Worship

It wasn’t my original plan to go it solo; about four other fishing buddies were planning on going with me. But one by one each person had something preventing them from a day of prayer and worship in water of holiness.

I was up and getting ready to go at about 6:00 and I read a text from Colby, The Avatar, who is the last of the faithful, who was up all night with a sick kid. For better or worse, I become excited to go it alone, I can use a quiet drive unaccompanied, and if Mike Matheson is present there would be none of that, not only on the drive up and back, but all day on the river as well.

The weather is perfect, at about eight it’s almost at 40 degrees, clear blue skies. I always love the drive to Duchesne; it has such a variety of terrain. I fancy reaching Heber, with a view of the back side of Timp. Heber has grown over the years, but for the most part it has maintained a large portion of its farm land. Denial’s Canyon reaches its peak right before you get to Strawberry Reservoir, what I like to consider the gateway to a wonderland of Utah river paradise. The altitude drops some as you get to Starvation Reservoir and you get the classic Utah desert—sagebrush, Juniper and Pinion Pine.

Approaching the river I crossed both fingers, “please no parked vehicles” I really don’t want to run into other fisherman on my river, that’s right I said “MY RIVER,” because when you have fished a river for over 20 years and you have named every section, and a lot of the holes, you have earned certain rights to a river. My good luck only one truck—thank God. I decide to work up river toward the damn, and I immediately run into two fishermen. Good now I know where they are, I can work past them and be done with people. Okay two more guys, then 3 more, then 4 more—“what the hell is going on?” I work up far enough up river to see 8 vehicles parked; that’s right 8 more car loads.

I stopped and talked to a guy who told me some guy posted a lot of stuff on You-Tube and Facebook a few months back. Not to mention the Philistine who was showing video a few years back with details of location. Its official, what was once my river, my nearly personal, private river, is now everyone else’s temple to disgrace?

Jesus said “Come unto me,” he washed the sins of man with holy water. He wanted the poor, the whores and the dirty, stinky fishermen to be healed (and washed) by the waters of forgiveness.

But I am a far cry from Jesus, and I would rather see all those dirty sinners to go straight to Hell! Okay maybe that’s a bit extreme, I don’t necessarily want them to burn, but I don’t want them to receive absolution from the same waters of forgiveness that have cleansed my weary heart for almost a quarter of a century.

Can a temple be compared to a river? I don’t think so. Let me rephrase that, I don’t want to see a correlation between the two.  I can only think of a river that sat in quietness, mostly undisturbed, is becoming more like the Provo River, pressured daily, at every turn by the “unworthy,” trampled and discarded by those who have no reverence. I stand so pious and righteous casting judgment on all the others, while deeming myself worthy to cast line in these sacred waters. Maybe fishing is like earning a place in heaven, virtue equals redemption. ”I have a right to be here damn you all I have showed homage!”

But wait, what makes me more worthy than anyone else? Have I not taken many fishermen to its banks, and have I not flapped my gums, contributing to others knowing of its whereabouts, and its divine qualities. Perhaps I should look at myself as the scourge upon the river for bringing plague upon it? Holy Shit, I am Judas & Ramses rolled into one. But at this moment I just feel engulfed with self-righteous frustration-- I stand angry and somewhat sad about these changes.

In my exasperation, I decided to run back to the beginning, a section of the river I call “The Old Testament,” where I originally started fishing it. Its every bit as great as the new section, it just lacks some of the flair and style. Because of that I think it will be less known or at lease less fished. I am right, I see no one.

I try to clear my head, find that very thing we are all looking for: quiet solitude, and perhaps a few fish. Yes, if I can catch a few fish, perhaps I will find that holy feeling I long for. I will prey and pray in its waters.

I have a San Juan worm and an egg pattern, thinking they may still be working on the spawn, or at least on the tail end. I rarely use a strike indicator; instead I go with the “Czech Nymphing” style. It’s more effective to adjust to each hole, and you can vary to the depth with each cast. Additionally you can work your presentation a number of different ways. I get lost in the pursuit. I start getting focused on my technique. I notice my leader is too deep in the water, and just by bringing up my rod tip about 4 feet helps me read my line better. One small little thing like that can make a huge difference, and it does.

A hit, then two casts later, I hook up on a classic Holy Water Brown. It’s amazing how far catching a fish goes in an attitude adjustment; like an answer to a prayer. I always say fishing is not about catching fish, but there is nothing like going fishing and catching fish.

The pain and weariness is melting away. I get to a huge hole that is usually too deep and swirls with this vicious circle that makes me think, “Wow I know this hole has a lot of fish, but it’s just too hard to read.” But it looks very workable today. I hook up on a monster, oh my God; this thing feels like a mammoth something unreal. It’s a Carp, a huge Carp with these massive shining golden scales. I let him go, then regret not getting a pic to show Wilson—a little Carp fetish.

I can’t get even one more bite out of this unreal hole; I take off my pack, eat some Gummy Savers and relax for a bit, and let the holy temple do its magic on me. Just 20 feet down there is another great hole, so I just watch it for a minute. I work it for 5 minutes and again, I notice my leader is down too low, not allowing me to read my line. Just that small adjustment and there he is. I catch a handful of fish out of this hole. Little fisherman side note: all of them on an egg pattern, even the Carp ate the egg pattern.

I hook one that just won’t come in, it feels really big. It is, this guy is a monster. It has all the markings of a mature developed fish. His pectoral fins are enormous. At this point, I’m thinking, “this seems like the time to be done, it’s time to leave the temple.”


Walking back, I want to just be in the moment and not think about all the people I saw today. I have been cleansed in the waters of forgiveness, and my step is light and carefree. I don’t want to think about the stinky hoard of unclean wrapped in waders and toting their evil rod and staff; for that matter I don’t even want to think about the blood stains on my own hands. I just want to feel absolved—forget about tomorrow, forget about next time I come visit this river and I see its banks teeming with the ungrateful bastards. I am THE stinky unworthy Philistine, the biggest of them all, sucking the marrow from the bone down to the last drop; with no more wisdom then the grasshopper eating the last drop of corn.

 

Portneuf ID

As a family we have visited Lava too many times to count. I've always enjoyed it for an "over nighter" during any season. During winter months we stay the night and soak in the hot springs. During the summer we would camp for a few days and raft the river (ask me about butt pants some day).

The kids loved rafting the Portneuf because it's warmed from the water of the hot springs, so it's the perfect temp, not too cold. It also has rapids big enough to give the kids a little thrill, that don't kill.  The little town also has a fairly good share of restaurants and bars to choose from.  Pound for pound Lava is tough to beat for a cheap little get away.

Here's the rub: I have never fished the river. I have thought of it, and I have come close to fishing
the Portneuf , but it's just never happened.  This is simply a crime against fishing; and if you have fished the Portneuf you know what I mean.

I am punching myself in the face--hard for taking so long  to flick a fly in this water. I don't want to jump the gun on this one and over rate it , but what the hell I think this one is that good. For starters from Lava you take old hwy 30 up to Chesterfield, but I stopped not even 5 min from Lava.

I can't think of too many rivers that have some of the characteristics of the Portneuf . I most of it is slow moving and almost looks like a warm water fishery like a catfish or Bass river. But it has a lot of small waterfalls that provide an ideal trout environment.  The falls are beautiful and sure enough trout.

The water is rich with minerals,  and abit of a sulfur smell, but it fosters various spectacular underwater plant life. My favorite feature of the river was the depth of some of the holes. I think it's due to the lava rock river bed, but most of the river is about 2-3 feet deep but then these sections go what looks like 20-30 feet deep.

The water as well as the banks are teeming with life; again I suspect it's linked to the rich mineral content. I think this river clearly calls for the expertise of Mr. Wilson.  I have no bout he will be as giddy as a school girl at this sulfur scented aquatic serpent.

Did I mention that I just scratched the surface of this river. I can't wait to go again!

Hwy 12 Calf Creek with the fam

Its possible we have found one of our favorite Utah destinations--Hwy 12 rates high with all of us. From Bryce to Torrey it probably reaches its pinnacle at Calf Creek. Its 3 miles up to the falls, and then obviously 3 back. This year Momma had a little slip and fall, resulting in a nasty sprain. Next time she'll be sporting walking sticks in both hands and better hiking boots. Had too much fun with the ladies and adopted son Jaxon. I love hiking with you guys!

Forks of Duchesne with Piscary Club

You've heard the story about the guy walking on the beach with literally thousands of star fish washed on the shore and he's walking along tossing them back into the ocean. Another person comes along and says "there are too many star fish you can't toss them all back...it doesn't matter." The person tossing the star fish pauses and says, "It does to that one."

It's a cheesy story, just about as cheesy as the comment you hear from people who say, "Oh you’re a teacher, that's nice, you matter, and you effect the lifes of so many people." We'll that is true, and it is nice and warm and fuzzy. But it's just a job like any other job--you go to work and you do your job. You get so caught up in the daily grind that you forget the product you are producing, and that although it sounds corny...well every now and again you have those days when you're reminded that you get to some kids, and that you have an impact.

We have been planning on taking a bunch of kids at West fishing for months now; we were thinking of the Weber--its close and fun all the right stuff. But the truth is that it's not really all that beautiful, and most of it is right next to the freeway--a real negative for me. We'll as circumstances would arise at the last minute I had a wedding in Altamont to attend, so plans changed to the North Fork of the Duchesne. The Oracle also thought it would be a good idea to hit the West Fork as well.

The plan is to take 10 kids total, 3 teachers. One teacher had something come up, and 4 kids showed up--including X. We'll maybe the impact will be on less kids, but remember the star fish guy. Don't worry about all the fish on the beach, just concentrate on the ones you have some contact with.

For 2 of the kids this was a first time fly fishing, and it was a first time driving up Wolf Creek Pass. The leaves were maybe a week past their prime, but absolutely stunning. Both the forks looked utterly fantastic--the flows are perfect. I'm thinking the second any reasonable dry hits one of these holes--POW these boys are going to be into fish galore. That was not the case, the actual catching part of the fishing was a bit less then expected. Both The Oracle and I were hoping for more, knowing full well that it helps to hook fishermen via hooking fish.

But I have to stick to my Thoreau quote that it's not about catching fish. Maybe the hook is set when you stop in a little German bakery in Kamas, or acting like idiots, to embarrass them with your tomfoolery. Maybe the hook is set on the drive up, spinning ridiculous tales with fictional characters—putting kids on the spot with ad-libbing some wacky story about a overweight biologist named Gary. I know the hook is set deep when you cook up sizzling Brats with warm kraut, and an ice cold lemonade, chips and hot salsa. Combine all that with the autumn leaves that are on fire; how can it not take some hold? How in the world can you not want more of that? I promised then that they would enter the river boys, and exited as men. Monday morning when asked, Vineeth said, “No, I entered the river a man and I came out a man,” That was just the answer I was hoping for--hook set!

A little river on Skyline drive

 

 

 

There are a few roads, canyons, mountain ranges, and rivers of Utah that you just have to see. I’m talking about those areas that you would place on the top shelf; areas that make you say “this is a must see before you die”

Naturally Canyon Lands, Zion’s, Bryce, Provo River The Green—Utah’s big dogs, are going to rate high on most people’s list.  And not to take away from them, but those areas are like the really popular songs from big bands i.e. Zeppelin’s “Stairway,” or The Beatles “Let It Be.” Who doesn’t love those songs? But what about the deep cuts, the songs on the album that really go into the genius of the artist?

A few weeks ago I joined up with a few cousins, one from Arizona, to rally up at the Boulder Mountains. As luck would have it, we had all of Posey Lake area pretty much all to ourselves. The drive from the small town of Bicknell on hwy 24, to Torrey hwy 12, over to Bryce Canyon is one of those afore mentioned areas. I can think of no other area in Utah that goes from red rock to high mountain pine and quake’s to approx. 12,000 elevation, then down again to the white & red rock that Utah is so famous for. Hwy 12 is “While my Guitar gently weeps,” or “Here comes the sun.”  

This weekend, we drove through another one of those areas that rate up there as a “Must See,” Skyline Drive. We entered through the little town of Fairview. Driving to the top of the Manti-La Sal range, it’s littered with a number of small lakes, and streams. This is a well-known area, it’s not a hidden mysterious place, but my oh my I forget how great it is; one of those deep cuts songs, maybe “Going to California, or When the Levee Breaks.”

Our group numbering 7, naturally must be called the Magnificent 7—what choice do we really have? When you get a bunch of men together in the mountains the western correlations are just as natural as Butch & Sundance, The Wild Bunch,  maybe Deliverance or Broke Back Mountain—oh wait a minute what happens fishing…

Of the 7, only two of them are new to the group; James Tobler, and Garth McFarland—although I have fished with Garth a couple of times. Neither Garth or James have nick names, so hopefully another outcome of the trip will be nick names for both of them. The regulars are Colby “Bull, Avatar” Wilson Mike “Oracle” Matheson, Bo “Baby Bear, or Destiny” Maciejko, Tom “Big Daddy Z” Szalay, and myself John “Goat Sac or Dutch” Engel. Because this is my blog, I will take the liberty to complicate this cluster ever further by assigning each member to a character in the movie. Side note: Baby Bear didn’t even about the Magnificent 7, so he’s sure as hell not going to get the honor of assigning characters, instead he’ll shut up and take what name is given him!

1. Big Daddy Tom Szalay is Harry Luck’s Brad Dexter, both chill guys that bring a punch. What would a gang be without Big Daddy?

2. Garth is Robert Vaughn’s “Lee”, cool collected, mellow not a lot to say, but when they do talk, they have something to say.

3. Tobler is a cool guy, but the truth is I don’t know him enough to let him be Steve McQueen’s “Vin,” but he matches up the best with McQueen, they both have the same type of swag. Time will tell if he has what it takes to fill Vin’s boots.

4. Mike “Oracle” Matheson has to be the knife throwing tall drink of water “Britt,” played by James Coburn. Of all the guys in the bunch these two match up the best, although when we never did get to see the Oracle throw an axe—those are the guys to watch out for.

5. “Baby Bear” Bo Maciejko--come on we don’t even have to mention Horst Buchholz’s “Chico.” I know the movie is old, it was filmed in 1960, which makes it 54 years old, a ripe 24 years older than Baby Bear. Big Daddy Tom Szalay has eye brows older than that.

6. Colby “Avatar Bull” Wilson has to be Bronson’s “Bernardo”—first of all he’s chopping all that wood when he decides to join in on the adventure, and well they essentially have the same body type. Bronson is just a bad ass! The only part that doesn’t match is I don’t think Bernardo ever laughs.

7. Engel: OMG let’s see who’s left… Since I’m assigning roles, naturally I’m gonna pick Yul’s Chris—duh. I’m the only dark, bald guy in the group. Plus I look better that the rest of these bums in black! One more thing, I can nail Yul’s voice from The 10 Commandments.

 

Enough bull shitting around with stupid names, let’s get right to fishing talk. The Straight is one of the most beautiful rivers I have fished in a long time. A good portion of it is tucked well below the road, preventing any view of the river, as well as eliminating the sound of cars driving by. The mixture of pine/quakie is point on. The walls and river bottom are covered with a lot of rocks, which is not only beautiful, but it also makes it easy to travel upon. Some of the rocks are huge which creates some killer holes.

The fish are hungry and hit hard. I can’t imagine The Oracle being excited fishing any river other than those filled with Cuts, but this little champ is chuck full of Browns. We didn’t catch anything huge, but we caught a lot. Garth did land one Brown that was not only long, but was fat and sassy. I get Matheson’s fascination with native fish, and the whole biological intrigue with the only native trout to Utah’s waters, but you can’t beat the epic battle that a Brown gives.

Half the party also broke off and hit some of the smaller streams like Lowery Flats, and a couple other little tribs that are not much more than a ditch. The whole area up there is full of so many tremendous small streams and enough still water to make anyone happy.

On the drive home we hoped to hit the Price, but it was filled with too much dirt, so we didn’t even give it a shot. We stopped at Diamond Fork hoping to get one last shot at a small stream before going home, but same problem there. It was for the best, the town had been saved by the Magnificent 7, and with all great adventures, and it was time for each character to go his own way. Will this gang of casting marauders reunite? Will we save the next river from peril and destruction? For sure, we’re more of a series than a film. We have broken bread together, each man has eaten my Dutch oven delights; we have listed our “Dirty Dozen” to each other--of course we will meet again on a new river. Which one will be next, will the gang all be there, will other characters join in on the adventure…

Bear River (East Fork)

September 26

There is no better month in Utah than September, and there is for sure no better month to fish than September. The temps are perfect, the smell of fall is so earthy, the fish are hungry, and of course the autumn leaves. Mr. Wilson and I happen to think that September 19^th is the best day inside the best month. We have both been wanting to go to the north slope of the Uintah’s for over a year now to check out Christmas Meadows, China Meadows, the Black Fork, Haden’s Fork just to name a few. The Uintah’s on Mirror Lake Hwy 150—winner winner chicken dinner!

I have camped so many times with family and friends in the Mirror Lake Highway area, I couldn’t count them if I tried. In all those camping trips, I have never driven over to Evanston, and then taken Hwy 150 back over to Kamas. I hate to admit it, but this really is the first time I have ever done it.

Driving up from Evanston is beautiful, and it didn’t take too long up the canyon before we reached the confluence of the Bear River with the East Fork of the Bear. We just could not help ourselves from parking quickly. This is the first time for me to fish these rivers. My overall rating-- straight up "B." Explanation: 

Winning features:

• Extremely beautiful (especially in the fall)
• High Mountain away from people and major roads. Yes a lot of people visit the Uintah’s in this area, but go there on off times and avoid holiday weekends
• Fabulous size river (sort of the baby bear syndrome not too big, not too small)
• Healthy, clean water great flow and cfs
• Fun to explore and nice holes
• A lot of trout species

Not so winning features:

• Not a ton of fish
• Fish in the Uintah's are not monster--we started calling some of the little cuts “Deans”—short for sardines. It’s hard to catch anything up there over 14 inches, and it’s easy to catch fish under 5 inches.

Looking at the two lists, it’s easy to see that the Winner category is large. It’s hard not to like the Bear, and it’s East Fork. When we were done fishing we headed back to the car to burn some “Brats.” Kicking back smelling the grill, sipping on a Sam Adams, watching the big puffy white clouds move over that landscape was honestly as good as it gets. Both of us are compelled to explore this area more. My buddy Zogg is always talking about Christmas Meadows and all the wonderful rivers in this area, and I have heard if you find the right spots you can also find bigger fish.

I hate to say it out loud or worse yet to write it, but here goes; on some level size does matter. The fish on the south slope compared to the fish on the North Slope are bigger. There are so many rivers on the south end of this mountain range that hold some big husky fish. Of course you are talking about a whole different kind of fishing; high mountain free stone rivers cannot be expected to yield fish like the ones in controlled tail water. Also I really have not fished the north end enough to say honestly that it doesn’t have the fish that the south slope does. So perhaps I should end on that note, and head back up hwy 150 to see what I can find…

Boulder Mountains

 

 

 

 

I haven’t fished with Paul Judd since he joined in on a trip to fish Montana’s Madison and Beaverhead Rivers in I think it was 2008. It’s always a treat to hang with the Judd Man. I am excited to meet up with David & Hammer, who drove up from Phoenix to reunite with us in the absolutely beautiful country of the Boulder Mountains.

I think when you hit the town of Bicknell you see the red rock mountain, and the Freemont running through the town (Bicknell Bottoms) its maybe some of the most stunning topography Utah has to offer. From Hwy 24 you make your way over to the town of Torrey, which has a turn off to Hwy 12. That road takes you through an amazing range of almost 12,000 feet of pine and aspen mountain top of the Boulders, to the red and white rock of Escalante Grand Staircase forest, to Bryce Canyon.

Forget even talking about the rivers, the lakes, the fishing—just forget about even talking about fishing, let’s just talk about the drive. Where else in the world can you see such a range of terrain? I don’t really know the answer for sure, but I think I can say—nowhere else in the world can you see that! Many parts of the west have truly stunning red rock canyons and formations, but I just can’t think of an area that is like this—with such range and diversity.

We drove up from the town of Escalante on Hells Backbone (what a great name for a road) to Posey Lake. David & Hammer arrived about 4 hours before us, and had set up camp. Not a sole was on the whole lake—what luck. I prefer to camp in what’s called “primitive” camping areas, but honestly not a sole was camping up there. The next day though, one solo man decided to camp right next to us through. We wolfed a yummy Dutch Brat dinner, in the dark, and enjoyed a bottle of Camp Fire whiskey courtesy of my buddy Colby. I would like to elaborate more on the absolutely hilarious antics that resulted as the night progressed but some things need to stay at the lake.

The next morning after some pain and suffering (look at the pic of Paul’s face) we slid out of the tent on our quest for many small rivers that are home to many large fish—information directly from the mouth of the Oracle. To our disappointment they were pretty much dried up. The Oracle had warned me about this because this area hasn’t seen a lot of water this year. But no worries we made our way over to the Black Canyon and to the upper Antimony River. Hammer and I broke off from David, and we pushed it until dark; what I should really say is that I pushed it until dark. We had a long and hard drive back to camp on dark winding roads.

The next day I wanted to explore more of the lakes on Hell’s Backbone, or even make our way back to Bicknell to hit “The Bottoms.” But reason, a touch of wisdom, and the look of all of their faces told me the best thing to do would be to work Posey Lake. It was the best decision of the whole trip. We stalked the shores of the lake, and in terms of fishing, it didn’t get any better than watching both Paul and David hone their killer instincts and casting technique to bring up fish to take their dries.

David caught the biggest trip of the trip, a healthy Brooke in pursuit of his orange #16 stimmie. It was awesome to see him drop a cast in just the perfect spot in front of this bad boy, to see the take and the set. It was pretty much the exact story with Paul. It brings such satisfaction to see someone go from awkward and struggling, to focused, precise and deliberate. It is also great to see them have a fish take their fly. Hammer had his night of glory on Antimony Creek the night before.

All said and done we didn’t catch a ton of fish, and the ones that we did catch were by no means trophies. But I had as good a time fishing as I ever have. I can say it a million times, and not say it enough—it’s not about catching fish. Maybe for me it’s about seizing all the other things. I hope they all had as good a time as me. One last note: the final night’s dinner was a huge Dutch oven success for me. I started out wanting to make a sort of shrimp Cajun dish. It ended up having about every animal from the farm and the sea in it when it was all said and done. But they all sat back in their chairs, full and happy.