Outside Days » fish

Guest Blog: Alaskan Salmon Fishing Goes South

Howard — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 09:36:00 +0000

Every once in a while, I stumble across a blog post that makes me laugh out loud. Fred Telleen, Alaskan fly fishing guide, T-shirt entrepreneur and master storyteller provided me with just such a happy moment, and he was kind enough to agree to my sharing the story with you.

The Three Beverly Hills Attorneys

As a professional adult day care provider and fly fishing guide, I need to be careful about razzing fishing clients on my own blog, even if some of them deserve it. That is why I am offering up this story as a guest post. This occurred long ago when I was in my early 20s and guiding for one of the many fishing lodges on the Kenai River. Fortunately, I now own my own business and handle my bookings directly. Many of my guests return yearly and/or refer their friends and family, so incidents like this no longer happen. No offense is intended toward the many great attorneys out there who work hard so they can fish every chance they can get.

I was supposed to meet three clients at the Kenai Airport arriving on a 9am flight. I waited as passengers deplaned and they did not show up. I called the lodge to inquire if they’d called in, but they’d heard nothing. I waited for the next flight an hour later and still no guys. I figured I’d wait it out for one more. At 10:30, three gentlemen were deposited on the curb by a cab. Could these be my guys? They were standing there in silk jogging suits holding little hand bags. I said, “Are you guys looking for your guide?” They said, “We are here to go to “The Fishing Lodge on the Kenai River”. I said “Which one?” They said, “The Fishing Lodge on the Kenai River.” Apparently they had come in an hour earlier and grabbed a cab, telling the driver to take them to “The Fishing Lodge on the Kenai River”. The cabbie drove them around for an hour and a half. Who knows how many miles they traveled while racking up a steep bill. Knowing the correct name of their destination might have helped.

I got their names and called “The Fishing Lodge on the Kenai River” where I worked. My lodge reached their booking agent and I was somewhat disappointed to find out that they were my guys. I inquired, “Where is your luggage?” They said, “We don’t have any. Our secretary booked the trip and told us that our trip was all-inclusive.” I said, “That’s true, but you still need to bring your own clothes. We are headed straight to the river, already several hours late, and it’s 48 degrees and raining. We are going to have to stop at a sporting goods store so you guys can at least get some rain gear and another layer.”

So I took them into a store where they moaned about having to buy the appropriate gear. We finally got on the river at noon for a float that was over ten miles long. As we launched, the rain quit and they started in about wasting money on rain gear. I advised that they suit up for warmth and to be covered when the rain started again, which it soon did. They didn’t suit up. “It will stop,” they said. Eventually it did, but they were wet, cold and miserable and still complaining about having to buy the stupid raingear. One of the guys produced a bottle of scotch and they proceeded to get drunk and even ruder.

We were fishing for king salmon on the Lower Kenai River in a drift boat after a late start in lousy conditions. It was quickly turning into the boat ride from hell. In the midst of our collective misery and while I was rowing like a mad man to hold the boat in a heavy water slot, the miraculous happened. Two rods went down and two big kings were hooked and ripping line. One went down river toward the ocean liked he’d made a wrong turn, and the other went straight upriver past the boat on a spawning mission not to be derailed. I tried to explain that we needed to chase the down runner if we were going to land either fish. The upper classy fellow with the upstream rocket started screaming at me to chase his fish back up 14,000cfs of heavy water. I politely ignored his request without trying to explain the physics problem. Fortunately his fish self-released while he was seething at me. He refused to reel in his 100yds. of line and it eventually passed the boat, tangled in a sweeper, and I had to cut it off while still trying to navigate around several boulders and stay on the same path as the other fish.

We eventually landed an awesome 55lb. King. At this point, the guys were roaring drunk and going hypothermic, so I felt justified in bailing despite the other two anglers howling about wanting bigger fish than the one their lucky S.O.B. of a friend had caught. On the way down to the landing, they screamed at every boat we passed and complained about lousy fishing. The hour long ride back to the lodge was a real joy. At dinner that night, two of the guys got into a fight and broke some dishes and pretty much scared the other guests.

At breakfast the next morning, I explained that the sockeye salmon fishing on the upper Kenai was really good and that if they were willing to try fly fishing, we could have an action filled day. I figured that even a drunken lawyer from LA could hook some sockeyes the way they were running until they said, “We know all about fly fishing. We just saw that movie.” Right…

So I floated them down to a nice gravel run where sockeye were streaming past. We were set up with 8-wt. fly rods and 300 grain Teeny Lines. I explained the concept of drifting the fly deeply and swinging it across the path of the fish. No false casting necessary. This is a heavy sinking line. Just flip it upstream, roll cast to redirect the angle and lead it back down with the rod tip. My demonstration drift was interrupted by an energetic chrome sockeye. “We know what we’re doing,” they scoffed and the pain fest began. I have never witnessed such careless flogging. No attempts at ordered casting were made and my vain tries at demonstrating the proper technique kept resulting in me hooking more fish. After three tries, I gave up and spent the next hour untangling lines from rocks, vegetation, myself, themselves and pretty much everything but the hundreds of fish that were streaming past.

Finally, one of the guys paused mid flog to take a breath, and his line sank just enough to hook a fish in the dorsal fin. Off it went like a scalded cat, while he yowled as his fingers were battered by the whirling reel handle. I pretty much figured I would lose the fly line without rapid response, so I sprinted down the bar, caught the fly line and drug in the hapless fish, quickly releasing it.

When I walked back up to the guys, they were lined up waiting. “What the f**! do you think you are doing letting our fish go?” I explained that the fish was foul hooked and not a legal catch and that by regulation, we were required to release it. “We don’t give a g** d@^ $*!+about your f*^(!n fishing regulations.” I tried to remain calm while explaining that despite their feelings, I was a fishing guide and my job is to follow the regulations. Under no circumstances was I going to break the law for them. They made their disregard for regulations quite clear and challenged me with their legal expertise. There was more F**! piece of s**! Alaska regulations don’t means S**! to me, before I said, “Let’s go try another spot.” I floated straight to the landing and left them there while I hiked to the road and hitchhiked back to the lodge. I found the lodge manager and explained the situation. He went back and picked them up and they were on a plane home the next day.

These guys win the award for the worst clients ever. Their award is banishment from Alaska for life. They seriously made me question the guiding profession. I’m glad I did not waiver and I’ve now enjoyed many years and hundreds of the Best Clients Ever. There have been unique experiences impossible to enumerate, shared with many great people in some very special places.

If you fancy your shot at being a Best Client Ever, one of his fantastic t-shirts, or just more of his adventures and wisdom, you can find Fred at the aptly named Mystic Fishing.

Stay In The Know AND Get To Go

Howard — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 10:29:42 +0000

All clients are created equal, but the ones on the Outside Days Mailing List get offered sport first.

In our 24-7 365 day world of blogging, tweeting and emailing, the List is the best way of reaching most of you without joining the spamming hordes. It gives us the opportunity to offer you deals from single guns in a line to last minute sport to cancellations that would otherwise pass you by. Most special offers never make it past the mailing list: last year 5 days of walked up or mini-driven grouse were snapped up in hours; numerous cancellations at half price; scratch days were filled before ever seeing the publicity of the blog.

For some of you, this will be like sucking eggs, for others I fear it comes as a complete revelation. Either way, the List works on the simple premise that if you are interested you’ll come back with a reply, if not you’ll just ignore me. It’s a hassle-free way of ensuring you’re in the know. Put your name on the List now.

Our latest mailing:

I’m predicting a BBQ summer (Morgy will certainly be having one). Optimist? Me? Well if not a July and August scorcher, I’ll settle for a sim game spring.

If you haven’t discovered the beauty of potting the featherless bird, Game Clay Days work on the same principle as a driven day’s sport, but with no beaters or sausage rolls and better weather. Instead of flushing birds over you, we fling clays from cover and woodland.

Whether a novice shot or old hand clay days offer a chance to dust off your sporting etiquette, brush up on your shooting and make plenty of noise. For the novices (to clay or game) we can provide loaders cum coaches to explain the intricacies of a driven day in a safe and unpresurised environment. And fire around 500 cartridges in a day.

The scratch days are back by popular demand, so if fielding a team of 10-16 guns proves impossible, why not join a made up team on:

Friday 6th of May or Friday 10th of June 2011

Scratch days are £175 per gun to include refreshments on arrival, lunch, and of course enough clays to satisfy anyone (in excess of 3,500 clays over the line in the course of a day). Call or email to reserve your place…as always it is first come first served on scratch days.

Alternatively if you can field a whole team of bangers, please contact me to discuss dates and requirements (yours and mine).

The shoot is located just north of the M27 at Romsey.

A Cast A Day Keeps the Doctor Away

Howard — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 13:49:10 +0000

There’s no question we’re stressed – just take a look at my follicularly-challenged bonce. Then there are all the statistics on strokes, unfitness and depression: all rising with my blood pressure. So we need to release that valve, blow off some steam, or in a former beloved’s jargon ‘take some ME time’ (clearly an unpopular suggestion given she’s been superceded by No.2). If shutting the bathroom door, lighting candles and filling the tub with bubbles doesn’t float your boat, I have the solution for you: fly fishing.

According to the Stress Reduction Institute, “Even 1 second of relaxation can break up the stress patterns in your brain.” So imagine what an evening’s fly fishing will do! Whether you’re an experienced fluff flicker looking to cast your line in new and uncharted waters for unencountered species or a novice who likes the sound of wandering up the river bank in carpet slippers G&T in hand, when it comes to fish wish fulfilment I’m your man or know someone who will be.

There’s something and somewhere to fish year-round in the UK before you look further afield. So before you end up at the gym, GPs or heaven forbid A&E, join me and mine on the bank (be it pond, river, ocean or lake). For those of you addicted to the adrenaline rush of the gym, nothing raises the heart rate or the spirits like having a tight line.

Packing for the Coming Season

Howard — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 07:30:15 +0000

On the cusp of a new season, with one bag packed for Croatia and another for the Yorkshire moors, I find myself contemplating the sport that lies ahead.

By the time you read this, I will be in sunny Split chasing wild migratory quail across the Croatian countryside. At least if you are reading this between 4 and 9am or 6 and 8pm. Otherwise I’ll be chasing wily trout in mountain streams, stalking sea fish with a speargun or lolling about on a boat dangling my line over the edge. Don’t say I didn’t give you the opportunity to do the same! In fact, if you hurry, we may be able to nab a few days sport in September.

The walked up grouse in Yorkshire sold out as soon as it hit the books, and left some of you queuing. We are working hard at expanding our last minute offers for this season, and the availability for next. Meanwhile if someone can work out how to fit two large men, a labrador, a springer and her pup and all our kit in the back of a small van without crushing anything vital, please let me know.

September is full of promise for fur and fin alike with evenings stalking and nights on the rivers in pursuit of sea trout, not to mention some of the best early season partridge about. We do have a few days still available, and anticipate being able to squeeze in a few more before the season’s out. If you are not already on our mailing list, sign up so you can be among the first to find out about new offerings and last minute availability.

Devonshire Flyrod McNab: Freshwater

Howard — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 17:57:48 +0000

We wrote this blog more than a year ago, but had to hold off sharing it with you for editorial reasons. Now, in the gloomy rain of autumn, it seems appropriate to hark back to summers gone, and dream of the ones to come. As I have observed when trying to justify my attempts to catch barbel on the fly, fishermen invent new challenges when bored. The Arundell Arms staff, passionate about their flyfishing, have invented the Devonshire Flyrod McNab: brown trout, sea trout and sea bass on the fly in a day. I’ve been desperate to visit the infamous Arms since I was 10 and keen to learn to flyfish. Needless to say, my parents couldn’t be convinced to send their kid off to Devon on his own, and had no interest in accompanying me, so I had to satisfy myself with drooling over their brochures. Thirty years on, Anne Voss-Bark was kind enough to invite me and Number Two to stay and attempt the McNab.

The 2008 season was a challenging one on the spate rivers, with the constant rain making conditions unpredictable, but I packed my rods in great anticipation, and headed west. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of staying at the Arundell Arms, it is famed as much for its fabulous food and hospitality as for the 20 miles of fishing on the Tamar and its tributaries.

Conditions on the Tamar resembled the Nile in flood, ruling out any night time adventures as the water was just too dangerous to fish for sea trout in the dark. Come the morning, it was apparent we would have to be clever with our fly choice to tempt salmonids of any flavour to take. Needless to say after several hours of dangling Pilkington Bumbles (our ghillie’s foolproof invention) in likely spots, we conceded defeat and beat a hasty retreat to the welcoming arms of the bar. Under fishing paraphernalia that would make the most accquisitory collector blush, we plotted and schemed the salty part of the day’s challenge.

Stalker turned paparazzi?!

Howard — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 08:30:43 +0000

All the media hype about the conversion of paparazzi into celebrity stalkers has fallen on fertile ground. After a successful evening out with a client, Special Jon did his best to capture the moment with a camera. To those of you who feel I take advantage of Jon’s skill at turning turtle, I would refer you to the archives of this blog in which his stalking and fishing successes stand tall compared to mine.

The fallow season has just opened, so if you fancy a buck or a roe do get in touch. Jon and his camera are available at a price. Meanwhile, in his ongoing pursuit of firsts, Jon’s inventing flies for the coarse fish. So far, his invention has taken bream, gudgeon, ghost carp and lost him two barbel. You can see why we think he’s special!

The Riverbank Naturalist

Howard — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 08:37:46 +0000

Since well before Halford and Skues stalked insects on chalkstream banks to get models for their dry fly patterns, fishermen have been keen observers of the micro life of a water. Diversity of species and the number in which they are found are the international scientific standard by which the health of a river is measured. The Environment Agency has recently adopted this principle, and it is one you can apply any and every time you go fishing.

Just because there is not a lot of surface activity, doesn’t mean the fish aren’t there. One of the mistakes plenty of experienced fishermen make is deciding where the fish will be, and not covering all of the water. The brownie in the picture above was sitting in 12 inches of water and nailing fry. This fish was nearly stepped on because it was breaking all of the perceived wisdom about what a big wild brown trout will do.

We have fishing opportunities galore for everyone from the novice to the accomplished, and plenty of season left in which to enjoy the wildlife of our rivers. Get in touch if you have some line you’d like to stretch.

Striped Bass on the Frozen Fly

Howard — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 07:00:58 +0000

Ok so I found myself in Dallas, TX with a couple of days to spare. Having fished for stripers on the eastern seaboard with very little to show for it, I couldn’t resist going to see these landlocked fish. At least I knew where they would be. I headed for Lake Texoma, 89,000 acres (141,000 when it floods) of man-made lake on the Oklahoma and Texas borders 75 miles north of Dallas. Built by the Corps of Engineers, Texoma was impounded in 1944, with parts of the dam being constructed by prisoners of war, as a hydropower reservoir and to control flood events on the Red and Washita rivers.

I was joining a man with the reputation of being the best fly guide on the lake, Steve Hollensed. Having rushed the pancakes and bacon at IHOP, I met Steve on the boat ramp at 7am, with the wind easing to a gentle force 3 or 4, and the temperatures a balmy -3C. Texoma is famous for it’s striped bass. Voracious feeders, stripers are fast-growing and long-lived and have reaching 10 to 12 inches in the first year and attaining weights over 40 pounds. Like other bass, they move in schools, and all members of the school tend to feed at the same time. In the summer, the fish start a surface blitz at 6am, chasing shoals of shad up to the surface, and think nothing of covering 10 or 12 miles in a morning. Steve showed me pictures of his fish-finder screen almost completely blacked out by the number of fish beneath his boat. All this surface action is like catnip to a flyfisherman…especially as so few have discovered the delights of Texoma.

Unfortunately, the plains wind of Rogers and Hammerstein’s lyrics doesn’t make for ideal fishing for man, bird or bass, and the fish had hunkered down on the lake bottom for the day. If I tell you I was breaking ice from my rod rings every second or third cast, it will give you some idea of how…challenging the conditions were. America’s famous for innovation, sporting and otherwise, but the flies here were much the same as those I use for saltwater bass off the UK coast (admittedly an American invention): chartreuse clousers and bucktail streamers. I was so engrossed in my pursuit that it was 11 o’clock (when I had stopped my routine of two or three casts and then crack off the ice), before I realised we were almost alone on this enormous lake. None of the locals it seemed were brave or stupid enough.

Steve didn’t want to admit defeat after bragging about Texoma, the striper capital of Texas, but I think even he at this point had said all his prayers, crossed all his digits and was starting to think the worst. Having done my fair share of guiding I knew how he felt. Then there was a little resistance on the line, not quite like the bottom, but not the hard hit of a bass. Convinced it was a catfish (although why I thought that as I have never caught one let alone on a fly I’m not sure), I casually retrieved line. Bang! My rod bent double, line screaming off the reel. In short order, I had landed my first striper on the fly, no monster, but still a striper of about 3 1/2 lbs and a good reason to call it a day without disgrace.

I have some business to settle with those bass anyone free in July?

Smut, blondes and dogs

Howard — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 21:04:58 +0000

One of the advantages to being a sporting agent (or for that matter a ‘keeper) is being able to take advantage of sport close to home in between sporting seasons and foreign jaunts. I joined ‘keeper Martin, his son and underkeeper George for a day out with Captain Matt Hone on his boat Optimist based out of Gosport. In the middle of a week of wind and cloud, we were blessed with a balmy almost breathless day for sport. Small tides and great weather meant Matt took the opportunity to visit marks well offshore…18 miles, to be precise. Our target species for the day were the big blonde rays.

Excellent mark selection, and not a small amount of luck on the fisherman’s part had Martin reeling in the first fish, a 13lb blonde ray, with in five minutes. Why luck? With 6 lines out, Martin had the second fish five minutes later…another blonde ray, this one a stonking 17lbs (although with the UK record at 32, he has some way to go). I had a lovely smoothound at 14 lbs (28lbs is the UK record). Many dogfish later, and George got stuck into the first tope of Matt’s season, a welcome harbinger of the coming summer at an impressive 22lbs (although we will be pointing out that at around a quarter of the record 80lb fish, he has some work to do to catch his father up).

Matt will be running his trips for groups and individuals all through the year, and I can’t recommend his service and his local knowledge of marks highly enough. We’re heading out after bream, weather permitting, later in the week.

Texas Deja View: Part 1

Howard — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 09:26:35 +0000

At the tail end of February, I found myself back in the hallowed halls of Cabelas and Bass Pro with clients, kitting ourselves out for a Texas adventure. Lets be clear about Texas: everything’s bigger, badder, and that little bit more unpredictable. We arrived to temperatures of 17C, but by the next morning they had dropped to -1C, and on next morning as we set out to fish, they had sunk to -3C and it was blowing a force 7 to 8. On a lake back home, that might mean waves of a couple of feet. On Lake Texoma’s 89,000 acres, that translates to waves over 5ft. The Americans admired our British fortitude and stamina, admitting if we had been local, they would have stayed in bed.

We joined fishing guide JD Lyle, who had already been out on the water catching our bait when we arrived lakeside at 7am.