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Prior to last Wednesday, I had never heard of Barney's Fly Fishing Ranch. That's when I got the call not to make plans for Saturday. It was my buddy Rob who is a bonafide radio guy who, not only hosts a music show but, more importantly as far as I'm concerned, does the daily outdoor reports for the same station. Rob's a blast to be around and a certifiable fly fishing stud. Better, since everybody wants some "face time" on the local radio station about their business or other organization, he gets invited to pretty near everything. Today, I was fortunate to be able to tag along as we braved the wind and cold for a day of semi-urban trout recon. Since we knew that our odds of finding fish were basically 100% and our odds of this being a "wild" trout excursion were 0, I suggested that we start the day chucking beadheads at Wilson Commons, a little park in Washoe Valley. Somehow, it just seemed, well, fitting. We were there about 45 minutes. It was cold as hell and blowing like crazy but I managed to pull out a 12 inch rainbow while we were there. I decided since the wind was gusting close to 45 mph that I should use something a little stouter than my beloved 2 weight. I instead opted for a 3. I love fishing that light stuff so I have gotten rather proficient at throwing around really light line with way-too-heavy flies on windy days. Anyway, time was up quickly and soon we were on our way to Barney's. I had no idea that Barney's Fly Fishing Ranch would be right along Highway 395 in Minden. Not that I cared. I adore stealthing around for wild browns as much as the next guy (more than most), but I view fly fishing in much the same light as beer. It's good, and we should all be grateful for whatever beer God brings us. Pop top, long neck, short neck, light, dark, micro, macro you name it. I believe it was Benjamin Franklin who said, "beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." As we pulled into the parking lot, our second of the day, I couldn't help but privately remenisce about the series of mass skunkings that Rob and I suffered throughout the summer of 2005. I had already threatened in vein that if this trip ended fishless like so many before, I would no longer be able to freeload on any more of these cool fly fishing destinations. I was, of course, lying. It seemed appropriate that we should anounce ourselves before proceeding to trample the grounds in search of the hogs we'd been assured ply these waters, so we made for Barney's HQ. We were greeted by a very nice woman whose name I've sadly forgotten. She was glad to see Rob and less than indifferent about seeing me and soon made off to find Barney. From what little we'd seen so far, it was already aparent to me that Barney's Fly Fishing Ranch was not the playground of the high-brow, high-dollar, high-pants dorks I see all the time hanging around in fly shops. No, Barney's, at least today was just a beautifully groomed, cool place to throw a few bugs around with damn good odds of landing a pig or two. Soon, our kind woman returned with Barney. He seemed genuinely excited that we'd (Rob really) come to fish their emerald waters. He showed us a few pictures on the wall of proud anglers posing with a few of the more notable resident rainbows. MY GOD! They've got 21 pound trout swimming around down there! "Hmm, I'd better use the 5 weight," I reasoned to myself. After a few more minutes of getting to know one another, Barney invited us to get out and fish. On the way to the truck to gather gear, we couldn't help but offer each other's opinions about the quality of fish they'd aparently loaded into those lagoons. We couldn't wait to get down there and fish. The resident experts confided that they were hitting on bead-headed something-or-others that we correctly identified as prince nymphs, but we didn't really see anybody tying into any fish. Hmm... Well, we tried our own little beadheaded whatevers. Seemed reasonable enought to me since it worked back at Wilson not far away. But, after a few casts, we both didn't feel like that was the bug that would snare a 21 pounder. So, I tied on a small (12ish) mohair leech. I tie 'em with not-too-fluffy marabou tails with a few strands of flashy crap. The key though, is that I wrap the forward part of the hook shank with lead wire. It gets the thing to the bottom and does a bouncy little jig on the way back to you that trout can't say no to. About the time Rob went off to mingle, I hooked a cow. More like a tractor. It was the first time in ages that I actually got to play a fish on the reel and Rob's nowhere in sight. Eventually someone pointed out, "hey, your buddy's into to a good one," so he ambled over to take a look. Then he saw it flash. HAH! That's right, it IS a good one. Good one? It was a damn torpedo! For those of you keeping score, that's Joe:2. To protect Rob's fragile ego, I won't reveal how many Rob had caught up to that point. By the time that thing was extricated from the depths, it weighed in at over 6 pounds and 27 inches! Maybe it wasn't the 21 pounder we saw in the pictures but it was the biggest damn rainbow I had ever caught. Rob tied on a leech. After a few more casts, we decided to work our way around to what looked to me to be just the place to hook the behemoth we saw back at the pump house. Aparently word spread about the bus I'd caught few munites earlier and, when my rod bent over at the new spot, Barney rushed out in a golf cart to take a look. I liked Barney right away. He's a seemingly average guy who is, I'm guessing, in his early to mid-fifties and brimming with excitement about his ranch. I'm told that he did well in the concrete business and that the fly fishing ranch was a dream he'd been working on for the previous eight years. I had beed playing this scrappy rainbow for several minutes. My forearm had begun to ache and I was about ready to land him when Barney decided he wanted a picture. I have to admit feeling a little funny about letting that poor fish swim in circles while Barney zoomed off in the golf cart to retrieve a camera. But, when you get down to it, it was Barney's trout and if Barney wanted a picture, by God, who was I to deny him? He was back in a flash (pun intended) and Rob pulled the fish from the water. I really wanted to get him swimming again so we just smiled for the camera and sent him back to his fishy friends. That's Joe:3. That fish was awesome! Not as big as the last but a snarling, hook-jawed, 26 incher with an attitude! Unfortunately, that fish signalled the end of my day of fishing at Barney's. In reality, I had spent less than an hour actually fishing-probably more like 20 minutes, and caught two enormous rainbows. Even better, I got to meet some really great people and spend a day fishing with a good friend. So, my final impression of Barney's Fly Fishing Ranch is that I'd love to be a member. Granted, it's a little like fly fishing in a miniture golf course, but it is a fantastic place to spend time with friends, keep your casting up and catch a fish, the likes of which you don't often see in the wild. Thanks Barney. |
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