The Pickard 8024

I've done some more research on the Pickard that I bought in July. This rod was built prior to 2008 by John Pickard. This is known because John switched from using his own model numbers back to using the Dickerson model numbers when he purchased the Dickerson equipment in 2008. This 8024 is the Dickerson 8013 5 weight taper.

Lyle L. Dickerson, who worked out of Bellaire, Michigan, made bamboo fly rods from around 1930 through 1971 when he sold his operation to Tim Bedford of Oakland, California. In 1985, Jim Schaff bought it and moved the whole thing to Concord, California. And finally, the Dickerson operation returned home to Michigan in 2008 when John Pickard bought the old Dickerson equipment and materials lock, stock and barrel.

Pickard had been making rods in the Dickerson tapers for a number of years, one of which I own, and the purchase of the original Dickerson equipment would appear to bring a certain legitimacy to his work.

One of the things that Dickerson's are noted for is their simple, unadulterated finish. Dickerson cared most for function than aesthetics. It's one of the things about this rod that appeals to me.

The color is natural. The wrappings are simple and plainly done. The ferrules are purely functional. There's a Scandinavian simplicity to it all.

I suppose I've now taken that second step towards bamboo geekdom. First I bought one of the things and now I'm researched it's construction. Next I'll probably start thinking about the wisdom of hollow butts on this sort of taper. Until then, I think I'll climb out of the rabbit hole and just fish it a bunch.

It just seemed right to match this rod with an ancient Pflueger.

Gone Fishin'

I took the day off today. I'm up on the Beaverkill hoping to be entertained by eager trout.

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Weather Conspiracies

Last year both major and minor fishing ventures were spoiled by the weather pulling a fast one on me. Given the mild weather this winter I was hoping for a change in 2012; finally I'd be able to fish when I want to!

I'm fishing Saturday. Unlike my stalwart friends out west, just the suggestion of snow seems to shut down our state (though probably with good reason).

We'll see.

I'm on strike.

I'm on strike.

You can't write a fly fishing blog unless you actually fly fish and I can't subject you to anymore mindless drivel about not fishing.

I haven't caught a fish in 40 days. I fished only once, half heartedly for about two hours, during that period. The trip was rushed and no balm for the itchy mental rash that comes from too much time away from moving water. Life's been busy, it's rained more in those forty days than it normally does all year, but for the love of God, this must not stand!

Saturday afternoon is my target for a trip to the Housy. Ideally, my next post will have a picture of a freshly caught trout and a few humble words about the experience. At a minimum it's going to have some stellar pictures of fishy water and fall foliage.

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Grousing

I wish this topic has something to do with upland bird hunting but it's just run of the mill petty grumbling. Last week disappeared into a haze of sniffling, sneezing, headachy, lethargy brought upon by a vicious head cold. I managed to struggle through work with a few naps interspersed during the day but didn't get any of my late season fishing goals accomplished.

Then comes the weekend. I was supposed to spend Saturday floating the Deerfield with my youngest son. That got postponed by a combination of a rainy morning and the remnants of the aforementioned head cold. And to add insult to injury, I was feeling better by 10 a.m. and the sun was out at noon. By mid-afternoon Ann was getting weary of my pouting and grumbling.

This seems to be one of those seasons where wrenches routinely got thrown in the works. Mostly due to rain. Sometimes due to work. But lots of other things, too. For example, I decided to start fishing for Stripers this year and it seems that Stripers are nowhere to be found. I think my decision immediately preceded (and, perhaps, in something akin to the butterfly effect, caused) the collapse of the east coast Striper population.

And just when I'm feeling sorry for myself I recall that I did spend a wonderful day fishing a Blue Ridge stream this spring. And I found a hole on one river where large fish reliably lurk. And I caught spooky wild rainbows in a meadow stream above Bridle Veil Falls. And I spent a week in Alaska fishing with two old curmudgeons who were a pleasure to fish and travel with and caught myself a very large Rainbow trout.

So perhaps this sport is not for the dogs.

Jon is dragging me to Pulaski in November. That should be a good time regardless of the fishing. And my brothers and our families are gathering in New Hampshire this weekend for a long overdue session of sitting around retelling family tales and making new ones.

I guess this fishing stuff just has to be taken in context. And aside from this nagging cold (and the fact I passed it to everyone else) that context is pretty good.

• By the way, in case you missed it, check out Kirk's posting on Lawn Trout. Good stuff there.
• Also, I am deeply envious of a trip a bunch of folks put together this past weekend in Colorado. Check out Erin's and Sander's posts. You can get links to other participants from those reports.

Doh!

Not for Fly Fishing

Was toying with visiting a small tailwater nearby after work.

Of course, it would have helped if I had remembered  to put waders and a rod in the back of the car when I left this morning.

Damn!

ETTS

So I'm fishing this past weekend on a small stream near the house and I see the print below in the sand along a particularly sweet piece of water.

So immediately I think "What the heck is that?" And then, "Probably a critter with large teeth!" And then I look over my shoulder and scan the area but I'm good cause my spidey-sense isn't tingling.

With my experience at wilderness fauna identification being limited to distinguishing cats from dogs* I use the Google but it's just as dumb as I am on this subject. So, I search out experts on mammal identification** and find such over at a popular fly fishing site.

Now all the usual crackpots and intertube trolls will say things like "You made that up!" or "It's three deer prints on top of each other. You can clearly see the dew claws!". I have had to suffer such nonsense and worse.

But one particular clear thinker on flyaddict.com provided the proper identification - the Eastern Three-toed Sasquatch. Now, that's a pretty bold statement*** cause we all know that the Eastern Three-toed Sasquatch has been so cross-bread with the west coast strain that it's nearly impossible to tell the difference.

But this alert reader had divined the stream that I was upon and, even more amazingly, the exact run. And, he knows that on this particular river,which is mostly riffle, run, small pocket rinse-and-repeat sort of water, this run is the only place with the right mixture of water velocity and features to be good centerpinning**** water.

AND, Eastern Three-toed Sasquatch are known centerpinners****. They've got the long arms that makes mending and using those rods so effective.

So, mystery solved. Watch your backs out there. Stick to the pockets. There's Sasquatch on the water.

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Notes:
* I'm a dog person. Everything else is a cat.
** Cause we all know that despite the three, aggressively shaped claws is not the reptilian Chupacabra cause that's more of a southern species.
*** And a stupid one if not for the information in the next paragraph.
**** Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Set Phasers to Stun

That is if you want to catch and release.

High modulus graphite is so 21st century. And don't even get me started on Bamboo or Fiberglass. I'm upgrading to the latest technology.

See you in hell.

False Start

Too many flies and at
the same time not enough

The fly boxes are assembled and inventoried. It's late in the winter season to be doing this; figuring out what needs to be tied. I should have done this in November and then got some tying out of the way during the dark, cold months. The problem was I was still mourning the close of the good days of fishing and plotting some cold weather trips. There was no time to be tying flies for "next" season.

There are three patterns that I fish regularly and I expected that I'd find lots of gaps in my fly boxes where those patterns should be. The boxes were pretty sparse but the built in "fly boxes" in my vest had plenty of samples. And then I dug out the "warehouse" box that I keep in the car and discovered last season's stash of flies. There were more than enough emergers, cripples and bugs stored there. So, no need for an emergency tying session though I was secretly disappointed.

So, I spent an hour or so sifting and sorting. Because I've been pursuing a minimal approach to fishing, carrying as little equipment as possible, I filled a small box with a variety of nymphs and dries. I found a few that needed to be sorted into the circular file. But I also put one or two of those well chewed flies into the box. Heck, if fish thought enough of them to chew them apart then perhaps they'd work again. Perhaps even better. And if nothing else, they have good mojo.

Too ugly to fish or
just ugly enough to fish?

With the sorting complete I felt better though not sated. In the absence of "needing" to tie some flies I've decided that I'll get artistic. At last week's fly tying class we tied some wet flies that had paired duck wings and that got me in the mood to tie married wings even though I've never fished them. So, I'll troll around the site that has a bunch of Bergman patterns and tie something pretty in the couple of days.

I look forward to sharing them with you.

Friends with Animal Parts

Today was a rainy day here in New England. Earlier in the week I had a fantasy of stopping by a small stream but the rain coupled with the snow melt put the rivers in a raging, muddy mood. I satisfied myself with a slow Sunday morning, church and a fantastic lunch with my family at a great little restaurant.

The Emerger de Rosenbauer
as interpreted by Zakur

Once I was sated I could not resist a nap but was later awoken by nagging thoughts of chores, obligations and a wee bit of work that needed attending.

With chores complete I turned to the obligation -- filling a fly box for the upcoming TU fund raiser. I tied a half-dozen each of my three favorite flies -- the Lightning Bug, the Quigley Cripple and the Rosenbauer Emerger.

I tend to nymph fish more often than any other method but that's usually because I fish when I can and that usually means I'm fishing when no fish are rising. Rainy days. Windy days. Sunny summer middays. All times when the likelihood of rising fish is low, low, low. That said, like most people casting to rising fish is my favorite method and for my money there are no better flies for rising fish than emergers of some sort. Any low lying fly graces my leader from a parachute Adams to a CDC puff over a string body.

Emergers ready for the stream

I like the emerger type fly for two reasons: 1) it say's "easy meal" to me and by extension, I believe, to the fish and 2) it seems to work pretty good. I also like these flies for another reason. They're generally easier and quicker to tie. I find strapping some deer hair -- say for a Sparkle Dun -- or some Rabbits Foot (see above) to a hook shank a lot easier than hackling any type of fly be it parachute or full dun.

A couple of years ago I discovered the joy of rabbit's foot on a tip from Tom Rosenbauer. While I tied the Quigley Cripples in their "standard" form for the TU fly box, with a deer hair wing, I now tie them for myself with a little rabbit gracing the hook shank.

Rabbit is awesome. First, it behaves well on the hook when tying. Easy to mount, easy to tie down. Second, it floats like a cork. And if it does get water logged, a quick squeeze between the Amadou gets it floating high again. Finally, it's easy to see on the water. The wing sticks up and the white wing is easy to see especially in low light.

Treasure

A few weeks ago a friend mentioned that he had some rabbit's feet hanging by his furnace drying. While this friend is a hunter the feet were obtained from another friend who stalks the rabbit. I was but the last in a supply chain that started in the woods of Vermont and ended at my vice in Connecticut. 

While I eagerly anticipate receiving packages of fly tying loot from Feather Craft and J. Stockard or wandering the walls at Upcountry fondling the twenty-seven colors of pheasant tail there's a secret pleasure in receiving dead animal parts from friends. I think it's the mojo. 

Store bought stuff doesn't have mojo -- or at least the same mojo. We all try to impart some additional mojo as we tie but the material lacks the special essence. Some rare materials, that come through secret channels with handshakes and late night phone calls have good mojo. But animal parts harvested by friends of friends.... that's serious mojo. And every fisherman needs more mojo.

So this new treasure is already being snipped apart to create tempting treats for trout. The "old" rabbit's feet have been relegated to the pile of stuff at the back of my tying desk where they will languish and attract odd bits of feather and dubbing.

It's only a matter of weeks before we see the spring hatches start. I'm looking forward to testing the mojo on the stream. I forecast that trout will be eating rabbit with abandon.

Why Sipping Emergers?

Over on the Passinthru blog the question was asked, "Whats in a name anyway?". Basically, how'd you come up with the name for your blog? Well, below is the reason I chose Sipping Emergers.

The website's title, Sipping Emergers, relates to one my favorite mental images of our sport. It's an image of a glassy pool. It's twilight in the summer. The air is cooling. I've rolled down my shirtsleeves after a warm afternoon in the sun and swapped my sunglasses for regular glasses so I can peer into the gathering shadows. There's no visible hatch, no duns sailing on the water, although there might be a few bugs in the air. I'm hoping for a spinner fall. Off along the far bank, almost too far to cast to, a gentle ring forms on the water in the break between two overhanging mountain laurel shrubs. The smooth water looks black in the shadows and the ripples are edged in silver. The ring appears at regular intervals and is quickly erased by the gentle, yet persistent, current.  Perhaps those rings are formed by a piscine snout but more likely by the dorsal fin or tail of a trout as it lazily takes emergers just below the surface. I cast. And hope.