swinging streamers

To me, there is absolutely no better feeling than a fresh, chrome anadromous fish hammering a properly swung fly. Life goes from less than zero to over 200mph in a split second. Typically, when it happens to me, I’m standing there going through the motions thinking about everything but fishing. Chaos comes and then goes just as quickly. The quick rush is addictive and leads some anglers into facing a maddening depression when there is a distinct lack of fresh chrome fish in the rivers. Years ago, while battling my own steelhead sickness, I discovered that some resident trout do in fact eat swung flies and that it was fun way to fulfill an angling need when a steelhead isn't in the same time zone.

If you are a dyed in the wool steelhead aficionado living within a stone’s throw of the fabled PNW steelhead rivers, stop reading now. Nothing I have to say here will be helpful or beneficial to your quality of life. Your geographic angling superiority is to be congratulated and celebrated. The rest of us that deal with a slight pilgrimage to steelhead water might find solace knowing that a temporary fix might just be a little closer to home than originally thought. 

One fall/winter between Alaska and Patagonia guide seasons, I found myself in Western North Carolina. Appalachia. It’s beautiful there. Big mountains, trout streams, elk, bears, deer, and even musky, but not a single anadromous chrome fish anywhere at all. Nothing to swing flies to. I ended up there because of a girl. Although I can’t remember her name, I am sure that’s why I was there. We’ll just say her name was Alice. Alice lived on a big lake fed by three large trout rivers and several creeks. The lake was about 20 miles across and over 400 feet deep at the dam.

The largest river flowing into it averaged about 3000cfs (cubic feet per second) annually. The other two rivers had slightly less flow. Most people around regarded it as “tough fishing” mostly because of the depth and its ability to create nasty waves. Not your typical southern sparkle boat bass lake. I didn't care, it seemed normal to me. After spending a few seasons on Naknek Lake and Illimani Lake in Bristol Bay, I saw this as an opportunity to fish alone in water that rarely saw pressure. So, off I went in Alice’s boat, without Alice. She was terrified of the lake, and she didn't like fishing. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember her name. Either way, I was going armed with a new 6 weight spey rod and my trusted 10’ 7 weight single hand rod. The 6 weight spey was a gift from a buddy that built custom rods and I was itching to dial it in for an upcoming trip. I didn't really think it would be a useful tool for where I was. 

As I pulled the boat into the mouth of the river, looking for a safe spot to anchor, I saw what could only be described as textbook holding water for migrating fish. Feeling like that was just a pipe dream fallacy, I lazily anchored the boat and trudged up to the pool above the shoal. As nonchalantly as could be, I made a cast. The rod was an absolute cannon for a 6 weight and still is. While basking in the glory of my new gift, my fly got slammed. The fish darn near ripped the rod right out of my hand. I wasn’t planning for this. I was just tuning a new rod.

The fish pulled a couple of runs and then gave up. As the fish headed towards the shallows, I tailed it and just knelt there with it for a minute. Holding in my hand was a perfect specimen of rainbow trout that probably measured 26-27”. It wasn’t chrome, but it wasn’t full of color either. Just a perfect species specimen with all its fins and mandibles. Not a steelhead, but darned nice. I figured it to be a fluke but kept fishing anyway. I caught 4 just like it that day and 6 the next day. The day after that, I didn’t count the fish I caught. I just enjoyed the fact that I was successfully fishing the way I wanted to in a place where that should not be working. 

Soon after that, It was time for me to leave for Patagonia, where I honed the swing method for trout even more. Three months of guiding the tributaries of Lake General Carrera proved to sort out my theories well. Trout that live in rivers without a lake system don't take swung flies as well as trout that live in rivers with a lake system. Maybe it’s because the lake provides a semblance of oceanic feeling to the trout, nurturing its true migratory genetics. Whereas a trout living in a creek or stream that tribs into a larger river is more resident homebody completely ignoring its DNA. Maybe that DNA is bred right out of those fish. I’m not a biologist, so I really don’t know the answer to why they do or don’t. People much smarter than me will be able to answer that.

Here is what I know - everywhere I have tested my theory on swinging flies for trout, it works. Every single time. In Alaska, PNW, Rockies, Sierras, Appalachia, and Patagonia. A trout river feeding a lake of any substantial size and depth will support an angler trying to get a fix by swinging flies to trout. It’s become a game of sorts for me now. Every steelhead trip, I pack my 6 weight spey rod and a 6 weight switch rod.

It’s been a lifesaver at times when the steelhead water is blown out. I don't get too crazy with the flies; everything is a stinger hook fly scaled down in size somewhat. I try to use more natural looking patterns. Any smaller stinger hook sculpin or leech pattern is great and there are several very good sources for trout swing flies out there. Start at your local fly shop. Those guys will know what’s up.

 If your steelhead pilgrimage is a little too far to take a chance of being blown out, grab a 6 weight two hander or 10’ 6/7 weight single hander and test my theory. I am sure there is a river near you that fits the description. You might save some time, gas money, and get to fish alone. Who knows, you might even get Alice to tag along.

By Gary Lewis

With the water swirling around us, we waded in at the mouth of Jack Creek. Skip Morris had hooked and lost a big rainbow here the day before. Today he stood back while Carol plumbed the two-foot deep run with a big stonefly nymph trailing a small beadhead attractor, called Gabriel's Trumpet. 

For a moment we thought Carol's rig was hung up, but when she tightened the line, a fish torpedoed away. 

The fish rolled mid-river and I saw his tail and dark fins silhouetted against bright water: a bull trout. Close to eight pounds, I guessed. The line broke and Carol reeled in the slack. The fish had taken the big stonefly nymph after a 13-minute battle and a last headlong flight. 

That’s what can happen when kokanee are on the move and bull trout follow them into the shallows.

LAKE RUN BULL TROUT 

Kokanee are thickest in the Metolius in late September and October. And the biggest bull trout, which can get to 30 inches or more, hammer them. 

Bull trout are meat eaters and if it's a third of their size they will crunch it. If it's half their size, they will try to choke it down anyway. Anyone who has caught a bunch of big bull trout has seen the tail end of a kokanee or a whitefish sticking out of that gullet. 

The Metolius River and Lake Billy Chinook are home to resident and migratory bull trout. The bulls move up the river to spawn in late August, September, and October. 

Oriented to ice-cold water, bull trout stage near springs and off the mouths of major tributaries like Canyon Creek and Jack Creek. After the spawn, they need to replace the calories they expended over the last few weeks. That’s when they find the kokanee. 

The kokanee spawn puts both species in the river at the same time. And the bull trout are the winners. Preoccupied, the landlocked salmon are easy prey for sharp-toothed bull trout. 

Whitefish are on the menu for bull trout year-round, and many are the stories of anglers fighting whitefish only to lose them to bull trout which charge out from under a log to grab the hapless poor man's bonefish. 

Bull trout are apt to eat the limp, the lame, the lazy. It’s the erratic behavior that trips the predatory sear in a bull trout's brain. Think strike triggers. Tie or buy streamers with big eyes, a flash of blood red near the gills. On the water, fish them on the wet fly swing, but give them action. Make the imitation twitch. Like a wounded fish in deep trouble. 

FISHING LAKE BILLY CHINOOK 

A down-running Metolius River bull trout ends up running into Round Butte Dam and turning around to make its living in a 4,000-acre reservoir fed by three rivers: the Metolius, the Deschutes and the Crooked River.

Best time to target bull trout in Lake Billy Chinook is when the waters begin to warm in March and April. Bull trout hunt close to shore in the late winter and early spring. Anglers who throw Zonkers and other minnow imitations on long casts and strip hard can elicit hard strikes from fish.

It's one of the best ways to get the biggest bull trout. A lot of 17- to 19-inchers will be brought to the net as well as the occasional 10-pounder.

SWINGING STREAMERS

When whitefish are schooled up, working the bottom, they are hard for bull trout to feed on, but when one of them leaves formation and streaks up to eat a mayfly emerger, its defenses are down and its easy money for bull trout.

When fishing a small streamer or a larger bunny leech, try to work it like a fish that is out of its element, a scared minnow that thought it could play in the deep end of the pool. It's vulnerable. It's lunch.

A variation on that theme is the sculpin. Bull trout eat sculpin year-round. In the river, they eat sculpin. In the lake - sculpin. When sculpin are doing what they do, daubing in the mud, they are pretty safe.

But when they climb up through the water column or get caught in the current, something is going to nail them. Big lead eyes, blood-red gill flare or Flashabou, and prominent fins are some of the strike triggers to play on when tying sculpin flies.

Cast down and cross-current, let it swing and chug it. On long runs and into the tailout, let the sculpin work back and forth. Tied small, a sculpin imitation can be fished with a slackline presentation that keeps it working back and forth over bull trout holding water. 

Think big. If a 30-inch bull can choke down a 12-inch whitefish, it will go for a 10-inch streamer. Big bunny leeches double as flesh flies. Just change the presentation. 

DREDGING WITH A TWO-FLY RIG 

As kokanee carcasses and decaying flesh become harder to find, bull trout begin to focus on bugs. Streamers and flesh flies can provoke a grab, but a dead-drifted nymph can pay off as well. 

To conserve strength, the biggest fish claim the best lies, hugging the bottom along downed timber and behind rock slabs and boulders. The major difference between drifting beadhead nymphs for rainbows and for bull trout is the length of the leader and the tightness of the presentation to the bottom.

Fish the bottom. Keep the leader short so the dropper fly doesn't ride too high in the water column.

Tie on a big, heavy stonefly nymph and knot eight to ten inches of fluorocarbon tippet material to the bend of the hook. The primary fly can be a Flashback Pheasant Tail, an egg pattern, or a No. 16 Serendipity.

The main thing is to get that heavy fly bumping on the bottom. Make it easy! That bull trout should be able to spot the trailing dropper fly, lean its head over, and grab without leaving its lie.

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To contact Gary Lewis, visit www.GaryLewisOutdoors.com