Keen beginnings share the love/show the love

Keen beginnings: share the love/show the love

 

My oldest daughter, Hannah aka Beezer, is almost 20 years old, and I can’t remember a time when she was so thrilled by getting a new pair of shoes  as she was her latest pair; purple Keen sandals. Maybe it’s because she’s living on her own and has developed some appreciation for the cost of buying things like shoes.

 

Let me back up a bit on this latest tale, and set the stage. Hannah & Erica are the absolute best of buds, and have been so throughout high school, steering  them to moving out of the house together to St. George to become two of the cutest Dixie Rebels ever (that’s another story). They are about a month from obtaining their Associates Degree, then planning on making the big move out of Zion into Sin City to attend UNLV. Erica’s dad, Albert aka Al and I decided to drive down and spend a weekend camping with the girls.

 

Watching those two girls together warms my heart, and simultaneously freaks me out. They have such a love for each other, and the way both of them takes care of the other one is astonishing. One morning Al noticed how tenderly Erica went into the tent, knelt down and started rubbing Hannah’s back. I know what you’re thinking…and why wouldn’t you, it’s not like we all haven’t. But if you knew these two, you would know how much they wish they were gay.

 

The rough plan is to continue the quest for trout in the slot canyon of the East Fork of the Virgin. We’re also thinking of investigating up hwy 89 past Orderville into the small town of Hatch or maybe as far as Panguich. When we get to Mt. Carmel maybe we will call “Little Dick” a local guide to see if he can shed some light on fishing in the East Fork slot canyons.

 

But all great adventures need to begin with some shopping, and apparently both girls have been Jonesing  for a pair of Teva’s for years—(no Teva’s aren’t Lezbo.) I actually came prepared with a pair for Hannah from her mom, worn maybe once. So we’ll swing by Dick’s Sports and get Erica all decked out with a styling pair. I don’t even know why I would say that, we all know we will be getting a pair for both Erica and Hannah. They picked two different shades of purple. The new shoe buzz lasted the entire trip; I don’t think 30 minutes went by that they were not saying something about the love of the new shoes—no complaints from us dads; it’s nice to see them so happy. Share the love; show the love, even if it’s for new shoes.

 

Once you get out of Zion’s Canyon on HWY 9 you hit Mt. Carmel, travel south and you are heading toward Arizona, Lake Powell, The Colorado River and Pink Coral Sand Dunes State Park. The pics do not do that sand justice. It’s not just the stunning color; it’s also the finest sand I have ever felt.  All of us were compelled to fun fingers and toes through it over and over; the girls would not stop and kept poking at it over and over in their own little way. According to the little brochure it is the product of a wind vortex that has been working for millions of years to create the amazing Pink Coral Sand Dunes.

 

The girls were not very interested in fishing, but wow I have to vote Al the rookie fly fisherman of the year. He said it was the first time he has ever fly fished, but honestly I’m inclined to believe he’s wielded a fly rod before. I was baffled at how good he could cast. We worked up a section of Duck Creek right below the reservoir. Fish were feeding off the top and I thought it would be appropriate to tie on a Fat Albert for Albert. To his left was a mess of branches, to his right was a bank of weeds. He needed to get the fly up river about 20 to 30 feet without disturbing the water too much. The wind was blowing a bit, which makes it hard to cast no matter how good you are. It took a few casts, but he laid his Fat Albert right in the zone. It drifted down about 10 feet and wham! He set the hook perfect. It is so much fun seeing a grown man have that much fun catching a fish.

 

We drove on to the booming metropolis of Hatch, which thank God had a little place to eat lunch—good soup. The Sevier River runs right through town and we worked it for a maybe about an hour. It was a bit colder than we hoped for, and I think it sort of drove the girls away from fishing. But the trip was not about fishing, it was about an adventure together. So we decided to head back to The Barracks and check out an area that Erica likes, and see what the East Fork of the Virgin looks like. I do not think the East Fork slot canyons exist…but the group decided not to call “Little Dick” to see what light he could shed on the topic.

 

We found a really cool cave on the way to The Barracks, it was great exploring through it—see pics. We spent a little too much time just sort of driving and walking around and the sun slipped low into the red rock. I wanted to get back to camp before it got too dark, to make Hobo dinners—tough to do in the dark. We made a smashing team, with Al and Erica on fire duty, and Beezer & I cooking we rocked the camp.

 

Sitting by the fire, watching their faces, seeing the relaxation, feeling the love, sharing the love, it’s impossible to top that. Watching my big kid move into adulthood, and seeing the woman she has grown into, I am proud to be her father. I can sit at the fire, a fat contented cat and enjoy being with her. You are required to love your children, but not like them; I really like this girl! I see Al’s face and it says exactly the same thing. Further, I want to think that the girls tranquil calm faces is a mirror of some of the same feelings toward their dads—share the love show the love.

 

Packing up camp Sunday morning we all agree this should not be the end of our father/daughter outings; but rather this should be the first of an annual trip. I am all about annual trips; I do it with fly fishing buddies, all the more reason to do it with your kid. Here’s to 2013 being the first of a long line of the “Daddy/Daughter annual adventure.

Ham's Fork Wyoming

Ham’s Fork Wyoming

“Talk to me Goose, do you still want to go in the morning?” read my text to Colby, I was checking to see if he was still in to going fishing to Ham’s Fork the next day. “The weather report say it’s going to be 9 degrees, I’m in if you are Ice Man,” replied Colby—oh don’t ask me about the Top Gun reference it means nothing, it’s just fun to call people Goose.

I was really hoping that the weather would be a nice 60 degrees, and the fish would be starving and feeding like mad, but I would have been happy with upper 30s low 40’s I realize we are a couple weeks early, but I have heard it’s not uncommon to catch 20 inch brown, bows & cuts. The problem is that it’s just too hard for me to get all psyched up about a fishing trip, then change plans—or worse not go at all. I always say “it’s about going fishing, not catching.” However when we parked just below City Reservoir and the thermometer read negative 8 degrees below zero, just what was the Ice man thinking!

We geared up in the truck, with the heater cranked up—I figure get the core as hot as you can before you go out in 8 below. As you can imagine the eyelets were frozen after about 3 casts; I just stopped casting and stripping line in. As the day heated up, which it did to a balmy 30 maybe 31 so did the fishing, we both caught more than 50 Browns and Rainbows each, and the smallest one was at least 19 inches. I caught so many fish I got sick of catching. Okay maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit, well actually a lot a bit. Instead of going after the bland and every day Brown & Rainbow we pursued the handsome and hardy Sucker Fish. You haven’t lived until you’ve hooked into one of these beauties!

I seriously doubt that’s how Colby looked at it when he realized the big fish on his line was not a trout, not even a white fish, but a sucker fish. He released it, and started fishing again and bang he hooked up again; lucky him another sucker fish. Fish after fish, the sucker fish and Colby were one. I too managed to land a few myself. “We came all the way up here just to catch Sucker Fish?” Colby asks in a flat sad voice. “And why not?” I ask, what’s really wrong with the sucker fish? Is it the sucker mouth? Well that could do it, because they do have disgusting mouths (see photo). But other than that, what’s really wrong with them?

Honestly I have to say that was the first time I have ever actually gone after the sucker fish on purpose. We’ll let me re-phrase that, we didn’t go after the sucker fish, it’s just this hole we had was awesome, we busted ice off from it and pushed huge sheets down river; then returned to it about fifteen minutes later. We were reeling in some really big fish, and although they may not be the greatest fighters in the world, they still throw down. Why leave fish to go find fish? Sucker fish or not.

After who knows how many hours, we headed back toward the truck, as fun as it was, I was starving, and ready to eat. We brought a little bbq’er and the brats were calling my name. We ran into another school of fish, by God it’s just hard to pass up fish. As luck had it, another school of Sucker fish. After dancing with some more of those highly prized fish, we somehow broke away to get lunch.

I end on this note: when I was a kid they called Carp a trash fish. Now if you are a fly fisherman and you go after Carp, you’re on the cool kid list. Well my friends if you hook into a big fat sucker, but leave without a smile on your face because it wasn’t the game fish you had it mind, who’s the sucker?

East Fork Sevier to East Fork Virgin

East Fork of the Sevier to the East Fork of the Virgin River

From the East Fork Sevier, Black Canyon section, to the East Fork of the Virgin, one adventure leads to another, to another. At the risk of freaking out my loyal blog readers (Roger) I’m going to ask a risky question: is it more fun going on a quest to find a new river, than it is to catch the fish in that river? I know this question could mean I just committed fishing blasphemy. But fishing doesn’t start once you lay your line on the water—it starts once your tires hit the road.

Colby & I have been planning on a trip to the Sevier for weeks. I have been on line, in fly shops, and asking other friends the best area to hit this time of the year. A new fishing buddy, Mike Matheson “Math” said he knows the Sevier well—“Go to the East Fork of the Sevier, Black Canyon Brotha,” comments Math with a boyhood excitement. I’ve never fished with Math, and honestly I really don’t know if he knows Jack about fishing, or rivers for that matter. But he has me convinced; something about the guy has me hooked that he knows his stuff. But even if he’s off, it’s not about the fish, it’s about the adventure.

We stopped in the mercantile store in Antimony, to double check our directions, and well maybe to get a taste of the locals. I regret not taking my camera in the place with me, or even going back to the car to get it. This gal behind the bar making bacon & eggs greets us. We see the back of about 6 or 7 cowboy hats. They all give us the classic “you boys ‘aint from around here” look. As expected the ol’ boys and cook don’t have much to tell us about fishing the river, except that we are on the right track, and keep going down the road. But I will say she made a mean double cheese burger and Philly steak sandwich. We stopped by after we were done fishing, I recommend it if you find yourself in the area.

The river on the other hand, had a lot to say to us: it said nice fat healthy browns, amazing oxbow bends, hole after hole. You didn’t have to walk more than 10 feet from the hole you are fishing, to get to another amazing section. The banks and a large portion of the river were muddier that I thought it would be which I think added to a sort of off color to the water. Not that it was bad, and it didn’t seem to affect the health of the fish.

We had a great day, good time had by all. The weather was great, and I would guess it heated up to about the low 50’s that day. One thing that shocked me though, was that I did not see one fish rise. I worked hard in the morning with various small dries, and I didn’t get any to rise, in fact I didn’t see one fish all day feed off the top. Everything we caught was off various nymphs off the bottom. I used a bead head to weight me down, they seemed to like most everything; mostly caddis and midge. I had a little success swinging soft hackle, but they really had not moved much off the bottom. I can’t wait to see what that river fishes like when hoppers are on. Some sections of the Black Canyon are private, but they are clearly marked, and there is enough public area to fish for days.

I had to meet my wife somewhere on I-15 at 5:00; we are planning on going to St. George to see our oldest to check out UNLV. I am also hoping to check out the East Fork of the Virgin. I’m going back down there in a month to Camp with Hannah, my daughter, and we have been looking at the East Fork. From what I have discovered on line, is that the east fork has clear water coming from Tropic, and that it holds some browns & bows in it. Once the fork meets up with the Virgin River, it becomes too muddy to support trout.

Colby and I drove through Kingston canyon through I-70 and checkout out the Sevier on our way over to I-15. I have never fished that section either--it is a beautiful river. I think I will have to focus some of my attention to this area this summer. We met up with my wife in Utah’s original capitol Fillmore, and parted ways. It’s lookin like Colby is a keeper member of the “One River at a Time” club, he’s fun to fish with & he enjoys looking for new rivers as much as I do.

The next morning the girls head to UNLV, and I get sent to go scout out our coming camping trip somewhere on the East Fork of the Virgin—bummer I’ll just have to rough through it. My quest started to get more exciting when I asked the ranger at the gate about the east fork, “I’m on a quest my query begins… then she sends me to the visitor’s center. Looking at the map the east fork confluence with the Virgin is at the town of Rockville, coming from Mt Carmel and Orderville, flowing from Tropic Reservoir. I start the conversation with “I’m on a quest to find the East Fork of the Virgin…” She gets a twinkly in her eye but she doesn’t really know anything about it, and sends me to another person at the visitor’s center. I’m thinking, “This will be great, I will get some geologist, or biologist, some …ologist who is going to have some specific info.” No, again she doesn’t know of a section of the East Fork that has trout in it, in the park; in fact she says the park section is closed to people. She sends me to Mt. Carmel. Its feeling like I’m going to really have to earn this river. I’m okay with working to earn a river, and honestly I expect it when you are trying to find trout in a river not known for having trout.

I saunter into this gas station/trading post and I bust into my adventure routine with this lady behind the counter selling native jewelry to some grouchy German lady. She instantly takes interest in my story, and asks me why I am interested in only rivers. I briefly explain my “One river at a time” obsession and its clear to see I have her hooked deep. “I don’t know anything about fishing or rivers around here, but I know a guy who does,” she sort of pauses. “But he’s kinda loco.” I explain that I’m fine with loco “Well what kind of loco,” I feel like I should ask. “He’s just different, looks like a mountain man, but he knows more about fishing and these mountains that anyone around here, his name is ‘Little Dick.’” “Little Dick,” I say okay this is too funny. “His name is Richard Spencer he doesn’t really like going by ‘Little Dick’ anymore,” she says. “Did he used to like being called ‘Little Dick’ at one time?” I ask with shit eatin’ grin on my face.

She goes on to tell me that Richard is out of town right now, so I give her my number, hoping she’ll give it to him. It just sounds like too much fun tromping around the hills of Dixie National Forest with Hannah and her friend Erica, her dad and I and mountain man “Little Dick.” Since he’s out of time for the time being, she sends me over to the next town to Orderville.

This town doesn’t have more than 30 businesses on Main Street, and about a dozen are rock shops; one is called “Fishers.”  I consider the name to be a good sign. An old guy with a big beard and a beat up KC Chief’s cap is behind the counter—he just looks like he will know where to send me. Once again I am dead wrong he does not. “I was told a guy named Little Dick knows a lot about,” I am explaining and he cuts me off. “Little Dick don’t like me, but other people around here love me. And one of those people who can help you is just down the road.” He sends me to see a guy named Clark at the gas station. Off I go.

I talk to Clark’s son at the counter, until his dad comes from the shop. Finally this guy seems to know the area, although he hasn’t fished in over 20 years. This guy, like everyone else today is really nice to me, and seems to really want to help me. You know the saying “the whole world conspires to help you when you are on a quest.” He says the fork running through town is in fact the Virgin, which would match up with all my info that it is the East Fork. “Go past Glendale and just past there you can turn up a canyon that leads out at Stout Canyon, which is where you can camp. If you continue along 89 you will get to Tropic Reservoir. The river running out of that is the Virgin. Whaa-laa I believe I have found what I am looking for. Still it does not match up with the slot canyons I have seen people fishing one line. But all the same, I drive it, I scout it, and I find a lot of it still covered in snow. But who knows it may be melted off by the end of the month.

Now for those who know me, I know you are asking if I got my line wet in the East Fork of the Virgin. Well to do that I would have to bring a rod and reel with me, along with at least one fly. Well, it just so happened that I did bring at least one of the above items with me. The section I stop at has a fence, as I am going over barb wire the thought does occur to me that it may not be public access area--but who can say for sure, and I do hear the river calling my name.

Post script: little mistake here, I said the East Fork of the Virgin is fed by Tropic Reservior, which is not true if feeds the East Fork of the Sevier. The east Fork of the Virgin was really tricky to figure it out, it bubbles up from a spring. March 9, 2013

Jumpin the gun

I thought I had the weather prediction all dialed in--no really. I talk pride in reading the weather, sort of being able to predict when their is a change of season. I watch the little subtle things, and if read properly you can say with confidence "fall has arrived, or in this case WINTER IS OVER."


I felt the gentle little shifts in weather, birds singing, changes in the sky, cloud differences, oh yeah baby I thought for sure today would be one of those early, early spring days on the river, where the beloved sun shows his happy face, and heats the day up to maybe 41 or hell maybe 42. No, I was wrong, and the day was windy and cold. Old man winter still has his bony grip on the neck of Mother Nature. At most holes, we had to bust through the ice. It would break off in huge sheets and float down river; this lasted all day.


However with that said, I am going to further predict that even though I was wrong today, winter is on the way out. Oh we will still see snow, rain and some cold days. But they will not be the hard hitting stuff we have felt for the past few months. Old Man Winter's hands are still on her throat, but they are only loosly placed there, ready to pull back. The snow we see in the next month or so will come one day, and be melted off the road by the next day or two. Mornings will still frosty, and the snow piled up on your boat in your front yard will not be gone tomorrow, but pay attention lovers of spring and sunshine times they are a changin.

Winter Blues

Winters gloom is sticking to my everything; filling all the space with its chill and worse its inversion. I have been cooped up inside for too damn long, and today I was bound and determined to get out, regardless of how the day went.

Honestly, I love winter, well mostly I love winter. Well, I can say that I like it. To me there is no greater mountain-scape than when its wrapped in winters white coat. There is a certain tranquility that winter and snow bring, that no other season can touch. I enjoy the snow, and not just skiing in it. I actually enjoy it for what it is.

I can handle the cold, I even like it, when I am properly dressed for it, and geared up for it in my mind. I dig winter fishing, waiting for the day to heat up, and the midge to get moving, then seeing the water boil with trout slurping them off the top. You know you have only a small window of time before the sun fades, and the fish stop feeding, so it makes the time you have all the better.

With that said though, I have had enough of winter. I am ready for a change of pace, and today I did not care if I froze to the bone I was going to get my waders on, and my line in the water. The only river right not that is supposedly fishing well is the Provo. I love the river itself, but I usually do not like to fish it. It just has too many people on it. And today sure enough everyone was there.

Actually it didn't start out that way. Evan and I were there early, about 8:00 and no one was in the parking lot; we turned left at the first light coming into Heber Valley. I don't know what they call that section, but if you fish the Provo, you know where I'm talking about. Honestly I can see why everyone fishes it, it is an amazing river--all you can ask for.

It snowed most of the morning, and you could tell the sun wanted to come out, and so did the midge. I worked it hard all morning nymphing and dry/dropper fishing--with only a couple bites. Then they started feeding off the top. I worked it hard with tiny dry's but nothing. I decided with them feeding off the top like that, I would have luck swinging softies. Bingo.

There was one point for about 15  minutes where I was on fire. God it was fun. I say this all the time, and I stand by it: you don't have to catch fish to have fun. But when you do, it really does add to the pleasure. I would have had a great time even if I didn't get one bite; I really need to get out. But catching fish does not suck.

Viva Naughton

Yes I went back again to Viva Naughton and the Ham's Fork--this time with my oldest daughter Hannah aka Beezer. She is going back to St. George on Sunday to go back to school, so it was a chance for us to take a drive together, and see the rocking Wyoming country side.

No one can say that Wyoming doesn't know how to turn the heat down in the winter; damn that place can get cold. I can only imagine what its like when it really gets cold--ouch. Before we went to Viva Naughton Damn, to check out the river, we stopped in town for a bit in Kemmerer. That place is a zoo--for deer that is. Wow I have never seen deer so unafraid of humans. We turned off on a little street off the main road, and there were a bunch of doe's walking right behind Hannah. We saw a little spike sitting down in the snow looking all sad. As we turned the corner, I saw why. There were big bucks walking around with not a care in the world.

I was taking pictures of them from the car, and wondered if they would spook once I opened the car door, which usually frightens the deer away. They could care less, even when I walked toward them. I was half wondering if I had something they wanted to eat if they would let me pet them. Who knows, I may have been able to get a bucking buck ride--grab on to that huge rack and giddy-up! I feel confident to say if you were a deer hunter, it would be worth it to check into getting a tag in that area.

We went to the damn at Viva Naughton, and walked down to the spillway. Oh what a beautiful river. I cannot wait until early spring to don the waders, see if the fishing is anything like deer hunting would be. If it were, huge 20 plus inch Browns would impale themselves on bare hooks.