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I have been blessed to have visited the River of Life Farm three times to experience the warmth of the McKee family, the beauty of the North Fork, and the incredible fishing. This trip, like the others, did not disappoint.
My best friend Mike flew in from England on Saturday, and we were both eager to get on the road first thing Monday morning. I had told him of the incredible fishing on the North Fork, and how welcome Myron and his family make a person feel. The drive from Saint Paul, Minnesota is about 13 hours, so we got an early start. After a brief stop in Springfield to gear up a bit, we navigated the maze of roads that led us further into the woods and away from the hectic stresses of cell phones, work, and deadlines. We were headed exactly where we wanted to be.
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We arrived the first night late and stopped at Myron's house to check in. It was after 10:00, but he insisted that we come in and relax a bit after the long drive. Mike and I have been on many adventures together. We have taken backpacking trips all over the U.S., and have fished numerous rivers in Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and even in Wales in the United Kingdom. (Next up are the chalk streams in Devon, England, and an extended backpacking/fly fishing trip to Idaho).
Myron and his family indulged us while we told them a story from last summer in Montana, where I had an uncomfortably close encounter with a large bear. In fact, if Mike hadn't warned me at the last second, I may have actually collided with it on the trail! Myron assured us there were no bears in this part of the Ozarks, only plentiful wild trout, and the occasional possum. After thanking the McKees for their seemingly impossible hospitality, Mike and I unpacked at the stunning Tree House cabin We were both eager to get an early start the next day to catch a few of the trout we had been talking about the whole drive down from Minnesota.
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We met Myron's son Jeremy at the house on Tuesday, Saint David's Day (the patron Saint of Wales, to the uninitiated) and he drove us and the canoe to Kelly Ford. We put in and paddled up to Rainbow Spring. It was a chilly morning. Our rod guides were freezing up until almost noon. It proved to be a difficult day of fishing, as the wild rainbows of the North Fork lived up to their wily reputations. We caught a precious few as we worked our way down the river, using mostly Prince Nymphs. We decided that returning the canoe to Myron's at midday would be a good idea. After a meal, Mike was especially eager to get back on the stream, and he beat me downstairs as I was rigging up.
In three casts, he hooked up with a decent rainbow just outside our cabin on a Red Fox Squirrel Nymph; http://www.flyfield.com/whitart.htm, a great nymph pattern designed by Dave Whitlock http://www.flyfield.com/whitbio.htm. On the very next cast after releasing that first fish, Mike's fly was hit so hard, that I saw his rod tip slap the water. This was a much bigger fish. I watched him for a minute or so, offering advice and encouragement where I could, before he uttered the magic words, "Uh, I think I'm gonna need the net for this one" I promptly retrieved the landing net, regrettably leaving the camera behind, and waded in next to Mike. It took a couple more tense minutes before the trout came to hand. This was by far the biggest rainbow Mike had ever caught on a river. We stood there together in midstream, as the pale spring sun set behind us, admiring the fish, and clapping each other on the back with glee. It felt so good to be there in that moment.
Nevertheless, that first day proved a bit frustrating for me. I have a philosophy: If I lose more flies than the number of fish I catch, it was a crummy day. I was obviously happy for Mike, but I wished that I had caught more fish myself. The North Fork can be like that. Some days you can't keep the fly in the water long enough, and others you just can't seem to entice even a feeble strike. I decided to put this day behind me and look forward to the next.
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As it turned out, that was a very, very good plan because Wednesday brought with it a bit more luck. Actually, that's like saying a trout is a bit more sophisticated than a bluegill. Wednesday brought a LOT more luck for me.
We began Wednesday at Myron's and floated down to Blair Bridge. Along the way, we made memories that will never die. We caught numerous fish as we worked our way downstream, mostly on Prince Nymphs (an old standby on this river). Mike had the best luck on a special mutant Prince pattern tied by local guide Kyle, who knows this river like the back of his hand. (I met Kyle with my friend Brian on the river two years ago. He ties flies of his own creation often, and he invents and uses them because they get results, consistently. Kyle is a great guy and it is my privilege to know him. I hope one of these days that he will accept my invitation to come on a backpacking trip in the Boundary Waters, or somewhere out West.)
In the late afternoon, Mike and I were fishing above one of the islands. I noticed a large pool just in front of a large boulder on the far bank. There is a shelf under the water that runs from upriver down to near the riffle. I had a hunch that there just may be a pig lurking in that hole. I pulled out two beautiful 'bows from underneath the shelf, but my suspicion remained. I finally got my cast just right, and the size 12 Bead Head Prince plopped into the water with enough time to sink to the right depth at the tail of the pool. I gave it two - almost three - quick strips at the end of the drift, and WHAM. Something hit it hard. Something big. I knew I was into a big one, so I asked Mike if he could perhaps bring the net over to me. It probably sounded more like... "Mike, dude, uh, maybe... could y... could you... GET THE DAMN NET PLEASE!!!" I played the fish for nearly 45 minutes. I was more than a little scared that it would break my 5x tippet. We caught a glimpse of it when it came to the surface briefly, and its mouth was huge! I knew it was a trophy. It measured over 23 inches - a fat brown. This time, the camera was close by. |
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After basking in the afterglow for a while, it was back to business.
We had been told that catching wily rainbows on dry flies was particularly challenging on this river. Most of the patterns we saw used were either nymphs or streamers of some sort - either buggers, leeches, or stones. That's why it was so surprising when we started getting into them with dries. There was a rather heavy hatch of Blue-Winged Olives in the afternoon, and the fish were taking them without hesitation. Simply put, we killed them. For over an hour, we seemed to be catching fish with every cast. It was amazing! 'Double hookups' abounded. There were times when we would get a take while still releasing a fish. As the action tailed off, we floated down river and Mike had more success with a peacock herl 'stimmy' on the bigger browns that inhabit the calm stretch of water below Blair Bridge. We were both wide-eyed with excitement and full of fish stories when Jeremy picked us up.
We went to church with the McKees later that night. The people of Dora are wonderful and made us feel completely welcome.
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| Thursday we awoke with visions of the last day still dancing in our heads, and decided to fish the same downstream stretch. We were lucky enough to fish with Kyle that morning. We started at Rainbow Alley and fished down to the stretch outside the cabins where Mike caught his monster. Mike and I were looking forward to the afternoon BWO hatch as we caught precious few on nymphs. Kyle unfortunately had to leave at noon. We planned it so we reached the same stretch of river at roughly the same time. On this day, however, they weren't coming off like they did the day prior. But, it proved not to matter because there was a heavy caddis hatch, and they took them instead. Again, the fishing was unforgettable. We hammered them for hours on size 14-16 caddis patterns. Mike even dared to use an elk hair pattern that he had tied himself with bits of crystal flash replacing some of the wing hairs.
Color was important during that hatch, but apparently not critical. Mike was really doing well with his darker bodied, crystal flash caddis, and I was getting my results with a tan caddis. I remember commenting during this hatch how much I wished we had tied up a certain pattern that we had dreamed up some years ago over a few beers. It would have been the perfect color to match this hatch. Neither of us has actually dared to tie it, however. The mere mention of the fly raises our hackles with anticipation. It is destined to become a standby for generations. The fish will tremble with fear; they will be completely helpless against it. Wives and mothers will shake their heads in disapproval; but they too will know that this is a force much greater than our control. We call it the Arm Hair Caddis; I don't think further elaboration is necessary. |
| This trip was really the first time I noticed the way the fish took, and the way it fought. When a fish is legitimately fooled with a fly, it almost seems like it knows it. This happens when you are using just the right pattern under the circumstances - when you could let the fly drift for 50 feet in perfectly calm water, and the fish would still be fooled by it. More often that not, your fly is close enough to exactly the right pattern, and you get the drift right and cast it into water that is broken by a riffle or current - you get generally the same result. The fish treats you with a nice fight, and almost seems to say "OK, yeah, you got me, nice work."
But sometimes you can catch a fish purely out of spite. If you can see the fish rising in the same place consistently, cast the fly with a slightly more splashy presentation, right on top of him. It doesn't have to be exactly the right fly, anything close will work. It seems like the fish gets mad enough that something would dare to bother its peaceful feeding that it hits the fly because it's mad. Maybe it's because the fish has made up his mind that he's feeding on the surface and damn it, anything with the nerve to try to show its face in front of him is going to be eaten. When you catch a fish like this, the fight seems different. The fish is not conceding that you fooled him. In fact, he may even feel a bit cheated because he knew that you took advantage of his genetic predisposal (or pure predatory instinct) to eat flies. I really don't know if it's a stronger or weaker fight - it's just different. This idea is especially evident on the North Fork, where the fish seem to be just a bit wiser than average. |
Mike and I wrapped it up Thursday night with a massive pile of spaghetti and talked about our great trip.
Friday morning meant it was time to hit the road again. We were both left with well wishes from Myron, his daughters Bethany, Mary, and Emily, sons Jeremy and Ben, and of course Toby, who gave us his trademark grin that is reserved in most dogs for intimidation. It's always sad to leave the ROLF, in part because you dread returning to the hectic life that awaits, but mostly because the McKee family makes you feel as if you're at home. Not to mention the fishing, which is truly world class. |
| A few tips that we found successful: never neglect the dry flies. You never know when a great hatch of BWO's or caddis will come off. Also, at the end of the drift, always strip the fly back to you - even with dries. The fish will sometimes even chase them down and come out of the water to hit them. The most productive flies were the ubiquitous prince nymphs (usually with bead heads, and use weight), BWO's, caddis, pheasant tail nymphs, Whitlock's Red Fox Squirrel nymphs; http://www.flyfield.com/whitart.htm, and rubber legs stonefly nymphs. We didn't really use woolly buggers much, but I know they work well in olive and black. |
The ROLF is a special place, and the fishing on the North Fork is incredible. I would highly recommend a visit. Although the fishing requires patience on some days, it can pay off in spades.
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Good luck, tight lines, and I hope you enjoy your experiences as much as Mike and I enjoyed ours!
Greg Joseph with Michael B. Nye |
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