The Coachman
Creator of the Coachman, or so legend informs, is Tom Bosworth, the coachman to George First, William First and Queen Victoria of Britain. The fly was originally tied as a wet fly, and the wing was white duck primary wing fibers.Theodore Gordon, an American angler of fame considered, appropriately, the father of dry fly fishing in America, took many British patterns and converted them to dry flies. Mostly Gordon’s flies were made dry by the use of a stiffer, rooster hackle as opposed to hen hackle; the more commonly used hackling of the time. So Gordon converted the Coachman to a Catskill dry fly, along with numerous other patterns, in his evolution as the leader of American dry fly fishing. Once an established pattern in America, an example sent to Mary Orvis Marbury, (1878) that included a red silk “cumberbun” to strengthen the herl wrap, tied by John Hailey, the fly received the name Royal Coachman. Both the Coachman and Royal Coachman dry fly has undergone various winging approaches, from duck primaries, duck breast feathers, both fanned and split winged fibers and, most recently, the Wulff-type wings tied with hair: impala, buck tail or calf. Most of the wings tied are upright and split, but the “trude” or tied back white wing of hair or mallard breast is also used, and is one of my favored styles.
I find the Coachman, or occasionally the Royal version, to be proven and effective patterns for searching out trout. Peacock herl is an amazing tying material, even as it presents challenges to the tier. Herl is not a durable material; strategies for strengthening the wrap are numerous. I find the use of glues problematic; unless used very sparingly they can matt and destroy the tiny, iridescent fibers along the stem of the herl. Tiers use counter wraps of wire or tying thread to secure herl bodies, or create dubbing loops or “ropes” of herl. All of these approaches have merit, and I encourage including some measure of strengthening to peacock herl bodies. But the fact is that peacock herl is brittle and often a fly only lasts a few battles with trout before coming apart. I’ve learned to accept the fact that a well-tied Coachman catches fish, but not many before being destroyed.
It is interesting to me that the Royal Coachman achieves so much more notoriety than the simple Coachman. My experience argues for the later as a greater pattern, but for the reader, consider either pattern to have the fish-taking properties of a top fly.
My Coachman is like most of my patterns: tied sparsely with an emphasis on a full body and minimalist wing. Para- tied Coachman are both difficult to tie, and don’t seem to outfish the standard dry fly style. The fly is prone to sink; peacock herl itself absorbs water and, if counter wrapped with wire, the fly is simply less buoyant. Tying the Coachman as a parachute pattern means the fly is even more subject to soaking. The standard dry, still challenging to keep from going wet, does float a bit better and if the pattern is enhanced by its tendency to ride low in the water: this is a fly that does not ride on its hackle tips for too long! Of course, this will also make the fly effective as a swinging wet pattern, if you are so inclined, and I’ve taken many trout by permitting the long drift to sink the fly and swing through a fishy looking tailout. It’s a bit of a lazy thing to do; but I can relax my standards on occasion.
The Naches River in Eastern Washington is another regular destination for me. I find it fishes best in late summer through October. Unlike the Yakima, the Naches is not a tailwater; it flows free from the eastern slopes of the Cascades, the Pacific coastal mountains, and its headwaters along Mount Rainier. The Naches contain Westslope Cutthroat, a favorite of mine, and some Rainbows, mostly from hatchery stocks, although native reproduction occurs both from surviving hatchery stocks and steelhead offspring becoming resident. Significant progress has been made in restoring these important steelhead runs in recent years. There’s a concentrated fishery for stocked fish in the beginning of the season; sometime late June, and fishing the rivers hatches early is not possible because of closure. The river also runs wild, and while drifting can provide great access, a knowledgeable guide is a good idea.
Beginning in July, wading the fast waters of the Naches becomes possible, but August and later is best. The lower river has a five mile stretch covered by selective fishing regulations although any part of the river is remarkably uncrowded in late summer, partly because of its proximity to the Yakima; it isn’t near the fishery as the Yakima. Fish average smaller, eight to twelve inch trout being the norm, but the river contains many fish in the eighteen, even twenty inch range.
On a particularly warm, late August day, I was fishing a favorite stretch and one pool, even in low water conditions, ran deep and against a basalt rock wall where fish were feeding on a variety of insects; some late hatching caddis, the occasional terrestrial and the sporadic hatch of BWO’s. Most of the fish were small, and I was moving upstream towards holding water that might produce a bit more quality. At the head of that pool, the water flowed past a large boulder, creating a back eddy. For all dry fly fisherman, the reverse currents of a big back eddy are quite the challenge, and I intended to pass up on the location when a splashy rise caught my attention. I moved up and took a comfortable seat on the bank of free stones, downstream and on the opposite bank of the eddy, piled high from centuries of runoff: time to observe.
The fish showed itself again; sixteen inches or more, I determined. It was an interesting test. The fish had to be positioned in the eddy itself, probably along the edge of the current as it moved away from the fast, deep channel and began its rotation towards the back of the large obstruction. I saw a number of flies, mostly small BWO’s and some occasional caddis, but it was still too early in the day to see many returning females, so I ruled out attempts with either of those two flies. The Adams had worked for me earlier in the day; probably keying strikes from a fish memory of an evening or morning hatch over the last few days; I had seen no evidence of mayflies except for the small Baetis. There were hoppers jumping about when I approached the river. The eddy might trap a few of those if the wind, often a constant on the Naches, was up, but it was a rare calm day. Still, the trout, by now I suspected at least two of equal size, continued to make charging assaults on something with regularity. I failed to see what could be attracting their attention.
The fish presented an interesting challenge. Their rise came from the middle of the eddy; that is the first I could see them, and thus my speculation that they were head up in the back-most current of the eddy; pointing directly, at 90 degrees, to the main channel, and when feeding, would dash through the eddy to the edge of the fast chute of the channel taking insects just as the slow current met the fast. My presentation challenge was difficult; to say the least. If I approached close enough to keep a high rod tip, most of my line off the water, a routine approach to achieve a free drift in a back eddy, I would be approaching the fish head on, and would likely be seen. While I pondered my approach, I began to notice that some ants were moving about the bushes near the stream, as well as the occasional beetle. There was a constant buzzing of flies and bees as well, on this warm and still day. I decided that these two trout were finding a mixed variety of insects, and selectivity would take a back seat to an offering that met the requirement of such jaunty swimming! I considered and rejected the Renegade: the water was so clear that a wing form would probably be a better trigger. A trude-winged Coachman.
Now my challenge began to come into focus. I had to approach from the high bank but well below the position of the trout, still making regular rises. My cast would have to drop the fly at the top of the back eddy; only inches from the fast running current. If the cast didn’t land precisely, it would require me to rip it from the water and across the current between me and the back eddy if I was to not spook these trout. It would require an aerial mend wiggle cast: a hard forward stop and quick back-and-forth shooting of a few feet leaving enough line laying across the fast current with enough slack as to let my fly drift very slowly along the current line where the reverse current met fast water. If the “wiggle” closest to the fly was straightened out too quickly; the fly would rip from its drift and dive into the current. I had an opportunity for only a few inches of clean drift, but that, I knew, would be enough.
Let me use this particular example to expound on my theory of trout vision and the way it contributes to being able to succeed in the face of this challenge. The trout were probably resting in four feet of water, possibly less, and well hidden by the faster water racing along their right sides. But this protected position also was their vulnerability. Their vision window from that position was broken by a choppy surface both forward and to their right, downstream; thus I could stand on a high bank without being seen. Their vision window did, however, afford them excellent vision of the relatively calm surface of the back eddy. Given a window radius of approximately three and a half feet, with a back eddy that extended, from their position, to the left of their location about six feet. They could clearly see the bottom portion of the surface of the eddy. My target was about half way down from the top of the eddy, where the two opposite currents merged. Only inches from the edge of the trouts window. The window-to-take opportunity was less than a foot; and that was the drift I would need.
My theory of trout vision becomes actionable. These two fine fish were triggered by any disturbance just above the left edge of their window, in the mirrored surface of the top of the eddy, nearer to the large boulder. Any disturbance. The calm but mirrored surface would instantly indicate something was in the water. These trout were particularly vulnerable because they were required to move at the first sign of disturbance; there simply wasn’t any time to examine the insect as it entered their visual window; they needed clear vision of the quarry to power their way through the water and capture the insect before it was caught up in the fast current. Let’s further dissect the situation by example. Imagine an ant or beetle, crashing into the stream above the pool, as it floats helplessly down the current: in the fast current. It rides a path that takes it close enough to the reverse current to be deposited, momentarily, in the eddy itself, but for only a moment. This is a great example of trout locating a holding position not directly in the line of food being deposited, as Marinaro observed on the Letort. The position also provides for a level of abundance: the fast channel would move floating objects either towards the center apex of the flow dropping into the pool; or pushing items over the edge and concentrating them, for only a moment, on the edge of the flow, intersecting the eddy, but not enough for the item to be pushed into the backflow of the eddy. These fish were made available to me because of the effectiveness of their position for feeding, and my diagnosis of both their opportunity, and their vulnerability. Looking right, or downstream, their window was broken with choppy surface. Had the surface been smooth, I would have been seen as soon as I approached my casting position. They had to hold in the edge of the backflow at the bottom of the eddy; there was simply no other position affording them a view of the deposits from the fast channel and still permit them time to rise. Lying in the eddy proper would have given them a quick look at the insects: as they raced away into the current. For the fish, it was a clever solution, and their size certainly suggested it was prime holding water! I knew, that a properly presented attractor, likely imitating some terrestrial bug, would be examined for a fraction of a second, window-to-take time measured in milliseconds, and should my drift hold for only six or seven inches, the fish would be on!
All came together as I planned. A few stray casts required me to clumsily rip the line and fly from the surface, but between those attempts, one of the fish rose again, again I saw nothing on the surface, but had to surmise that it was of any number of insects being made available, and, more importantly, my off target casting and correction was not putting the fish down. Finally, a cast that performed; but the drift held for only a tiny moment, and a subsurface flash told me that the trout was inspired; but not easily fooled. A few more bad attempts on my part, and finally the Coachman landed, hesitated and moved, exactly with the current, the half foot required. A dramatic take, and the hook point found the mark. The good sized cutthroat dashed for the heavy flow, doubled up my 4 weight, and I moved cautiously into and down stream to bring him to hand. Admiring him briefly, I headed back to the high bank: could it be done again?
Most often, two fish in a good holding position means that only one will be taken, without a lengthy rest. But this situation provided me a rare double from the same position, the same presentation. Now practiced, my fly presented perfectly on the very next cast, and back-to-back fish were brought to hand. It had been a confirming experience. My years of angling brings such confidence in solving these problems; none of them less engaging than the previous! I recall the day with clarity, in part because of the beauty of the day, but most importantly because of the problem/solution experience: the amazing rise and aggressive take of two remarkable trout, and the satisfaction of effective casting, line control and managing the bad casts as well as the good casts. I remember as well the pleasure of fishing a pattern with such an amazing history, in a place so far from its birth, so many years past its glory days. While I fished another couple of hours upstream, as planned, I couldn’t keep from replaying the experience in my mind, over and over. Something about that moment and a five year old with a cane pole.