Back in the Saddle

Now that I've totally alienated my readership* by taking yet another prolonged hiatus, I figured it's well past time to get back on the blogging horse and provide some sort of update.  Things are starting to crank back up in Southcentral and it's already late May so I'll gloss past our epic snow year and stick to the fishing.

As I mentioned in my last post, this year was all about fishing--even in the dead of winter.  To that end, Sam and I kicked things off with some very early season fishing.

We turned down a powder day for this?

We both had hall passes from our familial obligations and met up with a bunch of friends the night before that had rented a house outside of town to catch a concert.  Suffice it to say that I can only pretend to party like I'm still 20 . . . and standing in 32-degrees water when it's snowing is a great hangover cure . . . even if the fish aren't cooperative.

* * *

Our first day out with the drift boat came sometime in April, and was a success.**  Grandma Jan was up visiting Mason and, once again, set the bar.  We ultimately tied into three fish that cold day, which was spectacular given the conditions and the short amount of time we were on the water, but only got one fish to the boat.

Jan, working on her grip-and-grin.

The Wife, taking advantage of Mason napping.

The Wife and I have been trying to think of a name for the drift boat.  Given the fact that Jan was about the only person on the entire river to catch a fish that day, and the success my mom had out of the boat last year when she came up to visit Mason, we might need to think about this developing trend as we consider our options.

* * *

Moving ahead in the calendar, not long ago I found myself down south a ways for work and had the opportunity to get out for the day.  It was classic Alaskana.  At various points we saw snow, rain and hail--and I still managed to get a mild sunburn.  We dodged humpbacks on the way out, chased steelhead in very skinny water all day, then had to evade a grizzly family on the way back.

Always fish the undercut bank.

* * *

The last real development is that I'm committing myself to spey casting for the next month or so.  I have a longer switch rod that I'll be using with the hopes of focusing on slightly different water than I usually fish.  It's early season, so you never know.

I've also been hitting the vise a fair amount this past week and tying up various tube flies, so we'll see how that turns out.  It's all new to me, but I came across this post and figured I'd give it a whirl.

Meet Mr. and Mrs. Sculpin.  The cones are separate from the rest of the fly.

* * *

So there you have it.  Now let's see, what got left out . . .

Well, for one thing, Mason now crawls and can't stay away from The Pooch's water bowl, which is constant entertainment--for Mason, at least.  I'm pretty sure he looked at me and said "dad" yesterday, but since he's only nine months old it was probably a coincidence. After all, "dad" sounds awfully similar to every other sound he makes.

I have a new job as of last week, which promises to be a significant upgrade as far as actually getting shit done.

And finally, The Blog is undergoing a bit of a revision.  Nothing formal, but if all things go according to plan you should notice a subtle change in content.  Although I take care not to specify where I fish, I'm a bit tired of providing the local fishing report so it's time to shake things up.  Stay tuned.
______________________

* Hi Mom.

** Hell, every day in the drift boat is a success--I could float circles in a mud puddle day after day and not get bored.

Paternity Leave

It's been a hectic few weeks around here, which really should come as no surprise given recent developments.  My fishing still outpaces my blogging--but not by much.  And both have taken a back seat to home and work obligations.  I've logged a handful of days on the water over the past couple weeks, but I'm significantly behind last year's pace.

With my family in town over the past couple weeks to visit the little munchkin we all managed a quick roadtrip and scored a few days on the river.  Although I generally hate "look at all the big fish I caught" posts, the fishing was on and the pictures are piling up.

Sometimes the side channels are more productive.

One of many cookie cutter Dollies.

Sockeye!

It doesn't get much better than watching Dad tied into a good one.

Here's your ad placement.

Rainbows are starting to move up.

One of the better Dolly Varden.

Underrated.

As a new grandmother, it took quite a bit of convincing to get my mom to leave Mason and go fishing, even for just a few hours.  But for the brief time she held a fly rod, she put on one hell of a clinic.

Sockeye!

About the time she realized it was a really big fish.

Toad!

How you doing?

The release.

Karta is not a small dog.

At a safe distance.

High sticking the switch rod.

A new Fishing Partner

I've never been much of a planner.  Back when The Wife and I were just married, my inability to consider "the future" was a regular annoyance--and the source of nearly any squabble we ever had.  It was, and sometimes still is, inconceivable to her that I could be so utterly unconcerned with the details to come.  One illustration of this is in our approach to kids:

The Wife: "When do you want to start trying to have kids?"

Me: "I don't know.  Someday."

The Wife: "I think in a few years, once we finish school and have decent jobs, it'd be nice to start trying.  Don't you?"

My: "I don't know.  I always figured I'd just wake up someday ready to be a father."

Needless to say, my nonchalant attitude toward such life-altering events didn't always go over so well.  However, in my defense, it's not that I don't care about what might be, it's that I'd rather focus on the big picture and take the details as they come.  Kids?  Yes.  When?  Details, shmetails.

So, true to form, about nine months ago I woke up ready to be a dad and, because I have an incredibly understanding and patient wife, a week ago today The Wife gave birth to our loving son.

Mason, our new fishing partner.

While I could wax poetic about the miracle of birth and how amazing it is to be a father, which it most certainly is, I'm most excited about all the fun adventures and life experiences we have yet to see.

So, without a moment to spare, The Wife and I took advantage of yesterday's nice weather and took our little munchkin out for his first fishing trip.

The Wife and Mason.

Grandma Jan, aunt Ash and cousin Grace also came along for the ride.  With Mason only six days old and Grace celebrating her six-month birthday, we were quite the sight on the river.

Drift boat or nursery?

Karta usually sticks by whoever is catching the most . . .

My first rainbow on the new Winston BIIIx and Bauer MacKenzie CFX.

Bringing in a nice Dolly.

Grace, showing her excitement for the fish.

Black bears always seem small compared to their brown kin.

One thing about taking kiddos out in the boat is that you can't just pack up and head home if things aren't going too well.  Sure, you can push on down the river, but once you launch you're committed through to the pull-out.  However, the calm, rocking motion of the boat and lapping sounds of the river helped Mason snooze through most of the trip and Grace seemed happy to spend her day laughing at the funny looking guy on the oars.

This day wasn't as much about fishing as it was about being on the river with family.  Of course, that doesn't mean we didn't catch a few nice fish.

Grandma Jan, roped into a lunker on her first day fly fishing.

Mr. Mason too busy snoozing to be disturbed.

A nice Dolly and Karta with the assist.

A successful catch and release.

And here's to many more adventures with Mason!

Some Wisconsin stoke

So the picture quality is a bit rough, but it's good enough to tell that Tom is ripping lip out of the great lakes and I'm not.

This might be just the inspiration I need to put the skis away for a couple days, grab the pooch, and flog the water.  Stay tuned; a trip report will follow.

Otis bugs and leaky waders

The Wife and I have been on a whirlwind tour of Oregon over the past week.  We took a red-eye into PDX on Tuesday-Wednesday of last week, spent Wednesday through Sunday at PIELC taking in all that the world of environmental law has to offer while catching up with old friends, and then traveled down to the Medford area to catch up with my parents and chase a few steelhead.  After getting our PIELC on for a few days--which really deserves it own blog post--I was pretty beat.  I can only handle so many days of wake-up-at-7:30-after-partying-until-2:00 before things starts to wear thin.  As The Wife gently reminded me last Friday, "you're not 20 anymore."

On to the fishing . . .

My dad and The Wife and I got out on the water for a few hours on Monday afternoon.  What we lacked in caught fish I made up for in leaky waders.  Note to self, look elsewhere when your brother says the waders you're about to borrow have "a few slow leaks."  Thanks, Josh.

The Wife and I floated the Rogue yesterday, enjoying a sunny day with exceptionally low flows.  The fishing was slow, but, if you're going to have a fishless day on the river, you might as well be in a drift boat.  Short of more agreeable fish, not much could have been better.

Having struck out yesterday, I decided to give it one last go 'round for an hour or so this morning before needing to head back into town.  Yesterday's sun and low flows gave way to colder weather, rain, and a slightly off-color water clarity.  Dad and I went out first thing this morning and by the second cast I had outdone our entire prior day's efforts.

Nothing too big, but it was a start.

We were fishing the head of a run right below a long riffled bend.  I had fished this exact spot many times over the years, having caught perhaps half of all the steelhead I've ever landed here.  The river bottom is mostly cobbles, coagulated into a concrete-like substrate creating a significant underwater ledge and a series of slots and seams that fish like to hide within.  So long as you can avoid snagging a shallow spot or wading off the ledge, it can be phenomenal fishing.

After fishing for another half-hour or so, I saw a big fish roll along a seam in the current.  Taking another few steps out away from shore, I placed six or eight casts into the seam before my line made an abrupt stop and gave a few telltale head shakes.

After a few decent runs and two leaps from the water, I was able to move the fish in close, get him over the rock ledge, and beach him on the cobble shore. 

It was a wild male, just a hair over 29 inches.  He took an otis bug and made for a fine start to the day. 

. . . and using a different pair of waders, I even managed to stay dry.

Fishing with the Fam, Part 3

With Mom, Dad and Josh having departed Alaska, and the Ducks resuming their winning ways, things have returned to normal around here. Mom and Dad took off on Thursday of this past week but, with Josh hanging around a little longer, we decided to hit the local waters up one last time.

After dropping Mom and Dad off at the airport, we drove back North in search of grayling--a species I managed to hook lip with a few days earlier but which had evaded Josh. Things were looking up and the day delivered. Before long we all were hooking into fish.

Although we were catching fish, I managed to lose flies at an amazing rate. At one point, I had caught two fish and lost five flies. My brother and I both fish and tie flies with the philosophy that flies should be disposable--after all, it's better to fish near the bottom, in amongst the hazards where the fish are and lose a few flies than to fish tentatively and never hook lip. However, after spending all fall fishing the same particular pattern with great success and losing five of the seven remaining flies of that type in my box, I started to second guess my disposable-fly philosophy.

We were moving down river at a pretty good clip--cherry picking the prime holes and skipping over much of the rest. On one particularly good run, I stepped in a little below Josh and started to make my casts. Had it been anyone else, I'm sure Josh would have objected to me poaching his water; however, he would get his revenge. On my second or third cast, two very large fish followed my fly out of the depths and into the shallows only turning away at the last minute. On my next cast, I hooked the sticks on the far bank and broke off my fly. Josh didn't hesitate to step in and take a cast. If it wasn't his first cast, it was within his first five when he hooked into a nice coho.
It was a beautiful fish.
But it gets better. After having retied my tippet and fly, it was my turn to get after it. On my second cast I hooked into this guy.
But it gets better yet. By this time we could see a number of coho swimming around in the run. I'd guess there were twenty or so fish, but wouldn't be surprised if there were many more. We could tell it was on and The Wife wanted nothing to do with getting left out of the action. Before my fish was even released, she had started her casts. In short order, she hooked up with a fish every bit as large as Josh's, and much larger than mine.
In the end, each of us pulled a coho out of this little run with no more than ten casts, combined. Unbelievable! Deciding we had harassed this small school of fish enough, we moved on in search of a grayling for Josh, which he found without too much trouble.
All in all, one of the more successful days I've ever had on the water. There's something to be said for figuring it out. I'm not so naive as to think that I could go back tomorrow and repeat everything all over again (since I know I'd just as likely get skunked), but every once in a while it all comes together. While some fishing trips can blend into others and fade after the passage of time, there's been a handful of trips that really stand above the rest. Whether it's the fish, location, company, effort that goes into the trip, some other factor, or some combination of the above, last Thursday was one for the books.

Fishing with the Fam, Part 2

I'm normally not one to hire a guide, but with the family visiting we wanted to take a big trip and do something a bit out of the ordinary. An acquaintance of ours, Jeremy, operates a guide service on the Kenai River specializing in big ol' rainbows. He runs a great operation and hooked us into some stupid-big fish.
I might have landed the first fish, but Dad caught the biggest of the day. It was fairly early in the day but, after getting horsed around for a while and running all over the river, Dad finally wrestled it in.

As our guide said, "you'll have a hard time getting any bigger than that."
Josh and I were fishing on a separate boat from the rest of the herd, and Josh more than pulled his own weight. In addition to a ton of rainbows and a few dolly varden, Josh ripped some sockeye lip. It's usually easier to line these guys than to hook them legitimately and, if there is one type of fish that will reject your fly consistently, it's a sockeye. Josh didn't receive the memo.
He also hooked the big fish for our boat. After fishing beads all day, Josh spent a little while fishing a flesh fly. I'm not sure I've seen another salmonid take as hard as this fish did. We were drifting by a log jam at the top of a small side channel when his rod took a big hit. Within a fraction of a second, Josh's line was ripping off the reel in one direction while his fish was jumping off in another direction. You'd think they weren't connected. After a long trip downstream, Josh finally won the upper hand and brought this monster in. Sweet!Just in case anyone was wondering, I did alright . . .
Although The Wife out-fished me once again.
There seems to be fewer pictures of those who carry the camera, but, we all got into fish.
Beyond all the big fish, the real sub-plot didn't develop until after the fishing. We worked our way down to a nearby campground and, undeterred by this massive pile of bear scat, we started to set up camp.
High on the our recent fishing exploits, we set up camp, ate dinner and debated the finer points of the s'more. According to some, it's the dark chocolate that makes the difference. Others prefer the peanut butter cup. Either way, you need the patience to properly roast the marshmallow.

Being the day after labor day, we literally had the campground to ourselves. Having seen four grizzly bears earlier in the day, and as often happens after dark, the talk quickly turned to bears. On cue, we heard rocks shuffling along the banks of the nearby lake. Handing Dad the bear spray and grabbing the gun, we were treated to a medium-sized bear walking by camp, silhouetted by lake shore about 30 feet away. Black bear . . . grizzly bear . . . I'm not sure. However, when faced with a bear that close, it seemed BIG. Fortunately, it never even looked up at us and moved along on its way.

After things settled a bit, The Wife and I wandered into the next campground to hit the head and drop a few things off in the bear box. Seconds later, hearing more rustling in the bushes, I called over to the rest of crew, "you all have Karta?"

"Yeah, she's right here," I heard back.

Game on . . . again. Another, slightly smaller bear wandered by, this time stopping to smell the roses a bit. Although on a slightly slower pace, it seemed relatively unconcerned with our affairs and moved on along the lake shore.

Needless to say, it took a long time to fall asleep that night.

Since it was night and I was a bit preoccupied at the time, we never managed to take a picture of either bear. However, we did manage to come across this guy on the next day.