Everything Outdoors with Chalen

A trickster of fish and gambler of fate,
here in the house I dream and wait,
of warmer water and warmer weather,
here amongst my fur and feathers.

Preparing for battle on the lakes and springs,
creating my weapons of tails and wings,
thread and tinsel, dubbing and hackle,
all the tools to create my tackle.

Tweaking this and trimming that,
the wings stand up, the tail laid flat,
the body tapered, head whipped tight,
a sharpened hook ready for the fight.

I sit back and gaze in admiration,
and without a moment’s hesitation,
tell myself that old angler’s lie,
that I have tied the perfect fly.

If fly fishing can be considered an obsession, then fly tying is certainly a contributing factor. Fly Tying extends the anglers season to 365 days a year. Neither downpour nor blizzard can stop one from sitting down at the vise for a day of fun, cursing, and frustration. But fly tyers face a particular form of insanity that generally manifests as a need to “save money” on materials. Maybe they are trying to develop the perfect pattern, maybe they are trying to appease an understanding but skeptical spouse. Either way, every fly tyer goes through a series of phases during their descent into the fanatical acquisition of new and exciting materials.

I think most tyers start by walking through the store, grabbing groceries or dog food or toilet paper, and something suddenly catches your eye. Something you’d walked past a hundred times but never processed. Skeins and skeins of yarn. The craft section of your local Walmart is practically infested with it. Hundreds of colors. Think of the indicators, tag tails, chopped dubbing, heck some of this stuff is just fancy chenille! You start squeezing a skein of multi-colored yarn, a real deal for $5. Into the cart it goes, and as you start to move away, you can’t help but wonder, “might there be something else for me here?”

Then the madness begins. Marabou in a thousand colors, all in one cheap pack, pompoms, googly eyes, beads, plastic lacing, beading wire. Not owning anything other than 9 ft 5 weight, you are suddenly imagining 8 inch articulated streamers, huge feather wing concoctions for salmon, and a hundred other things you have no clue how to fish, much less tie. But it sounds like such an amazing idea. The delusion starts to set in, and you rush home, sans toilet paper, with these new treasures.

You sit down at the vise and crank out a few real buggy creations. Sure things for the next outing. As you keep rolling, the cat comes in and lays down in the corner. Soft and silky, it commences grooming that long dun colored hair, and as you watch out of the corner of your eye, you have to wonder, “will that make good dubbing?” After showing more attention to the cat than you have in months, you finally settle it down enough to comb through and loose some fur. It looks promising, dubs beautifully, and makes a good, tapered body. Soon you are brushing the dog, cleaning the lint out of the dryer, eyeballing your own greying hair. But the payoff is hard to beat.

The confidence you have in these new flies translates on the water, and folks start asking about what patterns you are tying. These “custom dubbing blends” are killing it for you and the tiniest hint of jealousy is showing through with some of your friends. This drives the madness even further. When you get back home you go to tie a few more but notice you’re out of the right sized grizzly hackle. Time to hop online or head to the fly shop. But oh the cost! As you scroll through the capes and saddles available, you keep seeing top-end hackle commanding incredible sums, and the next act of lunacy is born.

How hard could it be to raise chickens? Measuring the back yard, looking at hatchery catalogs, making lists of colors to order. You’ll never run out of hackle, maybe you could even sell it! Now you’re in business. Why stop with hackle, rabbits don’t take much either, just these little hutches they sell at the Farm and Home store. Zonker strips, hare’s mask, feet, all the most useful parts for tyers. Can you farm muskrats? If you already have chickens, maybe you could get pheasants too? This is turning into a tying material empire with you at the helm.

A knock on the doorframe brings you back to reality, sitting at your bench, parakeet in one hand, tweezers in the other. Dinner is ready. Chewing on a lot more than pot roast, you venture back down the rabbit hole after dinner, and in the coming days. After a week that would have been better spent tying than finding out mink ranching is no longer very profitable, you resign yourself to the fact that you simply don’t have time to build an empire. Not that you couldn’t do it, but that you have different priorities.

Most tyers slowly drift back to reality at this point. Not that they will abandon their craft store finds or the occasional combing of the cat, but the grand scheme of buying a shipping container of furs from an international auction house generally subside after awhile. Resigned to go back to buying materials like a mere peasant, you start poking around. There really is some good stuff out there now. All these new bead types, crazy new hook designs, and the best old standbys. But as you add that gold medal cape to your cart and head to checkout, you can’t help thinking, “I could’ve grown one just as good.” Sometimes, thinking you can is enough.

I sit here fingers freezing,

Nose running, often sneezing,

Listening around me for a sound I’d like to hear,

Sitting in the woods, waiting for a deer.

I hear a squirrel rustling,

Birds chirping, flying, bustling,

The woodland life around me continues drawing near,

And I am sitting, watching, waiting for a deer.

Now the light is getting dimmer,

Shadows growing getting slimmer,

And now my time to sit is running out I fear,

I wonder will I always be waiting for a deer?

I’m out of light to borrow,

better luck may come tomorrow,

or maybe in a week, or not until next year,

but I’ll be sitting patient, waiting for a deer.

CAUTION: Many wild foods have look-alikes, and some may be poisonous. Never eat any wild plant unless you are certain of its identity.

December may seem an odd time to scavenge the wilds for something to eat, but there are many things that are just coming into their prime as the serious cold and snows start to loom large on the horizon. The seemingly empty woods and waters still have a bountiful harvest if you know where to look. Many of the things on this list will serve multiple purposes and can be a great way to add seasonal touches to your home.

Spruce Tips

The young developing needles of various spruce species have a long history of being used for a handy winter tea. Easy brewed on the trail or collected to take home and brew later, harvest only the young tips to get the best flavor. This fresh feeling tea is like the heart of the forest in a glass, and is said to be a good tonic for general health. Spruce boughs can also make a great impromptu place to sit, wreath, or décor, adding a fresh scent and homey feel to any room.

Rabbits

A far cry from the rascally Bugs Bunny, our local Eastern Cottontails are in their prime now through later January and can be still hunted after a fresh snow or run with dogs. Rabbit is a classic game meat that is amazing prepared fried, broiled, even ground into burger. It is very lean and wants some fat when cooking, but tastes amazing. Many parts of the rabbit can be used as well, feet for good luck charms, the mask, or skinned head, for fly tying, the hide for leathercraft. Rabbit is a versatile critter with a place on any plate.

Juniper Berries

Juniper Berries should be easily seen and collected late int eh year and can add some zest to the kitchen. Classically used to infuse the trademark flavor profile of Gin, a bit of home infusing is easily done with gathered berries. The berries are fantastic when added to other natural scents like lavender and rosemary for sachets or potpourri. Ground, the berries can be added to meat dishes, used in curing Gravlax, ad added to jams or jellies. As versatile as the berries are, the boughs of the juniper and related species are very aromatic and can add a woodsy touch to the home.

December is a month to get outdoors, not stay inside! As cozy as the fire may be and as rich as the cocoa may taste, it will be made all the better by spending some time tromping in the snow. As the year draws to an end, try to incorporate resources from the wild into your holiday meals. From snacks to sides, main dishes to desserts, the woods and waters can be a wonderful adventure for you and your guests.

Scattered throughout the Missouri Ozarks are some literal blue lines. Nine of them in fact, that relate to trout. That is not to say that all nine are tiny mountain trickles, but these waters are the rivers and streams that make up Missouri Blue Ribbon Trout Slam. Our Blue Ribbon waters are legacy trout holding streams, most initially stocked between the latter 1800s and the 1930’s, and with the rare exception, most of them have seen no stocking activity since! These are more than hatchery holdovers, these trout are rainbows that have adapted and are thriving in these hidden gems of Missouri angling lore.

These Blue Ribbon waters are closely regulated, allowing for artificial lures and flies only, and a keeper limit of one fish over 18 inches per angler per day. Due to the spooky nature of these fish and the small waters they inhabit, an 18 incher is a true behemoth and not often does even a picture of one come across social media. But, snorkel surveys in several waters have shown many waters do contain healthy  populations even of these larger fish. The Blue Ribbon Slam consists of catching a wild trout from each of the nine areas ( the “Bronze” Slam can be achieved with only five of nine). This amazing program, administered through the Missouri Department of Conservation in cooperation with Trout Unlimited, rewards anglers for getting out and really seeing the variety of water Missouri has to offer.

I had learned about the slam a few years ago and loved the idea of wild Missouri trout. Once I got back into the habit of fly fishing, and especially when the tenkara bug bit me, I began formulating a plan to attempt to complete the Slam. If possible, I’d like to complete all of them with my tenkara rods. My first shot at this started earlier this fall on a convenient day off that gave me time to make the at least two and half hour drive to the nearest Blue Ribbon water.

My initial plan was to try and knock out as many as three streams in a single day, Mill Creek, Spring Creek, and the Little Piney. It would’ve made for a full day. Would have, because I made some last minute adjustments. I decided instead to spend the morning at Maramec Springs Trout Park, polishing up my drifts and getting some practice in. By the time I had my fill at the trout park, it was well into lunch time, and if I was going to have a shot at some wild trout, rather than just the chunky stockers, I had to regroup and get a move on.

After reviewing a few maps and taking another quick look at my watch, I was about a 40 minute drive from Blue Springs Creek. I ran down Hwy 8  towards Cuba, MO, and after a stop for a snack, jogged down I-44 to Bourbon, MO. South out of town on State Hwy N, I soon saw my first big landmark, Camp Mihaska. Now a camp retreat for the Salvation Army, Camp Mihaska is home to the remains of a long forgotten hatchery responsible for the initial stocking in Blue Spring Creek. The headwaters are located within Camp Mihaska and are not open to the public, but downstream, much of the remainder is open for angling.

I drove down the road, watching as the creek continued to grow closer off in the woods to my right, until I came to the first bridge. There are a number of small pull offs along the run of the creek, and I kept watching, now running to my left, for a likely spot. I came down to a gravel road that as soon as you turn off the highway, spanned the creek with a concrete and culvert water crossing. The small pull off was suspiciously sandy, by since I was in my truck I took the risk, pulling as well of the road as I could.

The morning had been cool, not enough to need a jacket, but I was thankful for my flannel shirt. Now with the sun high in the sky, the shaded hills of the Ozarks kept the stream just cool enough I decided to leave it on. I was whittling down my gear since I would be hiking upstream to the next pull off and then hiking back down the road to the truck. I chose two rods, my 12 foot Goture Breeze tenkara, and a no-name Amazon special seven footer. I had multiple lines, tippet galore, and a couple fly boxes. In addition to those essentials, My nippers and hemostats where already on my belt, and I grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and headed down to the water.

Everything I had heard said the gin clear water and diminutive flows of many Blue Ribbon streams made for extremely spooky trout, so I cautiously made my way under the cover of the trees. Shallow riffles ran between washtub pools, some maybe as large as a bathtub, and my elk hair caddis was drawing a lot of attention, but no hookups. Although it would be easy to assume my frustration was drawn from an inability to hook up, my biggest challenge came from above. Casting a 12 foot rod with again as much line was difficult in the thick cover. After three flies were lost to the overhanging branches, reaching like so many greedy fingers, I collapsed my Breeze and broke out the much smaller no name seven footer.

I tied on a smaller palmered fly, hoping to hook into one of the feisty five inchers I’ve seen all over social media. Drifting near a small snag in on of the bathtub sized pools, I got my first hookup. As I bought to bare the tiny fighter, I saw clearly it was not a trout. A small bleeding shiner was the first catch on Blue Spring Creek. Not long after, a healthy creek chub found its way to my line. As much as I love catching these oddball creek residents, I was after wild rainbows, so upstream I waded. The riffles in this creek, mostly due to the incredible dry spell Missouri experiences this year, were mere trickles, some barely an inch deep in places, So I was working from pool to pool with an occasional small run in between. The next bathtub sized depression was partially obstructed by a large snag, but I well knew that would be a magnet for a larger fish.

I stopped to change to a sort of crackleback variant I had received in a fly swap somewhere. Size 12, almost mint green floss body, and slightly oversized white palmered hackle. This ended up being the ticket. My short tenkara rod gave me amazing line control, allowing me to drift this fly almost into the submerged brush before drawing it back to begin another drift. I drifted the palmered fly more times than was prudent through this tiny pool, but I just could not shake the feeling a fish was waiting just under that logjam. On what must’ve bee the 7^th or 8^th drift, I connected. When my hookset did not immediate bring the fish to the surface, I knew this was more than a small shiner. After drawing it away from the brush, I was able to quickly land a gorgeous, 9 inch, wild Blue Ribbon rainbow. Having been on the water for about an hour already, I was nearly in shock, not only that I had finally tracked down my quarry, but that it was such a healthy size.

A couple quick pictures and I watched the fish slide back into position under the brush. On up the creek I went. More pools, more wading, more fish, lots of shiners and creek chubs. I did manage two more trout that trip, one in the deepest riffle I saw during my three hour trek, the second drifting under an overhanging bush. These last two were the small, parr-marked trout of Blue Ribbon legend.  Shining in the leaf filtered sun, the tiny fighters show off their spunk as they dart away, unphased by the minor setback of being caught. These fish are gorgeous, and on a light tenkara set up, you can really feel them.

I continued upstream in waning daylight, looking for the access point that marked where I would leave the creek and begin the trek back to the truck. I came to a final pool, this one the largest yet, large enough my 8 foot tenkara rod would not reach across it. As I approached, the largest trout of the day, maybe 14 inches, darted from an undercut bank to grab a near invisible morsel, and quickly darted back to it’s protected hide. Though I tried a few drifts through the pool, I could not get these wary Missouri gems to come back out. The sinking sun precluded anymore experimentation, so I made the next 100 yards or so very quickly, finding the narrow cut in the bank that marked the trail back to the access point.

As I walked down the road back to the truck, I was already planning and scheming on trips back to fish the sections I missed, and at the same time knowing I may not return until I’ve completed the entire Blue Ribbon circuit. When I can back to the truck on the sandbar that doubled as a parking spot, that angler’s instinct took over. I walked over to the downstream side of the culvert crossing and flicked a couple casts down the riffle. Though nothing rose to meet my cast, I stood another moment, letting my fly hang in the slack water to the edge as I took in the world around me. As the nighttime bugs and birds were beginning their chorus, I turned back and packed away my gear, grabbed a fresh bottle of water, and started the journey home.

I’m not sure what my trips to the next Blue Ribbon streams will bring, but if they are as good as my trip to Blue Springs, I’ll count myself incredibly lucky. On some of the trickier waters in the circuit, a three fish day would make any angler ecstatic. Wherever my next adventure finds me, I know I’m going to long for a cool fall day, a tiny creek, and wild rainbows.