More Wally

Despite the fact that its the 4th of July and fireworks are planned at 10 PM, you've just come off the biggest moment in your walleye fishing career.  Your walleye fly fishing career.  You say to yourself, "I need to do that again." 

You think about how tomorrow you'll drive 350 miles south toward a home that has lakes without hexagenia mayflies and lakes that are full of other boaters/anglers/jet skis and how you'd never eat walleyes from those lakes anyway. 

You think about what calms your soul and what fills your spirit. 

You think about how you started doing this 25 years ago and how few years left you may have to do it again.

You think about how lame fireworks really are.

And you go.

And you catch fish.

You also catch some hell the next morning....but at least you brought home dinner.

 

Wally

We did what we always do, my brother-in-law and I.  One guy carries the canoe, the other guy grabs the two rods, a pack of flies, tippet, floatant, bug sauce with Deet and the paddles.  We wear our life jackets and one of us pockets 6' of rope that we hope to use as a stringer.  The drive is paved, then gravel, then bush.  The portage is short...maybe 300 yards. 

The lake is empty. 
As always.

We load the canoe, and shove off and see something out of place.  Maybe we were too quick to assume we were alone.  Its white and moving.  Could be a boat.  Then there are two.

It's early, the hex hatch won't start for at least an hour so we decide to paddle closer to solve the riddle.

It's not long before we know that they are birds, I'm thinking white pelicans because my Mom just told me she saw a couple recently (very odd for this part of the world but still possible), so that's what a blurt out.

The canoe inches closer and I zoom in with my camera...and still, I think pelican.

But no. 

They are a pair of Trumpeter Swans.  When they get nervous from our approach they start up and after a loud, long, thunderous trip down their watery runway, take flight and circle around to land on the opposite end of the lake.

Riddle solved, we put rods together and commit to the fishing.

Years ago I surmised that the hex mayflies that I see getting eaten on the surface could only be a portion of the population sustaining the walleyes.  The fish had to be eating nymphs too. 

Right?

I tied all manner of hex nymphs, copying versions from magazines and fly bins to creating my own.
In the past 5 years or so I've taken to raiding my bonefish fly box for 2" long patterns in tanish, creamish colors....bead chain eyes, dumbell eyes, some with flash, some without. 

One night trout fishing the hex hatch, I didn't get a single fish on a dry but I landed 5 or 6 on a bonefish fly.  I decided right then that I needn't reinvent the wheel.

As the sun started to drop lower I tied one of these bonefish/hex nymphs on my line and sent one via airmail to the bow of the canoe for my brother-in-law to use.  He picked up a couple of small perch on his.  I cast and boated a few of my own perch and one of us landed a northern pike but I can't remember who.

My lapse in memory on this pike is probably equal parts old age and equal parts what happened next.

With the sun dropping below the horizon but still a solid 20 minutes before we expected to see flies on the surface, I cast and began another slow strip retrieve.  I was pulling the fly in short 3-6" strips trying to envision the swimming speed of a hex nymph.  With only 15' of flyline out of the tip-top guide the fly stopped and the rod bent, the water swirled in that incredible upwelling that occurs when a fish turns near the surface.

I was pretty sure it wasn't a perch.  When its head just cleared the water 20' out, I did that instant computation where you figure body of water, species available, fly thrown, weight on the line and visual cues.

I said, "It's a decent Northern!" My brother-in-law said, "No.  It's a walleye."

My Dad started me walleye fishing when I was 5 or 6.  Walleyes are 3/4 of a pound to 2 pounds.  Maybe 3.  I'm 44 now and I've caught some walleyes.

The fish bulldogged and turned.  It bore down as deep as it could go, which, in this section of the lake, was 3 feet.  It came up again and I saw that I had been in error and that my brother-in-law had correctly identified the species. 

But it was big.

And we had no net.

I asked my brother-in-law if he could grab it and I worked the fish toward him as he put his fly rod down and got into the heron position...or at least as heronlike as one can get sitting in the bow of the canoe.  

It took three attempts before the fish's tail cleared the gunwale. 

I said, "I'm thinking about eating that fish."
He said, "You have to, I gave it the death grip to get it in the boat."

I tied it to the stringer and admired it.  The mosquitoes started their incessant buzzing and converged on us and I kept sneaking peeks over the gunwale at my fish on the string.  The hex hatch started and two more walleyes were added to the stringer but I can't recall who caught them. 

I do remember adding them to the stringer because I had tied the first fish on with such a fool-proof knot that took some creativity to add other fish to the rope.

When we got back home, we put a tape to it and it was 1/2 inch shy of 30.

The biggest walleye of my life, on a bonefish fly.

I probably would have a little more remorse about killing such a great fish except it was absolutely delicious.  My wife and two kids said so too....two nights in a row.  

Happy 3rd of July!

We rolled into the in-laws this afternoon.  I was running though the Independence Day weekend itinerary with my brother-in-law and it was decided that tonight would be the only shot at hex'n for walleyes.  Normally we miss dinner and hit the lake early, sunburn in the heat of evening sunset and wait for the mosquitoes to drop in.

Tonight, dinner was on the table at 7:30.  We dined on walleye (what else??) potatoes and salad.

By 8:00 we were on the road and we were sliding the canoe into the lake at 8:35.

Perfectly still, calm, perfect.

I've found that certain flies tied with bead-chain eyes and intended for Bahamian bonefish work as a passable Hexagenia emerger imitation in Northern Minnesota.

A passable 3/4 pound fish agreed with me and swallowed my fly shortly after the sun dropped below the horizon.

Though I have done this many times before, the wait for the hatch is always a little nerve-wracking.  It always happens a little later than I remember and there are times when it doesn't happen at all.  Tonight, as if on cue, the sky darkened as the thrum of mosquitoes signaled the end of the comfort and the start of the show.

The first hex popped and stalled on the surface.  The second came a few minutes after.  Then it became a forgone conclusion as big bugs popped and struggled to unfold their wings and take flight.

There is a moment in fishing a hatch, especially an after dark hatch like the hex, when you have to commit to the dry fly.  After the second small splashy rise in the failing light, I snapped on my headlamp and replaced the bonefish fly with a spentwing spinner, or as I was a hoping the fish would consider it, a crippled emerger.

We spent the next 45 minutes getting small rises to our offerings but didn't hear any big gulpers.  We one hand paddled the canoe toward the most likely splashes but the eaters didn't seem to be around.  We opted for a change of location which is always the last ditch effort while fishing a hatch that might last an hour.

We finally heard a good feeder to the southeast and paddled toward it...it came up once, then twice.  In what is probably best described as location through sonar, we triangulated its position until the moon betrayed the rise form.  I dropped the spinner close and waited 3 beats before the next gulp took my fly down with it.  I set and felt the throb and deep bend of a decent fish...

...but just for an instant, before the line went slack.

The 476th mosquito bit my unexposed skin, above my buff and below my hat.

I cursed for a couple of good reasons.

Hex'n Is Just Night'n...If There Aren't Any Hexes

Waiting

The way it works is this...

You show up early and wait.

I don't even tie my fly on until I am on the bank...waiting.

Some folks pre-fish the hex hatch, dragging nymphs or swinging streamers or testing their hex patterns to see how they look, how they float. 

I don't.

I wait.

When a 9 inch brown slashes for a beetle, or a sulpher spinner, I don't cast.  I wait.

I've come to witness the emergence and (subsequent trout feeding frenzy) of the largest mayfly on our continent (maybe the world?)  Actually, I am not at all interested in the emergence and hatch of these mayflies.  I have come to see the largest trout specimens in this river, EAT these mayflies, on top, loudly...

It's worth it to wait. 

You get to see green, go gray, go black.  You get to see swallows skimming, bats diving, redwing blackbirds roosting (or maybe it's nesting).

Waiting makes the first mosquito an event that signals that the buff needs to be pulled up a little higher.  It also signals the beginning of things that happen after dark.  Mosquitoes and Hexagenia mayflies share a clock.  They hatch and really get humming at the same time.  If you aren't getting the blood drained out of your neck, knuckles and scalp (through your hip mesh trucker hat), you need to wait.

Tonight I waited, through the swallows, the bats, the redwing blackbirds and the mosquitos. 
And then, a lone trout rose to a mayfly I couldn't see.  I cast my fly, hooked the fish and released it.

I was tired of waiting.

After Dark

I got a call from the local Simms rep, TF. 

He wanted to talk about art, design, logos and such. 

I'd met him once or twice before but I didn't really know him that well.  We decided to meet over some browns rising to hexagenias and then grab a beer and talk after.

TF confessed to me that though he's been able to do a fair amount of fishing (in addition to hustling his wares), but he had not yet ventured out to play the after dark hex game. 

As luck would have it, a few bugs showed, one slurped, TF dropped a fly on it's head and it ate. 

Check that one off your list. 

It was over before it began and we retired back to his place to drink beer and talk shop. 
   
You want a moral to the story??
Here's the message:

It seems that night fishing with somebody you don't know that well is a brilliant idea.  For one thing, if you propose night fishing and they accept....well, you've just fast tracked the screening process.

Turns out that TF is a hell of a nice guy and can put a fly where it needs to go too.

The Fault of Foreigners

I peeled out of the driveway with a 6 wt and deet.  The day was hot and that's always a good sign for the hex hatch.  The sun started to dip low at the end of my 35 minute drive and I considered stomping on the gas and getting worked up about who may be on my beat...but I didn't.   I'm not sure if that means lazy or mellow.

As luck would have it I had the hole stretch to myself.  I took my time rigging and wadering up and then strolled down to my bankside perch to watch and wait.  The bug dope that I found on a back shelf in our kitchen wouldn't spray the advertised fine mist of poison so I beat on the canister until a few drops fell on the back of my hand and then I spread it thinly in the critical areas.

A ruckus upstream made me curious so I parted the eye-high grass and took a walk to see what was happening.
Canadians.
I family/flock of what appeared to be 2 adult geese, 5 juveniles and 4 goslings hugged the far bank and eyed me, but held their ground.  I considered chasing them out so that they wouldn't screw up my water but then figured I'd roll with "the greatest good for the greatest number".  Again, not sure if I am getting lazy or mellow.

Back downstream at my blind of matted grass, I tied on a yellow soft hackle and started to swing through the water in front of me.  On the 4th or 5th swing my rod tip twitched and I successfully landed a 6" creek chub.  I don't ever remember catching a chub here in the past.

I gave the run a dozen more swings until the Hexes started to fly.  They the water in increasing numbers and I marveled at the bird's and bat's ability to pick them out of the sky.   My appreciation started to wane when I realized that though the flying critters were having a feast, the fish were not...at least on the surface.  I switched to a bonefish fly that I have come to use as a passable hex nymph/emerger and worked the water in hopes that a score of 20" browns were munching away below the surface.

Nothing.

It was after plan "B" was in full force that I heard a decided "GULP" amidst the hum of mosquitoes and the fish fed again just as I was leaning into the darkness trying to get a bead on him (or her).  Twenty feet right in front me the concentric rings cleared the bank shadowed surface and betrayed the fish's position in the moonlit creek.

Bingo...target locked.

I quickly retied the hex spinner on the end of my 2x and worked out what seemed to be the right length of line.
"Plop"....drift, drift, drift, drift, drift
"GULP"
I pulled up on nothing but night air.

I pitched again and again and again.  I worked in some mends that I hoped would make the fake look real.  I twitched slightly as the fly crossed the imaginary "X" my mind placed on the water.
But that was it.  The fish, a sizeable one by the sound of it's audible, decided three surface feeding moves was enough for one night. 

I finished out the evening fishing a big sub-surface fly with a heavy split shot through all the deep haunts and never even felt a tap.

I'm gonna blame it on the Canadians.

Hexed

Last night at this time I was in Baltimore, waiting for my delayed flight to leave. 

Tonight I stand in nettles, getting devoured by mosquitoes and watching hundreds of hexagenia mayflies, float, struggle, emerge, flit, fly...spinners and duns. 

I watched the water too but saw nothing to indicate that the trout were seeing what I was seeing.  

I have countless red welts that itch. 

The nettles sting on my hand burns. 

I got skunked.

Still better than an airport in Baltimore.

Never a bad sign...

birds taking full advantage

While I took this serene shot the nettles attacked!

formerly my blood

what a beautiful...bzzzzzzzzz

Returned safe and sound.

Explosions on the Fourth of July

The schedule of events said that the fireworks for this little town were going to be on July 5th this year.  Thus, on the 4th, I found myself sitting in a canoe on a small lake in Northern Minnesota, with my brother-in-law, waiting for explosions of different kind.

The Hex hatch happens on many lakes in this part of the world at this time of the year.  It makes the hardcore walleye guys curse and stay home.  "They are on the $#^&* flies..." they'll say, and they are right.  The protein unload of this hatch is enough to make any walleye, of any size, fore-go their standard forage of minnows and leeches for the delightful "POP" of  a fat mayfly between their teeth.


The explosions vary.  The little fish will splash, medium size fish gulp and the largest fish just inhale.

So, I sat in the boat waiting for the drum beat of the marauding mosquitoes that usually signifies the start of the hex hatch.  We chose the lesser of the two evils and applied Deet to our jackets and hats and the back of our hands.  (Deet doesn't stop the little bastards from biting you, it just keeps you from going insane.)

Before there were any bugs on the water, I decided to fish a no-named bonefish fly that had a size and color similar to a hex nymph.  It didn't take long for a smallish fish to buy into my program.  I took one look at the fish, did some mental calculations and came up with: "would be delicious".  I slid it on the stringer.

Next, a small northern pike hammered the fly and I came up with the same conclusion regarding its flanks as table fare.  Not what I was targeting, but what the heck.

The hatch is dependent on a number of things, some of which I understand and some of which I don't.
Heat and light are important.  Rain and wind are typically not good.  It was with a little disappointment that I watched the calm surface of the water get kicked up from a squall passing to the north.  When it calmed down again a few bugs started to show on the surface and a few fish (some "inhalers") followed them up. 

I hooked and landed another smallish fish and then stuck a fish that was probably in the 2 pound range before the hook popped.  My brother-in-law heard a gulp in the darkness near where his fly should have been, waited longer than he should have and then set the hook on a decent pound and a halfer that we added to the pile.

The mosquitoes were biting through the cane seat, my pants and boxers and it made me think I should have brought a boat cushion.

A second squall came and kicked up some wind and dropped some rain effectively closing the door on the hatch for the night. 

I tied on a deceiver and cast for awhile thinking that I would offer them a plan "B" to a failed hatch.
I got one taker, about the size as the first fish, and threaded the rope through it's gills.

The Hex hatch for walleyes, sometimes you hit it and sometimes you don't...but it's always worth heading out to see if you can find the explosions.

The best lakes have unimproved boat ramps.

Preparations

Walleye falls for a Bonefish Fly

Squall that missed us.

Hardly a bragging stringer but at least 1 dinner.

The best lakes have unimproved parking lots.

Eventful non-events

I parked away from the water I planned to stake out for the hex fishing, though it wasn't a tactic to hide my location.

The closest parking was through a farmer's yard and would have given me front row seats to the river.  I had driven in and used his access many years ago and the farmer had never cared.  He always waved when he saw me.  That was then and I haven't talked to him in quite a while.  I think there is an easement that includes access through his property but I still feel that I should have a discussion with him before rolling past his mailbox and scattering his cats.

As it was, I parked a half mile away and followed the train tracks back to his farm and noticed that another angler was parked in my old spot.  He was closing the tailgate on his vehicle so I shouted out a "hello" in hopes of stopping him to discuss turf.  It appeared that we might be heading to the same water and I thought that I should clarify his intentions before crowding him out.  Nothing ruins a quiet night on the water like a jackass lowholer...and I didn't want to be on the giving or receiving end of that relationship.

The guy was probably in his mid-thirties and said he'd fished this water for the past 13 years.  I mentioned that it was funny that we hadn't crossed paths.  Through the back and forth banter that comes with streamside conversation between strangers, we figured out that we had met many years ago.  It seems that at a Trout Unlimited function, almost 10 years ago, we had discussed his (then upcoming) plans to do some trout fishing in the "West".  He reminded me of a few of the suggestions I had given him and then told me that he had followed some of my advice and stayed at a neat little lodge/resort in the Paradise Valley of Montana.  In fact, he said he'd been back a number of times in the past years.

I turned to the river and asked what section he wanted and he told me.  I pointed out the water I was hoping for and he was fine with it.  He then suggested we have a beer after the fishing and we went to our designated beats and waited for the hatch.

I saw four hex flies.

That's all.

A few small fish rose for spinners of a lesser mayfly and I floated my hex pattern over one of them...just because.

The guy who had questioned me about fishing Montana and had written my answers down fast and furiously 10 years ago, came through the brush and paused 100 feet away and asked if I had seen any bugs.  I told him about the non-event.  He said his water was the same....nothing.

I tied on a muddler minnow and spent another 15-20 minutes working a few deep undercuts while chatting with the guy in the dark.  I could've worked fast and moved down through the brush and fished another half mile of excellent night streamer water.  But I didn't.  I thought about the potential big brown trout and weighed it against the fact that this guy had suggested a beer.

I feel like I screw up some decent human interaction when I am keyed into fishing.  My wife always asks me, especially after I've been out fishing with someone I don't know very well, "What did you guys talk about?".   My answer is always the same..."uuumm....errr...fishing?...I guess?"

I was actually thinking about this when I reeled up and suggested it was time for "that beer".
The other thought was that I had parked a half mile from here because I hadn't taken the time to talk to the farmer in the past few years.

Too keyed into the fishing to stop and talk.

Back at his rig, the guy offered me a nice chilled micro-brew which went a long way towards making me forget about the potential monster brown trout just waiting for my muddler.   We'd been talking trout and the hex hatch for awhile when the farmer walked down from his barn and joined us for a drink.  The guy reached into the back of the truck and handed the farmer a sixpack and said, "Thanks for letting me park here."

I thought that was a nice move.

We stood in the dark, drinking beer and talking about rain and drought and crops and hatches and wives and mosquitoes and bats.   I told the farmer that he had a nice piece of water here in his backyard and thanked him for being so easygoing about the access.  It was heartfelt statement but fell short of the impact a cold six-pack has.

The farmer asked how the fishing was and wondered if we'd be able to send him any pictures of some fish from his property.  He said that a lot of people ask him how the fishing is and he'd like to show them.
The guy was in the middle of telling the farmer that he'd be happy to send him some big fish pics, when I interrupted him and told the farmer that I'd give him a cold 12 pack if he'd just tell all of the interested folks that the fishing on his land sucked.

The farmer said we had a deal.

It was close to midnight when I walked the tracks back to my car and slid out of my waders.
It had been a good evening. 
The air was a cool 56 degrees and there hadn't been a mosquito on me all night.
The barnyard discussion was interesting and even damn funny at times.   
The beer was cold.
The fish could wait.

And, when I come back for them, I'll park in my old spot.

HEX - trade secrets

I have fished a fair number of hex hatches over the years and I have settled on certain aspects of fly design.  There are a number of excellent patterns on the market and many more tied by guys like me who have their own secret "Hex" weapon.  But, when it comes down to the few hours a year I get to fish the hexagenia hatch, (and if I am fishing dry) I tie on one of these two patterns.

Here is what I've concluded about dry flies for the hex hatch.
1.  I like an extended body...but I don't like them to be rigid.  I've had a number of fish suck a fly down and yet I never got a hook in them.  I believe that the rigid extended bodies have kept the hook from getting into the "hooking zone".  I originally switched to a segmented body threaded onto a 5wt running line thinking that the line would add floation.  The segmentation worked well as I believe that my hooking percentage went up.  I don't think the 5wt running line was as limp as it should've been so I've since changed to doubled over 4-5x tippet...you'll see what I'm talking about in the pics below.

2. I fish spinners 95% of the time.  If it's a spinner fall the spinners "match the hatch" (or more correctly the "fall".  If it's an emergence, I believe the fish see the down winged version as a cripple/stillborn or at least a healthy struggling fly with damp wings unable to fly.  I believe that fish that have spent a few nights feeding on a hex emergence see this version of the fly as easy pickings. 

I've reached a point in my Hex tying that I haven't revised this fly much in the past few years.  It's a little bit tedious to tie in terms of prep work, but once the extended body is assembled it's pretty smooth sailing.  Take a look and if you are interested, confused, or have some thoughts on improving these patterns... shoot me a message.

Salmo's Hex Dun

Old aluminum tent pole, sharpened and beveled to cut foam disks. 

 

 

 

Disks threaded onto doubled over 4-5x tippet

Zap-A-Gap on Tippet and then foam is slid into place. Doubled tippet left long to lash to the hook and as tails. 

Extended Body attached to the hook

Parachute wing post of relatively stiff (but not too stiff!) synthetic.

Under Thorax of foam lashed and thorax dubbed.  Add two hackle feathers.

Hackle wrapped, thorax foam pulled under and secured behind the eye.

Clip excess foam, whip finish and cement the thread.  Abdomen colored with marker (optional). 

View from below.

Salmo's Hex Spinner

Extended body attached to the hook.

Synthetic down wing + a little flash, figure 8 tied.

Top View

Dubbed Thorax

Foam Head/Thorax.  Poke a hole in the foam and slide over the eye.

Lash the foam behind the wing / in front of the extended body.

Cut foam.