Festival of Color

March 24, 2012 Sri Sri Radha Krishna Temple Spanish Fork Utah. I know the first few thoughts you have are what are you talking about, and what does it have to do with fishing? The answer is that it has nothing to do with fishing, except that fishing is an event, and so is going to a Krishna “Festival of Colors” in Spanish Fork Utah. The next questions you probably have are what Festival of Colors is and even better, there is a Krishna temple in Spanish Fork Utah? Yes there is, and I cannot explain how the good folks of Utah Valley world allow a Krishna temple to be built in the heart of Zion. I have no answers in that area—none what so ever.

Here is another puzzling question for you: why did Krishna followers build this substantial temple in Spanish Fork? I don’t know of any Krishna’s in all of Utah. There are a lot of Hippie, tree huggin, festival going, free thinking, love sharing individuals existing on the outskirts of society in Utah, that would be attracted to events like “Festival of Colors,” but that is something altogether different than being an active Krishna—Right?

At any rate in the spring the Krishna’s celebrate Holi or the coming of spring, sort of the end of winter, and the entrance of spring. The colors of spring are back into the world and a “festival of Colors,” marks that joyous time.  There was also a burning of the evil demon sister of King Hiranyakashyap. An effigy of her is burned to celebrate Lord Vishnu’s victory over the evil witch, who would burn children. All this sounds like a lot of exotic eastern thought, witch burning, and pagan spring merriment for Utah County? Maybe this marks the beginning of diversity of thought to Zion—good on ‘em!

Going to the festival was my oldest daughter’s idea, home from Dixie State College for the weekend. Her and her friend Erica talked the mom, dad and little sister Jac into attending; and we are all glad we did, it was a lot of fun. About every two hours or so, they do a countdown, and everyone throws colored chalk into the air. In the meantime, everyone’s grooving to live music, giving out free hugs and throwing color on anyone who isn’t already covered in chalk.

Great time was had by all, our family has done its part to usher in spring, and we can also say we have taken steps to ward off evil witch spirits. Good job Utah Krishna’s you have done a good thing for the valley—where ever you are and whoever you may be.

South Fork March 2012

March 21, 2012 South Fork of the Provo River. This is a tale of a hog at a trough. Fishermen call huge fish “Hogs” South Fork doesn’t have any “Hogs” the hog in this story is me. I think I had an epiphany on the river today; actually it was coming off the river when I realized how late it was. Here’s the story, I neglected work for the day, which in my mind is not really a big deal; but I have to be back home by at least 5:00 maybe 5:30 at the latest because my daughter Madeline has a performance at school. No problem, just look at your watch, and leave a few hours before you need to go. As a matter of fact, a wise person would account for traffic, and leave themselves a buffer. It just means you don’t act like a hog slurping up everything, over indulging, being a glutton and putting yourself in a situation where the pressure is on to make it on time.

Its one thing, if you do this sort of thing once in a while, but the truth is that I do it more than I do not do it. What specifically am I talking about? Today is a perfect example I don’t have a watch on—lost it on Big Cottonwood River, and I don’t take my phone because I don’t want to get it wet. So, I am left with guessing on the time, which I think I can do, like I can read the sun, or just sort of feel it. By the time Johnny and I get back to the truck, it’s almost a quarter to 5:00 and we still have at least an hour drive. I feel that sick feeling in my stomach; I get a gush of anxiety mixed with anger sweeping over me. The thing is I can’t blame anyone. It’s not Johnny’s fault, not by a stretch, I didn’t even tell him I had to be home. I can’t blame anyone at home—kids or wife. The worst part is that no one will express any anger or really even disappointment. They won’t show any of those sobering emotions because they are always ready to accept that dad may be late, or may even miss things all together because he is gone fishing… It has to come to this: either set some type of grown-up guide lines for yourself or stop fishing.

What father wants his kids to feel even for one second that fishing is more important than them? Stupid question, even a really crappy father would not want his kids to think that they are less important than his indulging habit. I have the most amazing wife of all time, and the most fantastic daughters any man could ever wish for—Hannah, Madeline and Jacqueline. I would rather go my entire life and never fish again than to create a feeling in them that they are not the most important thing in my life. But actions speak louder words; even if the message we send does not reflect our true feelings.

Fishing is a chance to get away from the world we live in; a chance to connect with our roots; a chance to connect with the great mother. Listen to that, what a huge crock of shit. Who knows what it’s about, but it should never come at the expense of your family. I can’t say for sure what each fisherman is after; I don’t know what they look for each time they go out. But we are all pretty much the same; we are all looking for the same things. I need to really find out what I am looking for and decide what its worth. I feel I have to do some growing up, I’m 45-years-old I am not supposed to be struggling with these type of issues.

As it all turns out, I made it through traffic in time to attend Madeline’s performance, in fact I wasn’t even a little bit late. But that’s not the point, I had to drive home in that mad panic, putting a real buzz kill on a fabulous day of fishing hoping and praying that I would not see the look on my wife or daughters face that said, “ of course he’s late, he’s been fishing.” Maybe an old dog can learn new tricks, maybe it’s not too late to tell the fish and the river “good bye for today, I have to go I have more important things than you and my own needs to attend to. You never have to dodge a bullet if you never get in the line of fire.

Jackie Leggs

Jones Hole Creek post script. I have been thinking about my baby, Jacqueline, (aka Jac, Jackie Legs, & Peglet).She is an amazing, special kid! Getting Madeline to go on this trip, I realize that my kids are getting older, and that my time with them is limited. My oldest, Hannah, is already off to college. I know that she will come home, and that she will always be mine, but I also know that everything changes.  

Okay…embrace the changes, time to recalibrate; sort of make a new game plan that opens new doors, leading to new activities.  When Jac was little, she would fish on camping trips, but as the years have gone by, she has decided that fishing is not for her. This puts me in a tough position to get it “in her blood stream.” I see two obvious choices:               1. Cram fishing down her throat.               2. Let it develop on its own and be open to developing new interests together.                 Or, I could also do a combination of both. Or, I could stop writing about it and go make dinner with her…we can bake fish.

Jones Hole Creek

March 10, 2012 7:00 Vernal Utah. “Are you awake honey?” I asked Madeline, “Its time to go fishing.” Yes! Madeline has come back to fishing, as it turns out my prayers are answered, fly fishing is in her blood; she has decided to go on a fishing trip with me. It’s highly possible she is going because her friend Jaxon and his dad Stan have agreed to take us to the storied, mystical, Jones Hole Creek.

By 8:30 we are on Jones Hole Road, which starts in Vernal and takes another 45 minutes or so, although our drive took a little longer due to the speeding ticket Stan got from the Vern-hole Po-Po. Note: beware what looks like is should be 45mph is 25mph—speed trap. Jones Hole Road takes you on an amazing geographic transformation. Through most of the road, you are in the vast open barren Vernal area; it’s shocking when you come into Jones Hole Canyon. The last 20 miles or so of the drive, you enter a canyon that is reminiscent of Canyon Lands with majestic red rock cliff walls. “You guys will experience a spiritual awakening—trust me you will not be disappointed with Jones Hole. If you hear bells going off, don’t be alarmed” Stan promises that no one will leave the canyon without being permanently altered. Our plan is to walk all the way down to the confluence of The Green, then fish our way back up. Stan likens Jones to a neighborhood street meeting a freeway, The Green. That’s where he claims to have heard spiritual bells.

My fishing goal is to fish the world, to fish as many rivers as I can, before I go to the big river in the sky. So far I have fished exclusively in the western states, and in the last two years I have been lucky enough to fish a lot of rivers. In 2010 I fished over a dozen new rivers in Utah; a handful in Idaho, a few in California and Nevada, and one in Wyoming. I count myself blessed of late by the fishing gods; I have been stepping into some mind-blowing rivers.

To a fly fisherman, there are a lot of criteria that make up a “mind-blowing” river. It goes without saying that the river has to have a lot of fish, and big fish. Between big fish and a lot of fish, big fish has to be to crown jewel. Yes… fishermen will travel the world over, to catch a big fish, whatever the species. A river with a lot of fish means you have a good chance of hooking up, which never sucks. As Stan put it, “I’ve caught plenty of fish; now I’m ready to catch a hog (see video).

Not necessarily in this order, but I would say that where the river is located, no matter how many or how big the fish are matters. For example if you find yourself standing in a canyon with towering red cliffs marked with petro glyphs from an ancient Indian tribe; with walls that are so beautiful that you are forced to stop throwing your fly to  hungry fish, and just soak in grandeur, surroundings matter. Not to mention, these cliffs house Rocky Mountain sheep!  As much as we all get caught in chasing the fish, some rivers are so incredible you are forced to stop and just ravel in the beauty.

Water counts, New Zealand is said to have rivers with “Gin Clear” water, water that is sort of beyond water, water that is so pure that it glistens in the sun. Idaho’s Silver Creek is spring fed, and it has water that is astonishingly clear. Maybe water that bubbles up from the earth has been purified by the mother, and flows from her, creating nectar of the gods. Come on every fisherman gets off on clear water. New Zealand is on my list of places to fish, but I really don’t know how you could purify water any more that what comes out old Jones Hole.  

Finally who you are with on your trip is the aspect that makes or breaks the experience. I’ve been on plenty of fishing trips, day trips and longer with a buzz kill. When this happens you hope it’s just a day trip, and you just try to get caught up in the river and fishing.  But when you are with people like Stan and Jaxon, you don’t even care that your daughter came along for reasons other than fishing; you’re just happy to have another adventure on the river with her. Weather your sitting by the camp fire nursing a glass or Knob Creek or you’re in a hotel room reading your totem cards, with the right people bad fishing and crappy scenery still makes for a great trip.

But when all the above factors are world class, when the fish are fat, and plentiful, the water sparkles, the scenery stellar, and the people you are with are golden... come on what else do you want? Jones Hole is splendid enough to release your inner totem butterfly, run and frolic like a teenager through the forest. My buddy Zog always says “life is better to me than I deserve. I have to say I feel the same way. Thanks Jones Hole for being there, you rate world class! My only complaint about you is that I took so long to find you. Thanks Stan for pulling the trigger & making the trip happen, for the excitement and for being master guide (hope your leg cramps went away). Thanks Jaxon for getting my original fishing buddy back on the river with me, even if she didn’t fish. I know it’s in her blood, and I will wait; hopefully not long. This may be the beginning of many more trips to come. Alas, I feel permanently altered.