It was Veterans Day. I was off from school and excited to fish, but at the same time, managing my expectations. I had been chasing a surface grab through the early fall and had grown tired of the crowds of anglers accompanying the salmon run. I was either fishing spots that weren’t right for swinging flies or getting low-holed everywhere I chose to fish. I was confident at this point that there were plenty of steelhead in the river, and if I could just get a decent run to myself in the morning, I would have a chance. When I arrived at the parking lot, there were cars, as expected, but not too many so I taped up my cane rod and headed upstream with a specific location in mind to fish. I walked by water that I had never seen anyone fish and slowed down. “This looks fishy,” I said to myself. I didn’t want to waste time and continued to hurry to my destination, only to look up and see rods flailing back and forth in the distance. “There is no point in walking up there; I should drive to plan B,” I thought. As I walked back, looking at this piece of fishy water, I figured I was already here; I might as well try this. It was fast and pushy. I was wading the deep cut on the bank with overhanging branches, and my feet were slipping with the current. I looked around as it started to mist. I had my wading jacket on for the first time this season. It was cold and damp, and I smiled.
It was finally steelhead season. I reached for my muddler and then stopped. I wanted to feel a grab today rather than chase unicorns with a surface grab.
A Tricolor Dee fly just looked right. It was wiggly looking and had a hotspot of blue in the middle of the body. They like blue egg sacs, so why not? I said. More importantly, I tied it on a hook within my weight range for these flows for a dry line.
Due to overhanging branches on the bank, I started lengthening casts to the opposite side and was forced to make steep, sharp, angled casts downstream. I noted one boulder slick a few yards downstream and wondered what angle to cast to get a slow swing in front of and behind the boulder. A sharp yank chirped my reel, and I stopped as I got to within a few more casts to fish the boulder. Was that a fish, or was it the boulder, and I got hung up? I mean, it definitely felt like a fish. Maybe it was a bunch of leaves drifting downstream. It had energy, though; I think it was a fish. I make the same cast, and this time, nothing. So it wasn’t the rock; it was a fish.
I look around, smile, and grab my flask; it feels like one of those days. I continued down the run and noticed another cluster of boulders similar to the ones I had previously fished. I cast at the same angle, and the dee hovers over the tops of the boulders, slowly wiggling its way to the hang-down. I expect it to happen at any time, and then it happens. A deep pull explodes downstream, and then the fish jumps, its chrome and head shaking as it hits the water.
I’m chasing it downstream to the water to stand and land a fish comfortably. Another jump, and my line goes slack. The fish is off, but man, what a grab. Now my day has been made. I check my phone to see where my friend James is and think about where else to fish. After a few sips of my flask, I walk back to the lot. We drove around and returned to the same place because we couldn’t find any other water without anglers. James started the run first this time, and I did what I usually do while waiting. I lit my cigar, took more swigs from my flask, and dunked my fly in the water to have a look. I immediately noticed how it hovered. The flat, dee-set wings allowed it to glide slowly back and forth as I moved my tippet with the current.
I sat back down and started to think about the fish I had hooked and where it was. I also began to visualize what the fly might have been doing. It was the first time I was not just fishing swing water and stepping down a run; I had explicitly fished a piece of structure with a cast directed towards it and cared little about the rest of the water to the hang down. Perhaps that Dee-style wing allowed my fly to get into spots my heavier irons don’t get to without hanging up. I pictured the fly like a hang glider, tantalizingly swimming over the tops of boulders and sneaking in behind them where other forms of fishing couldn’t really do so.
I looked around again, upstream at the broad, wide tail out—skinny water with pockets and boulders. I walked up and started in the bailout before it got shallow. If I were to swing this, it would make no sense. However, if I make a presentation in front of each boulder and move on, maybe more fish will be hiding in this water. I began to pick the boulder field apart with long casts downstream and sharp angles. I tried hovering the fly and dancing it slowly into holding water. The swings were only 5-6 feet long, and then I would cast again or wade into a different spot for a different holding lie. After one swing in front of a boulder, I could have sworn I saw a flash near my line. I was probably 70′ upstream looking down, but something seemed different about that swing. I stripped off a few more pulls of line and made another cast. I wondered if I would get snagged on the boulder when I realized I had cast too far. I watched the leader as it crossed about the top of the rock and got ready for the slow tightening that only came from a snag. The line tightens, pulls a few clicks off the reel, and stops. To my surprise, it pulls again, and there’s a splash. The fish starts to run and then comes off in the shallow water.
It was then that I put all the pieces of the puzzle together. I was properly fishing, holding water with a fly that allowed me to do so. This was untouched water that probably provided refuge from all the fishing pressure. If you looked at it, you wouldn’t even think to bother with any other methods, but short, concise swings worked really well.
After I hooked that fish, it began to rain. It rained for a full two days, and the water came up. I was disappointed after I felt I had a breakthrough fishing and wouldn’t get a chance to experiment anymore. My wife suggested that I go fishing Sunday morning, so I jumped at the chance. Due to the higher water, I couldn’t return to the same spot, so I was extremely limited in where I could fish. I chose a place where I could confidently wade in higher flow. When I got there, I was pleasantly surprised by how fishable the water was. I headed toward the tail out and fished through it into the transition water. I looked at it and spotted the same structure in its shallow riffles. I started to pick apart the water in the same manner that I did a few days prior. Sharp casts angled downstream, aiming to stealthily slide my dee fly in front of any unsuspecting fish. I had two more grabs that day and was elated. My tricolor dee was retired when I got home. Five dryline grabs in two outings was fantastic fishing for me; I decided to try a new pattern.
Tricolor Dee – Materials
Hook- Daiichi 2271 size 1
Tip/tag- small flat tinsel
Tail- GP red breast feather
Ribbing- Large flat, oval tinsel
Hackle- legal heron (grey) or blue-eared pheasant
Body- In three segments, yellow, blue, and red dubbing
Throat- Widgeon
Wing- Cinnamon turkey
Start the thread just at the point of the hook and make a few wraps rearward. Tie in the small, flat tinsel on the far side of the hook and make touching turns down to the hook barb and back. Tie off the tinsel, keeping it on the side of the hook shank.
Prepare the GP breast feather by cutting out the center tip. Tie in the feather with one wrap of waxed silk. Pull the stem of the feather until the tail is the desired length, pinching the fibers so that they remain on top of the shank.
Wrap forward to secure the tail and trim it at an angle. Make touching wraps to cover the butt ends of the tail and then wrap back to the tail tie-in. On the far side of the shank, tie in the flat and then oval tinsel.
Make touching wraps to lay a base of white silk but the shank toward the eye. Stop at the spot where you want the body to end, in this case, just after the return of the hook eye. Wrap back to the tail and dub 1/3 of the body section yellow.
At this point, you will prep the hackle by stroking back the barbules to expose the very center stem. This will be tied in on the hook’s far side, with the feather’s good side facing you.
Dub the rest of the body in blue and then red until you reach the end of the white threadbase. Half hitch the thread and cut.
Switch to black thread and begin wrapping the flat tinsel. With five turns, it is important to space them so that there is a turn just in front of the heron’s hackle. Tie the flat tinsel off underneath the shank and then repeat with the oval following against the flat.
At this point, you will wind the hackle against the oval tinsel, keeping the stem snug against it for protection. These hackle stems are extremely delicate. As I began to wrap forward, the stem broke on me. If this happens, no worries. Take the remaining feather and tie it as a collar rather than palmered forward with the tinsel. I actually prefer fishing it this way. It keeps the hackles sparse, in my opinion, and swims better.
I’ve made two turns of hackle and tied off.
When holding the feather facing you, prepare the widgeon by removing the left side barbules. Tie in on the far side with the barbules pointing down. Make two wraps to tie off.
At this point, we have created a small step from the widgeon hackle stem. We need to reduce the bump in relation to the hook shank to set the wings at the correct angle. We also need to reverse the thread direction to set the far wing. To be efficient, make a wrap of thread around your finger like you are creating a dubbing loop. When you wrap toward the hook shank, you typically wrap it over and around. Instead, take the thread from around your finger and go UNDER the shank and up towards you. Now, you have reversed the thread, hold the loop, and wrap back to the wing tie-in point next to the throat stem. Trim the excess loop.
Cut two slips of about 6-10 barbules of turkey for the wing. The slip from the left side of the feather will be for the far wing. Measure the far slip to be around the length of the tail or just beyond the bend of the hook. Make a soft wrap around while gently holding the slip near the center line of the hook. Tension the wrap by pulling it directly away from you. The key to the wingset is to compress the fibers laterally across the top of the hook rather than down on top of it. Make a few more wraps to secure and take a look. The feather should be on the far side of the top of the hook and the midline.
The thread must be reversed to normal to set the near wing. Create the same dubbing loop by wrapping over your finger and then back up OVER the top of the shank. Make a few wraps back to the far wing tie-in so you are lined up with the throat stem again. Take the near wing slip and measure it up to the far slip for length. Hold the slip carefully next to the far slip at the tie-in point. Be careful not to push the slip into the hook and let the fibers roll around the bottom. Make a soft loop and slowly pull toward you, allowing the fibers to compress against the far wing. If the slip starts to ride on top of the far wing, use your thumbnail to redirect those fibers back to the midline of the hook. If all has gone well, you should have two wing slips splitting the middle of the hook. Take a few wraps to secure, and trim the wing butts. You can then make a few wraps to cover the butts, half hitch, and finish with head cement.
A few thoughts on how I like fishing this pattern, or any tied with flat dee wings. I call these long creepy crawly patterns intended to be fished fine and far off style. I picture this pattern like a hang glider coasting across the current. I’ve had the most success casting almost straight downstream to swing as slowly as possible. This usually requires a long cast and positioning myself well above my target. I like to fish this when a fish has to look up; it presents a profile from above rather than from the side. Probing holding lies in shallow water is great when a muddler just isn’t getting the job done.