Last Weekend

The first nights arrival was very late at night and to crystal clear skies. The skyline presence brought comfort as well as solice. An escape from light pollution and the sprawl of suburbia was complete and sitting in awe of all around bliss at 8,900-ish feet was breathtaking.
The morning came briskly with equal ability to take ones breath. Countered with coffee following just behind the frigid air. The river swept past the camp with deafening silence presenting countless opportunities within plain sight. The browns forces were out in numbers, yet their size seemed to shrink over the week. Lots of smaller fish were brought to Brodin, hand and before Cannon. Some other big fish stopped in to make an appearance as well but did so with far less frequency.Day two brought wind and even cooler weather. Less time on the water and again less fish. It too some time for the temperatures to allow even the slightest movement. Locked into the warmth and security of a warm sleeping bag kept time moving slowly. The days adventure ended early but the hospitality offered lingered on. It was both unforgettable and uncalled for, spoiled by friends. Venison chops, venison pasta, coffee, bagels, bananas, and a warm spot to enjoy them on. The sun set and the last night began. Layed down with a book surrounded with the sounds of rain and thunder pattering and smashing against the shell of the truck on night number 3. The thermometer read 38 degrees. Time passed slowly with each flash of lightning and lingering roll of thunder. The pages continued to turn and the temperature proceeded to drop. Within the hour the thermometer read 26 degrees, time to bundle up. A reading of 22 degrees and the rain transitioned to ice and then followed by snow. Eyes drifting, pages closing, sleep commencing. The ice and snow mixture over night along with a 16 degree temperature fluctuation in the downward fashion formed a familiar New England styled layer of ice over everything making it impossible to go outside until the sun decided that it was time to start the day and that the ice may melt. Up early and nearing time to head home; the weather had great success in pushing everyone on down the road and closer to home. The gear was packed, salutations exchanged, and it was time for departure. Yoda was going home, done camping for the year.
Snow is a sign of new life, a new season, of old friends and particular habits. It felt as though the road was coming up through the rear view, as though looking back for something to come into the future ahead...

Dagobah 2009

I headed back to the Dagobah System to see Yoda, BJ, Izzy and Durf and slay some browns while I was there. It had been since Pioneer Day that I saw him last. (Pioneer Day is a Mormon Holiday (yippie)) As well as a full year since I met him in the Dagobah System. Once again I hit the water at just the right time when it was starting to turn off, or on depending on your perspective. I just wish I could spend the full month there watching it gain momentum, flourish, flower and then die off. Yet, I gotta pay the bills and I like my job so Sunday night brought me back home and Monday morning back to work. It was cold as hell the first night, down to 22 degrees, that's what you get in October at 9,000'. I was well prepared for the cold but cold is still cold. With the days short and being stuck down in a canyon the sun rises at about 8:00-8:30 and sets around 6:45-7:00ish. So, by the time it warms enough to move and get out on the water I had to first de-ice my boots every day.
I ventured out each day and then within a few hours back to camp to eat food, change, and get ready for the cold. As Izzy said, "do you guys want to stand out here in the cold or should we go inside and b.s." we went inside. It's really cool to listen to the stories of these two "old men". The camaraderie between them is encouraging and the bond between good people is inspiring. It really helps to have things put into perspective by people who have lived a lot of life in a short time. Being in your 60s is still young and I plan to fish this spot with these two gentleman for many many years to come. Yet, even with my elder friends hanging around, it still gets lonely and leaves A LOT of time to be by yourself to think. I usually enjoy my activities because my brain is able to shut off and focus on nothing other than the activity at hand. I found myself thinking of somewhere else quite often. As the blog is titled there really is "no place like somewhere else."
The fishing was awesome, spanning browns from 747s to 23+"ers in ankle deep water, so bitchin' like a Camero, or even a Fiero. It's never a bad thing loosing count of your fish in the 40s or 60s after a few hours each day. A fair estimate would be about 210 fish in three days and an average size of 15"s. When looking back on the pictures from last year then this year's I swear I caught some of the same exact fish in the same exact spot, no lie. It only seemed to get better as the day warmed and then would settle out as the sun set behind the canyon walls. My energy level coincided with the temperature, and even though it was only 9:30 or 10:00 I found myself in my sleeping bag, all cozied up with a beer and a book. I had a good b-day gift book to read about the man (not the man man, or the white man, but THE man... J.C.) which kept me entertained until I either put it down or woke up next to it amongst the frost forming around me.
Next weekend promises to be a little better. The stream should be even more prime and the water even more full of my fish friends. Hopefully they'll all be ready to taste the cold sting of a sharp, freshly tied Raggedy Andy...

Move the Furniture

It has been a life long dream to jump out of a plane... you know to go skydiving. Wanted to go a while back when in Moab but I was instructed to go to sea level and gain the extra 4,000' or so of free fall. I had a trip to California planned and asked my friend if she was interested in jumping. I was really stoked when she said yes.
We headed to Byron, Ca. (www.bayareaskydiving.com)

We were running behind in the morning and my hangover was not helping me out what so ever. The WRX did some proper tearing of the Cali roadways to get us there on time. We were slated to jump from 11,000' but this day they were jumping from 13,000' so a little higher bonus. I was excited from the second Hailey said yes and I never got nervous until we walked into the hanger and then it all kinda changed; the hands trembled, the throat dry, giggles started too. We had some time to kill before the jump so I pounded water to counter the pounding in my head... I'm never drinking again! :-) As we waited the nerves settled and excitement grew to phenomenal levels. We suited up in the one-sies and strapped into our harnesses, received our instructions of what to do and what to expect. We headed out to the plane and loaded up, took off and smiles were seen by everyone. Even the instructors and camera guys smile and giggle, you can tell it never gets old. They were super welcoming and fun, it was easy to see they were a tight knit group which helps to ensure confidence in the rookies. When we got to the jump altitude everyone started high five-ing, pounding fists, wiggle fingers, Borat quotes and the like. The door opened and the single jumpers exited the plane. We slid to the door, stood up and I looked down... I thought "wow... 13,000' is high." (duh) Within a few seconds out went the camera guy, we leaned forward and out the door we went. We did a slight flip and looked back up to the plane above, and we corrected to a face down position. I fixated my vision on a spot on the ground for a few seconds, laughing hysterically.
He tapped my arms and I opened up. We then started spinning flat a few times, so fun! It wasn't a falling feeling as I had expected, your just kinda floating with the earth racing towards you and the wind in your ears. Laughing, screams of joy, etc.
My goggles got blown into my face a bit and the camera guy attempted to fix them.
So blown away at how loud it was. Within 60 seconds the chute opened and I thought, that sucks, too soon. I got to pull the reigns on the chute and do some loops which was really fun with the G-forces and all. We landed smoothly on the ground and I looked at him and said "let's go again." (I couldn't afford to at the moment though) I know I have found a new sport for sure! Between everything else I do in life I have a new hobby, next years plan is to get certified and start getting my adrenaline on as that is the best drug on the planet and I am happily addicted to it! This may sound like complete b.s. but the feeling is the same as dropping a good cliff on a snowboard, racing a motorcycle around, setting the hook on a trout; like a first kiss. It's really a moment, a clip of time, a short burst of tremendous bliss and emotion when all feels right, confused, and millions of butterflies in your stomach.. It's something, a feeling you chase after. I was bouncing around afterwards and still feel above cloud 9.

Good day, little fish

It was a good day on the river, just little fish though. Yes, some were small in size but the total number of fish landed was small. Everyone had their lines tightened at some point but overall the fish were not cooperating. I don't know if was the nearly full moon, the incoming storm and the fall of the barometer, the recent cold snap and snow or what. So much of me thought that these aspects would actually have the fish moving and stacking up to spawn. However the beds were made but no fish were there sleeping in them. The day long hatch may not have helped out either. Also, first time out with Geoff. I really enjoy fishing with new people, especially people that are better than me, or people who are just good for that matter. I really enjoy watching people fish and trying to learn from them. After a while everyone develops their own style, method, and philosophy and its great to watch, listen and absorb all that is around you. I am now at the point where I ask less questions and observe more. So, I think I learned a thing or two and next time will learn a little more. Fishing is one of those things that you never think you have completely dialed in, you are always learning and adapting to new skills, the water and fish, the environment and of course we should never forget the blessings of Jah.

Hatch-a-roo

Never want to run into the cat that made this impression
tighten the linewait for it... wait for it!

Fall Side

With Fall officailly here and the land of Yoda fast approaching, the secrecy involved in that venture made this was the last weekend I had to fish with the Garside. It has been a fine summer teaching another to fish, and now that the legacy has been properly passed on to the next generation. I feel I am done teaching another person to fish. Sure, I'll take newbies out, but I do not wish to spend another summer season of fishin' teachin' in "Merica". I learned so much from teaching this summer. I feel it not only helped me to improve but also forced me to do so as well. It was a personal test and lesson so rich, rewarding, passionate and profound. I questioned myself, my tactics, my philosophies, my patience, my "prowdness", who I am, what I knew and thought I knew, etc. The experience was a menage of frustration and glory. You want people to progress so much at whatever they're doing and whether it happens quickly or over many years, you still want it to happen. My pupil was awesome and I think she only got grumpy a few times over the summer. Amanda's strength and passion took over most cases of frustration and it was usually solved quickly with a little tug on the end of the line and a fish to hand.
This trip took us around quite a bit. We searched out older rivers we had fished previously and a few new ones as well. We hit new stretches accessed by different routes, roads, trails, and turns. We figured out on the first stretch that we like the other end of the river more. The other end requires a lenghty hike in, and therefore sees less people and less stressed fish. On the second river we figured out the original spot was better than above where we fished the third day. Yet, you have to seek it out to find its bounty or lack there of in this case. Then on the way out we hit another spot for a few hours before we headed south to go home.
Truly my goal over the last few weeks has been my own education in streamer fishing. I have been starting out with dry-dropper, snagging a few fish then switching over to streamers for learning and practice purposes. I am very good at setting the hook now with streamers, however the rocks, stumps, and sticks don't really ever surface. They put up a fight like a Mako shark, but still I can never get the rockfish, stickfish, and stumpfish netted. So... there I was, I mean it was there that I lost a bunch of streamers and nymphs. There was a pool, a glorious pool of enchanting possibilities. It was a magical scene that invoked visions of sugarplums, large browns, and cutts.
I pounded the water for 45 minutes. The pool was deep, I tried a few streamer patterns, some wet flies, some dry-dropper combos and nothing nothing nothing. I thought to myself that this had to be the sticky icky goo-E money honey spot and continued to pound the water, anger ensuing as the trout did not take what I was serving up. Yet, I would not give up... pound pound pound... then.... tie on another fly and pound some more. Not until the gigantic salmon fly worked. I thought really? After everything I throw at you bastards you take a gigantic salmon fly off the top... WTF?
(sometimes fish are jerks :-)
Amanda hooked into some beautiful fish, a few good size cutts and browns. Her excitement of weight clamped onto the end of her fly sometimes gets her too excited and she manhandles the fish to her feet with the strength of a WWF wrestler stacking some dude on a table and hitting him with a garbage can. Then picking him up and throwing him back to the table. Ok, slight exageration, however she is not afraid to bring a fish to shore. She lost two very nice fish because of this and when I offered up the explanation she said "I KNOW!" and sat on the bank to re-tie. I think this was the only moment of poopie diaper and she never lost another fish that way again over the weekend. Another lesson learned.


So, fall is here. Heading to see Yoda over the next few weeks then a possible trip with B.G. in the making to chase big bigg biggg fish the end of October. Snow will soon follow and my rods will lay in rest for pow turns. But that is still a month and a half to two months away...
and did I mention the food? MMM, beer can Cornish Game hen to round out the weekend!

B.F.E., WY

Had secret black-ops information of a highly classified, highly sensitive nature. Also known as the code of "keep your mouth shut about this place and I'll tell you where it is." Headed North of Utah in search of some bigger river with some bigger cutthroats. The drive was long and arduous, the mileage rolling on the odometer and the worries of live getting farther father away. Once in the woods and back lands of the west life really stops for me and becomes focused on nature. However long the drive on the pavement and the seemingly mundane and endless dirt road it was however also extremely scenic. The leaves had already turned up there into the bright Claude Monet colors of fall. This time of year reminds me of New Hampshire on the 1/8 scale. The magnitude of New Hampshire leaf peeping and the amazing scenes laid out before every tourist driving I-93 throughout the state, stopping to snap photos which can cause major pile ups, and the jaw-dropping vistas of natures canvas spread across the landscape in ROYGBIV is one of the only things I miss about New England. Yet, here in the West it seems no one really seeks out this aspect and time of nature in its utmost brilliance. There are so few people in the back country these days and those that are there are looking to kill some game. So, as it stands we have that in the west but again 1/8 the scale and 1/8 the crowd. I walked around and took so many photos of natures cool off and prep for winter that I probably spent equal time between gazing off, hitting the shutter and actually fishing... Then I caught some fish. The river was big and wide, the fish educated, and the weather was mostly cooperative minus a few bits of hail and rain every night. All in all an equation for good times with no fractions or remainders, solid math like 2+4=6. Solid adventure. I really don't know what I am saying now, so if you followed that malaise congrats, because I didn't. Let's visualize nature & fish:

Four Distinct Moments

The weekend had four distinct moments. In no order were they termed or decided. They were not ranked or judged. They were just the four distinct moments of the weekend that we reflected upon on the way home. They could not be ranked, they could only be appreciated and remembered. Here they are in no particular order:

First up. As we awoke the first morning we made coffee a few times to charge the system as it was lacking the juice to move. We contemplated where to fish and discussed our anticipation of what each location could bring, the different water types through the different sections of river and the challenge each section would bring. We packed up camp and started driving to spot one. On the way Amanda stated that she did not want to be charged at by a moose. I offered my input as I always do and noted that I never want to be charged by any big mammals... ever! I also stated that there are three things I am afraid of in Utah. Moose, lightning, and rattle snakes. I am the least afraid of the rattlers. So looking into the dark gray North Western skies I thought we may be in store for some lightning. As we parked and geared up, my back to the bush I heard cracking of branches and without looking shouted moose. Down below, directly where we planned to start fishing came a moose. He looked at us non too happy and eventually after getting close enough to make us retreat into the truck took off down the other side of the river. We decided to go in the other direction. On the way home we ran into him again at the same spot, this time he had his special lady friend with him... ahh fall dating!

Next was the exit out of fishing. We fished up for quite a while and decided it would be best to wrap up and get out before it got too dark. We made our way out for a short distance until the choice had to be made; bushwhack or go back and try somewhere else. The decision was to push forward; wrong idea. We wound up walking through one of the gnarliest beaver ponds ever, it smelt horrible. So bad in fact that when we got out we hiked back down the road and into the water to wash the stank off. The area looked like R.O.U.S.'s would be popping out to get us at any moment. You know R.O.U.S.'S? Rodents Of Unusual Size. We had to literally walk on top of the trees and then they would break testing the durability of our skin and the strength of our bones. The best part of the story was when we emerged back onto the road we were maybe 40 feet from the parking area and an easy trail in & out... oh well, it's all an adventure!
Next up, the moonrise. Friday night's moonrise was one of the most beautiful celestial events I have ever seen. Pictures do all the talking and still don't give it justice. You did have to be there to understand this.
Finally, as always the true goal of every weekend from the end of winter till the tram starts turning at Snowbird during the first few snow storms. The Fishing!

My Weekend

Headed South of Evanston to a small little mountain stream in search of more Cutthroats.

With the extended weekend I had plenty of time to explore. I walked up a few of the tributaries flowing into the main stream and found some really tight technical holes to cast into and pulled some nice colorful but small Cutthroats out. More of a test of finite casting than anything else.

After finding the Cuttys I decided to moved on to another spot in search for some browns in a bigger river, in much depper holes and water. Unfortunatly I could only muster up a bunch of little ones, the bigger browns that I could see in the pools wanted nothing to do with me. After hitting this spot for a day I left again and traveled to another spot.
The 4WD and clearance of a stock Tacoma is awesome. Yet, after about 8 miles of rock crawling trying to get to this high mountain spot I was denied by very very large boulders and a downed Pine tree. Being forced to turn back down the 4-wheeler sized trail I crept down the trail in reverse because there was no room to turn around. It became a 3 hour adventure all for not, but you never know what will be at the end of the road if you never take the chance to drive down it.
Where will next weekend bring me?

Small fish, small flies

Hit a small stream with some small flies. Little Grumpies and Raggedy Andy's. I really love the small, intimate streams, the solitude they moslty provide because people always seem to chase the bigger fish in bigger water while I prefer to just catch fish. Always fun.

Apres Work, few hours to fish

Busted out of work and headed to the water as fast as possible. I knew my next few weekends were going to be fishless so I had to get a few before I headed out of town at the end of the week. Only got a few Browns in the short time I had. It was a scenario of pay your $15 dollars for the room, hit it, and move on to the next. I had a lot of fun in doing so, felt kinda dirty and learned a thing or two about a thing or two. Tried throwing streamers but it didn't quite work out for me... practice practice practice.

Football on Sunday?

Headed back to Football Creek with Amanda. My god, teaching someone is difficult, especially when they slay it so fast! Not to say she is killing it all over, but the learning curve is, well bending. The enthusiasm is really her biggest asset. I think the same went for me when I first started, you quickly figure out if this "sport" is for you or not. You find yourself either saying this sucks, it's fun for a few weekends a year, or you envision the remainder of your life in search of the beauties that live just beneath the surface. For me, this is an old man's game, being that I will be playing this game as an old man, and as Amanda stated she will be an old women slaying trout.
Amanda learned today why it is called Football Creek, she caught a football. It was funny. I was dabbing a streamer through a hole when she said "I'm on". I looked into the hole she was fishing and saw the monster rise, I exclaimed "HOLY SHIT" and yelled for her to lift her rod up high, reel it in and let it run. She knew whatever was on the other end was heavy but had no idea what she had clenched onto her fly until it got really close and rose next to her, I think her reaction was similar to mine; "holy shiz-nit". She fought the fish well, it made several runs up but never down, lucky her. We got it into the net and the look on her face was somewhere between shock, fear, joy, and happiness, a collage of emotion. We got her to pick it up and started taking pics, after a few we got in back into the net and had her take of few with me holding it so we could better see the beautiful monster football Cutthroat. It was then that I looked at her and she wasn't yet taking pictures, her hands were shaking so much it made me laugh. I "yelled" at her to take pics and she snapped a few before the shaking and adrenaline took over again. That was enough, we let the beautiful Cutt go back into the depths. I looked at her and said "Do you realize what you have just done? You may never catch a fish like that again, ever! That may be a once in a lifetime catch." Not bad for fishing a handful of times... ahh, the teacher so proud of the student!
Garside's cutthroat
(me holding Garside's fish)
Good times Garside

700k for Cutthroat Searching

700 miles of driving around Utah in search of Cutthroats. Well, I had to put my money where my mouth had been. The taste was not good; sour leading to bitter with a touch of irony in the background, and a long weak finish. I had been told about some new water to go explore and I set out to check on it. I wanted to target a specific species. I was in search of Cutthroats, and specifically Native Bonneville Cutthroats. So, I had to test the waters, the pavement, dirt, and soul. Getting there seemed as difficult as the first lunar landing probably was. The map was useless and I was heading into the utmost unknown. Usually the Utah DeLorme Atlas & Gazetteer is spot on, not so in this grid. It was pretty much useless and if times got rough it would have been the perfect fire starter. The landmarks I was told to look for were all in place but the map numbers, road numbers and names, and geography were all wrong. Making the trip extra difficult and the final location impossible to find. Well, not impossible cause I did find it. However, 10 years of being absent... my source proved to be the catalyst of change. The stream was down an easy 3 feet. The riverbed rocks long exposed to sunlight had burnt the mossy cling-ons that once flourished in the bottom of the stream on the rocks and they had turned a bright sun bleached white. There was no way 8-10" cuttys still lived here, and I was correct... they don't. I headed to the other stream just on the other side of the mountain range and again, water too small, bad map, lots of driving, etc. etc. New plan....

I packed up camp, got in the truck and headed out to yet another location, scene 3. Again, searching for more cutts. I pulled down a road where I had once fished years ago with B.G. I knew where the secret turn off after mile marker "xx" was, you know behind the OK Corral... but wait... a fence... a gate... a sign... private property? WTF? Denied again! STRIKE 3!
Feeling frustrated and seeing the sun was no longer going up or suspended for a moment in the sky, it was working its way west, and going down sooner than I'd like it to. I had to make a break for it to avoid another search by navigating the star chart at night, landmarks are difficult to see at night(if you didn't know). I arrived at the spot after dark no less, the area was crowded by hunters and 4-wheelers... perfect these fools don't fish.
So, it wasn't the desired spot. It wasn't the second days spot either. Nor was is by chance spot 3, no I was in the bonus round now, and spot 4 was going to deliver!
No disappointment the fourth time around... fours a charm? I did finally encounter the Cutthroats I was in search of. The lesson to be had was simple... when in search of specific things you may not always find them or find what you are looking for. Amazingly, this is the first time I have ever searched out a water to be denied on its bounty... times three. Yet, the drive to find the cutthroats didn't end, I persevered and after 700 miles from Friday to Sunday I may call the adventure just that, an adventure...
Where to next? More, bigger, fatter cutts next weekend? Who knows? I do know I will not be returning to spot 1,2,3 anytime soon. Time to bust out the maps and start the search again, for when the search stops so does the adventure and expansion of skills, heart, love, knowledge, solitude, and life... shit, what else... trout hunting.

A Journey North of Salt Lake City

Mark came in for his annual visit to Utah and the Western States to slay trout. I sadly missed his trip last year and would not make the same mistake again this year.

I fortunately got the time of from work and hit the road with:

Grizz
Chilli
B.G.
Mark
me (photo by Mark)

We headed North of Salt Lake City in search of monster trout in the remoteness of a grand mountainous forest.

All stacked up, like being on the Provo.
Still not sure if this net was truly big enough.

Once there it took no time to realize I was slightly over my head. The three in the group are all excellent sticks, and I found myself intimidated by them, their skill and prowess. Nothing they did intentionally intimidated me, it is just the difference between fishing their whole lives and me just a few years into a lifelong game... I was the top seeded amateur amongst the pros. :)

Mark navigating the holding monsters.

I know I am solid in my method of fishing, but my method did not meet the standard necessary to hook and land these behemoths. I did catch some nice cutthroats off the Raggedy Andy and some dry flies, and any other day in which you catch an 18" cutty is good, wait no... it's great. Yet, on this trip they did not measure up. The satisfaction sought by all was much bigger than a few little cutties.

Wild berries for natural energy boost.

I have never truly fished in the way we did, nor have I ever made a journey just to target a specific species. I now know that has changed. I really enjoyed the challenge of targeting just one species and the absurd lack of satisfaction in catching fish that you were not actually after. Usually any fish caught is a good thing, just not this go round.

Native window art.

The other aspect of true satisfaction, and possibly a test in my theory of fishing and adventure was the self realization that I needed to improve a very big portion of my game. There are aspects and styles that I want to improve and this trip shed a bright light on those aspects.

The test in theory was that of not catching fish but still being happy where you're at. I was exceptionally satisfied with the location, geology, forest, water, landscape, remoteness, friends, fish, and the time spent in the car driving.

I can honestly say this was a trip where I did not land a lot of fish but was more than plainly content, I was ecstatic to see my friends doing well and to acknowledge my own limitations and be completely satisfied with taking a back to seat to those guys and watch and learn. I felt like a drugged up child with severe A.D.D. I loved staring off into the mountains, clouds, trees and water basking in their greatness, with full appreciation of the surroundings.

So, my theory of catching fish being icing on the cake holds true, as I am so looking forward to returning to this spot in the future, with a bag of new found tricks and skills and testing the waters with said skills and slaying it!

Gourmet food on the fire, so good! Thanks everyone for taking their turn on the fire and food.B.G. through the trees.
Mark dresses for success and the ladies everywhere he goes.

Cutthroats, Browns and Flowers

I took Amanda to Football Creek. I knew that I had to bring her somewhere that she could catch fish. I know all too well the frustration that builds when learning to fly fish, spending days on the water without catching anything. I wanted this day to be different for her, her fortunes had to change. After hitting the Provo with no fish we had to hit a spot where I knew fish where active.
Football Creek is a minimum 12+ hour day of fishing, hiking and driving. She was a champion about it and was rewarded with lots of fish... of course there is "the one that got away" but I saw it, she hooked into a very nice cutthroat but it broke her off.
It was a really good learning experience for both of us. For me teaching someone and trying to think of a hundred ways to convey the same thing but differently until it clicks for the person. For her, it wound up being a lesson in casting, hook setting, and landing bigger fish. Not many people catch fish like she did her fourth time out.
It was great to have someone I could play fishing baseball with. Catch a fish and it's a hit, next batter up. Prick three, miss three, hook up and loose it and your out. Fortunately she was also catching fish so we each got plenty of at bats each and plenty of fish were brought to hand.

Unreal

Last November I was alerted to a potential hot bed of fly fishing by Master Yoda.
We made a hasty plan to meet up around Pioneer Day... July 24 for you non-Utah persons.
I was not given any information about this spot other than it was East of Salt Lake. The fishing was amazing and that it was a small stream. Both Yoda & I prefer the small streams.
So when time came to throw down Izzy e-mailed me a map of no names, arrows, circles, mile markers, and FR road numbers. From this I deciphered where I was headed, and began to make plans to leave.
I didn't do any research into the area I was about to set forth upon. Yoda keeps this place very secret. While there he explained to me that to give the location of this spot to anyone else was to void the friendship we had created. In short he said; "you would be dead to me." (so don't ask)
Along with this he also dialed me into another creek that we will fish next year when his foot has healed. The bonus to all this was he dropped the beans on a few other choice spots here in Utah.
So, I packed my truck up for 6 nights of camping and fishing.
I didn't know the species of trout, the elevation, the terrain, the weather or anything at all about what I was getting into. Just location. I knew the secrecy Yoda holds this place in and I thought the less I knew the better. Even now, I still don't want to research the area. It was pristine and I want to keep that way. Ignorance will be my bliss.Therefore I truly was venturing into the unknown.
I left Salt Lake late in the evening and after stopping to get my out of state fishing license and food I arrived at the circle, circle, dot, dot, mile marker 45 on the map at about 5 am.
There on the FR road was a sign with an arrow pointing down with my name on it; my new home for a few days.
Drove down, parked and went to sleep in the back of my truck. With the sun about to break and the sky just turning a dull blue I passed out. It would not be long before the heat of the sun would wake me.
I awoke hot, sweaty, hungry, in desperate need of coffee and almost feeling rested. I was astonished to wake up to a breath taking canyon full of magnificent rock formations, thousands of aspens, so many different conifers, and a beautiful small stream.
What I would learn over the next few days was that this was very close to mecca, or at least a fly fishing paradise. The Holy Grail of spots. Not for size, but for the amount of fish, the cleanliness of the stream, and the miles the stream covered.
Now many people go after the big guns, I just like to catch fish... well trout.I caught more fish in 6 days than most people probably catch in a life time of fly fishing. I am not being cocky, I just happened to land an insane amount of fish. Also, one of the agreements and conditions of me fishing here with Yoda was that I had to pinch the barbs on my hooks and be barbless. Truth be told it was a blessing. I would not have caught nearly as many fish had I had a barbed hook.
The smallest fish measured in at just about double a Grumpy Frumpy, the largest being about 8-10"s.
It was not a matter of quality over quantity, or even quantity over quality.
It was a balance of small fish, pretty fish, remoteness, scenery, and an easy estimate of thousands of fish per mile of stream.
The final tally was just 7 Rainbows... and 582 Brookies. My best day was 189 fish in 180 minutes and totaled out at 201 for the day. That equates to 1 fish every minute and five seconds for three consecutive hours. With that type of action leaning to insanity I questioned the legality of catching so many fish. This just had to be illegal.
There is no doubt there will be a return trip next year.
As always in the end catching fish is just the bonus to the adventure, scenery and experience. The solitude and time to think was immense. So glad I brought some books along with me otherwise my little mind would have been going 100 different directions rather than the usual 20.

Hog Hotel, Kerplackistan, Utah

The Park City Food and Wine Classic took a lot out of me, my liver is still a tad bit angry. I was supposed to fish with my boss and some suppliers but found myself not wanting to get out of bed... ever. It was the right move to stay where I was. So, when B.G. sent the text to go fish Sunday I was all in. It had been almost a full year since I had fished with B.G. and I was not going to pass up the opportunity to go. B.G. taught me how to fish, and when a Jedi Master asks you for something you do it!
It was also nice that he wanted to head out at 8 in the morning. I remember being up at 6, 5, or even 4 in the a.m. to meet up with B.G. and get after it. Honestly I see 4 am through the night now more than waking up to see it. We hit the road and headed to Kerplackistan. On the way I reminisced about the weekend past and the great time I had had at the P.C.F.&W. Classic, and how I was still kicking myself over some of the events of said weekend... a whole other story not to be told. As we hit the water it began to get hot hot hot. The fish were not holding in the usual places one would think to find them. As B.G. and I would figure out rather quickly they were hiding in the holes and cut banks along the edges. B.G. quickly referred to these as "Hog Hotels" as they were just that. Hogs hanging just waiting for the biggest fly one could chuck their way. Then, kerplack! They would nail it hard. We fished one stretch with good results. The fishing was not on fire, but when you did hook up it was onto a good size, fat, strong fish. We ended the run and relocated. Same story, different stretch. We got to about the end of our day but I had the mentality of "come on, I just want to get one more, just one." So, on the last portion of Kerplackistan, 'bam' a hit, I set the hook but let go of my line and it began to spool out. Caught it, gathered it in and snap, fish gone... poor hook set. We worked hard for all our fish and it was well worth it.
Needless to say I cannot wait to hit the water with B.G. again soon!

Happy 4th

Could not make up my mind... stay home and party all weekend or go camping and fishing. Well, I split the time and took an all day fishing adventure. Spoke with B.G. before heading out and took his direction on where to go.
Once there and rigged up I began the hike, I looked at my watch and decided 30-45 minutes of walking would be sufficient river to fish. On my way down I walked bye another person on the ridge looking down into the river and we only exchanged a nod... I think we were both surprised to see each other. I got down into the water and started fishing back to the truck. (about 6 hours of fishing back) It seems every time I fish it is a minimum 12 hour day.
The fishing was slow, and I couldn't figure out why, throughout the day I threw everything at them. 4 different stimulators, Grumpies, Green Drakes, Stone flies, every color combo of the Raggedy Andy, and I think I also through the kitchen sink at them. They all seemed to work at different times, but nothing consistent.
So, as I made my way along I noticed three fish rising in a pool, then I noticed a man sitting in the weeds, smacking on a pipe. He came down to me and started to talk about the next hole and he was giving it a break. His name was Scott, very nice, used bamboo rods and has the same thought process about fishing I do... keep it safe, keep it secret. He too was having a tough day and said he had fished it yesterday and it was on fire, phenomenal, and unrelenting. What a difference a day makes. We both agreed to jump each other for the rest of the day and share the river, and give each other the peace and solitude we both desire on a river. Some people are just so cool when they "get it."
As I said the fishing was sporadic, total count was a dozen fish, so about two an hour. The best was a measure 23"-er that kicked my ass. I made three runs down river trying to land him. Fell into a deep whole and got my socks wet, then got him into the net. So glad to have landed him, the highlight of the day.

Another day a few fish

With all the rain we have been having it has been hard to find something to do outdoors. Can't climb in the rain, can't fly a kite in lightning, can't fish in lightning, snowboarding is over, and people get all poopie-diaper when you mountain bike in the mud, kind of like Verting in the skin track. Which I would like to add is retarded. It's a mountain. bike, get it dirty, ruts are fun! So, Saturday I cleaned the house, watched baseball (Mets & Yankees... yuck!) and ventured out to take some photos, all in all boring, non-eventful and a waste of a day off. Sunday had to be different, it just had to.
I awoke Sunday to clear blue skies, a cool temp, and an itch to catch some fish. So I through all my gear in the truck and headed out. Drove about 2 -2 1/2 hours away... into more blue skies.
The approaching storm.
By the time I got to where I was going the skies turned grey and began to rumble. I quickly rigged up and started to fish. I was able to trick about 7 fish into my net in an hour and a half until... flash... KABOOM!
I saw a quick flash of lightning followed by an instantaneous thunder shockwave which made me duck like I could avoid lightning and jump out of the water. I thought to myself this must be "gods" way of telling me to go home. I made it back to the truck in a hurry and sat in the back just listening to the rain patter off the shell, the wind whipping, the thunder roll, and the lightning crash. It was very peaceful to just lay there for an hour or so and relax, get mellow, and chill.
Shelter from the storm.
On my way out I stopped to check out another hole and noticed just how much rain had fallen as it turned the water into chocolate milk.
Nestle Quick chocolate milk water.
I am ready for another fishing adventure soon! Hopefully the weather will start to turn but not too hot please, I hate 100+ degrees and I am very much OK with this extended spring type weather.
It was a great day for the tag team of the Raggedy Andy and Grumpy Frumpy... my all time favorite combo... the everywhere slayers. These two flies together are unstoppable.
Raggedy Andy.
Grumpy Frumpy.
Raggedy Andy through the Ghost Net.
There were some other creatures lurking around the water. Tons of tiny little Yellow Finches ( I think). Very hard to get an in focus shot of these little guys as they fly around a lot. Same with all the Hummingbirds I saw. Also saw a deer and another fisherman.
Tiny deer.
Yellow bird.
Unknown fisherman making a splash.

Moab bike, climb, camp

Hit Moab over the weekend with Brock, Wendy & Bill & their 2 kids. Did some camping, biking, climbing and then headed to work on Monday and Tuesday while they went off into the desert to do some climbing while I earned a paycheck.

We headed out along the river looking for Fat Bastard... the climb that we could all do with the two kids not being exposed too much. Good times, and not a bad climb for my 4th climb since I was a pre-teen back in N.H.

Me starting to climb.
Brock.
Wendy.
Bill.

We camped above the Slick Rock trail head which is below the Porcupine trail head. Brock and I were saddled up to ride Porcupine which we were told is amazing and it is. The climb is very techincal with ledges ranging from a few inches to a few feet. After riding the ridge along the top of the plateau we finally got to the single track section and it was game on. Both Brock and I got bucked from the bike a few times donating some skin to the rocks. We finished the ride quicker than we were told we would which was nice, can't wait to get back down there and slay that trail again. The views are amazing.






At our camp site we were at the base of a large cliff. The full Moon rose and illuminated the sky so brightly. You could see stars but the Moon was so bright the sky remained blue. I was able to geek out a bit with the camera and take some of what are to me a few of the best photos I have ever taken.


Night time and blue skies.

The Moon Rise.

First Time of O-Nine

Headed out on the first fishing adventure of 2009 this morning. Once again solo... last minute bailouts... you bitches! They missed out.
6:30 comes too early, I wish they could push it back until like 9. The drive brought back a lot of memories. The ones of driving to go fishing, the scenery of the adventure, the warm sun, the people, the time, the feeling of life and just purly being alive. I have fished this water with every single person I have ever fished with at least twice. It is a comfortable stretch that is not too dangerous to fish alone. The road was dusty, the air dry, the water fishy, the landscape grand, and the forest moose-y. Needless to say I was in the mood and the mood was set well.
I went back to old reliable. A place where one may cast wildly with violent arm movements, shakes, shanks, slices, slaps, worm burners and chili peppers. You can murder the art of a good cast here and still not hang up in the branches. Well, at least at first. As you travel along it gets more technical, tighter, and precise. I was happy to have all the early open room for my back cast as it was rusty. I shook it off in about 1/2 hour to the point where I could deliver a fly to the proper spot(-ish) where fish should live. I at least DO have a good excuse to my lack of fishing for say the last 6 months. That is due to the fact that the last time I touched cork not from a wine bottle was back at the Dagobah System and we've had 600+" of snow since then, so it was high time for me to get mellow and get myself to the liquid form of water.
I hit the water running, literally. I dove right in and started flailing line about the air in reckless abandon. Within a few casts, boom fish on! Needless to say I am once again addicted! Here is the first of hopefully many many more days of fishing in 2009.
this one fell away mid shot
first fish of 09