Lake Powell with the Ladies

If you don't like Lake Powell, there is just quite simply something wrong with you--seriously wrong! As 'ol boy Zog says, "it's one of the most beautiful places in the world." It's hard to argue with that old pirate, but how could anyone not like Powell??? Okay, I will admit the heat is turned up pretty high, but once you sort of give in to that, and let it wrap its sweltering arms around you, its...I don't know sort of healing???

I was the solo man with 5 women, the wife, the three daughters, and Hannah's friend Carley. They were the best, and aside from a little bickering with the little women, we all got along smashingly. My girls, especially Jac the little one could be dragged along on a tub all day long.

Fishing did not happen, but make no mistake about it, I saw a lot of carp and stripper--many feeding off the top. You just have to see a big fish come take something off the top of the water and your blood gets cooking.

With any luck this will be the beginning of a yearly tradition, and just maybe we will be joined by friends...

Okay, I would be wondering what in the hell is going on with this shot too... brief explanation, it comes from my daughters friend from cheer leading, she would do these huge jumps into the air, and her name is Leah Bill. So we have a tradition of doing this where the shutter is set to take about ten pics of everyone jumping into the air. Here's the funny part look at me, I look like I either pulled something very painful, or perhaps I pooped in the shorts... you decide. One last thing, I was the skinniest kid in the world, where did the fat come from???

Big fish vs. little fish

Stalking big fish vs. catching a lot of little fish

When the stars align and the moon is just right, and your Quan is perfectly aligned with your Chi, then it’s possible to have day on the river where you catch those monster fish, and catch a lot of them. Actually think about it, rivers that you know hold the big boys, got so big by doing something that the little fish have not done for very long: survive. Consider how many fish in a river never make it to 5 or 10 inches—primarily because they usually become food for those big ones. So getting back to catching those big fish, genuinely whopping fish, and catching a large amount of them…well it’s not an everyday occurrence right?

With the blatantly obvious said about how big fish become big, lets also be candid that those big fish are a lot harder to hook and land. If they weren’t, I doubt we would be drawn to the sport. Why does a hunter dream of getting that royal 7 point elk, and better yet, why do some hunters dream of doing it with a bow, or with a black power rifle? I think the same can be said about getting that huge Brown to rise to a little caddis you delicately drop just above the hole you see him feeding in, making sure your line lands just so, and that your fake bug drifts perfectly into his tight little feeding zone so that he thinks that bead and feather hook really is a caddis. Slurp, a slow and deliberate take, let him eat, and count “God save the Queen,” set the hook. It is at that exact second, you see the line go tight and you feel the weight and mass on the end of the line and you know you’re in for a heavy weight title fight. That exact second where you have worked so hard and also gotten so lucky to do all the correct things to get this fish on your line, for me it just doesn’t get any better than that. The fight to come will be awesome, and whatever the outcome, either you land him or he gets away, that’s another matter. But for me it’s that tiny sliver of time where you know you have at least gotten the chance to fight this fish that draws you in.

I don’t think I care about landing that big fish as much as I quiver in getting that full-sized fish to take the imitation caddis believing it was the real thing. You may need your waders for the BS I’m about to pile up, but I think the one that got away means more to me than the landed fish. On a river that I will not name I hooked into a trout of unknown species, with a nymph that felt like a snag. I was pissed because I just tied a new one on, and I was just hoping I could release the hook without losing it. But then the snag started to move, I was almost more afraid then excited. I was in for a 15 round heavy weight fight, and I knew it. About a minute or two into the fight, or what would be about the third or fourth round, this champ ran down river under a log; but I went deep into the water, and forced my rod under the log, and instantly applied opposite pressure. I would like to think that at point into our battle that my fish gained a bit of respect for me. I picture him saying, “okay it looks like you’ve spent at least a little time in the ring…” He then ran up river just ripping my line out, like the reel would catch on fire (a touch of hyperbole) I moved up river, keeping the rod at the side, and I kept constant pressure on him. Without writing an entire novel, he took me to my backing 3 times—honestly. At this point I’m thinking the fight is over, and I will have my hand raised in the air. No! It’s what I think is maybe the 13^th round and that son of a bitch pulled the Rumble in The Jungle on me,  and totally KO’ed me by driving deep, and wrapping me off on a branch or something. Here’s the best part, I did not even get to see this mammoth fish. I did not get to see just how big this fish was. I started screaming and crying like a little baby, yelling for Greg to come help me. What was I thinking, help me do what…? He was gone, and I knew it. But never seeing that fish has haunted me to this day. That fish was by far the best fish I have ever hooked, and never landed. I will never forget it, and I will always wonder just how big he really was.

Sort of opposite to perusing the colossal fish is finding a river that you know doesn’t support the Mohammed Ali of fish, but instead houses the feather weights. I’m talking about rivers that don’t have the right conditions for fish to get really big, and the conditions are so that a lot of fish are in there and they don’t get that immense.

A lot of factors and circumstances must exist for fish to get big, but without getting crazy and just keeping it simple, it has to do with food. If the conditions are right for a lot of bugs to thrive, or larger prey; things that hold a lot of calories for fish such as frogs or sculpins or large terrestrials and the fish can just pork out all day, well they will get big. As my buddy Colby always says, “Fish gotta eat.”

Fish also need the right home to keep them safe, and oxygenated, and you can usually tell those rivers by looking at them. Of course it’s not like this is an exact rule. You can find a small ditch that will hold 22 inch fish.

If a river has a lot of small fish in it, about 3 inches to no bigger than 13 inches, its usually packed with a ton of them, and they all have one thing on their minds—food. Now how does this differ from the big fish we were talking about? No difference except one thing, those big fish actually get a chance to feed that hunger. Those little fish are fighting tooth and nail to get every little morsel they can in their little fish gullets. So when you find one of these rivers, which are typically higher in altitude and do not have huge deep holes, you can look forward to a day of tying on most anything in you fly box and getting action. And if the day is going to be like that, why not select flies from your dry box?

Another perk to these types of rivers, it that they tend to be in a beautiful setting. Which is exactly the case with The North Fork of the Duchesne, a river that simply has to rate high on Utah’s beauty scale. I love everything about this river, from the drive there, to the size of the river, to the stunning mountain range that surrounds it.

The gateway to the Grand Daddy Uintah Mountains, the North Fork has been a popular camping destination for our family and friends for years. When the kids were little, we would camp with our friends at a group spot at the highest campground, at Iron Mine. The kids have great memories of playing baseball out in a field right next to the river. If you didn’t trip on a hole made by the thousands of pot guts and gophers in the area, you were blessed. I can’t say for sure, but with any luck my girls will have that river in their blood stream, and they will site the North Fork as one of the first ones that got into their veins.

Partially everything I put on brought some kind of action from small rainbows, and a few 10 to 13 inch Brookies. At a particular section of the river things turned crappy. Colby attributes it to all the cows pooping into the water. How can you argue with him, I’m sure cows and in particular cow shit is not a big draw for any species of trout? As the day progressed into the afternoon the top of the water was alive with almost every cast.

We took along 3 guys I work with, and one guy in particular, Chris, was brand spanking new to fly fishing. Yes once again, I am playing the role of guide. Seth was new to fly fishing, so I matched him up with Colby, although he is a pretty experienced fisherman.  I must admit, there is particular joy in seeing someone enjoy the peace of the river, and it’s a bonus if they actually get a strike and maybe a fish. Billy, the third guy was nick named “Big Foot” because he disappeared as soon as we got there, and we luckily found him at the end of the day. Chris has a successful day on the river and actually caught fish—a big deal for a new guy. At one point Colby, Seth and I were positioned at this amazing hole created by a huge log across the river; our goal was to achieve a trifecta, each one of us hooking up. It was trifecta time over and over again.

The battle with small to medium fish will obviously never etch into anyone’s memory like the trophy fish. But as I say over and over and over again, going fishing is not really about catching fish; it’s about fishing. I love a day of action, especially when its top water action, and the North Fork delivers baby! I can’t say I’ve fished every river in Utah (not yet) but I have seen enough to say the Basin area is heavy weight champ even on small fish streams.

North & South Fork Ogden

I know it’s too early to tell, but I think my baby, Jacqueline, may be joining along in the pursuit to “Fish the World One River at a Time” she joined her older sister “B” and I for an afternoon on the North & South Fork of the Ogden.

I can’t say how much she will actually fish, but who really cares if you are hell bent on hooking up, or if you are just out there to enjoy the river? I don’t think Beezer is really that much into actually fishing, I think it’s more about getting into the mountains, and out of the city. What does it matter what anyone’s motivation is, as long as they are there with you—the rest is up to them.

If you take a look at the pic’s, it just won’t do it justice to how many caddis were coming off the water. I don’t know if I have ever been in a hatch like this one. At one point I turned a corner and so many caddis were flying up river, swarming past me, I had to close my eyes and mouth. I have seen a hatch going off, but never one like this. But here’s the odd part, I did not see one fish rise—not one.

I kept tying on a variety of caddis patterns, but not a single slurp. I assumed that maybe they had their fill, and that they just couldn’t stuff one more yummy caddis down their gullet. But that doesn’t make any sense to me either. When do fish ever really stop eating, especially during a hatch like that? When the dinner bell rings it’s time to eat baby!

I decided to swing soft, who knows maybe they are sub surface eating these bugs before they are hatching, besides we are working down river anyhow, and that technique will lend itself perfectly. Bingo got a few little ones to play. What I’m not really sure about is was it getting the fly a couple inches under water that got them to take…?

 

 

Echo

 

 

 

 

Echo/Lost

 

The best way I can think of ending a school year, is to spend it on the river. A small but deadly group of us to made plans to converge at Lost Creek for a little time getting our feet wet. I am feeling pretty happy sporting my new “River Tales” tee shirts made by Silk Screen Master Sham, as young stud “X” Matheson and I pile the gear into the truck. We will meet his father “The Oracle” up there as well as Colby Wilson and his family. He’s bring his son Ruby and his parents. I’m most excited to meet his dad—Ralph. He was in Viet Nam, and he lost one of his legs and an arm from a land mind exploding. I have heard many tales about this “true grit” guy. Colby hooked him up with a Tankara rod, so it will be cool to see that in action as well. For those not familiar Tankara is a Japanese style of fishing with a long rod and no reel. So naturally it should work pretty for a guy with only one arm.

 

As we are almost to the fork in the freeway where I-80 and I-84 split off, and we decide to go the I-80 direction so we can spend a few hours on Echo Creek before we get lost on the Lost. What a cute little river Echo is, small with nice little holes and frisky cuts. We are not breaking any records, but we’re doing just fine. However, we both know that we could so easily just fish the entire day away on Echo. It’s the “time inside of time” issue I have talked about so many times. I think it’s what draws men to fishing, the opportunity to forget everything in life and just get lost in playing. When you fish, time, obligation, worries, projects--whatever melt away. I always say it makes me feel 8-years-old again. That was my golden age, a time of play; and does any real man ever grow up?

 

It’s back to the truck for us, to meet up with the others for a little bite to eat at the Polar King—I love their Jalapeño burger. We are having a hard time getting across the fence; the barb-wire is doing its job, making it hard to decide to push it down, or pull it up or hell, just find a better spot. We walk on; tall grass loving life--all is good. X lets out a yell, you know the sound, not like he got hurt, but the danger sound. “What is it?” I ask. “Oh my God, you almost stepped on that snake,” he yells. No one likes a snake in the grass; that’s where the saying came from—right! But when you fish rivers you are used to running into water snakes all the time, no biggie; but this thing is in a pile like a cow pie, and it has a diamond head—and I’m not sure but I think I see a rattle. The thing is big, Diamond Head, multi- colored, and brown, tan and yellow, but no movement what so ever. Okay, now I can say I am afraid. I am thinking of the Oracle’s text before we left, “take care of my boy,” and he has only one child, it won’t be good if I bring him back with a rattle snake bite.

 

We are both a little freaked out; I think we both have a just dodged a bullet feeling. We meet his dad at lunch and tell the tale. Then off to Lost Creek, hopefully Colby will be there. When we pull up to the area we park, some idiot with Oregon plates is parked right in our spot. What are the odds that some out of state Yahoo is parked here, and they’re obviously here to fish? I can see a lady in the passenger’s seat, so I send X to ask her just what the hell she’s doing here. She said her husband and her son are fishing. Here’s the part where I feel really stupid—Colby told me he’s bringing his parents and kids, and oh that’s right his parents are from Oregon. What can I say “Stupid is as stupid does…”

 

Hearing stories about his one arm, one leg father is one thing, but to see this guy working down a steep hill to get to the river—wow impressive. I guess when you’re in his situation you have only two doors: get help from others, or be fiercely independent. It’s easy to see which door Ralph picked. No wonder Colby’s such a bad ass.

 

Remainder of the night The Oracle and I keep tying on flies while X lures in some big cuts. Its great watching him cast and set. At one point this big boy rises up and sniffs his size 22 Griffith’s gnat, follows it, circles around, goes down river from it a few feet, then slowly slurps it in. As The Oracle would say, “it doesn’t get any better than this.” It sounds cheese-ball, but to see deer all over the place, hawks and herons fly over-head, the sun setting bouncing off their wings…who really cares about fishing? Does it really even matter what your after when your go fishing? Do you even need to think about it, or try to understand it, or even better, do you ever need to try to explain to anyone why you find it almost essential to your existence, and that they too should revel in it?

 

West gets holy

The last time I gathered all the boys from West,  we traveled south, to fish a handful of sinfully exciting rivers. This go around I've got plans to baptize a new guy, Evan Anthony Smith; and attend fishing services with two seasoned fly fisherman--The Oracle and his stud son "X" at Holy water. Of course it's just not a trip without the beloved Tommie Bitchin Szalay, Baby Bear Bo Maciejko and the overgrown avatar Mr. Wilson.

Here's what I'm thinking: make everyone happy--take these guys to Rock Creek which is a beautiful river, full of hungry fish, then follow it up the next day with a shot at a fish that will make you pray to Jesus on Holy water. we'll camp at my property "Desert Nirvana" which is centrally located between the two rivers.

Monday morning, back at the grind, reflecting on all that went on...there is just too much fun on the river, and too many antics around the campfire to tell it all. I have written too many blog entries that give a detailed blow by blow of the action. I'm going for a change of pace--bullet points of the items that float to the top. Note: items are in no particular order or ranking.

 

 

·         The drive there with Evan; talking and getting to know him a bit (I am a talkative social animal).

·         Watching Holy work its magic on Mr. Wilson—he runs to his Greek Goddess teeming with love.

·         Watching Tommie Bitchin (who is later in the trip re-named Big Daddy) ever so gracefully make his way up Rock Creek, throwing dry flies.

·         Happy that “Baby Bear Bo Meciejko” fit the trip into his schedule.

·         The camp fire, the Dutch oven cooking and eating, and all that goes along with it.

·         Seeing X, and his father The Oracle walking down the road toward us (father & son magic).

·         Arguing with Evan that you can’t make up your own nick name (he self selected Scorpion)

·         Fishing with “X” and seeing his raw, youthful determination and passion.

·         The feeling in the pit of my stomach that we have started something really cool.

Wait for photos by Big Daddy

 

Farewell to an old fishing friend

For the past couple weeks I have been dealing with the death of an old friend, Greg Cleverly. The hard thing about his death is that my relationship with him dates back to when I was a kid in college. So many good and bad waters have flowed over our bridge since then. The reason I say “dealing with” is that his death is the result of him taking his own life. It’s just hard to say suicide , because you feel like if you say those words aloud, or worse yet if you print them, that your are spitting in the face of all that love and know him, and that you are somehow being disrespectful. I do not want to show any disrespect for him or his family. I love them so much, and I do not want do not want to hurt them in any way. But I was so deeply affected by him that I am struggling with what happened to him, and that he would end his own life. I always say that some people “get into your blood stream” and those that do, remain there forever. He is in my bloodstream.

For over two years we have not spoken; I have shut him out of my life. We were involved in business, and things just went bad. Throughout the past couple years, we have had very little contact. He found out that my dad had cancer, and he reached out to me. We came close to reconnecting, but I still had pain in my heart, and I did not feel that it was time to let him back in my life. Over a year passed, and in that time, I think he went into a dark place. I had no idea how much light was shut out of his life.

His funeral was hard for me. I was asked to speak and it was tough. It was not so much difficult to speak, or to be there, but it was hard inside to sort out my feelings. I wish that it would have turned out different for him. I wish we could have bumped into each other some place, at a store or at some event and all the pain and problems from the past would have melted away and we could go fishing again together again as friends.

My mom has always said that you are lucky if you have one true friend in this world. I must be one lucky son of a bitch then. I have had the good fortune to have many friends that I would count as in that category. I have a handful of old friends that I would go to the end of the world for, no matter what the cost, and some new friends as well. Greg was one of those friends. I wish so much in my heart that the trouble between us could have been resolved. I guess I can blame him for leaving, and I can blame myself for taking so long to get over things. Or perhaps I can find a way to make it right with those that are still living. I miss my friend. Greg, I hope you are waste deep in a new river.

He was the best damn fisherman I have ever wet a line with! 

Holy is as Holy does

 

Spring break and the ladies of my clan decide to head down to sunny St. Geezie. As much fun as being stuffed into a hotel with a bunch of teenaged girls and one lovely 40 something year old mother sounds, I opt to stay home. Also I really am buried with a lot of work. A day or two before they leave, the Beez, decides to stay home with me, and go camp/fish for one night. Our destination: Holy Water and Dessert Nirvana.

Colby is planning on meeting us there at least one of the days. We pull up to the spot we normally park, and his car is there along with about 6 other vehicles. It just sucks when every Yahoo in the state hears about one of your special places. You can go on line and watch video of people talking about the experience here, and they pretty much walk you right to the water. I suspect the net has done that with every river across the country. I have probably added to the problem. People can look at my pics on my blog and figure out every river based upon the information.

We meet up at a hole we refer to as “The Greek Whore,” Colby actually named it that; I think in retaliation to all the New Testament names. I suspect his goal was to add a little flavor to the names. Like any good whore, she put out; but not until she first taunted with us with the wind. Once you have figured out one or two of these fish, you know you are in store for a great day of hooking up.

The brought the dogs, little Blain was just beside himself with curiosity when he would see a fish come it to the shore. Check out the pic of him deciding whether he’s going to run or attach the brown on the end of the line.

We get back to Nirvana with just enough light to find some fire wood, and get our Dutch oven dinner ready.  Dessert Nirvana is some property I have in the area. It’s currently just land, but the hope is that one day I will have some money to put a little cabin there. But for now, just sitting by the camp fire, poking at the stew in the Dutch is fantastic. Walking away from the fire is amazing. The moon is full, the air clean and brisk, and the feeling of just not being in the city renews me. I just don’t get to do this enough. I need to spend more time sitting at a camp fire watching the flames.

In the morning we decide to drive to Rock Creek. She has to be back home by about 5:00 to go to class, so I use the few precious hours to throw a Fat Albert to the hungry little fish. As I start out walking up river, I don’t see any fish feeding off the top, so I add a dropper. I catch a bunch of little ones, off a Prince Nymph. Like a switch being turned on the top of the water is just boiling. I don’t even think I will have to match the hatch, but just stick with Albert. Sure enough they are as happy to eat him as they are the midge coming off.

I make us some brats with fresh sauerkraut. There is just something right about a brat in the mountains. But then again it seems like anything you BBQ in the hills tastes delicious. I don’t want to drive back home, instead I want to stay for about a week, fish, Dutch oven cook ,and watch a fire for days on end. Actually I want to stay for as long as I want, to wallow in it until I say “enough, no more fish, food and fun.” We got home in time for her to go to class, and I took a shower and went back to work.

Corn Creek

"Your right, exit at Meadow, then head to K-Town, that's what we call Kanosh," said Naquita a nice girl who worked at the Subway shop in Fremont. Once you’re in K-Town you just head up the canyon. Which follows right along with the Oracle's directions. What he didn't tell us was that the canyon is still gated off. So for us to get to the fabled "Second Stream" tributary, we would have to hoof it about 4 to 5 miles.

 

We walked for quite a while, and we got past the North Fork, and past the camp grounds, then we arrived to a tributary that looked to be what the Oracle would call a "3-beer" stream; meaning it has about as much flow as pouring 3 beers into a river bed.

 

We worked up one stream for a bit, but we were having a hell of a time finding areas that weren't extremely overgrown with willow branches. We went down river after about an hour, and found an area that was great, open and full of hungry fish, taking pretty much any dry you threw their way.

 

Working our way down river was more of the beginning of the day. We were bush-whacking at every hole and getting beat up in the process. There was little to no ability to back cast, or fore cast for that matter. (I wish the Oracle would have told us to bring a machete or chain saw). The fish were very alert, and stealth was almost impossible.

 

I can't throw the Oracle under the bus, because we never got to the exact area he told us to go. But I can’t imagine there would be a lot more access to the river up further. I don't care how well you can fish, when every hole is covered with brush, you can't get your fly in there.

Overall, beautiful canyon, and it looks like a great area to camp. The fish were plentiful and eager to eat. However the overgrowth was just too much to drive two and a half hours to get to. Sorry Oracle, I we don't see eye to eye on this one.

No-Tell-M- Creek

"Take XXX road and look for a lone juniper tree ; from there fish up-river,"  directions from Mike  Mathison aka "The Oracle." Okay, to be honest its never that simple with the Oracle, it also involves him jumping up and down, waving his arms from hell to breakfast and like type displays of joy and excitement. I did exactly what the Oracle instructed, and I went alone. I went with plans of fishing hard all day; and boy howdy did I ever. I arrived at the juniper tree about 10:00ish and yes-in-dee-dee I worked up-river.

The fish were small, but those little fish put a big smile on this boy's face.  The canyon was isolated and peaceful. My first plan of attack is to use a hopper dropper with a soft hackle as the dropper. I also using beetle patterns and Fat Alberts for the dry. Honestly I don't really  expect anything from the dry this time of year, I mostly use them as strike indicators--wrong! Some pretty good size fish give me the slow deliberate slurp. In my world of fly fishing I just doesn't get any better than seeing a nice brown slowly rise up and slurp my dry! Slightly less good is when they are just about to slurp it and something spooks them, and they reject it.

At any rate, I told the little woman that I was going to go forth, and not expect me until way past dark, which again is exactly what I did. I somehow pull myself out of the water to find the road.  I really put on some miles, and I had a long slow walk (most of it in the dark) back to the car. Not a soul was in the canyon; complete bliss! I spend all my days with people needing this thing or that, and to be alone even for half a day was the best part of this river. Dear God its nice to trade your cell phone in for the RIVER!

Thanks again Oracle!

Oh one more thing, if you know this river from the pics, your wrong its not that one...