Emerald Water Anglers

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June 2nd – EWA Fly Fest Schedule

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Last years podium from the EWA Guide Staff Cook Off with Jason Rolfe taking top honors for the second year.

Hello everyone, it is almost time for our 4th Annual EWA Fly Fest at Me Kwa Mooks Park here in West Seattle where we invite everyone to come on out and join us kicking off the summer season.  We will have the sales reps from Thomas and Thomas, Winston, Gloomis, Echo, Scott, Hardy and Sage with every rod under the sun to test cast. 

We will also have a few free clinics to work on casting, approaching Puget Sound and the creeks and the introduction of our SWING ON program which is all two handed all the time! 

Here is the schedule for clinics and so on at the fly fest this year and we may still be adding a few things so check back and worst case scenario, show up:

8am – Women’s Casting with Karlie and Devon
9am – Festivities Begin
9am – Saltwater Tactics – Dave, on beach across the street
11am – Planetary Fly Fishing – Travel – Dave, under tent
10am – Small Streams, Where, When and How – Ben, under tent
11am – Women’s Meet and Greet – Karlie/Devon under tent
1pm – Staff Cook Off – Everyone
2pm – “SWING ON” All Things Spey Discussion – Rohr
3pm – Double Haulin’ – Dave
4pm – Last Minute Q&A, Pack Up and Call it a Day!

We look forward to seeing everyone out there soon.

I Love Fish. No, seriously, I do.

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I realized the other day that loving fish is probably not normal. Nonetheless, I love fish. I don’t mean I love to eat fish, or that I love to catch fish, though both of those are true. No, I love fish as they are, in the water, swimming around doing fishy things.

Fish are fantastic, mysterious creatures. They live in a world we can only visit for short periods of time. They are so keenly adapted to the aquatic environment; they swim with an easy grace not even Michael Phelps can attain.

The other day, when I realized I love fish, I was fishing up in the cascades, watching a trout feeding in a turquoise pool, and it struck me that that fish had survived runoff in that very pool. To do so would have been an accomplishment; high water had tossed four foot diameter logs 15 feet up onto the rocks around the pool. At some point after ice out an awesome torrent of water scours this little creek. At that time I imagine not even the most insane white water kayaker would attempt this section of creek. Yet that little trout calls this creek home.

How tenacious, how powerful and beautiful to be so finely adapted to your environment that even during the worst possible situation, when your entire world is one giant, raging, maelstrom, you can leverage all of your abilities so that later, when the world has calmed down, you can sip caddis on a quiet Autumn evening. You can’t not learn a little lesson from those fish, and maybe even feel a little affection for its resilience and beauty.

I let that fish be.

It is About the Fish

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It is about catching fish. That’s why we take flies with us.

Fly fishermen tend to say, “oh, it’s not about catching fish”. Baloney it isn’t. I didn’t spend countless hours standing in freezing water before I started to fly fish. That’s just what we say when we get skunked to massage our ego.

The ice is off the river now and only the nine inch thick jagged remnants of ice jumbled along the shore remind me how cold my home water really gets in winter. Winter fishing is hard as the fish hunker down to avoid getting frozen into the ice. They settle into small, obscure holding water in the quiet, black river as it trickles under the plate of ice. Winter fishing around here is about finding open sections with a pool or riffle deep enough for fish to hide. The river is very low in winter and the trout know the blue herons and eagles are hungry too. When it is bitterly cold streamers are the only thing that seem to raise a fish. Maybe they have their eyes half closed and don’t notice a nymph bouncing by. Or perhaps they are too cold to bother with something as small as a nymph, only moving for the bigger meal. Some days I catch nothing. The trees are highlighted with snow, the sound of gurgling water hasn’t failed to be music, the glint of late winter sun on the river is still beautiful. But I wanted to meet a fish.

Yesterday the ice was off my river, runoff is just beginning to swell the river. Not so much that you couldn’t wade everywhere, because in reality, my river is a creek all but during high irrigation season. This river has been made to exist for the needs of the alfalfa fields downstream. Cattle rule around here and fish suffer for the needs of cow and alfalfa .

Yesterday the wind was screaming thru the pines, dead branches flying and last summer’s dried leaves swirling around. Nobody else was around. No other car parked along the highway. A 3 weight rod, a Prince nymph with a bead head pheasant tail dropper. The fish are hungry and have moved into feeding channels. It is a long distance between the riffles, troughs and pools. Slow wading along the bank but impossible to walk on the tilted ice plates littering the banks. And I stay out of the woods in winter because cougar tracks in the snow tell me I am not truly alone. Slowly I wade, listening to the water sing it’s song, the wind in the pines, reading the river, looking for trout homes. I am keenly aware of the blissful solitude, the smells of the woods, a high pitched whistle coming from an eagle stating his situation as he circles above me. I do love the river.

But where would a trout hold in this particular flow, where is his food coming from today and what is it? Unraveling the mystery. And then it happens. Feeling the fish through the rod as the fish jumps wildly into the air showing off his strong silver body, it zigs and zags all over the little river. The entire reason I am in the river comes whole with the sudden connection to this sturdy little fish that just made it through another winter and I am awed by the bright pink color along his sides, the fragile yellow fins, his sleek shape. As the fish slides back into it’s watery world and once again becomes nearly invisible from above, I know all over again that it is about the fish. Just to see one, to know where it lives today, to feel him slide off my hand. One is plenty to make my day perfect. I fish to catch fish.

The Ten Thousand Sounds of the River

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Fishing creeks lately has gotten me reminiscing about the good old days when I first began fly fishing.  I would spend hours exploring tiny little watersheds near my grandparents’ summer cabin near Lake Tahoe, CA.  It didn’t matter whether the fish were four inches or four pounds.  I thoroughly enjoyed watching each and every one rise to my skated elk hair caddis.  The only difference is that now I release all of my fish, while back then I can’t deny that a few ended up on the frying pan 😉

I wrote this poem a few years ago while waiting for summer days like the ones we have been experiencing here in Washington lately.  One of my favorite things about fly fishing is that it allows me an excuse to slow down, enjoy the little things that we so often pass by and really feel alive.

The Ten Thousand Sounds of the River

The ten thousand little sounds of the river
dance fluidly through the stillness
I dance along with them,
wading in the mist beneath sleepy mountains.
The sun yawns and stretches
his arms open wide
and twinkling fingers cast a waking spell
over the drowsy valley.
Several hungry rainbows have gathered
in a pool to feed on mayflies.
In the dance I am invisible,
as minute as a tiny baetis nymph,
as sinuous as the playful water.
The trout sip their meals
finning lazily beneath the surface .
With a slight wave of my fly rod
I shoot a serpentine loop out over the water.
The line unfurls, whispering to the river
and settles the fly on the surface film.
I count my heartbeats:
One…
Two…
Three…
One hundred and eleven…
My world is a bubble under an endless sky
with an infinitesimal dry fly at the center.
The ten thousand sounds envelop me
and my heart palpitates softly with the rhythm.
A swirling shadow rises beneath the fly
breaking the playful cadence.
With elegant swiftness I strike.
The rod arcs sharply
finding a life of its own.
The surprised trout streaks for deep sanctuary.
Line flies off my reel.
My bubble shatters,
pierced by the triumphant sound
of a stripping drag.
I hold on
palming the spool
keeping pressure
fighting back.
Gaining first inch by inch,
then feet and yards.
The trout explodes to the surface
cartwheeling into the air.
A circus acrobat
dressed in sparkling jewels.
The trout makes another hard run
stretching me to my utter limits.
Tired and reluctant she submits,
drifting in to land delicately
in my waiting net.
I remove the hook with care
and hold her up in the light.
she is a treasure surviving the vigor of time
her colors reflect the joy of the sun
and the sadness of the moon.
All the hues that fill the day
shine from her vibrant skin
resonating inside me
with life, love and health.
Gently I send her back to her home
and watch a sacred gem swim away free.
I breathe deeply and let out a long sigh.
My heart beats softly once again
and the ten thousand sounds of the river
rise up from the valley
vibrating in the sierra sun.

-Charlie Robinton

Tight Quarters – Volume 1

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As a fly fishing guide, and one taking this profession seriously, I love nothing more than clients new to the sport. Whether it be those preparing to dive in head first and buy their first rod and reel blind to what they are getting into or those who have already had a few thrills and are now marching their way through the progression we all have taken, or will inevitably.

For me, I don’t really care if I catch a fish or “the” fish in a particular place anymore. It is all about the process of actually getting a or “the” fish to take a fly in a certain situation.

This past week I had the incredible privilege to fish with a great guy and also a guide on a small spring like creek and was myself reminded of what clients hopefully feel on our trips, complete elation on every level this sport has to offer.

This brief but idyllic jaunt included a long hike in, off trail for a portion of the time to a creek tough to find on most maps, for native species of trout with no signs of other anglers. Challenging but rewarding conditions and size of trout, who cares as that is why God has handed mankind the ingenuity to make such wonderful little sticks as 000wts or in this case a Winston WT and LTX 2wt. Personally, my perfect recipe for a day on the water.

That said, this was just a small portion of it. While some of the water was simply irresistible to gaze upon, I found myself unable to pass up fishing the more difficult water. Over hanging grass and branches a mere foot from the waters surface, prime seam several feet back from the tips of the afore mentioned vegetation. And with virtually no backcast space to even attempt the feat I sauntered to the plate anyway.

First couple casts catch the trees and grass behind and a slight upward finish to my forward stroke leave my fly hanging desirably an inch or so above the water where certain inhalation awaits. Some gentle coaching from Steve and finesse of the rod tip frees it to drift back. So close yet so far away. Next cast is in and the fish takes with reckless abandon, my 40 year old reflexes so off my fly ends up 15 feet in a tree behind me! Deep breath, tie another one on, watch Steve imitate me perfectly, then dig in again.

I just don’t give up that easy and I never have. I am stubborn as hell and now have to prove a point to no one other than myself that I can do this!

All of this could have been circumvented by simply stepping up to the head of these minuscule runs, why? Why do it and take all of the fun and challenge out of it?

This is why nearly every president in our country has embraced this sport. Complete and utter loss of all other worldly issues, including time, when the mind is fully engaged.

Much of this water is exactly what we would walk most clients right past as the skill set to get a fly even close isn’t in their possession, yet. And while we did manage a few fish, more was gained from Steve and I by simply being able to get a fly into these tight quarters and watch it drift seemingly unattached to either of us whether a fish hit or not.

Every now and again we need a day like this to remind us of a few things. One, how our clients feel when on a trip and we are aching to take the rod from their hand and make the “easy” presentation for them so they can get the fish.

What we have to remember is even though most new anglers feel as though the fish is the prize, it is our job is to help them realize that the real reward is in having done everything just right to trick them into choosing your fly. When done well the fish isn’t that hard to achieve, it is everything leading up to it.

Good fishing everyone.

Emerald Water Anglers

4502 42nd Ave. SW
Seattle, WA 98116
10-7 Mon-Fri, 10-6 Sat, 11-5 Sun
206-708-7250

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