Time: 10:30AM – 3:30PM

Location: Below Reudi Reservoir

Frying Pan River 08/09/2024 Photo Album

Jane and I visited our daughter, Amy, Thursday through Saturday, and a fishing day was in my plans for Friday, August 9, 2024. I checked the flows on the Frying Pan River tailwater on Thursday evening, and the chart depicted steady outflows from Reudi Reservoir of 256 CFS for the last week. I decided to commit to the tailwater. Next I visited the Taylor Creek Fly Shop web site, and here I learned that the green drakes were present on the bottom one-third from mile marker zero to four.

This bit of information convinced me to begin my day on the lower river. I pulled into a wide pullout between MM 3 and 4 and prepared to fish. I assembled my Sage R8 four weight, and I ambled back down the road for .2 mile to a spot where the river veered back along the road. As I approached, I noticed a guide with two clients, so I reversed and found a worn path through the dense brush that carried me to a large red rock that jutted into the river. I carefully waded downstream for twenty yards, so I could cast to a nice narrow pool that bordered the bank.

256 CFS

I rigged with a tan size 8 pool toy hopper, a prince nymph, and a salvation nymph. On an early cast a trout rose and snubbed the hopper. This was not the beginning I hoped for. I persisted with some casts to the top of the run, and much to my amazement I hooked up with two fish that felt substantial. In both cases the brief connection ended with escaped trout.

I shrugged off this bout of misfortune and waded upstream to the deep run just below the huge red rock. Even though I failed to land a fish in the first location, I was encouraged by the rapid fire action. Unfortunately the trend did not continue, and I made matters worse, when I attempted a roll cast and hooked a limb high above me and out of reach. My only option was to apply direct pressure, and three flies found a new home in a tree branch. I cursed briefly and mounted the rock and found a small ledge to sit on, while I replaced my lineup with the same trio of flies.

Evicted by the Swimmers

As I focused on my knots, I heard some car doors slam, and I gazed across the road, where I spotted a tall red transit van and a group of kids. I did not give it much thought, until a cluster of kids arrived wearing swimming suits on top of the rock I was sitting on. One of the young boys told the others that they needed to wait because the fisherman (me) was there first. I appreciated the etiquette, and I announced that I would vacate the rock in twenty minutes. I returned to replacing my tippet and flies, and I realized that I was using up my allotted time, so I told the group that I would move upstream. The day that I anxiously anticipated was morphing into a series of challenges; escaped fish, lost flies, and now an invasion of young swimmers.

I quickly returned to the car and retrieved pool toy hoppers, prince nymphs, and salvation nymphs to replace my lost flies. I spotted a path near the car and whacked my way back to the river forty yards above the summer camp swimmers. For the next hour I diligently worked my way upstream, and I thoroughly cast to the left bank, but I was not convinced that a single trout was present in this stretch of the river. I was very frustrated with my lack of action and at a loss for what to do to reverse my fortunes. I encountered a path back to the road, so I took advantage and returned to the car.

Perhaps a change of scenery would renew my confidence? I stowed my gear and drove upstream to a spot on the upper third of the river. My dreams of green drake fishing were dashed. I found a nice rock and ate my lunch by the river, as I gazed across a section of shallow pockets.

First Decent Fish

Once my lunch was completed, I resumed casting, and I quickly landed three small brown trout that snatched the salvation nymph from the drift. However, this small amount of action was accompanied by a flurry of refusals to the hopper. I decided to downsize, and I migrated to a peacock hippie stomper with a salvation nymph. A nice twelve inch brown trout found the hippie stomper to its liking, but then refusals once again dominated, and the salvation was totally ignored.

Nice Deep Run Along the Bank

My dropper was relatively short (perhaps an explanation for the lack of interest in the salvation nymph), so I snipped off the salvation and replaced it with a parachute green drake. The drake failed to induce takes, and the hippie stomper drew a few refusals. It was time for yet another change. The section I was now wading was characterized by a wide riverbed and an abundant quantity of pockets and runs over moderate depth. I pondered the situation and decided to return to a dry/dropper approach. For the top fly I chose an amber ice dub size 8 chubby Chernobyl, and beneath it I knotted a 20 incher and a salvation nymph, and in this instance I extended the chubby to 20 incher tippet to four feet in order to attain a greater depth on my drifts.

Love the Dark Ink Spots

Finally I found a combination that clicked. I moved up the river methodically and prospected all the runs and pockets for two hundred yards, and in the process I boosted the fish count from four to twenty-three. Among this haul were four very respectable browns in the twelve to thirteen inch range. The remainder were smaller brown trout ranging from six to eleven inches.

Slick in the MIddle of the River

By 3:15PM I reached a section of the river that required more commitment than I was willing to provide, and the sky darkened, as the temperature dropped, and the wind kicked up. I hooked my fly to the rod guide and waded back to the road and returned to the car. Steady rain commenced, just as I began removing my waders, so the timing was fortuitous.

Finish Line

Twenty-three was a decent fish count, although the average size was beneath my expectations. My best fish were the two that escaped early and a couple larger fish that flashed their sides, as they refused the chubby. 256 CFS is actually at the top end of what I deem acceptable. Of course, a strong hatch could overcome my reservations on flow rates, but none materialized, while I was fishing the Frying Pan River.

Fish Landed: 23