Tag Archives: wooly bugger

Berryessa Redux

Conditions: Air temperature 55 degrees in the AM, 77 degrees in the afternoon. Light northerly breeze, 5-10 mph. Water temperature measured at Oaks Shores of 62 degrees (AM), measured at Big Island 64 degrees (PM).

I retraced my earlier Berryessa outing and noted the last couple of weeks of warm weather is reflected in the water temperature. In the last two weeks, surface temperatures are up three degrees, and the lake has dropped an additional five feet, consistent with tomato production.

Yep, all that Ketchup has to come from somewhere …

The last couple of weeks the valley has been planting in earnest. Bell Peppers, Tomatoes, and new Almond orchards are materializing as fast as the tractors can plant them, and the canals brim full of water  necessary to get plantings to take root, so water use is up.

The talk in the parking lot are how fewer Kokanee are biting and the casual trolling anglers are starting to thin as well. Less lake volume and warmer weather and we’ve got the recipe for the Kokanee to head deep and the bass to come shallow, and yours truly gleefully stomping the daylights out of anything fool enough to eat an artificial.

Three degrees meant the Smallmouth bite is akin to Indian Valley. “Smallies” were in the shallows and giving chase, with nary a Largemouth to be seen. The same flies were dominant, and only the terrain mattered – as Smallmouth tend to prefer rocky areas and are largely absent on the muddy or sandy parts of the lake.

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No Catfish this time, but I did manage to land a big “Chunk” of a Crappie. These are always welcome given they’re a scrappy fighter with a soft mouth, and also great table fare if you get into a school of them.

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The Gray Wooly Bugger is quickly becoming the “go to” pattern for all of these lakes – and it’s not terribly surprising given how the predominant food source is Threadfin Shad.  I am casting downwind to increase distance, waiting a bit (to unravel tangled running line) and then stripping the fly back in pulls ranging from six inches to a foot. I have 20 turns of two amp fuse wire on the fly with a 4mm bead, and the combination gives it an aggressive sink rate … likely about six inches per second.

My leader is also assisting a bit, as it is designed for these heavy flies. I have a short butt section (about 40”) comprised of equal segments of 50, 40, and 30lb monofilament. I tie a Surgeon’s Knot at the end of the 30 lb to make a loop to attach the tippet. I use about five foot of 15lb fluorocarbon (Seaguar –I am testing it this season), to aid the sinking fly. The long tippet allows the fly to sink very quickly as it is  thinner and offers less resistance to the fly pulling it under. This is similar to many of the leaders I make, and takes its inspiration from the Golden Gate Angling & Casting Club’s tournament leaders used in ACA events.

The combination is allowing me to consistently get five or six feet into the water column with a floating line – an important option considering the top water bite is synonymous with Spring Spawn and the ensuing festivities. Flopping between the deep and the surface is a lot easier when limited to fly change only – versus spool swap or second rod.

East Park reservoir–Half Full and Fishing Crappie

Conditions: Air temperature 60 – 80 degrees, light wind in the afternoon. Water Temperature 62 degrees, with water clarity of about 36”.

With the fuel moisture levels in valley brush already at June levels, I recently switched gears and moved from “deep and narrow” lakes to exploiting the “shallow and bowl-like” lakes before they warm to bathtub temperatures.

The rationale is simple, the deep lakes will remain cool at depth no matter how warm the summer gets – but the shallow lakes are already half empty, are warming quickly,  and will be unfishable come July.

East Park Reservoir is a little known impoundment off of I-5 that most fishermen pass while headed North into the blue water of the Cascades. It is a agricultural reservoir just above Williams, and services much of Colusa county. Last year (drought year One) I visited it in May and July – and while the May trip was good fishing, the July trip was a warm off-color mess.

East Park isn’t well known, hosts few services, including no boat launch, and doesn’t get the pressure of the popular lakes like Clear Lake or Berryessa. This lack of humans means no trash at the water’s edge, no floating debris, and no overflowing garbage dumpsters to draw wildlife and the curious.

As the lake is accessible only via a Colusa county controlled gate, it is accessible only from April till October, after which the gates are closed and locked for the Winter.

Being about the only person on the lake the prior year, I assumed the opening of the lake would be a quiet affair, so I made the trip jsut to see what the lake offered for the April 9th Opener …

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… and while it appears that most of the locals had the same idea, there was plenty of room for everyone due to the low lake levels and the expanded parking and launch facilities that created. Parking is plentiful on the sandy lake bed, and launching a bass boat simply needs an outcropping of hard pan near the water’s edge for success (see above).

The lower portion of the lake was already dry and reminiscent of late summer of last year, so I expect this year will be critical to lake levels, as its current 50% fill will be drawn down quickly by the local rice, almond, and tomato crop.

East Park hosts numerous bass species, carp, and an aggressive Crappie population that shows itself with regularity. With about a dozen boats on the lake – and at least eight fishing kayaks, the fish were plentiful and most succumbed to an assortment of “rip” baits, spinnerbaits, and a few even blew up on top water lures.

The Crappie preferred a weighted Grey Wooly Bugger (size 6), which I use for a standard “minnow” or Shad imitation, and the Largemouth Bass preferred the larger, Crawdad colored, variant. (Use Orange and Brown speckled chenille, brown marabou tail, furnace hackle tied Palmer)

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The bite was pretty good considering all the extra traffic on the lake, which killed the the daylong serenade of Coyotes singing from Coyote Point, but the trip was an unqualified success on all other measures.

The kayak allows full access to the lake, if your legs are in good enough shape to pedal the distance. East Park is shaped like an inverted “V” – and at half full the round trip distance between southern launch and northern dam is about three miles, with a similar length for the far “leg” of the lake.

Ample campsites exist, but they are Spartan and lack water. The fluctuations of the lake level alter the camping area drastically as most follow the receding waterline and camp on the lake bed proper.

Colusa county operates the camping concession, and you can reserve campsites (and pay for day use) on their website. Day use is about $8, for a single vehicle, and camping is $15 per night, which is cheap considering.

I did not see any evidence of Bass spawn yet, and the 62 degree water is still a bit chill for full mating debauchery. It will be soon, but will be difficult to spot based on the rocky shale bottom of the lake. Largemouth beds are more obvious scars on  muddy bottoms than on a rocky surface, and are less easy to spot.

The few fish that broke the surface for top water action suggests the activity level is consistent with a warming lake, so the best bite will be soon.

And One to Rule them All

If you tie a lot of bass flies a pandemic is a welcome interlude given how enforced isolation and “work from home” is instrumental in creating the debris field from all those large hooks you stuffed with marabou, rubber legs, lead wire, and spun deer hair.

… and, even better, most of the folks sheltering in place with us have seen us lick our fingers after handling all those dead animal parts, and we’ve got no one pestering us to wash our hands, either.

My last trip afield showed my fly box had more plastic showing than flies, and knew I was overdue for an extended “self quarantine” period with a couple fistfuls of Marabou and a lot of Olive Grizzly hackle.

Fortunately, bass flies are not like trout flies and the typical angler need not carry every phase of insect life, in every color, and in both floating and sinking varieties. Instead bass fishing is limited to Big Things that Float, and Big Things that Sink, and only a handful of colorations are required:  Shad, Crayfish, Frog, and anything that resembles a small child or escaped Chihuahua.

While many thousands of sinking bass flies exist for bass, few can match the  qualities of the Wooly Bugger. The simplicity of construction, low material cost, and seductive fishing action has made it a prominent option at your local fly shop – and likely earned a spot in your fly box already.

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Over the years I’ve had to slim down the volume of flies carried and shift focus to colors instead of patterns. Bass are usually associated with frog, minnow, and crayfish baits, and typically are pursued in lakes and ponds. where depth is always an issue given how fly tackle sinks so poorly. The long shank hooks typically employed with a Wooly Bugger allow us to pack lead, bead chain, beads, and allow us a platform for adding considerable weight – which is a boon in lake fishing.

The regular pulse of marabou has always been attractive to fish, and the palmered chenille front and marabou rear make a reasonable facsimile of a swimming  crayfish (which swim backwards), as well as resembling a minnow when yanked with a sustained retrieve, and in a pinch can approximate a frog – with its thin legs and bulky body, despite the fly not being on the surface – where frogs are found.

As a terrestrial angler wandering the bank I look for flies that can be used in more than one role – or simulate more than one prey, as space in my vest is always at a premium. Bass flies, especially the top water deer hair poppers, are  bulky and ill suited for traditional fly boxes forcing bass anglers to cut back on the diversity of flies they carry versus trout fishing.  The physics speak for themselves, as a dozen deer hair Dahlberg Divers  requires a couple of square feet of fly box space versus the tiny amount needed for a similar amount of #16 Griffith’s Gnat. The Wooly Bugger being one of the few styles that compress well in a fly box, allows bank anglers to carry a lot of them (or more colors) without having to carry a suitcase to accommodate their bulk.

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Many of the flies I carry loosely map to roles seen in traditional bait caster tournament lures, as crank baits, jerk-baits, poppers, worms, jigs, and spinner baits, possess actions that are timeless and have been fished successfully for decades. The Wooly Bugger falls into the “jig” category when weighted, due to it’s up-down dance when equipped with a bead head, and is more of a “jerk-bait” when unweighted – as the hackle and marabou provide no resistance to sinking allowing the angler to retrieve it with a variety of fetching motions that resemble numerous food groups.

Lake fishing requires a lot of weight to sink the fly quickly and the fly’s design lends itself to bead chain, cone heads, or large lead – none of which will affect the fly’s action. Streams or shallow ponds typically require less weight, but most of the Wooly Buggers that I fish are heavily weighted – simply due to the big water I’m fishing of late.

Lastly, the attribute that few consider is how the Wooly Bugger is often taught as one of the first flies learned in a beginner fly tying class. Cagey parents might be able to add a request for a few dozen as part of the allocation of weekly chores. Since the pandemic requires both parents and children to stay at home, what better way to ensure their online education complete – then researching the patterns and colors you’ll need for your next family adventure … after they take out the trash …

While it’s certain your stable of newly christened fly tiers will have a lot of defective product and won’t hold together long, it’s still a good bargain. That fly eating tree limb behind you coupled with the two wind knots in your leader will ensure your goodly supply is less so – in short order.

Marabou is cheap and a few minutes away from Tik Tok is downright patriotic …

More Pain then Wadding a Sharp Hook through Gristle

With every Californian intent on their Memorial Day Exodus, I lounged against the garage jamb and waved as my neighbors wadded their protesting kids and worn camping gear into anything capable of towing something else, then followed their neighbors onto the Interstate, all in a mad rush for the woods.

Having competed with this angry mob many times in the past, and knowing the lack of water would compress anglers even further, we opted to splurge on the local private bass water . We knew the cost of a full day’s fishing was much less than the gas, food, and campground fees we’d absorb if we donned our “Mad Max” garb and chased Charlize Theron (and everyone else) up the interstate enroute to the Parched Pristine.

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… not that Miss Theron isn’t worthy of chasing, its the notion that frayed nerves, squealing tires, and campground backing accidents, resulting from too many people crammed into too small a resource, are never a recipe for decompression and relaxation, rather they have the opposite effect.

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But an entire lake filled with voracious gigantic bass, off-limits to kids, unruly pets, and powerboats,  and rimmed with wildflowers and framed by beautiful weather, followed by a fine meal of rice balls and grilled Spam, that’s the makings of workplace water cooler legend.

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To compound our good fortune, our guess as to the lake’s readiness was perfect, and “should’ve been here last week” was forgotten in the howl of,  “gotta be here goddamn right now.” No sooner then we were clear of the vehicle and armed, we were assaulted by hungry bass intent on eating flies, fingers, floating tippet spools, and anything else exposed to the water.

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Morning till noon was the big meal bite, using larger, slow sinking flies resembling frogs or tadpoles. When that slowed the fish shifted to smaller food, Wooly Bugger style flies in drab colors. We caught fish all day long and yielded the water grudgingly around 5PM.

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I’ve seen plenty of manicured trout water; everything from the rough hewn management of a “sugar daddy” conservation group like Cal Trout, to clubs meant for wealthy capitalists like Rising River Lodge and the Bolibokka Club.  Each has its own personality and appeal, but grooming the lake to achieve a singular vision of bass fishing is  quite unique in my experience. Every bush, sapling, and flower individually planted to yield a specific effect when mature –including rafts of dead timber and tules planted around the periphery and lake center.

The notion of mixing wildflowers with fishing makes for an interesting duality. On the one hand the bright colors and gay borders are akin to fishing in a garden, but they assist in stabilizing the earthen mounds from eroding into the lake.

Most certainly the fishing takes priority in your enjoyment of your surroundings, as it is superb, but being able to take your spouse along without having to entertain her may be worth even more.

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I keep thinking that with this as the destination for the first exposure to fishing – wives and girlfriends might seriously contemplate the pastime versus their traditional baptism … shivering as mosquito bait.

No sympathy from me …

With all this amazing good fortune, I found my mortality by midafternoon. My host showed up in his truck and watched me land a fish, and commented, “…you’re doing pretty well, every time I see you – you’ve got a fish on.”

I showed him the left thumb, scraped raw from “lipping” bass, and then unglued my feet from the suction of loose mud at waters edge, avoiding pressure on the blister on my knee from crouching on the side of berms avoiding being “sky lined” so as not to alert my quarry,  and he chuckled. “You’ll get no sympathy from me …”

Can’t say as I blame him – nor was I looking for some, I just had the cathartic realization that fishless fishing has its share of aches and pains, yet even when moon’s align and the Cornucopia spills open, there’s blisters aplenty … and only the wound locations change.

That evening as I hobbled to the bathroom, I did some mental math. Landing a fish requires three squats; the first when kneeling on the berm when casting, the second when extricating your mending line from Poppies and bankside debris, and the last when you squat to lip the fish at water’s edge. Figure (with the Bluegill) you land 140 fish in a single day, and you’ve neatly explained the blisters on both knees and why you groan like Grandpa when you get off the couch.

So you like tormenting the fish then …

Back in the 1980’s I worked the night shift in one of those cold edifices that shadow Market Street. As I left one morning waving at my fellow workers, I noticed a quiet looking number with a shy smile in the company of one of my female coworkers.

The next day the lady I worked with asked if I’d consider a blind date with her pal, to which I readily agreed.

To make the story short, I found myself on an East Bay lake, with no fishing tackle, attempting to look interested  in my companion, while fish cavorted about thumbing their collective nose at me. She was a nice gal without any interest in the out of doors, and I tried my best to appear engaging and personable.

As I was wont to do, I attempted to couch my confession into my best “Mac Daddy” moment. I mentioned I enjoyed fishing and the woods, and spent lots of time there. She responded in Big City fashion, how, “.. she would never eat anything caught out of the water as it was likely unsafe ..”, unfazed by her ignorance about where fish lived, I opted for the “catch and release” gambit …

“Yea, I let them all go, actually.” As I pick an imaginary speck of lint off my sleeve, expecting her to think me a swell fellow and consummate sportsmen. Rather than swoon in rapture as I was expecting, she replies, “.. Oh, so you like torturing them?”

(No lady, that’s what this date is all about, really.)

This same scene played in my conscious mind after this weekend’s debauch. Realizing that age and overindulgence are combining forces to ensure that should the fishing be either good or bad, I’m taking more abuse; lumps, scrapes, contusions, and actual blood loss – than the goddamn fish are.

No. I don’t enjoy tormenting fish … I have a yen to be tormented by them. Through my own actions of pursuit and capture I inflict much more pain on myself than I ever do wadding a sharp hook through gristle.

I just … need a nap … before I do it again tomorrow …