fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)

Author Archives: Patrick Konoske


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(mini) California adventure

While I do still enjoy the various rides, sights and sounds in Disneyland (and the smells in California Adventure, I find myself, as an adult, more than fascinated by the “behind the scenes” aspects of world imagined by Walt and his many imagineers.. For example, nowhere in Disneyland have I seen gum (or any junk) on the walkways. Dust doesn’t settle anywhere it’s not supposed to be. Every chain and pole in the queues are shiny. Pretty amazing…

We spent most of today in California Adventure, which seems to me to be more of an overgrown carnival and can’t compare to the “experience” of Disneyland. I did enjoy Soaring Over California and the Grizzly raft ride, but the remaining rides are tuned more towards the thrill seeker. (For those who know of inclination to avoid roller coasters, I did get on Screaming Over California for one ride. And one ride on this beast was enough for me. …oh, Chris also lied to me, saying that California Screaming didn’t turn upside down. It does. I also braved out the Hollywood Tower of Terror, which wasn’t all that bad. During half the day I spent at California Adventure, I did see the Muppets 3-D show, which was fun, thought not as funny as the original Muppet Show.

It was nice to take a long break that afternoon before returning to Disneyland, where we spent the evening chasing down FastPasses.  That evening we again sat in front of It’s a Small World to watch the entire fireworks show. This time, the pathway into Toon Town was blocked off, I’m guessing to keep folks out from under the fireworks, as the trains were also stopped. In the end, we had missed only ten minutes or so the previous night, but it was good to see the whole show.


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I knew we were in Los Angeles…

…not because of the smog on the horizon. (However, it is relatively clear.)
…not because it is hot!
…not because the last 17 miles of our trip, because of traffic, took an hour.
…but because I found my car covered by a layer of ash from the various brush fires.


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southward ho!

Today we traversed much of the Golden State…which is quite “golden” right now. With these golden hills comes our season fires, and we saw one as we buzzed down the highway and evidence of others.  Of course, we stopped at Split Pea Anderon’s in Santa Nella, where our short walk from the car to the restaurant hinted at the heat we would face. Still love that soup, though! While it took us about six hours to travel from Benicia to Los Angeles, we found ourselves in stop and go traffic at the junction of Hwy 5, 10, 101 and 60. It took us about an hour to travel the last 17 miles to our exit!

After a quick check in, it was off to Medieval Times. Everyone else in the family had been there and were quite excited. I didn’t know what to expect. I’ll tell you what, it is quite the experience. The food was good and the entertainment nonstop, with knights participating in full contact games in the arena, which was less than fifteen feet away from our seats. Then it was off to bed with visions of Mickey dancing in our heads.


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the “highlighting” of my hair

Looking at my longer hair in the mirror prior to a haircut this week, it seems that it’s become my time to shine. I found little hints of silver sparking as I turned my head.  I don’t take it as a sign that I’m getting older, after all, even you, gentle visitor, will never be as young as you were when you began reading this sentence.  Truthfully, I don’t care what color my hair becomes, so long as it stays on my head.  I did make a few observations of late, howver, that I am “older”:

For someone somewhat technically inclined, I not only don’t text people using my cell phone; I don’t even know how to do it.  Also, some people are shocked that I still pay some bills by check and have been known to physically step into a bank branch to interact with live human tellers.

But I still like my free “highlights.”


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on “googling” friends of the past

Every now and again I am plagued by regrets stemming from an internal disconnect between a desire for friendship and the actions it takes to maintain such a relationship. Though only three times have I overtly expended effort to rekindle old friendships, twice through e-mail and once at a high school class reunion, I do know what some of my ol’ chums from Humboldt State University are up to thanks to the now-recognized action of “googling.”  (My thanks to the editors of Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary.)

I must say, however, that googling former classmates and friends might skew one’s opinion of one’s self.  As I plow ahead as a managing editor at a modest publishing company — and not, by any means, saving the world — some of the people I once knew seem to have climbed quite high on the ladder of professional (and hopefully personal) success. 

A former roommate of mine seems to have written a number of research papers on the flora and fauna of Pu’ukohol & Heiau National Historic Site on Hawaii.  A friend with whom I spent many hours laughing at reruns of Star Trek — that’s the Original Series starring the ever so subtle Mr. Shatner — ascended through the ranks of academia, completing work for an M.A. in San Francisco and a Ph.D. in New York, teaching at USC and, from what I can find, is now an Assistant Professor of English and Comparative Literature at American University of Kuwait.  Another friend works as an Interpretive Specialist for the California State Parks system at the Anza-Borrego Desert State Park.

After googling friends for a while, imagining their homes, their families and what they may look like some 20 years later, I had to stop. Not because of those little pangs of regret, but because now that I have found them, I find myself wrestling with a decision to act. These people might never pause to think of me, or google me, but I can still hear their laughter and encouraging words. 

In the end, I am humbled to think that all those years ago I could call myself a “friend” to these pretty amazing folks.


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fast cabin weekend

We headed up to the cabin last Thursday…it was nice to make the drive during the week and avoid traffic! My nephew Nick was attending summer camp in Twain Harte, so, since my sister would be in town, I offered a chance to stay a few days. I met Luci and her youngest son, Nathan, at the Tracy In-N-Out, a favorite lunchtime stop, about [singlepic=119,150,,right]noon Thursday. We parted ways but soon joined up again at the cabin. After I quickly whacked the weeds, we headed to Twain Harte Lake, where the weather and water were great. Truthfully, the water wasn’t that great. Water weeds — one of Luci’s least favorite aspects of lake swimming — were quite high. The lake had recently been treated for the infernal vegetation, but the affects were not yet evident.

A decision was made on Friday that I would take my nephews to Moccasin Creek, so after a morning of playing games and generally being lazy, we headed west on Hwy 108, then south on Hwy 120. We arrived just before the hatchery was to close, but did get to ogle some of the brood fish and the mass quantities of trout ready for stocking. We first wetted our lines at the base of the dam, but the fish were running deep and not interested in what we had to offer. While Nathan and his mom played in the water and chased crayfish, Nick and I ventured through the blackberries and bugs to my favorite spot. Using PowerBait, Nick got one nibble. I was lucky enough to hook three decent-sized rainbows using my favorite Panther Martin (red body/gold blade). Then it was back to the dam, where the boys splashed around and skipped rocks…including the biggest boy.

I left the cabin mid-morning Saturday to head to Modesto, where I picked up Chris after lunch at Garcia Jo Jo’s. On our ride back to the cabin, we stopped at Moccasin Creek, where the catching was again a bit slow. I landed one rainbow after my fist cast, but that was about it. It was back to the cabin and to the lake, where we had a great 4th of July hamburger dinner, even if the wait was a bit long. As the sun set, Chris, Nick and Nathan headed to the lake inlet with fishing poles in hand. Chris did catch some fish.  However, they were a bit difficult to see…none were longer than my pinkie finger. (Big-mouthed baby bass.)

Sunday started early, with Chris and I out the door by 6:30 a.m. We planned to spend the day at Kennedy Meadows, but fast and high water changed our minds. We saw numerous fishermen pass by, but all were empty handed. Finding that we were close to Sonora Pass, I figured we could head on over to the “Eastside,” where Chris wanted to hit one of his favorite spots: Lee Vining Creek. The water was again high with none of the regular pools. No rises to flies and nothing on spinners. I suggested heading up the Tioga Road for a look at Saddlebag Creek, which we also found running quite fast…so fast that one fly fisherman who was there teaching a buddy had no expectations of a bite. On our list of streams to check out was the section of Lee Vining Creek that goes between Tioga and Ellery lakes, so off we went. Chris was again skunked here, but I happened to hook three small trout on a gold Mepps, but only pulled one — a nine-inch brook — to shore. (In fumbling for my camera and minimize any stress on this trout, the little brookie opted to release itself from my barbless hook.) After lunch, we stopped at Pickle Meadows, another spot we had wanted to check out, and chatted with some fly fishermen who were departing after fishing the West Walker River most of the day. One of these gentlemen has fished the area for going on a decade and predicted that it will be another two weeks before the West Walker might even be ready for fishing. Chris and I walked a stretch of the river to find, like everything else, it’s still running very high and fast, though the color is clearing up. Though there was little catching on this trip, the weather was beautiful and my batteries were recharged!


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day trippin’

Last Friday Chris and one of his friends went to work with me so that I could drop them off at Nicasio Reservoir to try some fishing for crappie. The morning was uneventful — both for the boys and myself. The plan was that I would pick up the boys about noon and we’d head home. However, as luck would have it, on the way out to the reservoir we saw the Marin French Cheese Co. (I didn’t know it was on the road we would take) and Chris later realized that the Drakes Bay Oyster Co. (which we had seen on a Food Network show) was about 30 minutes way from Nicasio Reservoir.

It didn’t take much for me to agree to the drive out to Point Reyes National Seashore on the Marin Headlands. Trusting my GPS to get us there, we arrived at Drakes Bay Oyster Co. after winding our way through the dry hills of Marin County, the town of Inverness and the more lush landscape of Point Reyes. The modest-looking Drakes Bay Oyster Co. is nestled up against the shore of Schooner Bay in Drakes Estero and is surrounding by stacks of oyster shells. Even the unpaved road leading to the cannery is composed of crushed oyster shells.

We found the shop is quite small, dominated by whiteboard signs with prices for oysters of various sizes and quantities, in the shell and shucked. It was much more modest that we expected, and when we asked if we could get some barbecued oysters, the response was, “You can use our grill out back, I think it’s fired up.” Chris secured a dozen medium-sized oysters, which we placed on the grill with another dozen purchased by another visitor. The oysters steamed, sizzling and popping, while we enjoyed the somewhat chilly but otherwise nice day. After about 20 minutes, we pulled a few oysters off the grill, sprinkled on some lemon juice or Tabasco sauce or a chili pasta and munched away. They were awesome…probably the best oysters I’ve eaten. (Chris has already asked to make a return trip.)

With four oysters each, our stomachs were content and it was time to head back to the “mainland,” but not without a stop at the Marin French Cheese Co. Marin French Cheese will always be that “stinky cheese place” in my mind, and image created by a visit years ago. We didn’t take the tour, but if we did I am sure that the storage room would still have that musty, stinky smell. But now that smell isn’t so stinky to my more mature nose. In typical Konoske fashion, we descended upon the samples and finally settled on buying some blue cheese and triple-cream brie. While Chris and his friend walked around the nearby pond, trying to lure bluegills and carp to their hooks, I munched on some olives before we left for home. A nice day trip that I’d recommend to anyone, oyster lover or not.

P.S. The National Park Service doesn’t plan to renew Drakes Bay Oyster Co.’s lease when it expires in 2012.


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fathers day fishing

Though we shifted from our original plan to head over Sonora pass to the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevadas, Chris and I had fun weekend of (mostly) catch and release fishing. We left about mid morning Friday, taking our time driving into the foothills and stopping for lunch along the way. A stop at the Mother Lode Fly Shop convinced us that it wouldn’t be too productive to spend the three hours driving over Sonora pass or even to venture into any of the local rivers as water levels were high enough to be dangerous, much less conducive to fishing. I got similar advice from Ken’s Sporting Goods in Bridgeport: Just avoid the rivers for now.

So after settling into the cabin about 2:30 p.m., we headed up to the canal for a look. We tossed a few lures and Chris got one strike. Then he hooked three small rainbows and landed in two, giving one to a nearby angler. (We are using barbless hooks exclusively, but if it looks like a fish may not survive because of an injury, we “donate” it to a fellow fisherman.) But Chris wanted to get down to Moccasin Creek, and about 35 minutes later we were there.

Moccasin is pretty much a “put and take” stream, supplied by a nearby hatchery.We typically avoid the top of the stream at the base of the Moccasin Creek Power Plant dam, and skipped to some pools downstream. Chris had ventured to the other side of the steam and we eventually lost sight of each other. Threading my way through overgrown blackberry bushes I found an attractive looking, dark green pool in front of a big boulder after a few casts and a single strike, I decided to toss the little Panther Martin lure (red body/gold blade) past the boulder with the idea of bringing it up behind any fish that might be in front of the boulder. To my surprise, I had a fish on almost as soon as the lure hit the water. I shifted my focus to the shallows behind the boulder and over the course of about an hour hooked eleven decent-size “stocker” rainbow trout and landed seven. Chris caught up with me, hooked one trout, but the bite slowed and we left shortly thereafter.

I stumbled out of bed at 5 a.m. Saturday to be told by Chris that he needed another hour of sleep. An hour later, he was not showing any signs of strong motivation, so I shelved our plans for early morning fishing, hoping that on this day we’d have the same experience in the afternoon as I did Friday. I arrived back at Moccasin Creek about 11:00 a.m. with plans to wade as far as we could downstream, maybe even to the inlet into Don Pedro Lake. Fishing as we went, we made our way downstream, but found little action. Chris had a few strikes, I had one. In the end, while we may have gotten close to the inlet, the banks of the stream became so overgrown with blackberries and the water grew so deep that we turned around. Heading upsteam is much more difficult and one of my knees shows the scars of such a battle.

About mid afternoon we came up on the same pool and shallows that were so good to me the previous afternoon. Another fisherman and his female companion had set up on the shore. Apparently, with bait, he had plucked five fish from the stream (the limit) over the course of most of the day. Chris and I approached the area from the opposite side and started casting lures. Near as I can figure, over about two hours Chris and I together hooked about 12 fish, landing about half of them. I was having fun throwing lures on the shore, then pulling them into the stream right where the water undercut the bank a bit. Numerous times I was caught off guard by a fish that took my lure almost as soon as I had reset my bail. After a while, lures seemed to fall from favor, so, despite our typical avoidance of bait, Chris and I set up for salmon eggs and PowerBait. We caught another three or four fish with bait.

As the day entered the twilight hours, we moved upstream to “the pipe” (where the water exits the dam) and met a local guy who had retired to the area and regaled us with fish tales. According to him – and he seems correct – the fish start biting just about the time most folks leave. He invited us to set up next to him and after a few minutes he had a fish on. Chris stuck up a conversation with this gentleman, who is originally from San Jose, and found out that he had a special trick for floating earthworms past a boulder deep in the pool. In the meantime, Chris hooked two more fish and gave him to our fellow fisherman, who decided three trout was enough. As he departed, he left the remainder of his earthworms with Chris and I. A bit later, a father and his young son started fishing a bit downstream from us. Employing our newly learned earthworm trick, Chris and I had double hook up and gave the two trout to the father and his son. (This father was there because his son loves to eat trout.) We finished out the evening, about when it was too dark to see and after we had exhausted our supply of earthworms, plucking a few trout out with PowerBait. It was a “troutfully” fun weekend!


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GPS data & the secrecy of fishing

It seems to me that we fishermen can be quite the contradictory crowd. Many of us might agree wholeheartedly with W.D. Wetherell, who in his book “One River More” wrote,

[…] So, my fellow fly fishers, the time has come to bring secrecy back into our gentle pastime — the tight lips, the polite shrug, the knowing wink. […]when it comes to your favorite spots, cherish them in secret, keep your mouth shut — and leave the godamn electronics at home.

Yet in an age when technological proficiency often goes hand-in-hand with the knowledge of knots that may have originated in “The Treatyse of Fysshynge with an Angle”, who among us doesn’t rely on at least one marvel of modern times in the pursuit of those fish in the genus Oncorhynchus. For those of us willing to acknowledge this truth, I would propose that a more pertinent question might be how one might reconcile the traditional secrecy lends a mystery to the sport of fishing (especially fly fishing) with the use of “godamn electronics?”

My own philosophy is that what matters most is not the secrecy of one’s favorite spot or strategy, but the tangible act of fishing. Isn’t that why we tolerate getting up before God and a four-hour drive just to challenge our abilities and skills in a cold stream? And why we will repeat this ritual two weeks later, even though a previous trip left us tired and cold and fishless? You bet it is. The combination of the scenery through which a river flows, the sound of the water, the occasional conversation with a passing angler, and many other facets that lead up to fishing, and of course, the fishing itself, add up to an experience that is only sweetened by hooking and hopefully landing a fish.

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