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 took 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!