Fishing in Two Parts

Ouch. Too much work...too many responsibilities. This whole 'adult thing' is not what it's cracked up to be. And bills. Who the hell invented these things? As I've been slaving away at my projects to earn money to...pay bills (imagine that), it occurred to me that, if there weren't any bills, I wouldn't need to work.

Ergo, more time to fish, hang out with my son, or just sit on the couch and watch College Football while inappropriately scratching myself every ten minutes or so.

I know - those brief moments of brilliance are scary, aren't they?

So...trying to juggle tight deadlines, spending quality time with my son, while trying to get him ready for the new school year, I've come to the conclusion that I need a different clock - one with say, 36 hours in the day, instead of the old-fashioned 24 hours that is so yesterday.

And that new clock would also allow a little more wiggle-room for fishing. Which is totally cool, because I need my river time, otherwise, I'd end up on the front page of the Denver Post (read: not good).

But, since I am a loser and don't have a 36 hour clock, I need to make due with what I've got...and what I 'gots' were a few windows of fishing opportunity that just happened to present themselves over the past few weeks.

Actually, I lied. They didn't just 'present' themselves all conveniently like a stripper popping out of cake. No, I made them happen by bending the space/time continuum with my well-worn MEGA flat-head screwdriver (aka Hammish) that I use for everything but screwing (Yes, I realize how wrong that sounds. Freaks).

Originally designed for maintenance on military aircraft, it's a lunker and far too big for every-day-around-the-house screwing (stop it). So instead, I've focused it's powers for my own personal gain.

Impacted molar? Hammish is also an amateur DDS. Tristan stuck in the duct-work again? Step aside and let Hammish handle that. Bank tacked on another senseless fee? Hammish thrives on righting a wrong.

As you can see, there isn't much Hammish can't do - including the ability to bend the very fabric of our existence, when needed.

So a while back, before my life became measured in bechmarks, deadlines and outlandish requests, I had tied up some old-school Pheasant Tails and some Killer Bugs, and I was eager to try them out on the river...which I did, (thanks Hammish!).

Flows, however, were up that day, so the PTs didn't quite earn the Belle of the Ball label. The Killer Bugs, however, were able to pull a few fish, which makes sense, given the conditions. Ultimately, though, it was the worms that did all the work. And work they did.

There were a lot of big fish in the water that day, and I lost a lot of them. I'm starting to think that I might be 'big fish challenged' given how they always kick my ass. Especially this year - I've lost a lot of big fish in 2010.

I can stick 'em, I just can't seem to get them to net as of late.

The biggest of the day was a beautiful, active 25 inch-ish Rainbow. Solid. Healthy. And it was a clean, fair set, but after a little teasing and fighting, he broke me off.

A couple more in the 20 inch-ish range...also gone.

So anyway, the day was great - the fishing was awesome, and I got to play some mighty big fish. I'll take it.

______________

Now, every year, my son and I go camping - it's our special weekend to get away, ride, enjoy some 'fire food' and deal with free-range cattle that keep you up all night.

This is also the one time of year I get to go Hulk with my chain-saw on all of the dead-fall...which appeases the reptilian part of my gray-matter.

We also manage a little fishing (duh)...on the Taylor, which is my favorite stretch of water. Period.

The sheer number of fish in this section of the river never ceases to amaze me. And the sizes are off the charts. If there is a Heaven (or Hell, depending on your experience there) for me, this would be a possibility of what it might look like.

Minus the crowds, of course, and maybe throw in Kate Beckinsdale just for good measure.

When I die, I've requested that my ashes be thrown haphazardly around the place, so if you want to keep me from coming home with you, I'd suggest you keep your dog from rolling around in the dirt and clean your boots thoroughly after my ticket gets punched.

Now, for those that are familiar with this water, you know how tough it can be to nail some of those fish. 'Technical Water' is a term you hear quite a bit in regards to the Taylor.

While I have my own theories, the fact remains that it does seem to be tough to hook the fish there - so I helped Tristan with his cast, drift and set, and together, we managed about a handful of the slower 'D-student' fish in the C&R section.

After my son had had his fill, and his attention turned to digging in the bank on the side of the river, it was time for the old man to put the smack-down on some fatties.

And these larger fish aren't going to fall for a #18 Black Mamba or Zebra like their less-than-stellar smaller kin - oh noooo. In the past, I've had great luck with the BDSP on this water - but I was out, so those were not an option.

Enter Plan B, which should actually still be the original Plan A, since I normally go this route anyway on this river - but I went smaller. Much smaller. In the #24-#26 range.

Nothing fancy - just simple little thread midges in olive, red, white and black. And I scored pay dirt. While there were some 'normal' fish, in the 15-18 range, there were also three rather large fish - all well over 20 inches - that fell for my delectable mini-treats.

And, since I'm not one to break precedence, I decided to snap two of them off just to keep with this year's theme ("Hook Big Fish - Lose Big Fish 2010").

But I did manage to net a sweet brown.

Now, normally, I would be peeved to have lost the two larger mules - since coming to the Taylor is all about sticking the slabs - but earlier in the year, over the Memorial Day weekend, I hooked and landed (I shudder to think what price I'll have to pay for that miracle) a nice 28 inch-ish Bow, so my monster quest for 2010 has already been filled.

Anything above and beyond that, now, is just a little bonus thrown my way by the Fish Gods. Last year at this time, I was desperately running the two-minute drill to get my yearly 'white whale'...and barely eeked one through the uprights in the closing seconds of the 4th to win the game.

No worries like that this year - I can put this baby to sleep knowing I hit my quota back in May. Granted, babies wiggle and toss and make all sorts of noises when they're playing grab-ass with the Sandman...so another Taylor run isn't totally out of the question before the pass is closed.

But on the docket now, is an un-hurried trip to the Canyon in the next few days, followed by a return visit the following weekend when Bigerrfish makes his way out here.

In the meantime, I'm going to try and find a 36 hour clock on eBay.

Hog-Wrangling

Geez, where did the time go? It seems like forever since I was last able to post. With a massive project approaching it's deadline, the start of a new school year for my son, Tiger Scouts, fundraisers, a water heater that needed replacing (with several ice-cold showers to boot), and the in's and out's of the day-to-day routine...I haven't been able to post for quite some time. I suck.

As it was, this past Labor Day weekend was supposed to be a relaxing way to end the summer - a few days in the back country spent fishing and hanging out with Eva was the original plan. Also, I was going to hook a pig - if I only nailed one fish the entire weekend, so be it, as long as it was a BBF (big beautiful fish).

That was my sole intent - to hook a freakishly-large fish for 2009, so I made sure to pack some extra OCD before I left the house.

"Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents’ beds, unerringly I rush! Naught’s an obstacle, naught’s an angle to the iron way!"

So reads a verse in Herman Melville's epic masterpiece, Moby Dick. A fine metaphor and one that resonates with me, being that I'm mental.

As it turned out, Eva was unable to make the trip, the weather was less than favorable, and the water was fishing slow. How slow? "It's like casting to a painting..." replied one older gentleman as he was coming off the river.

Ouch. That didn't bode well, especially if it was a Warhol. Too cliche' and over-rated for my taste. I'm not a fan of 'pop art'...which is not to be confused with 'pop tart', which is far more palatable than the former, if you ask me.

Um....yeah...

...so I geared up and walked my way down to the water's edge which, upon inspection, seemed to be chock-full of fishy goodness. And most of them were huge. The middle seam of the river had more jumbo's lined up in a holding pattern than O'Hare on a Friday afternoon. Granted, they were hugging the bottom tighter than a pair of Daisy Duke's, but at least there were fish. And when there's fish, there's always a chance of hooking one.

While I casually changed out my tippet and fly, I was studying the water and coming up with a battle-plan - the depth that they were at would require an Oprah-sized serving of lead, (which is not fun trying to cast on my Finesse 5 wt) unless I could get my fly upstream, into an eddy, which would then pull my line down for me.

Hopefully, the current would then straighten my line, and drift my fly directly between 5 of the bigger fish in that section. Of course, an indicator would be moot at this point, being that my entire line would be submerged - so precise execution would be key. Or, to paraphrase a line from the movie, Big Trouble in Little China - "This is gonna take Cracker Jack timing, Wang."

The cast itself was absolutely ridiculous, and I was thinking to myself that this was starting to look like a twisted fly-fishing version of a Rube Goldberg Machine - I was dropping my fly about 15-20 feet upstream, and about 2-3 feet to the left of the middle of the river, followed by a hard mend to the left. As my line came down with the current, it was then pulled under, and driven to the right (with a subsequent mend in the same direction), at which time, I had to tight-line the hell out of it. Whew.

Fortunately, my theory worked and I wound up pitching strikes over home plate. Now if I could just get a fish to swing...

As my fly approached, there must have been a subtle twitch on the 3rd fish in line - something that my sub-conscience registered, because instinctively I set the hook and was rewarded with the sound of my reel un-spooling line as the fish took off to the far side of the river.

And it was a nice fish - and as such, it took some patience on my part to avoid snapping my line before I could net him - which I eventually did, to the excited yells of some small kids that were spectating (with their mother) from the over-pass. They got a serious kick out of seeing me haul this whale out of the water - which made this catch a little more special.

On the bank, were a couple of folks watching as well, and in my haste I asked if they could run the video camera for me - had I had my wits about me, I would have taken some shots of this fish before handing the camera off - it was big, fat, healthy and had some brilliant colors.

So, as I tried to pull this slab out for the money shot, he bucked and wiggled his way to freedom. Ah well. It was the big one that I was looking for - 25 inches (?) and a good 6 or 7 pounds. I've got no complaints.

After that, I managed one more (which popped the hook) before I made my way back to Buena Vista for some grub from the Pizza Works (awesome pies, by the way) and some college football. As a side note, when in Buena Vista, check out the Great Western Sumac Lodge. It's reasonably priced, locally owned and operated, very clean and the folks there are as friendly as they get. Especially the resident dog. Although I would recommend avoiding the big white cat.

Tangent: the pic below is of Taylor Res. It's about 5 in the morning and the view is from the west side of Cottonwood Pass. The fog bank had formed directly over the reservoir and as the morning progressed (and the wind picked up) it blew the mist directly down the canyon, along the river - which made the first hour of fishing a little more interesting.

As I said, it was slow - the rest of the weekend I managed one small brown (on a leech pattern) and an average rainbow that I foul-hooked (which doesn't count) near the eye - I hate that. Even more-so, being that the hook was so close to his orb - that freaked me out a bit and left me feeling dirty and guilty inside. Not a pencil in sight, he wasn't running (initially) and yet he STILL almost lost an eye.

But, I can rest easy - I got my White Whale for '09, and all is good.

Taylor Revisited

Ah, the high country. Nothing quite like it, especially at 4 am, being that it's still dark. And really cold. Due to a 'slight miscalculation' in timing, we wound up at the C&R section of the Taylor at about....oh....'WAY TOO EARLY' am.

Had I been the navigation officer for Columbus, he would have 'discovered' the America's around 1480. That's Christopher's loss, I guess.

So once the sun did start to rise, and we managed to thaw ourselves out, the fishing was pretty decent - the flows were down, though, and a lot of the fish were parked deep.

Which wouldn't have been too much of an issue, had my drifts not been skewed (which I want to attribute to ice crystals in my blood stream).

From the start, things just didn't 'feel' right...I was missing a lot of potential sets (or what I thought were sets) and it wasn't until later in the day, while drifting a San Juan, that I actually saw my fly outpacing my indicator by a good foot - which really tweaked my melon (not that that isn't easy to do - I get mesmerized by bright, shiny objects on a regular basis).

As for Eva, she did well, hooking her first Taylor brown and getting him to the net - along with some other fish that she hooked, but lost - which seemed to happen quite a bit for a lot of us on the river Saturday. But, that's part of the fun, right? RIGHT?

Around 9ish or so....I can't really say for sure, being that it already felt like we had been on the river for the better part of a year....Jeff Allen, of the Fly Fishing Mind of Jeff Allen and the Allen Brothers Quality Hand-Tied Flies met up with us - and being able to hang with him for the rest of day really made this trip a little more special.

His knowledge of fishing is vast, and it's really a pleasure to be able to watch a guy like Jeff get down to business. I'm more of a 'slash-and-burn-scorched-earth' kinda angler, meaning other guys send someone like Martin Sheen upriver to 'exterminate me with extreme prejudice' - I know enough to be dangerous and I have my own methods and style - 'Guerilla Angling' at it's finest (or worse, depending on your point of view).

Jeff, on the other hand, is the consummate angler - and it was really great to see him on the water, and talk to him about the finer points of fly fishing. Plus, he's just an overall great guy and it was a pleasure to get to meet him and throw a line together. If you're going to be in the area, and need some flies and/or information on the local waters, Jeff is your man.

He's also the one that bit into a genuine SUB. And when I say sub, I'm talking in the 30-35 inch range. This thing was huge. No kidding, when this thing made a run downriver towards me, I saw the water levels rise as it displaced the volume around it. It was so big, it had little fish orbiting around it.

To make matters even more interesting, Jeff was using 8x - which is a fine balancing act to make even the Ringling Brothers stop and take notice. Unfortunately, this hog made straight for a rock and wrapped his line, which snapped it clean. I would have really loved to have seen that fish in the net...yeah, like it would have even fit in the net. I would have had to make a full-body tackle on this thing to bring it in.

Aside from the constant wind, it was a really fine day on the river - great company in Eva and Jeff, and a lot of other friendly anglers that we happened to meet throughout the day (like the guys that ate our cookies with their beer - you two kick ass!). The sun was out, the sky was blue (I'm purposely avoiding mentioning the gale-force winds we had to contend with for much of the day)....what more could you ask for on a weekend in August?

Towards the end of the day, fatigue was really starting to hammer me - throughout the week I was getting about 5-6 hours of sleep a night - with the Coup De Gras being Friday night and the bountiful 3 hours of sleep that we managed to get. Water-boarding has nothing on the rigors that I seem to put myself through.

After 12 hours on the river, in the sun and getting assaulted by the wind, you can maybe relate when I say that the drive back on Saturday was a study in torture.

Hell, I was exhausted at noon...let alone at 6 pm...I kept going thanks to copious amounts of energy bars, caffeine, sugar and 'dip'.

The drive back was surreal, to say the least, including the three large bucks that ran in front of us on Cottonwood Pass (I think this may have been a shared hallucination due to exhaustion). That's right...three large bucks that were running together - which is never a good sign. Obviously, they had been up to no good, and after they passed, I waited a little while longer to make sure there wasn't a police car chasing after them.

And what trip to the Taylor would be complete without a stop at Coney Island in Bailey? Jay, I know I promised you a picture, and I made a sincere effort to get one of some loaded dogs for you...but it was too little, too late. So this will have to do (I'll post the pic as soon as Eva sends it to me). Bon appetite.

Of Mysis and Men...

Alright - so my plans have gone awry the past 30 days: extremely busy with work, a family trip back home to Utah (where a planned run on the Provo river never materialized), my new rod was mysteriously broken and....AND, I wound up bait fishing, not once....but TWICE. I feel so dirty inside.

Yeah, aside from visiting family and my son's birthday, July was a jerk in 2009.

Enter August. And the first free weekend in almost a month. Even better, Eva is finally finished with school, so now she's out of excuses as to why she can't come out and play. Also, I am in possession of a brand new rod, being that I know it will take a while for the good folks over at Temple Fork to get my other new rod repaired/replaced and sent back to me.

And lets not forget that college ball starts this month as well. Someone pinch me, because I must be dreaming - Woohooooo!

So what to do? How about hitting the Taylor River? Brilliant! Ok...so we're going to hit the Taylor and the fly of choice is a Mysis - which is a pattern that I have never tied, or ever fished in my entire 9 years here in Colorado. That's right: I HAVE NEVER FISHED A MYSIS PATTERN ON THE PAN, THE BLUE OR THE TAYLOR.

There, I said it. Ah, the shame.

So, why not? Because I'm a masochistic version of Lenny, that's why.

I've always preferred a challenge, and throwing a Mysis pattern just seemed...like cheating to me. Right or wrong, to me it would be like playing poker against those dogs in that hideous (but disturbingly popular) painting. Seriously, how good could they possibly be? They're dogs, and to make matters worse, they don't even have opposable thumbs, so they can't even hold the damn cards to begin with.

But then I started rationalizing, "...the really big fish on those rivers got big by eating Mysis shrimp..." Hmmmm....and with that thought, my moral compass went south in a big hurry.

So, having poured over page after page of information on these little buggers, I came up with my very own, uber-ultra-secret Mysis Pattern (like every other fly tier out there) that I have ceremoniously dubbed...the Mysis Pattern. A vulgar display of creative genius, if I do say so myself.

Being that I'm a virgin Mysis tier/fisher, this is either going to be a smashing success, or a ferocious kick in the testes. I'll give these patterns a few turns in the seams and see if they can produce, and if things don't look promising, I'll switch to the usual rogue's gallery of flies.

The plan this time is to hit some familiar runs at first light, followed by some vigorous walking and stalking the rest of the day - and with almost a month between fishing trips, I'm nursing a major urge to roll some hogs and my teats are getting a tad bit sore - so it's time to wean this baby, catch me some fish, and start acting like a man again.

And someone please tell those dogs that I'm gunning for them next.

The Agony and the Ecstasy

Sure, the late Irving Stone would not blink an eye at the events of Saturday, but then again, I doubt he was a fly fisherman either - but we, having been out on the water, know better, so it will be up to one of our own to write about it sometime in the future...

It's been eight months since I've last had the chance to fish the famed waters of the Taylor, so pulling into the parking area in the C&R section essentially sent my 'Angling Pleasure Receptors' through the roof.

Yeah, this river is a kick in the pants for fly fishing addicts everywhere - it's like (insert your politically-correct winter holiday here) for big people that fish.

Having bunked-down in Buena Vista Friday night, we were up at 3:30 am to make the drive over Cottonwood Pass and into the Taylor Park area, hoping to beat the horde of people that this river attracts (and for good reason).

The point was to get a good spot and hold it for the day - yeah, I know, to get the really big fish you need to walk the river and hit the holes where they're parked.

Since this was Eva's first time fishing this river, I thought it would be good to find an open section, with good seams that she could work on and hone her drift. Plus, I kind of liked the idea of staying put, given the heavy traffic that is on this river.

So, we wound up picking a section on the water, and worked it over good through the course of a day. On future trips, I promise that we'll play nicely and let others hit the section that we were on - Eva learned a lot, so next time I think she'll feel a little more comfortable walking the river and working more varied water.

Anyway - fish? Oh yeah. There was a ton of them in there - in the section in front of us, there were too many to count.

What's really cool is that, on the HD video, you can actually see all of fish in the water - and they're everywhere. It looks like a freaking fish hatchery, there's so many of them. But here's the catch: yes, the fish are plentiful, but they're not always so accommodating.

Watching a handful of 20+ inches of actively feeding trout, three feet off the bank in a foot of clear water and they're not hitting a damn thing you're throwing their way? Agony in it's purist form.

Even more hurtful is when the fish actually move out of the way of your fly as it drifts past, and then, just as smoothly, move back into place after it's gone. That goes beyond being 'snubbed' and is downright hateful on their part.

However, move downstream a few feet, throw your line in and you hit a bruiser on the first cast. Confusing, frustrating and pure excitement all wrapped up into one - a roller-coaster ride of emotional highs and lows, and I love every minute of it.

With that many targets, it didn't take long for me to hit my first trout. The second one I nailed was a certified Taylor hog, which I pulled from some deep water a little upstream from where Eva was. After about 10 minutes of fighting, and a scenic walk down the side of the river, my line broke and I was left with....not disappointment...but exhilaration. He was a beast of a fish and it had been a rush trying to get him in the net.

As for Eva, she did well for her first time on a very tough river - she bit into some nice-sized fish, but the line either snapped or they popped off the hook. Also, the environment is not the most relaxing to be in when you're still trying to get your feet under you - lots of spectators and heavy traffic along the dirt road can make one feel overly-exposed, so she's earned another badge of respect for braving that testosterone-soaked Angling Gauntlet.

Me, I set and lost more fish on Saturday than I have in a long time - snapped lines, bent hooks, etc. seemed to be the norm. And I did it using only ONE fly and a pea-sized indicator. Josh, I know that makes you cringe to hear that, but you know my philosophy - find the depth, nail the presentation, and there's no need for multiple flies and gimmicky set-ups. Maybe sometime in the future, we'll hit some water, and you can try to teach me the errors of my way...

Up until mid-afternoon, the weather was fantastic, but then the 'storm' came in. And it came in with bad intentions. The initial gust of wind damn near took me off my feet - I had to kneel to keep from getting blown over. And the grit (from the dirt road) that it was carrying was brutal - I felt like I was staring, point blank, into the nozzle of a sand-blaster - and when you mix that with freezing, stinging (horizontal) rain....it made for a very unpleasant experience.

Overall, it was a well-earned break - sexy company, beautiful scenery, good fishing, some hooks embedded deeply into fingers and a seriously wicked storm. Yup, I'm living a dream. Oh - and loaded hot dogs from Coney Island in Bailey? Yeah, that's a great way to round out the weekend if you ask me.