This is the most recent addition to the flies I love and use often. It came as a bit of a surprise to me, actually. I was, as always, exploring some patterns that might fill a gap I had discovered. Heavy caddis hatches are expected on many of my favorite streams, and the return of females to deposit eggs is what I rely on to put the trout on top and make them vulnerable to my presentations. But the adults don’t always play along with my planning. Also observed, that emergers, sometimes cripples, attracted the attention of trout even when adults were available. My theory on mayfly cripples is that trout recognize the struggling of a cripple, and know that a stillborn or struggling mayfly is less likely to leap into space at the last second and foil a dinner plan. And of course, the emergence of the adult caddis fly presents a particular problem.
A simple, sparsely tied Opal X Caddis
As I study the caddis fly, it’s complete metamorphosis presents some problems for the dry-fly fanatic; and the trout. Firstly, many of the species prefer a rather casual approach to moving from larvae to adult. The pupae, seemingly vulnerable to the unwanted attention of the trout, mostly emerges from the aquatic environment to air and winged life the tedious way; crawling from water to dry land (rocks and branches semi-emerged) before competing final metamorphosis to adulthood. Like the stone or salmon fly, the “hatch” is not really a hatch at all. The hatch is the return (“fall”) of the adult after completion of mating as an adult.
It is true that some caddis flies exhibit a behavior loved by trout and fly fisherman alike: they explode from the bottom after pupating, with a buildup of air to aid in their launch, and crash through the surface film in full flight to safety. Presents little opportunity for the trout, but I’ve observed some remarkable feats of fish space launch, from watery launching pads, by trout determined to intercept the explosive takeoff of hatching caddis. This is a true hatch, like a mayfly emerging from the confines of the river's surface film into the air by stepping, oh so gently, into our world. But the caddis is not a delicate creature when leaving it’s watery world.
My question was a simple one. Why do trout seem to make splashy rises on insects that they have little chance to intercept? My observations have always confirmed the conservative nature of the trout; they rarely expend energy without expectation of reward. Watch even large trout, that should know better, fling themselves skyward for fluttering adult stoneflies, crane flies and October caddis and you recognize that there’s a risk reward calculation that tips the balance and triggers an aerial assault with limited chance for success; but for a size 14 sedge?
I had certainly understood the value of fishing “cripples” during a hatch; unfortunate emergers stuck in the surface film and doomed. Trout know this too, and my general interest in emerging flies is a result of realizing the increased ratio of reward-to-risk in any hatch. Insects struggling to free themselves of the surface film trap and/or pupal/nymphal husk raises the reward ratio. But what was the equivalent to the caddis emerger? What pattern captured that event?
I tried a few ideas on my own, including sparsely dressed tent winged caddis imitations trailing antron fibers to visually convince the fish of the dire situation the caddis found itself facing. To little success. I had tried Renegades, and even took some solace in soaking small Muddler Minnows and standard Adams. My answer came in a brief article, too long forgotten to cite, about a fly that is effective. The Opal X Caddis, hereafter referred to as simply the Opal X.
Dennis Potter is a fly designer in the mid-west. His pattern was built on the X-Caddis originated by western angler Craig Mathews, an emerging caddis dry fly with some merit; but Dennis added a feature that, in my mind, distinguishes the fly: the use of Opal tinsel, with its holographic coloring, is one of the few flies that give a nod to the value of new materials. The pattern with any other tinsel body can still produce results, but the Opal tinsel adds a dimension to this fly that takes it to a whole new level. The coloring suggests, in the correct light, the life blood, red of a newly emerged adult that will not survive, but is firmly stuck in the surface film and whose only fatal contribution is food for the predator. The selection of the tinsel for this fly is distinguishing, and warrants the greatest appreciation. Potter goes so far as to recommend the tinsel as a primary body material for many patterns, including the Elk Hair Caddis.
One of my favorite western trout streams is high-mountain, turbulent and crystal clear. In early fall, the hatches can be heavy and trout become focused on the surface. How could one ask for more! There’s almost always some surface activity and frequent hookups are the norm. As any angler would do, I begin to examine those rises that suggest a better sized fish, a bit more of a challenge, but, still.
A large, flat, mostly smooth boulder sat deeply submerged and on the far side of a deep, quickly moving stretch of tailout. The pool narrowed and thrust it’s full volume into a concentrated chute before cascading into the next run. The middle of the run offered a number of fish, looking up and willing to take a fly, there was first a shadow, then a flash, a fish working just below the large boulder. He seemed a more interesting specimen, perhaps larger than the 14-15 inch fish active in the rest of the pool. The position of the fish kept him well protected. He was stationed alongside the boulder. He could wait for offerings to be swept around the side of the boulder, and deposited to his waiting jaws a foot or so below the protection of the boulder. A very prized holding spot; no doubt.
The first thing I realized was the presentation challenge. It would require a 55+ foot cast, across a mid-stream current with variable speeds. No time, and too much line, to make an effective mend after an accurate cast; the mend would need to be aerial. The drift of the landed fly would take a sharp turn in the diverted current around the boulder, advance a foot or two, without drag if I hoped for any success, and hang for a moment or two in the slack water, where the fish would have watched and drifted backwards examining it before taking it. In the instant of the near perfect presentation, the fish would need to be not only fooled, but have the drag free presentation remain available; a fraction of a second longer and the fly would be ripped from its position and exposed as a fraud.
As I ponder all of this, I had another dilemma. There were a variety of hatching insects that afternoon, but I was most alerted to the light, tan caddis fluttering about. Their availability to the trout was limited as only a few were back to lay eggs, but the hatch had been heavy and there were clouds of the bugs in the air above the stream. Other insects seemed to be attracting more interest by other fish, small callibaetis and even some midges, but this big boy wasn’t charging through heavy current for a snack.
My experience with the Opal X was limited. I had first “discovered” the fly the previous year and had been impressed with the willingness of fish to respond to it in the case of certain caddis hatches. I had taken a nice fish earlier in the day on the Opal X, before the clouds of tan sedges had appeared. Perhaps a small tan EHC would turn the trick, but few adults had approached the water. The Opal X, size 14, seemed logical. I switched to a 6X fluorocarbon tippet for my nine foot 5X tapered leader, adding another three feet to the leader that was already approaching twelve feet with a 5X mono tippet. I knew I needed a near perfect cast, aerial mend of four to five feet, no time for a “fix” once the line was on the water, and then hope for the best.
I made an initial cast some four feet shy of the correct landing spot; intentionally. I wanted to see the effect on the drift from the large boulder pushing a heaving current back into the main channel of the tailout. I had read the water well, the cast would do what I wanted it to do.
Fifty-five feet. Precisely timed up-stream aerial mend of four feet, adding yards of fly line body to the main current, quickly swinging downstream and threatening the free drag of the fly. The fly. The Opal X Caddis. An imitation of a stillborn adult caddis. Helpless. Swinging past the boulder. Spotted by a fine example of a wild Westslope Cutthroat of eighteen inches, adjusting its fins to allow the current to carry him back as the fly moved overhead. Examining the fraud, but believing that it was opportunity. In the clear water, the final rush to inhale the imitation. The upper jaw emerged from the slick and inhaled the fly: the rod bent.
I have never “improved” on the Opal X Caddis. It isn’t in need of that. Put it in your box. Turn to it. It is a killer pattern. (Note, I’ve had comments on how sparsely I tie the Opal X. That’s true, but a light wire hook, the Polly tail and a few strands of deer hair for head and wings float this pattern quite well.)