I had my three days of Grace, wherein we tiptoed through the clean water, drank coffee with our pinkie extended, showered regular, and didn’t wipe our nose on our sleeve.

It wasn’t enough to weaken us measurably – complying with all those societal norms, but once our feet hit the brown water, we were back to Schlock and Chaw, throwing off the yolk of the Oppressor.

We’re in the Jungle – eating rat meat, growing stronger ..

I missed the party; Popov Vodka, Basic Cigarettes, and some lass minus all her clothes – it’s one of the tribulations of fishing brown water – all them young impressionable dames throwing up themselves at portly, balding fly fishermen.

Blueliners don’t enjoy such luxury as their water is icy and their gals is chaste.

I discarded the Marquis of Queensbury rulebook on my arrival, none of this dry-fly-upstream, respect your fellow angler stuff, when last here we’d discovered the Little Stinking Olive – and the watershed was recoiling in terror. 

Verify and refine – the pattern is absolute death on Smallmouth, and is typical of fly fishing; you start out looking for a Carp fly and wind up with something Bass can’t resist.

The creek is on the mend and the water has risen about six inches, mighty welcome to get some flow back, but it means the fish will be repositioning themselves and I’ll have to find them again.

I’d managed to tie four of these Crayfish patterns – without modification other than more lead, boosting the “keel” to 15 turns of 1 Amp fuse wire – looking to increase the sinkrate enough to be effective in 4 feet of water.

Old Nondescript’s Hole beckoned as I trudged past – and I stopped to take the maiden pull off my Hydration Pack, finding it tasting like someone had strained water through Pampers. Yecch. It was cold and wet – and not much else you could say in polite company. Waist deep in heavy metal and selenium, and suckling off Poly-Vinyl Chloride.

I’m a poster child for industrial solvents, likely to earn a brass plaque over some Porta-Potty …

The first fish was four inches, he’d clamped down on the fly and tangled up with the Boa fiber – the next was eight inches, the third cast yielded the above pound-and-a-half fish, and the fourth cast broke off clean in the mouth of Old Nondescript hisself..

… either that or a relative, a swirl the size of a bath-tub and he catches me using 5X. Mea Culpa.

The Togen Scud hooks work fabulous – weighted at the crest of the bend to flop the hook over so the fly rides point-up, avoiding the algae and bramble of the bottom.

This weekend I’ll fiddle with alternate colors – as the Mallard is no longer made – and I’ve split what I found with my Brownline brethren at Roughfisherman’s Journal. It’s a weighty responsibility, as it appears the complete eradication of Smallmouth Bass is within reason, and I don’t want the South to rise again in anger..

Them fellows take their bass seriously, and guns is always close to hand.

I knew the weatherman was lying when the ATV crowd left at 8:30AM. It was supposed to be in mid-90’s, and I’d bypassed all the close fishing in favor of a trek to the clean water upstream.

A pocketful of experimental flies and the desire to observe the hookup had me three miles up the creek, sans paddle, and today she was the Little Stinking Frying Pan of Doom, accompanied by the other three Horsemen; humidity, rank decay, and the Reflective Pea Gravel of Searing Death.

I’ve got a liter of water, a pack of cheap cigars, and am on a mission from Izaak Walton..

At mile three I stopped and eyeballed the Big Bass stretch; in past weeks I’d sworn off this spot as the Carp are always in patrol mode. They’ll swim close by to lure you into sight casting, but never responded to anything I’ve thrown at them.

So I hunker down behind a screen of brush, and can see the tell-tale bubble stream of feeding fish, but there’s 30 feet of brush between me and the quarry.

Frustration is a powerful stimulant, and I’m addicted.

The fly made it to the water, but the path it took was torturous, like hanging Christmas tree lights around hedges, smooth curves don’t exist, and the line is draped over whatever’s tallest. I figured a half dozen casts before moving further upriver, and the last cast is on an intercept for a pod of three siphoning fish. I’d tried the flesh colored fly earlier and had an Ocher San Juan Worm swinging into their path. I couldn’t see any visible reaction from the fish – but the Nymph Tip started moving upstream and I set the hook.

I didn’t have to fear the fly line as it came up off the ground, but the five tree branches I was connected to enroute to the water was a bit troublesome. The extra resistance likely pulled the hook free – but as the fish went by, the line was headed for it’s mouth, rather than it’s arse, so I figured it was a clean take.

Sweet. Now I just have to lug in a Weed Eater to clear the bank debris and I’ll be all set.

The third digit in the temperature is making itself felt – and optimism has added visions of Sugarplums to the heat waves dancing off the rocks. I continued upriver to the deep stretch, only to find the fish hanging in the deep pool rather than feeding. They were smarter than me, hanging in the coolest part of the hole and avoiding direct sunlight.

Which is sounding plenty good to me by this point, and I start heading back to the car.

Shade is only available in a couple spots, and I plan my exodus around them – stopping to cool down and guzzle water rather than a forced march.

I still hadn’t tried my boa crayfish, and while enjoying a Brownliner lunch; a cheap cigar and bottled water, I knotted it on to test the construction. It’s made of the Mallard Bernat Boa fringe and a pair of rubberlegs for adornment, and it’s light, aerodynamic, and a pretty stark contrast to traditional bulky crayfish patterns.

Tied on a Togen Scud hook, and weighted to “keel” – flip over and ride upside down – avoiding the moss and bottom debris from accumulating on the hook – a problem noticed with the San Juan Worm. The real crustacean is available to the Carp, and Bass like crayfish – so I assumed it would be a good dual purpose fly.

I eased out of the protective shade and slammed the fly into the water to sink it – it had a medium sink rate (10 turns of 1 amp fuse wire) and looked really good when you yanked on it. A pair of “claws” off the tail area are simple trimmed from the fringe, and trail nicely behind the fly when motion is added.

I tossed it onto the far bank and drug it into the water – it didn’t even get damp before the line twitched and a smallmouth grabbed it. I released him and tossed the line further down – and it came right back at me with a big Smallmouth attached – jumping a half dozen times and heading off downriver despite my best efforts.

Three casts yielded three fish, and the fourth cast planted it firmly in a tree branch on the far side, which was appropriate as no fisherman should wield that much raw power..

It’s a really functional fly, the material is tough and resilient, resists fish damage, and is light even when waterlogged – allowing the luxury of using it on lighter rods, and lighter lines.

The natural twist of the fringe and it’s supporting braid allows the “claws” to flop around like marabou, yet everything tucks into an aerodynamic shape when yanked – just like a real crayfish.

Bernat makes a vibrant orange color called “Tweety Bird” that I’d like to try for the red crayfish. It’ll darken a couple shades when wet, and the brown water will darken it yet again, making it a good change up if the  Crayfish are the brighter coloration. The Little Stinking has both colors, but all of the live samples I’ve seen are the bluish Olive. I tied one other in the Peacock color, mixed olive and turquoise, but didn’t have a chance to try it.

Next weekend is a blueline pilgrimage, but I’ll have more than a single prototype in the box for the week following, you can be sure.

… Little Stinking Olive – has a nice ring to it, making all them trout fishermen think it’s some variant of a mayfly. Deceit rules.

Logic and fishing is an uncomfortable pairing in the same sentence, but it gives you someplace to start.

I need a small olive clam whose shell is about the size of the nail on your index finger, light enough to cast with a #5 line, heavy enough to sink to the bottom quickly, resembles a clam in profile (loosely) – and has some small motion if lifted and moved.

Clams aren’t known for hopping away from your Linguini, so motion may not be a realistic factor. I’d like to have something move should I lift the fly out of the mud in front of a siphoning Carp, possibly drawing attention to the morsel.

The fly needs to be small (no larger than a #10) and drab, and the clam shell shouldn’t hinder hooking if possible.

Those are the requirements – and I’ve been mulling over solutions all week. I’m aiming to return to the feeding Carp I found on the Little Stinking, with a half dozen prototypes. Solving riddles is always a slow evolutionary process, and I don’t expect to be rewarded – at best I’m thinking I might eliminate some of the variables.

I’m an impressionist fly tier, convinced that knotted legs and precise imitation catch fishermen and not fish, and that credo imbues all the flies I invent. *

I’m leaning towards Prototype #19 (pictured above) – which uses the Bernat Boa fringe to give me an Olive cone shape that hides a 4mm gunmetal bead. The bead sinks the fly and prevents the yarn from altering it’s cone shape – keeping it flared and simulating the desired profile.

Both John Paul Lipton and John Montana put great store in the San Juan Worm, and Roughfisher’s “Clam Before the Storm” uses a similar “San Juan” style of fleshy foot – so I added that to give it a bit of movement.

With a three day weekend on the horizon this’ll give me a chance to start discarding what doesn’t work – and get me closer to what might.

* Invent = I’ve never tied it, I’ve never seen anyone tie it, it hasn’t appeared in any book, periodical, or magazine – but that doesn’t mean some fellow 100 years ago didn’t tie it first.

He tried to tell me but I wouldn’t listen, now I’m sitting here with a pleasant glow trying to put the proper spin on things.

A pal says, “go here, use this, you’ll kill ’em” – but we’ve heard that so many times it’s brushed off without conscious effort. Then all other options fail – we heed the advice, and we kill them.

Knowing of the impending confession, most anglers would choose to save face, “well, the spot was good, but then I noticed the post-coital phase starting to pop, so I used my …. and I kilt ’em.”

Us guys that fish the “stink water” have lost all self respect and much of our ego – so we cut to the chase and give credit where credit’s due.

Jean Paul Lipton of the Roughfisher’s Journal has created a monstrosity and should be punished. He calls it the X-Factor nymph, and claims it’s hell on Carp, I can’t vouch for the Carp bit, but it removed the thin veneer of selectivity from the fish I flung it at – and reduced them to primal eating machines.

It was traditional laziness at its best; I’d resolved to take the long trek up the Little Stinking to see what the sustained low water had done to the holes a couple miles upstream. I had time to putter and remembered Jean Paul admonishing me to try this bug.

As it is with every fly I lacked half of the materials, and improvised with what was laying around loose; copper Angelina instead of brown antron, varigated orange legs instead of clear, rust marabou for a tail, and copper wire rather than red. I banged out four #8’s – because they were closer than the #10’s, and tucked them in the vest.

Sunday morning was perfect, including a light breeze which would take us below the 100 degree mark for the first time this week. I was without drinking water however, thinking I still had some from Saturday and discovered both containers empty about a mile above the car.

I stopped at Old Nondescript’s hole and saw the beaver had restored his dam – giving that stretch an additional foot of water. It was a good place to start – the water was clear, 18″ deep, and I could see the nursery pods of Pikeminnow on the far bank.

I sidearmed the bug under the branches were Old Nondescript used to live and had a smallmouth on the line after the first yank. Figuring it was beginner’s luck I skipped the fly under the brush a second time, it didn’t have time to get damp before a larger bass came out of the water swearing.

I saw a swirl in the channel and laid the bug in above, and a 14″ Pikeminnow ate it, followed by four more bass, 5 sunfish, and a half dozen similar sized fast movers..

Gluttons, every one.

I moved up to the Big Bass Stretch and it was down low enough to wade, losing half its depth since the last time I’d visited. Two enormous carp were patrolling in circles, both would go 12 -15 lbs.

At this juncture I’ve landed about 20 nice fish, and could do no wrong. Merely dipping the fly into the water should have the fish rolling on the surface with little white flags.

The Carp are headed my way again, so I lay out a cast onto the clay of the far bank where it can’t make a splash. I tug it into the water so it can start to sink to the same level, and the tip of the floating line twitches.

A big bass will flare its gills to inhale a fly – just enough movement to show a twitch of the line tip – or disturb an indicator, but it won’t register on your fingers as the hook hasn’t contacted meat yet.

I set the hook on a 3lb smallmouth who streaked out from the bank and “T-boned” the incoming Carp right in the side. The Bass went south, the Carp went North and I’m laughing while trying to stay connected to the fish. I’d wind up with a leg full of water for my fun, and it was worth it.

Smallmouth bass are quickly surpassing trout as my favorite gamefish, they can be ornery, but they compete favorably with trout on every level, including aerial display.  Trout have tall pines and the Sierra’s in their favor, but Bass have the “Pumpkinseed” shape, and when you apply pressure to turn them, they shrug off your feeble flyrod with impunity.

I got “T-Bone” to pose briefly above, I never did see the Carp again, it’s likely they were still running for their lives.

Now all I have to do is figure some way to apologize to JP for butchering his creation.

I cracked open the padded envelope and immediately flashed on the scene from Top Gun, “Negative Ghostrider, not one pair, TWO pair ..” Seems in my haste to secure the Bernat Boa yarn in “Mallard”, I overlooked a trifling detail about 2 skeins for $5.

Now I’m looking at 351 yards of imitation pond scum hoping fish eat this stuff … If they don’t I’ll just do what fly tiers always do when they have a lifetime supply, strip naked and roll in it. 

I stopped off at the Little Stinking and flung it with trepidation, it didn’t absorb too much water to be unruly on a 5 weight, the brass bead sank it fast enough, and the effect when wet was perfection.

Something ate it on the first cast, but I was too busy chewing fingernails to react.

The creek is only a shadow of itself, and from the bridge only a single fish was visible, what little water present was coming from the horse barn and that restricted visibility to less than 6 inches.

The above flavor is tied on a Tiemco 3769, #8 hook – equipped with a 4mm brass bead. Beads 4mm or larger can be purchased much cheaper from a beading supplier than a fly shop, just make sure the hole is 1.5mm or larger to use on flies.

I’ll need a different venue to test the fly further, so I’ll head upstream after returning from this week’s foray into clean water.