August 10, 2014

The Driftless Area – Not many of us Western Fly Fishermen know about it and the literally thousands of trout laden rivers, streams and creeks that encompass it.

From Wikipedia: The Driftless Area or Paleozoic Plateau is a region in the American Midwest noted mainly for its deeply carved river valleys. While primarily in southwestern Wisconsin, it includes areas of southeastern Minnesota, northeastern Iowa and extreme northwestern Illinois.

I’m certainly no geologist, but my interpretation of what happened here is that during the glacial period this area did not have the travelling glaciers that caused massive geological changes like we have in the west; this area simply experienced runoff that carved the river valleys.

What does it mean to me? Awesome fly fishing. And when I get a business trip anywhere remotely close to the driftless area (Minneapolis, Madison, Milwaukee, etc.) I jump on the chance. And on this particular trip I flew to Madison, WI. Which put me 1.5 hours from the famous Timber Coulee Creek; often listed as in one of the top 100 American trout streams.

This area of the US is beautiful. And it is in the middle of nowhere. And the state of Wisconsin is one of those states that has its act together in terms of protecting its native waterways. WI also has the most elaborate internet mapping system of fishing of any state in the union. Which means I didn’t have to call a fly shop to locate precise directions to the river and where to park. I did call the Driftless Angler Fly Shop and I am so glad I did. Isn’t it always the case that a 5 minute call to a local fly shop is an eternity of valuable information? My only regret is not being able to get to Driftless Angler because of time and location. I owe them. And I will find a way to repay them by spending money in their shop. It may take a year or so, but I will. Not only did they tell me what to throw and how, but most importantly warned me about the dreaded yellow parsnip.

Had I not talked to driftless angler I would have come back with two years or more of what effectively is poison ivy. It’s everywhere. It’s almost impossible to miss. And it is riverside. You know that nasty plant that lines hot creek? I think it’s called the Stinging Nettle. And when you fish hot creek you invariably get your fly stuck in it. well, stinging nettle is an hour long nuisance. This non indigenous yellow parnship is 2 years of misery.

Back to fly fishing. From where I parked I could see the creek. And there was a sign warning about C&R single fly barbless; perfect. It was about the size of the upper owens. It’s Wisconsin in the summer so I was wet wading and because of that I could get ready quickly. It occurred to me, because of the nightmare of commercial airline travel I was fishing at the exact wrong time of the day; but I had therest of the day. I hopped the cow fence and walk down to the creek. Size 2 grasshoppers were jumping and flying everywhere. “oooohhh” I said to myself. Unlike the upper owens this creek had no river trail that lined it. hmmm… that cannot be possible for a fly fishing paradise.”, I said to myself. “There are no cars here. It’s Sunday. I have this river to myself. Maybe I am in the wrong place.” Also unlike the Upper Owens this river was overgrown on both sides, so it was going to be a technical casting day. From where I approached the river it was clear it was a cow crossing…disappointing. But the water was still clear and cool. Then I noticed a handmade sign: “Bull in Pasture – beware.” Great. I looked upstream and saw encouraging signs of structure in the banks which had to be a Trout Unlimited project. I looked downstream and there was a bend with a deep pool.

“Well, there is only one way to find out if there is fish in this river.” I said to myself or outloud. I was in the middle of nowhere and no one was within miles. Even though the logical thing would be to fish up river I just could not resist starting at that big bend below me. It was overgrown with trees so I had to make a difficult cast downstream at it. I tied on a Huck-Hopper. Whack! First cast. Big fish. It surprised me and I farmed it. uggghh…. And we all know what the jinx of the strike on the first cast means… but, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I threw a few more times at that pool, but that first strike scared the pool and it needed to be rested. So I moved up stream. Within 5 minutes I landed my first little brown; just 100 feet from my rental car.

Within 30 minutes I had landed two big browns. One of them was a female that was an absolute battle with me steering it out of the danger areas (sticks, trees, boulders) all over that river. The other was a big male that rose viscously for my hopper. It was in still, deep water surrounded by danger and nowhere to land the fish. I immediately thought I would have to purposely snap him off (5x) so as not to hurt him. But, the fish gave up quickly. It was one of those older fish that are just tired and no longer strong. We have caught them through the years. the older, bigger ones just don’t have the fight in them anymore. So, I literally walked the fish downstream 100 fish to where I could enter the river and let him go quickly.

Now, I was starting to think, “40 fish day!” And oh how wrong I was. I moved up stream basically bushwhacking and it seemed like every run I came on I took one too many steps and 50 rainbows scattered which means I ruined it. I tried to be stealth. But, I didn’t know the river so I had to take a look before casting… and taking a look required me to get to close and scatter the fish. Also there were large froggy sections that did not seem to hold fish. So, I went about an hour as I pushed into the wilderness without any strikes. At this point I tied the dropper on. but, after hopping a cow fence it was also becoming evident of something I have only experienced when hunting the big rainbows on Kauai: bushwhacking through thick vegetation that was 10 feet tall and full of thorns and other dangers. Little did I know the great thing about fishing the pasture was that the cows ate their way to nice casting areas. In the wilderness there were no cows to trim. I pressed on and saw big fish but casting was impossible. At the high of frustration I looked at my cell phone to see the time. Later than I thought, of course. And I had a cell signal! I can’t even get a cell signal in my office in Carlsbad, CA, but in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin you can. I had a txt that my buddy Loren, a beginner, was on his way with an ETA of 30 minutes. Perfect excuse to hike back.

When I got back Loren was there just yet so I fished the spooked areas I couldn’t before. And I landed another nice fish.

Check out the Huck-Hopper in that bad-boy’s face. When Loren showed up I lost my Huck Hopper to a branch in the river with one of those impossible casts. But, you are not going to catch the quality fish unless you try. And that is why I tie flies.

I rigged loren’s brand new sage up. we did a litte casting lesson and his stroke was good. even though I wanted to I wouldn’t have to do much guiding with Loren short of tying on his flies and helping him read the water. In fact, by the end he was totally self sufficient and didn’t need me.

It was 4pm now and normally this would be the perfect time to fish. For some bizarre reason I tied big ass commercially tied hoppers on both me and Loren even though my size 6 huck-hoppers were working great. my thinking was it matched what I was seeing in the naturals better. I was wrong. The fishing went dead.

Loren and I fished downriver in some awesome stretches of water with hopper-dropper. I dropped everything off me and Loren from prince nymphs, to flash back pheasant tails, to rainbow warriors, to midges…. Nothing. Both of us were making good drifts too. Bizarre.

After a couple miles we turned and fished our way back up. Awesome runs and our drifts were good, but, nothing. It was the curse of the commercially tied hopper when a badly tied huck hopper was working great. It was all my fault. I screwed with fly fishing karma and now not only was I being punished, Loren was too. Frustrated I started fishing more quickly and giving up on the good runs more quickly after one cast. So, I got about a quarter mile in front of Loren. And, of course, that is when I heard him yell. In shock I looked down stream and he was on. And doing everything wrong trying to land that fish and I was not there to guide him. My curse was official. He was going to lose that fish and it was going to be my fault. So I started running… when I got there he landed it! and he had beached the brownie and had forceps shoved into it’s face trying to unhook it. I quickly unhooked it with fingers and said, “we have to take a picture quickly.” We did.

By the time I got him into the water he had to be revived, but he did swim away. “Woo!” high fives. Then I fished the rest of the way back, skunked in my 2^nd session and I knew why.

July 24-27, 2014

There are very few positives to California’s worst drought and water shortage in over 100 years. One of them is the spectacular fly fishing on one of, if not the wildest and most dangerous rivers in California: The Kern. When the Upper Kern River is low it can be waded; and there are a lot less places where a fish can hide from a good cast. Like I told my son Mark, “This is a very technical river to fish, but if you know how to read the water, it does reward a good cast.” Let’s be clear: I am a fly fisherman who backpacks; not the other way around. So, excited, me, my 19 year old son Mark, and his two buddies, Shane and Taylor dawned the backpacks for 3 nights of primitive camping and 3 days of fly fishing above the fork of the Upper Kern and the Little Kern Rivers. This was a special trip not just because I knew the fishing would be good. But, because this was my last shot at quality time with my son before he headed off to college in Bozeman, MT and Kelly and I become empty nesters.

The Fork of the Kern is a reverse hike; meaning you go downhill when you are heavy (full with food) and back up the 800 feet of the canyon when you hike out. And it’s physical….very physical. This hike is not for the faint of heart. The temperature can be brutal and when you combo that with the altitude and the relatively treacherous trail it’s right up there with the hardest hikes in the sierras.

And let me tell you, the Kern was low… easily 4 to 5 feet lower than normal for July. My guess is that it was 1/3^rd of its normal flow for that time of year.

When you fly fish as often as I do, and still have stretches where you get skunked you just get that feeling like the lord owes you one. Well, in Lake Tahoe the weekend before on a little hike in the desolation wilderness with the huckaby clan I tried a few casts in Echo Lake: nothing. I didn’t even see fish. Then on the way to backpacking from tahoe, Mark and I tried one of the blue ribbon stretches of the Truckee River near the Truckee Bridge for a couple hours: nothing. We slept in the back of my truck Wednesday night before hiking the forks hike at the Johnsondale Bridge parking lot. While waiting for Shane and Taylor to show up Thursday morning I fished the kern about a mile above the bridge (20 miles short of our hiking destination) for 30 minutes….nothing. So, we headed to the Forks of the Kern Trailhead with me thinking, “the fishing is going to be good and the Lord owes me one.”

We set out for the journey from the Kern Fork Trailhead late morning and made it to our favorite primitive site to camp in record time: well under 1.5 hours. The first thing I noticed was just how low the river really is….at least 5 feet lower than normal… that has to be 50,000 CFS lower than normal. The great thing about our favorite site is that it is a great stretch for fishing…especially rich in risers. Unfortunately, it’s normally not crossable for a mile in either direction at this spot and it’s an impossible cast from the camp site to where the risers are. My first thought was I can cross the river and turn an impossible 75 foot reach cast that has to clear a 5 foot space between two trees behind me into a simple 15 foot roll cast upstream from the other side of the river. Now I was really excited!

The boys were wrecked, though. I had been training by running and mountain biking for 6 weeks in advance. Let’s just say drinking beer and chasing skirts were more of a priority for the boys leading up to this trip than getting in shape. So, I set up my tent quickly, rigged my Sage ZXL 5wt quickly and hit the river while they relaxed. It was mid-day, clear and hot, though; the exact wrong time to fish. I didn’t care. And Within 30 minutes I had over ten strikes on my huck-hopper on top. Within two hours I had close to 20 fish landed and released. I was right. It was good; really good.

So, for the next 2 and a half days I fished…and the action never stopped. I never fished a good run where I didn’t get at least one strike. I fished dries or huck-hopper-dropper the entire time. And with the river so low I never had to hike more than a hundred yards to the next good run. Typically it was about 100 feet between runs. I am not much of a fish counter, but my guess is 30+ fish landed every day with about 50+ strikes; All Kern River Rainbows with some hybrid goldens mixed in. Half of the fish went over 14” all the way to 20”. I failed to land a few above 20”. Some of the battles went forever with me chasing fish down river. I was even getting them on the swing. And if you are a fly fisherman and get fish on the swing you know that every once in a while you catch fish accidently as you start your cast…. The fishing was so ridiculously good I even started picking flies out of the box I was sure wouldn’t work. And the bigger the fly I dropped, the better the fishing got. In one 3 hour stretch I dropped the biggest most nonrealistic stone fly nymph imitation I have ever seen…and it killed.

Highlights:

· I had my fly rod ripped out of my hand on one of the most vicious strikes I have ever received. I have only had that happen once before, in Gates of the Mountain, Montana during the spawn. Unfortunately, if you lose pressure on a Kern River Rainbow, you are going to lose the fish…which I did. My guess was one of those 24”s the kern is famous for. It was on the swing so there was tension on the line. I panicked and practically dove in the river after my rod.

· We ate a couple trout. After days of powerbar like backpacking food it’s hard not to. I’m not a trout eater… I even catch and release salmon. So, on this trip I pack in a little white wine, olive oil and lemon juice and do it right. And the teenagers love it.

· I had so many epic battles won and lost I can’t even list them all. The one I remember the most ended in me saying to myself, “my god, that is the most aggressive 12” fish I have ever battled.” That little fish took me a hundred feet up stream and then 100 feet downstream. It included 3 separate shamu like jumps before I brought him to hand.
The 2^nd one I remember the most is going to haunt me for a while. It was a 20”+ fish that jumped ten feet in the air. What are you taught when a trout jumps? To lower the rod and release tension. I did not. It shook its head violently in the air and snapped me off (5x). I looked at Mark, shook my head and said, “That was completely my fault.”

· My top highlight was not even me. On the last night as the sun started to go down the risers started at the site. My son Mark got up and started fishing the rise with his rod. I got up and asked him what he was dropping, and he said nothing; that it broke off earlier. I said, “Take my rod; it’s rigged. And let’s go up stream a couple hundred feet under the trees. So just Mark and me. father and son headed to fish alone. I carried a cup of JD and he carried my fly rod. We bushwhacked through the heavily overgrown stretch, guarded by trees on both sides. I said like I always do when guiding him: “What do you see?” He said, “I see two good runs with two separate seams.” “Yep.” I said. “You also see it guarded by overhanging trees on both sides and water too dangerous to wade so you’ll have to sidearm roll cast it under the trees.” First cast, whack! Miss. I don’t think he was ready for a vicious take on top. Second cast, Whack! This time on the stonefly nymph dropper. 10” brought to hand quickly and released quickly by Mark. A few casts later, Whack! This time it’s a big fish. I looked at his face and I could tell. Nothing was said as he fought the fish for an eternity until I said, “if he gets any farther down river you are going to have to chase him.” That fish ran again down river, shook his head and he was off. We both laughed. Sometimes losing a fish is as fun as landing them. He took a few more casts and caught and landed another 12” fish. By this time it was dark. 20 minutes, 4 takes, 2 landed. We walked back to camp and I said, “My god you have become a good fisherman. And man am I going to miss you.” He said nothing; which meant everything.

As I hiked out with the boys I tried to think if I ever had a better 3 day stretch of fishing in my relatively short, decade long fly fishing obsession. Certainly my trips in Montana measured up in terms of quality and quantities of fish…but many times that was guided on drift boat flinging the bobber….just not the same as hunting wild fish wading on a technically difficult river. And there was the many October trips in float tubes in Lake Crowley. But, lake fish don’t fight as hard as river fish and stripping streamers just is not as technical or difficult for that matter. So, yea, this probably was the best 3 day stretch of fly fishing I have ever had. Of course having my son Mark with me, just a few weeks short of him moving out of the house and off to college weighed in heavily on that conclusion too.

I got a jump on the rest of the crew and made my way to the Savage River early on the first day. They were all coming that night and since I love to fish alone in the wilderness I could not resist. What shocked me the most was how beautiful the river and the area was; So green and so many trees. This was one of those places in America where animals thrived.

As I was to learn later it is also a very technical river where trees punish a bad cast and bad drifts don’t fool anyone – Absolutely perfect.

Savage River Outfitters is in Swanton Maryland in the Northwestern part of the state. It has an Orvis Fly Shop and 3 rentable cabins. And there really isn’t anything close. The houses my buddy Tom rented from them were perfect and inexpensive.

Mike, the owner of Savage River outfitters, is retired and looks 20 years younger than he is. He greeted me within minutes of stepping out of the car. He gave me some guidance and I was on the river by 2:30pm. I did not step out of the river until 8:50PM because that was when the gang was due to show up. I wouldn’t have called it slow that day. But, it kinda’ was. I did miss a bunch of fish. I think I was only 2 for 12. Two landed and ten missed. I was to learn later it was a slow stretch of days on the river.

Mike had a buddy fishing up stream, so to be respectful to him I fished downstream for a mile or two and had the time of my life. I walked the road back to the houses and ended the day waiting for the guys fishing the big pool right in front of the place. That pool held a ton of big fish, had all types of fluctuating currents which made it very difficult to drift. And it would end up never producing for me even though I fished it 5 separate times. My nickname for it was “Refusal Pool” because that is what happened to me….numerous times. Why is it that we remember the refusals more than the fish we land?

Well the next day is when we had all three guides for us 6 guys. I paired myself with Loren because he was a total beginner and we got Mike as our guide. Charlie and PJ were the other two guides. Great guys and genuinely great guys. I did the parings and told mike to spend 95% of his time with Loren. That plan worked perfectly. Loren essentially got a guide to himself and “was hooked”. I can’t wait to fish with him again. It was a great day but really slow. The great news was that Loren actually caught and landed a fish on a dry. I was shocked by that. Mike took us to numerous places on the river and we even got a hike in in the upper section by the dam. When I do get back I have all the intel I need to fish that river successfully.

The gang ended the fishing day around 5 or 6, but I kept fishing, of course. I hooked and missed a big fish on my huck-hopper in the giant pool of still water foam up river. Ugg… I rested the pool a bit and tied on a huge dropper of 5 feet. Success. Big brookie of 14”. Long battle. I thought I nailed that big fish at first because these wild fish pulled so hard. That is the great thing about wild fish. I walked the road home, and then I fished the hell out of refusal pool. I targeted a 24” brown sitting 6 inches under on the wall. I made numerous perfect drifts over that fish’s head and got 2-3 refusals. I became obsessed with that pool. It still haunts me. I bet 100+ fish are in there and I didn’t hook a single one. I even stooped to a streamer on a sinking line….which always works. just not there. I even threw a cicada at 11pm in total darkness…nothing.

On the last day I was the only one that fished. We had a big night of drinking and eating and Mike and Charlie joined us. I only got 1.5 hours of fishing time because we had to pack and be out of the houses for the next guests by 12pm. And the lord rewarded me. I started in the big pool and had the fish of a lifetime rise from nowhere in the riffle that entered the pool only to refuse me. That one I will remember for a long time. So I pressed up river intending to end it in the big pool where I missed that big one the day before. On the way I saw a fish rise. I was under two trees and it was a spot too deep to wade so I was on the side of the river out of the water. I said to myself, “you are only going to get one shot and this is one of the most difficult 40 foot, side armed reach casts you will ever make.” Thank you lord. My size 18 x-caddis dropped silently and landed sofly just 5 feet above the fish. As it passed over where I thought the rise was the fish struck hard. I set sideways down stream and the battle was on. my first thought was “big fish” because he pulled hard on a run. But, when I turned on him (5x) he jumped 3 feet in the air. I said to myself, “not so big a fish….12” brown.” Then he jumped again and I let out a “woo!” to no one. after the 3^rd jump I was already thanking the lord and my fly fishing buddy ken Bendix, who passed away 3 years ago from cancer. I just had this feeling that ken decided I earned a good fight on a very technical river. As I walked the road home I was elated and sad at the same time. I wanted another full day on that river so badly. I was just starting to figure it out.

The Savage is one of those rivers where you don’t even consider using an indicator. It’s just not right. The river holds mostly browns and brookies (which is all that I caught), but there are rainbows and an occasional cutthroat. It’s a wild river with prolific hatches of many types of insects. It’s a river where you hunt fish instead of throwing blind. If it gets slow, like it was for us, you drop a nymph under your dry. It is a river where roll casts spook the fish. You typically get one shot with a sidearm reach cast under the trees and if you miss, you lose. It’s also a very slippery river and Maryland is one of the few stupid states that has a no felt wading boot law. It is very hard to be stealth when you’re slipping and constantly tripping.

I quickly learned that this river was the golf equivalent to cypress from the tips. And I loved every minute of that. The savage thrives with fish to 30” and I never hooked anything over 14”. I have never fished a river where I had so many refusals. I had refusals from huge fish that will haunt me for years.

Honestly the best part about the way my roles in the company have evolved is being able to sneak hours here and there on a river while on a business trip. Many times I get to fly fish with the actual client or potential client.

Well, I met my buddy Jim after a keynote I did earlier in the year and we immediately became friends. He’s a CFO at a large org – perfect customer for the kind of software work we do. As a part of visiting his company up north and meeting his team we made the plans to Back-pack into the Desolation Wilderness (just west of tahoe).

Great long weekend. I fished the way up. worked, back-packed, and fished my way home.

Thursday, June 26^th, 2014 – Kern River

If I am driving all the way up to the Sacramento area for a 3pm meeting how could I resist not leaving at 0-dark-30 and hit the Kern River for an hour or two? It’s a hundred year drought and that is one of the wildest and most dangerous rivers we have in California. Although not really on the way, the Kern River above the Johnsondale Bridge is easy to get to. I didn’t have time to scour for fishing reports, but I have been fly fishing long enough to be pretty sure that it would be good….and I was right.

My first surprise was that no other fishermen were there… there were some kids drinking beer below the bridge, but only a couple cars in the parking lot. hmmmm…. But, yea the river is low….significantly low… almost low enough to cross and if you know this stretch of river you know how crazy that statement is.

Well, there is only one positive of a 100 year drought in California…the fly fishing is really good. Because of my 3pm meeting, and having to be right on time because of a number of people in the room I just couldn’t risk being late. I would have to shower up and put on “adult clothes” too. So, I only fished for an hour and a half… and just killed. I caught and released a number of fish and lost a bunch too. I was never short of action, and much of it was on the rise. And the low river made it easy to hike up river. The farther I went, the better the fishing got. I made it back to a great riffle stretch I know that is fishable in normal conditions. It’s about a mile up river. And I kept telling myself, “I have to leave; I have to leave.” But, the fishing was so good.

So, like decades of fly fisherman before me who have said this and lied… I said to myself, “ok, one more cast and I’m leaving.” I casted and had a great long drift…. It just felt like it was a drift that would produce…. But it didn’t. On the swing I got ready to pull in line and continue the lie and Whack! A big fish rose and grabbed my “huck-hopper” on the swing. But it was downstream so I couldn’t tell how big or what it was. Then it jumped! “Woo!” I screamed to no one. my guess around 14”. I turned him and he jumped again. “Woo!” Now I realized I had to chase him or get him up stream if I was going to land him. Well, he decided he’d make it easier on me and do a 100 foot run up stream… I didn’t screw it up and kept tension on him. As he passed me I tightened to turned him and “Woo!” he jumped again. At this point I was worried I was tiring him and stressing him so I decided to pressure and land him so he’d survive. Great fish. Male, kern river rainbow.

Then I scampered….practically running back down the trail to my truck. I made it. but, I stretched the speed limit laws beyond capacity. Great meeting. Totally made the day a perfect one.

Saturday, June 28^th, 2014 – Desolation Wilderness; Ralston Trail

Ok, a day of “work” on Friday and it’s time for the wilderness. I have a weakness…sort of.. I’m a planner and a “lister”. So, when Jim and I iterated over the trail head we’d enter the Desolation Wilderness I was kind of gnawing at my arm. And the crazy thing is that we didn’t even decide until the morning of. We went to the ranger station on the way there, north on highway 50, and didn’t decide until we talked to them. The Ralston Trail…. Jim and Robert said they’d done the trail before…years earlier. I could see from the Thomas Harris map it was going to be a bitch. …and it was. not, the number one most physically exhausting treks I have ever done… but, top ten for sure. 3000 vertical feet to 9000 feet…in 2.5 miles! And that is just the start of the trek. The view on top made it worth it, though.

Because of the physical effort it affected the mental attitude of the group and we decided to not go the 6 miles to aloha lakes, but to hike down to “Lake of the Woods”. We had intel that there were awesome sites there. And I could swear I read a fishing report that it was good.

Lake of the Woods is a managed area by the state. So the primitive campsites on the east side of the lake are heavily regulated. And after that trek none of us felt like sharing with other humans…..who inhabited all the designated sights. So we kept going. I had my 2^nd wind by now. but, my partners were “done” and ready to call it a day and set up camp. We finally found a non managed area on the west side. After setting up camp I immediately told my buddies I was going to scout the lake with a fly rod in this beautiful place. and I did….. crystal clear beautiful lake with 30 feet visibility… but I could not see a fish..and no bugs were hatching either. Hmmm… I kept bush whacking, climbing and looking for fish. Nothing. I blind fished a while, which in this part of the world is just a practice in casting.

And my buddied then joined me. I told them I have not seen fish and they looked at me peculiar… like they didn’t trust my fly fishing skills.

We regrouped at the camp and a ranger joined us to check passes. I asked him sheepishly, “Are there any fish in this lake?”. Without hesitation he said, “no. none. Never has been.” Ok, we picked the only lake in the desolation wilderness that doesn’t have fish. It’s ok, I say to myself. We have the morning.

And that is where the crazy ass adventure starts. My buddies have hiked and backpacked the desolation wilderness for 20 years off and on. this is my first time in this wilderness. and because of the huge physical effort they are saying, “we can’t go back the way we came; it’s too hard.” So they ask the ranger if we just hike south towards the horsetail waterfall, off trail. And I am thinking to myself that this idea was the dumbest idea I have ever heard. And to my shock the ranger actually encouraged it saying, “yea, there is no trail. People have done it. it’s very steep.” And my buddies say, “we are doing it.” and I’m thinking we are dead.

Sunday, June 29^th, 2014 – Day two of the Desolation Wilderness

It was a rough night. the sun went down at 9pm and since you can’t have a campfire we were in bed just thereafter. I hiked in JD to share with jim but even that didn’t help. I just can’t sleep backpacking even though I have decent gear. I toss and turn all night and even though I was sweating hot when I got into bed I’m bitter cold at 3am and unable to sleep because I’m cold. Well 5am rolled around when I finally did get to REM sleep and sure enough jim and Robert were up. no worries. I got up too. we had a “plan”. There were a few lakes in our path before we headed down the crazy ass 1000 feet of waterfall so we would carry the rods and we’d fish them on the way.

Sure enough. At pitt lake I didn’t see fish, but there was a river system feeding it (the one feeding the waterfall) . and I have never been that good at stillwater fishing. I killed on that river system. Brookies….big brookies.. all on top…on the “huck-hopper”. Totally fun. I was at a pace for a 40 fish day but I only got to fish an hour or so because I knew that crazy-ass climb down was ahead of us.

Again I said to myself, just one more…. And I hiked up river to a small lake…. I scouted a fish rising… and for god sakes I had a backcast. There was a 30 foot clearing in the trees where I could do a reach cast of 60 feet and the fish would never see me. I said to myself….just as so many before me have said, “don’t’ blow it.” I load the rod… the cast rolls in and sets on the water. And I say to myself, “not perfect, but good enough.” Whack! Big brookie rises to the huck-hopper. Big battle. No jumps because brookies don’t typically do that. but I bring the beautiful fish to net and let him go. Then I have to get back to find my buddies. I’m worried they are sitting around waiting for me. Even though jim caught a fish and Robert fished a bit before his dog freaked out without him. oh yea, I forgot to tell you there is a dog on our trip. and we have a 1000 feet of waterfall to decend.

So, I apologize and tell my buddies how good the fishing is. They are great guys and I think they actually are happy I had so much fun in the hour or so I fished. But, now it’s time. And to my shock, even after specific directions from the ranger; These two are uncertain which side of the river we need to hike down. guess what? We picked the wrong side. beautiful. awesome. But we come to a 750 foot cliff and it’s clear to me we have gone the wrong way. so, their plan has backfired. Now we have to hike back up hill all the way to where we started. And this is really where the adventure starts.

The river is braided up top. And I’d call it crossable, but we have 35 lbs on our backs. And we do not want to get wet and hike with wet boots down steep granite walls. Well, there is a reason my after college roommate Wax called me, “goat boy”. The lord didn’t’ give me a lot, but I am agile. I rock hop and scamper over fallen trees to cross the multiple braided river. The penalty for failure is significant. Swept down a river and over the falls. So, jim and Robert are having trouble crossing…and theres the dog…. At one point out plan is that I am to grab the dog by his pack to grab him out of the river as he gets swept by. Jim scoots over a fallen log instead of “wallenda-ing” it… he’s a stud… ~65 years old and insane that he is leading this thing. I am just dying what a stud he is for his age, and wanting to be just like him… in a decade.

Finally we get across…and now it’s go-time. And it is worse than I could have imagined. Straight down in many spots…down a granite face of boulders…. We had to go slow. But, I end up going 100 feet and waiting. Over and over. And in my impatience I make a few near-death mistakes. And that is when I made the “selfish” decision to concentrate and get down on my own terms. So I did. right or wrong I did it.

I went into ultra concentration and just made it down. crazy ass dangerous, difficult. I’m at the bottom of the water fall where the trailhead starts. And I’m safe. But, the guilt sets in because my buddies are not. I make water and hydrate. I eat. The irony is that because the bottom of the waterfall is reachable by trail there are lots of folks there. sun bathing. And I’m worrying about my buddies.

An hour passes and I’m really worried. I am now hydrated, rested and fueled. And resigned to hiking back up the crazy ass mountain to look for my hurt or dead buddies. But, two back packers, A husband-wife team about my age appears from the mountain. I walked up to them and said, “Hey, did you happen to see a couple backpackers my age with a dog?” Thank god she said, “yea, they are up there. Going slow. The dog is hurt do they can’t go fast.” And a huge sigh of relief commenced. So I waited. And when they finally appeared it was a huge sigh of relief for me.

They are bloody. And they are tired. And I can see they are emotionally “done”. After trading stories and making water for Jim, I say, “listen, I have been here and hour. I’m ready. I’m dehydrated and fed. Let me take off now to the trail head. I’ll hike up hwy 50 and get the car.” Seeing that look of joy on their faces was confirmation enough. Because what was in front of us was 3 miles back to the trailhead and then 1.5 to 2 miles up highway 50, exposed to the sun to the Ralston trailhead we took off on . But, as I took off I said to myself, “Oh my god that is going to physically suck hiking hwy 50. Thank god I ran into a great guy and his dog on the trail that helped us navigate the way home. Almost immediately when I told him my story he said, “Let me drive you to your truck.” And he did. The wrong way. What a good Samaritan. Talk about karma. Well I drove the truck back from the Ralston Trailhead to the Horse Hair falls trailhead and staged it with the sun shower and cold beer. Robert appeared first…laughing and saying jim was in bad shape…. And then came jim with a smile on his face…bloodied and exhausted…what a stud.

We spent 30 mins cleaning up, re-hydrating, eating and telling stories. And then it was time to part. We shook hands and joked we should do it again next weekend.

Sunday, June 29^th, 2014 – The East Carson River

It was only around 3pm. the east carson river was 30 mins away. And I had plenty of daylight to fish. The only problem was my exhausted 52 year old body and a 100 year drought. I snuck in a call and a txt to Kelly to tell her I was safe and off I went.

When I got to the markleeville bridge I was the only one there… hmmm… shouldn’t it be crowded on a Sunday? but within minutes a guide and two beginners showed up. so, I felt a bit better I was taking my time recovering and that guide didn’t want any part of me and hurried his way down river where I was going to fish. I just got that impression he didn’t want me around. willy ray told me he did well up river so I decided to fish away from the guide. When I got to the water I was surprised how warm it was. and the Sun was out in force. Always a bad combo for fishing.

First I saw a bald eagle patrolling the river…never good for fishing, either. Then I ran into a family of river otters…always bad for fishing…. Then I almost stepped on a 2 foot river snake… still no fish or sight of fish in a very low crystal clear river. And now I’m questioning my motives….. but I’m so far in the wilderness I really have no choice but to fish. So I keep on.

The river is beautiful, but the fishing is not. I fish all the fishy runs but not a thing.

My plan was to sleep overnight there in the back of my truck, but with the fishing so slow and me 10 hours from home, I talked myself into calling it a day, walking the road back and getting a two hour jump on the drive by going to the upper owens river just south of mammoth lakes where I knew there was a campground that always had spots. I arrived at 830 pm and ate the snack like back packing food I had. In a sleeping bag in the back of my truck at 9pm. it was hot so I opened the windows in the truck. By 2am I was cold and shut the window.

Monday, June 30^th, 2014 – The Upper Owens River above Benton Crossing.

Up at 6am. not a bad night of sleep; good enough. I made myself coffee on my backpacking stove. I wandered over to the river and saw lots of big fish feeding on top! Too bad it’s illegal to fish this stretch at this time of year (the spawn). I Forced myself to eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich quickly so I could drive to my favorite spot (dead cow) before the crowds and while the fish were feeding early on this sunny day.

I was on the river by 730am. I fished all the way to 230pm. it wasn’t crazy good, but it wasn’t slow either. I fished a huck-hopper-dropper and got action all day. mostly small Rainbows. But, I did catch a few small browns. Nothing really to get all excited about, but, I did catch a spawned out 14” male Cutthroat. That was kinda cool.

I could have fished all day; I answered emails occasionally. The weird thing was that I was all alone. I have never fished that river alone. I guess everyone fished Crowley that day….the reports said it was on fire.

I had that long, 6+ hour drive home (depending on the traffic) so I called it a great long weekend adventure and took off south. I never even put the radio or music on, on the way home. I had so much to reflect on during that totally fun trip.

This trip was planned to coincide with the last long break Burny (Mark McGeary) will ever have. Next year at the seminary and then when he becomes a priest he will be lucky to get 2 weeks a year of vacation. Being a catholic priest is a 24/7 job. He’s a stud; he has a calling. And he’s a ‘stick’.

But, we ran into 4 days of nasty cold snow, wind and hail. And raging river conditions. Not typically good for fishing….which was the case on this trip…. Still fun; of course. Lots of beautiful wilderness and tons of calories burnt bushwhacking and battling raging river conditions. We caught fish; we just didn’t catch a ton of fish.

Thursday May 8 – Middle Fork of the S. Platte at Santa Maria Ranch:

Bitter cold, wind, hail, snow…. Totally fun. J

The fishing was slow. I managed to get 6 to net. Half on steamers; half under the indicator. No rises. Two fish were worth talking about ….one was A huge male rainbow, ~20” jumped on me 4 times….big battle with multiple runs. Great fish. One little brown.

I also caught a huge sucker….like 16”… I have never caught one before. I nailed him in the nose and it had to be total blind luck.

Headed over to the private section at the end of the day.

Thursday May 8 – Middle Fork of the S. Platte at Andy and Jeff’s private area:

Shocked to see one of my favorite streams in a marsh condition. As it turned out the beavers got in there and created multiple dams which totally changed the area. I hiked downstream first…. it was cold… and I forgot that the downstream section is mostly riffles; mostly dry fly area…. I barely fished looking for pools. I took the trail back to the car; navigated across the river… startled by running into another fisherman. It was starting to get dark and very cold. I knew that burny and andy were probably dying to leave so I was resigned to getting skunked. Then I heard a rise… I looked over and saw the disturbance in the water….immediately casted… whack! Good battle and a big brown to net. Done. headed for the car to find the boys ready to go.

We had dinner in fairplay…the only restaurant in town is now a Chinese place. andy drove home and I had to take the wheel in mark’s car because his eyes were bugging him so bad he couldn’t see. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue…but, we had to go over the mountain to Breckenridge and down to Silverthorned and the storm kept getting worse and worse until I could barely see driving and the snow was sticking on the road. We made it though. around 1015pm… to the awesome house at Silverthorne on the blue.

Friday May 9 – The Blue River in the private section:

I like to say “I own” this section of river because I have never done poorly….even as a beginner. I have qualified for Colorado Master Angler twice there. But we woke up to a foot of snow on the ground and a raging river. The clarity was good. but, I have never seen the river so high. I have never seen that river where it is impossible to cross in any stretch. We tried to fish it….unsuccessfully all the way to the hole….and there was no hole… completely blown out.

So we drove the car to the other side and parked on the highway to fish the seams… nothing… just raging current. That’s when we made the call to drive over to clear creek.

Friday May 9 – Clear Creek off Hwy 70:

We fished clear creek in numerous places off the 70 from Silver Plume to Idaho Springs. The weather never really gave us a break. Wind, snow, cold.

I was really excited to nail a genuine Colorado cutthroat in a big pool at the 2^nd place we stopped. I thought that was going to be my fish of the trip at that point because they are so rare…especially where I caught it in such a poached, public place.

At the last place we stopped where the rafting put ins are. I got a brown and a small rainbow. All in all a tough day of fishing …. 4 fish to net for me. lots of brutal bushwhacking and hiking in altitude. Lots of calories burned, but because of the freeway not the most beautiful part of Colorado.

At one point I stared down at the river and there were thousands of dead trees pinned against the mountain below hwy 70. I said to myself, why in the world would someone dump trees off the side of the road…what an eyesore… then it occurred to me. I turned 180 and up on the mountain…bare…. A huge avalanche was the reason. To get that many trees stuck that high on the mountain the avalanche had to be 200 feet tall.

We bbq’d steaks, drank JD and collapsed. Had to be out the door by 8am the next morning.

Saturday May 10 – The Williams Fork of the Colorado River:

I was stressing on where Mark and I would fish. I even looked at the private sections in southpark again, but you cannot reserve same day. I called rocky mountain anglers fly shop in boulder and they were very helpful. So, my plan at that point was for Burny and me to fish the lower part of clear creek of hwy 6 in the canyon on the way to boulder. Then to fish up at boulder creek with the big hike down at walkers ranch.

That was the plan….until we stopped in at cutthroat angers in Silverthorne. Eric, who has helped me before devised a better plan for me and mark. Due north to the western edge of Rocky Mountain National Park and the headwaters of the Colorado River. Eric said if we were ok with a 1-2 mile hike in the Williams fork was a tailwater and could potentially fish well. We love a hike so excitedly we head out with intricate directions to a dirt parking lot by a barn near Parshall, CO. even when we got there it was sketchy if we were in the right place. but, I got my phone out and did the gps thing and said, “yea, this is it.”. the question was which way to hike. We were advised to fish from the confluence of the Colorado and the Williams fork up.

Then burny said, “look at my tire.” Almost flat…uggg… but, what could we do? it could have been low the entire way. We just drove over 2 hours and were excited to fish. So, we risked it and walked away, fly rods in hand. I know burny was worried and so was i.

we walked the dirt road for a mile or so and then just bushwhacked it when we saw the Willaims fork. When we got there…. raging… but fishable. The trick was that the water was over the barbed wire cow fence in many spots which made it difficult and dangerous.

Firstly we fished it all the way down to the confluence quickly. Typically confluences are awesome places to fish because of the seam….and the spawn. But, we didn’t get anything to move. I even fished a giant foam patch with millions of midges hatching in it and didn’t get a strike. Weird. There were birds feeding too. but nothing rising and no takes. I was a bit worried it would be another slow day. and, at this point the weather was actually nice.

So, we worked our way up to where we started and I put an egg pattern on. Since it was slow I had little guilt about that. I dropped it below one of my infamous green flashbacks (Huck-Verde). I went back in the river to the place I fished an hour earlier….wading carefully through the raging current to an island and started pounding the run against the other bank again. Whack! Big jump. Now the battle was on. it jumped again and I could see it was a big rainbow. But, I was stuck out on the island in raging current and landing it there since the fish was already downstream was impossible. I had 5x on so I couldn’t muscle him either. So, I entered the current and carefully got myself to the bank while battling. I asked burny for help landing – I never do that. but, the fish was too big for his net. He finally folded it over into his net and I immediately dumped the fish into my net. We took a trophy shot; then a shot under water and released him still hot. Beautiful fish around 20”.

I no sooner was checking my rig and catching my breath when burny was on! two big fish 60 seconds apart!. Burny battled his ~16” but, with the current couldn’t get his nose up so I had a bit of trouble netting. But, I did; we took pics and released. Now, we were excited. And, I had no idea at the time, but Mark told me that was he first fish of the trip. You know things are slow when he gets skunked two days in a row. He is a “stick”. Very good fly fisherman.

Unfortunately the weather turned bad and so did the fishing. We worked up stream for miles and I had one good take, but was too late to the set. That is the issue with the egg – because it’s rigged differently you have to be lightening quick on the set. It is a beautiful stretch of river and I can’t wait to do it again, but it was miserable cold and slow. At 3pm, we decided to hike back. I knew it was a 4-5 mile hike back to the car and we had that tire waiting. Normally we would have fished until 7pm…another 4 hours. But, we had the tire waiting and now I started worrying because it could cut into my Camille time.

We barely spoke on the hike back. Because it was physically demanding; up hill, huffing and puffing. And miserable cold and windy and snowing. And because of that tire. Well, we finally got to the car and the tire was in the same shape as we left it… thank god. A sigh of relief. The next town was 12 miles away and that is where a gas station would be so we could fill the tire. We drove slowly…found the station…it had air! But, once I pumped it to pressure I could hear the leak in the tire…and feel the hole… it was huge. we struck out on the auto shop in windy gap, CO..closed on Saturday….ugg… we had to stumble to the next town, Granby, CO. that is where nothing was open again and I called the auto club to put the spare on. it was miserable cold raining at this point. But, it only cost us an hour and we were back on the road.

A full 2.5 hour drive all the way to Louisville, CO, though, where the hotel was. I showered up quickly and encouraged burny to eat – that is when he laid the blow on me. “I’m not going. Just take the car”. I understood. Burny is not in a place in his life to hang at a “kegger”. But, I am.  and i was dying to see Camille.  But, he was my ride. Not a problem. I need excuses not to drink. I made it to camille’s house in boulder just after 8pm. it was great. the whole night was great. I was the only adult at a keg party of 75 or so. I hung just fine…and seemed to be quite the amusement for them.  And the drunken students, many of them grads, were pretty stoked that I would hang with them. and the boys were all pretty hammered. I learned new creative ways to play beer pong – clay had two tables at his house. and I witnessed the most awesome drinking game – Dizzy Bat. Creatively has not changed in 30 years. You fill a plastic baseball bat with beer. Everyone counts by secords as you chug it. you have to spin around the bat that many seconds. And then, dizzy, you get in a batting stance with the bat and they thow a pitch…of a beer can and dizzy, you have to make contact. If you miss…you have to spin again and do it again. Classicly funny. They were really wanting me to play both that game and beer pong, but thank god I did not though. Camille did, though. spun fell down, got up, lined up left handed and whacked it! awesome.  only about half the boys were able to make contact. 

I was in bed at the hotel by 1130pm. when I left the party it was getting big and they were starting to rage. I knew I left just in time.  i made camille promise she’d pick me up at 6am and not blow it.  if she ruined mothers day by me missing  my flight, i’d be dead.

At 545am I still had not heard from Camille… I txt’d and called many times. She was supposed to pick me up at 6am to drive me to the airport. finally at 615 one of her roomates picked up her phone and said, “i don’t know where she is or how i got her phone….”  i knew where she was….sigh….  but, I wasn’t too worried because worse case scenario it was an expensive cab or waking up and begging burny to take me. long story, but as I was talking to the cab dispatcher Camille finally called… 30 minutes late… I made it to the airport fine, though. awesome to see her.

Now back to the reality of mothers day and all the work I’m behind on and the stress of that work. worth it though. I am pretty proud of my work/wilderness balance.

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