Guest writer Xavier Matheson

Son of AVID flyfisherman/outdoorsmen Mike Matheson, this kid has tons of excitment and energy for the sport; I can wait to fish with these guys. Let's hear it for guest writer

Xavier Matheson

 

                The story of my journey to Jones Hole starts a long time ago when I started fly-fishing. I wish I could tell you the memory of my first cast, but I was so young even I don’t remember. My father took me up to the Monroe Mountains’ in his backpack, taught me how to cast, and told me to “lift!” when my first fish was on. A native cutthroat out of Manning Creek, but who knew the start of my addiction would be when I was three years old? The older I got, the more I got the hang of fly-fishing. It also helped that my whole family fly-fishes (my grandpa, five uncles, and five cousins). Pretty soon I was off on trips with my dad to bigger rivers like the Huntington, making middle-age men look foolish because I had been perfecting casts since a child.

                One day my grandfather came back from Jones Hole and gathered the whole family around to tell of the “18 inch fish in a smaller stream!” Because Grandpa never took pictures I never believed him, but as soon as I did my homework I knew there was going to be biggins!!! Jones Hole is a natural spring in the middle of the desert on the Utah/Colorado boarder that stretches 4.5 miles and a tributary of the Green River. Because it is a natural spring, the water level never changes, and neither does the water temperature. There is also a fish hatchery right where the stream comes out, that litters the stream with 2 million fish each year! You might say, “That’s a lot of fish going into Jones Hole, but the fish end up in the Green River. NO! By the time Jones Hole finds its way to the Green, the River is too filled with sediment for trout to live in. That means 4.5 miles of crystal clear water with 2 million fish (each year) in it. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!

                The only downside is the drive to the stream. It is about 4 hours from SLC because you have to loop around to Vernal. When you arrive it is like a desert mirage. You’ve been stuffed into a car and seen nothing but sagebrush and what seems to be the same hill over and over again. Suddenly you drop into The Hole! Trees with reds, oranges, and yellows swarm the cliff faces that lead to the spring. You can see why famous outlaw Butch Cassidy hid out in Jones Hole because the cliffs are so dramatic and it is located in East Jesus. If you go on a lucky day you will see bighorn sheep and mountain lions(which I did not).

                To start the day I put on the biggest foam beetle I could find in my fly box. Black bodied with creeping legs that stabilized the creature when it floated on the water. “WAY TOO BIG!” my dad and uncle told me.  I ignored their veteran negativity and looked for biggest nymph I could find, a 1 inch long prince nymph with a bead head on it that reflected the morning sun. I tied the nymph about 18 inches below the beetle, a style known as “hopper-dropper” fishing. The first couple of holes looked grim as neither my dad, uncle, nor I had any action. I ran out of the stream being the opportunistic rookie I am and put in 50 yards ahead of my uncle. Soon we were all catching fish, one guy leap-frogging the next each cast pulling out a fish. There was so much action I was having to change flies every fifth fish! About midway through our leap-frogging tactic, the stream went cold. Nobody had any hits or rises for the past 100 yards. I ran out of the stream again thinking about the last time I ran ahead, I caught the first fish.  I went ahead to a beautiful spillover that caressed a boulder midway through the run. There was no way I wouldn’t catch a fish in here I thought, and when I do, it will be the monster. Pass after pass, seem after seem, drift after drift, nothing! I was too hungry for a fish to not get one, I rolled my line across the pool to a shallow area that had a baby spillover. Maybe I wouldn’t get the monster I had hoped but a little one would be nice. The dry fly bumped along as I ducked the rod underneath an overhanging branch. Suddenly the fly shot down beneath the surface, I set the hook, and saw the fish. “EXPLICIT-CONTENT” I said “I need a net man!” “MORE EXPLICIT-CONTENT” After a battle that left my forearm sore, I bagged (my dad netted the fish for me) the monster I had hoped for, an elegant brown trout of 19 to 20 inches.

                After I had landed Mr. Brown, we all decided to eat lunch. Over the sandwiches and soda, fruit and candy, we talked of our favorite catch of the day up until that point. We had fished another 2 hours after that, catching many more fish. I even caught fish on my beetle!            

 At the end of the day, I was fulfilled. Fulfilled with scenery, family love, and of course fishing! But soon as we started to drive off I started to not be fully enjoying the moment. As quickly as we came in was as quickly as we came out, and soon we were on the beaten oil highway in the sage brush desert. I was finally coming down from a long fishing high that was making me very sad. I wanted to be back on the stream. Fly-fishing is drug, you can’t just catch one, one cast may get you up, but that still isn’t enough. The older I have gotten, the more I have realized how much the sport means to me. I think everyone should try fly-fishing once, but of you don’t like it, you don’t like it. Find something you can do day after day and hour after hour. If fly-fishing has taught me anything it is to progress and appreciate life. Life is like fried chicken, you have to pick your way through to get the good stuff, and once you think there is no meat left, you can always dig in further and find a little more. Get lost in your car, Stay out long and gone, fall into the water, get those mud flaps muddy, rip your waders, sprain an ankle, break that brand new rod, fish the same spot twice, be true, be you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Calf Creek

I take two types of trips, one with my wife and children; and fishing trips with buddies. I now know why I don’t try to combine the two—if you think an outing with the family will yield much fishing time—ahhhh no. Let me be genuinely honest; I don’t just seek fishing trips--I enjoy traveling with my family as much, or more than fishing (sorry dedicated blog and fly fishing fellow freaks). I’m not saying this because I think my wife or one of my girls will read this; I sincerely enjoy traveling with them as much as I like to take fishing trips.

This trip was planned by Melis; a little Southern Utah trip over the UEA weekend to enjoy a little sun and red rock. Southern Utah has become my new favorite and I just got back from my fall fishing trip with buddies, so I’m still getting over the fun of that last trip; plus all the roads an routes are still pretty fresh in my mind. You can’t blame me for wanting to re-wet the fly line—Right!

Oh my God Bryce Canyon—I now see why so many Europeans and Asians flock to the red rock hoodoos! I thought I have been there before; I may have when I was a kid. I am seriously getting addicted to southern Utah. Yes it has a lot to do with the new rivers I have found, and the lack of people fishing those lovely rivers. Of course it’s about the red rock; but even more it’s the vast openness and the almost endless plateau’s. I kept taking what the kids called “Darth Vader” breaths—you can just breathe, and I’m not talking about the air quality, it’s all that openness.

I have fished Panguich Creek once before, but not on this trip—boo-hoo. Moving right along the highway, Hwy 12 to be exact.  Another must, if you haven’t put the rubber to the pavement on Hwy 12 then you just need to! It gives you the full gambit; the extreme vast open and arid Escalante, blending into the climb up Boulder Mountain to almost 10,000 feet; with high pinion pine and aspens. You then drop down into Torrey and Capital Reef.

We hiked up to Calf Creek falls—about 3 miles up to the spectacular falls; stunning the whole way up. It is pretty mild, not requiring too much strain. Honestly I would rate this hike high up on my list. It’s always nice to have a destination, but the whole way up to the falls, you are rewarded with classic southern Utah red rock, with plenty of vegetation fed by calf creek lightly trickling down the canyon.

About halfway up I got peeks of the creek, unbelievably clear for a southern Utah river; which usually has a sort of murk to it due to the red rock—especially during high rains. Calf Creek has numerous little fish swimming about. I didn’t see anything over 12 inches, as I creeped up to its banks. My urge to ask Melis to stop with me for just about a half hour to try my hand at those little guys was great. But I knew she wanted to get to the falls, and that she did not want to watch me pursue fish.

We got to the falls, which was in the shade, and the air was filled with the cool mist from the falls. I knew she wouldn’t last long. “You do know this trip is not about fishing right?” she phrased more as a comment than a question. It’s the longest I have hiked to get so few casts—maybe a dozen. I got one to go after an elk hair caddis—missed him. “Okay that was your shot, let’s go,” she says coolly. She wanted to get back because Jac, Hannah and her boyfriend Nick headed back to the car because Hannah is fighting a cold and not feeling well. Calf Creek will definitely see me again, ready to fish next time.

If I did have a complaint about fishing the river, it would be that a lot of hikers are there 365; and they are all those type of tourists that want to ask you what you’re doing, or make small talk about the types of trout you’re after…blah blah blah. But if you got into the river, you may never really see people, because they have their own agenda, hiking up the trail to see the falls.

The ride through hwy 12 was enjoyed by all, the girls and Nick really appreciated the change from Escalante to the high mountain of Boulder. Adding to the pleasure was some classic tunes from the Violent Femmes—Hannah and Jac are now big fans! But by the time we arrived at Torrey, I think the trip was sort of played out. We stayed the night, and tried to do some exploring in Capital Reef, but when it’s over, it’s over… The rest of the drive was nice, and it gave me a chance to do some more of those deep “Vader” breaths. No this trip was not about fishing, but I caught some great times with the girls; and as they get older I am really starting to appreciate them. You start to realize you have to revel in every moment you get with your kids; and my house of women rock!

South Fork Provo & Alpine Loop

Hannah is committed now, it’s pretty official--we got her a pair of waders. She's not the kind of kid to say, "Yeah buy them,” if she doesn't feel like she’ll use them. What does that really mean? Simple, she’s a fly fisherman; or fisherwoman. This is a pretty big deal to me, because it’s been a few years since the middle kid—Madeline left the sport. I’m totally stoked!!!

We went up Prove Canyon, and quite honestly I was thinking seriously about hitting the lower portion of the canyon—the water looked so good. Also there were no people out today, in fact I did not see one fisherman on the whole river. I love/hate the Provo for just that reason. Honestly it is one hell of a river, and you can’t say that Provo canyon is not beautiful. The hate part is not technically the river; it’s all the fishermen filling every hole.

But I just had a feeling she would love the ponds of South Fork—I was right. Hannah instantly fell in love with the canyon and the river. The leaves are at that prime point, and the air was full of fall, with big clouds threatening rain.

The pond was doing what it always does; boil with fish feeding off the top. The kid learned fast, she took to casting quick. Then came the rain, I mean rain with big fat sloppy drops. I thought we were done—no she hung tough. We finally decided to seek refuge under a clump of trees, to wait for the down pour to mellow.

Great day on the river, and the best part was the beginning of what looks to be a new sport for the kid, and who knows maybe a life time of casting lines together (hope and pray!)