be posting some “in progress” images of Chris’ beautiful brown trout. You may recall that Chris was the winner of the drawing last month for the free Catch and Release artwork.Most of what follows may be pretty boring to those uninterested in how I do these illustrations, so my apologies. With the workload that I currently have, it may be a few weeks before there are any fishing reports or recollections seen here. I am still working on the fly illustrations for Beau Beasley’s upcoming book and I have to get started on his double truck painting also. That, and finishing up Chris’ brown is going to keep me pretty occupied in the studio.

What you see here today is the beginning stages of the artwork. I began by drawing the fishes outline and a few other details in pencil. I decided, with Chris’ OK, to do the illustration at actual size...22 inches from head to tail, and quite frankly, that is a challenge in itself. Most of my work is quite a bit smaller so takes up less space on my drawing table. The smaller pieces are easy to turn sideways and upside down as I work on various sections of the fish. That aint easy to do when working at this size.

Once I am satisfied with the general shape and size of the fish I begin work with the pens. Starting with .25 size tips I draw over the pencil work and then begin the stippling process. So what is stippling, you ask?  Anyone that has ever seen an edition of The Wall Street Journal has seen stippling in one of its forms. The Journal has long had a practice of avoiding photographs...instead they rely upon the work of Randy Glass.  All of the “portraits” you see in their paper are done by him.

His technique in these portraits is more akin to medical illustration. Very precise. My technique is a little different...for sure! So stippling is the application of dots of ink to show contour, depth and detail. Rather than drawing lines (such as cross-hatching) stippling uses tiny dots. It’s that simple.

So, at this point in the process I have spent four evenings working on the image, and there is a long ways to go.  So far the only thing finished in the shot below is the can of beer.

Ancient River Smallies

Although I live very near the banks of the French Broad River, known for its excellent smallmouth, musky ...and in its upper reaches, trout fishing...until Saturday I had not wet a line in the lower sections of this ancient river. I say ancient because it truly is. Only the Nile and another North Carolina river, the New, predate it.

The section near my home is narrow, fast, deep and filled with snags so wading it would be suicidal. It’s very near the famous Musky Mile and if I can ever con a buddy with a boat into testing it, I’ll find out if those toothy monsters are in residence there. In the meantime...

Saturday’s smallmouth adventure was exploratory. I drove up north of Asheville to the area known as The Ledges. The French Broad meanders through our foothills passing mile upon mile of fertile farm land, meaning that even the briefest shower can turn it to chocolate milk in a hurry. Knowing that we hadn’t had any rain lately, and knowing that the water was low and clear I figured that it was the perfect time to try out the smallmouth fishing.

I rigged my 5 weight with a bright yellow Clouser and stepped from the bank into surprisingly warm water that was very different from the more familiar Ozark smallmouth streams. The shoals, the mini-rapids and eddies reminded me a lot of the Flint River down in Georgia, but on a much larger scale.

I love the way a Clouser negotiates pocket water. Dipping and diving, darting and dashing from one current to the next...and to my good fortune, two smallies thought the same thing. Both were about a foot in length and in the fast water they put a good bend in the TFO.

As I’ve mentioned before, rock hoping and deep wading in fast water is best left to the young, so as I feared before arriving, my fishing options were quite limited. I watched a couple of agile spin fishermen further out in the river as they negotiated the shoals with ease, and if I was not alone I might have tried some of their less adventurous techniques. Probably not.

I spent more time walking the trails along the stream looking for better access than I did in actual fishing. If I can ever break the habit of wondering what’s around the next bend, and just stay where I am and FISH... I’ll probably catch a lot more. But old habits are hard to break, and besides, I just know that the next hole will be better.

Marshall Fry

There was a time when catching a lot of fish was important to me. A long ago day on Roaring River comes to mind. Roaring River was one of the Folger boy’s training grounds...close to home and the fish would usually bite... obviously, very important to budding young fly fishers. And if not biting, there were usually some girls around, bored to death, having been drug on yet another camping trip by their dorky dads.

I had challenged my dorky dad to a contest. We’d start at one of the lower holes and fish our way up to the lodge and see who could land the most trout. A small crowd of tourists (there were always tourists around getting in the way of our back-casts) followed us, and as I recall we each caught and released thirty-some trout. Yes, we were showing off. I can’t remember who won, but it was one of those magical days when the fish were especially active and my hook-set timing was perfect. We caught and released a lot of fish. On other days the fish weren’t so lucky.

Back then my brothers and I were under a lot of pressure to bring home the bacon. There was always a good crowd at camp and we were the designated providers for many campfire dinners – meaning we each had to lug a stringer from pool to pool. As no wading was allowed, we would secure our stringers to rocks along the river’s edge, fish the pool, move on, catch one three pools later and spend the next fifteen minutes backtracking to find our stringer among the dozens of others along the stream.  Five a day was the limit, so every day we’d each string four and keep fishing and releasing until we had a worthy specimen to fill out our quotas...always under the watchful eye of Marshall Fry.

Marshall Fry was the Game Warden. A wiry little bespectacled guy with binoculars, he was always in uniform and always on DEFCON 1 alert. Lucky for us, his investigative skills and sleuthing techniques were patterned after Barney Fife, so spotting him on the stream was rarely a problem. Fry’s duty in life was to enforce the catch limit and especially the “artificials only” rules of the stream.

Uncle George didn’t like him at all. Arguably one of the best fly-fisherman of his day, my uncle was always on the Marshall’s radar. Uncle George was old school in every way. If he was going to go fishing, he was going to bring home fish. Lots of fish. It was a source of pride, but before you condemn him, remember that this was back in the 50’s and early 60’s...long before catch and release became the norm and we were on a put-and-take stream.

My favorite uncle was an enigma. As the long-time Superintendent of Schools for a major Missouri school system, he was one of his cities more upstanding citizens...but there was a rebellious streak inside. Among his so called faults, he refused to put a nametag on his stringer and one day he got busted for it. The ever vigilant Marshall Fry arrested him on the spot and hauled him off to court in Cassville.

They met the magistrate and a fine was assessed. Always the gentleman, Uncle George agreed that it was a fair amount and that he would pay it...but only after he and the Marshall returned to the river and arrested each and every other criminal that was brazen enough to use a stringer sans nametag. Marshall Fry was furious. He knew that at least a fourth of the stringers would be without tags, and he knew that Uncle George had him. The charges were dropped and the trout dinner was especially good that night. But we knew that our nemesis would pull out every trick to get even.

We heard that he was offering bribes to other angles to rat out my brothers and I. He suspected that we were stringing four, returning to camp to unload them, then returning to fish for another four, then another four, etc.  At least that was his theory. Now, if we had been night fishing in the off-limits spring lake for the retired brood stock I would have understood his obsession...but we never had the nerve to do that.

On another occasion, one of our neighbors that had had about enough of the Marshall’s constant presence around the stream cooked up a plan to mess with him. Frank found an empty coffee can, filled it with dirt and then added a handful of worms to the mix. All that was needed was to be sure that our nemesis could see Frank’s plan unfold. Now, one of the Marshall’s favorite observation hideouts gave him a good view of the lower pools, and sure enough that’s where he was...surveying the fishermen with his binoculars. Frank sauntered to the selected pool, set the can down, rigged up his rod and reached into the can being careful to sling some of the dirt out as he dug for that perfect worm, all within view of the Marshall. With the worm secured to the hook, Frank slung it to the far bank, sat down and began a slow retrieve across the pool.

About the time the bait reached the middle of the pool a siren was heard. Looking towards the hideout, Frank saw the dust and gravel fly as Fry headed towards the stream. Coming to a stop behind our blatant law-breaker, he shut the siren down and exited the car in his normal self important fashion. Straightening his tie and hitching up his trousers, the little banty rooster pulled out his ticket book and walked towards Frank.

Nonchalantly reeling in his bait, Frank acted shocked that he was doing anything illegal. “All I’m doing sir is fishin’ with worms!” Well, Marshall Fry demanded to see Frank’s license...all in order. Then he picked up the worm can with a self-righteous grin on his face, certain that he had busted another of the more flagrant miscreants on his hallowed waters, plunged his hand into the mix and pulled out a fine example of the injection molder’s art. Yep, Frank had filled the can with plastic worms. Digging deeper into the can he found nothing but plastic. Marshall Fry lost it. Slinging the can down he retreated to his car and just sat there steaming. Stifling laughter, Frank continued fishing ‘til he finally drove away.

There are other stories to be told of our days with the good Marshall, but just know that he led a very frustrated existence for a few years there. But he gave my brothers and I a gift. That gift was the motivation to lift our eyes from the water now and then...to be curious...to take in our surroundings and be aware.

With the passage of time it’s doubtful that Marshall Fry is still with us. Perhaps I’ll see him again someday hiding in the trees along that great trout stream in the sky. If so, he’ll be wasting his time (as usual) ‘cause that particular stream is bound to be free of all earthly rules and regulations.

We have a winner...

52 days ago we announced that we were going to have a contest for free Catch & Release artwork and today the winning name was drawn. My thanks to everyone that entered...each of you surely had a catch worthy of framing and perhaps you’ll consider getting that done at some future date.

In the meantime though, Chris Harris, who has obviously spent some quality time on the Missouri River casting to big browns, is well on his way to having a special memento of a recent trip. Yep, Chris won the drawing and now I have to get to work. While Chris clears some space on his office wall to show off his catch, I’ll be doing my best to do it justice.

Home Again...
Shirley and I were really glad to return home form a nice weekend at the South Holston Fly Fishing Fest last night. Really glad to get back to air-conditioning, that is. You would think that being situated a stones throw from one of the colder tail water streams in the east would cool things down a bit, but no, it was HOT!

In spite of the heat, we survived...thanks in part to the ever present volunteers that Knox Campbell had recuited to hand out those ice cold bottles of water throughout the weekend. As we expected, Knox put together another great show for vendors, presenters and the fly fishing public. Seeing a hundred eager “students” standing in the sun alongside the casting pool to soak up the wisdom of Joe Humphries and Lefty Kreh with no fear of sunstroke proved that Knox’s efforts were not wasted.

We met some old friends from last years show and of course some new ones as well. We managed to sell a piece or two and got to spend some quality time with fellow artists, Bruce Bunch and Paul Thompson when the action slowed. Come to think of it, swapping stories, critiques, advice and techniques with them makes any show a success. ‘Course it always helps to make enough in sales to pay for the gas home!