fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)

Category Archives: Family


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dad knew global warming was coming

It’s easy to dismiss global warming as Al Gore’s pet disaster or simply a cycle of the earth.  I say we’ll know the truth when it’s all over. Regardless of the outcome, I’m beginning to think dad’s related to pikas.

Maybe he was acting on an inexpressible instinct, but what else could explain dad’s continual latitudinal movement toward cooler climates? It started in Perris, Calif. (33° 46’ 57” N); followed by Willits (39° 24’ 35” N) and Issaquah, Wash. (47° 31’ 49” N); and finally Duvall, Wash. (47° 44’ 32” N).

Now comes word of studies and requests that pikas be placed on the Endangered Species List because warming temperatures could force them further up their mountain habitats. Not convinced my dad and pikes are related? Read on:

To many scientists, pikas are a perfect study candidate because they are sensitive to temperature. They can be killed by temperatures higher than 78 degrees Fahrenheit, and prefer the rugged, rocky habitat found typically, but not exclusively, at higher elevations.

For those who know dad, ‘nuf said.


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beer and crayfish, washington style

A few years ago I threw a hasty thought in Sean’s general direction: at or soon after age 21, how ’bout he and I and whoever was willing spend sometime tasting brews in Washington state?

He didn’t forget.

We’re back now, but here’s to hoping that memories of our trip will pop to mind every time we sip Rogue Brewery‘s Dry Hopped Saint Rogue Red Ale (Mark – Sean and I already have some in the fridge) or the harder-to-find Chipotle Ale.

It was a good, relatively unstructured trip. After twenty-plus years of deadlines, I’m beginning to tend to avoid them on my own time. The only specific goals: beer and crayfish and visiting with the folks and the bro’ and his family.

Bookended by crowded but relatively uneventful flights, our vacation begin last Thursday morning, conveyed in The Buick by mom and dad. Thursday was a day of visiting, catching up and re-introductions between the cousins/nephews and the cousin and uncle. Kaden seemed to have a fuzzy recollection of who I might be, or at least the idea that I wouldn’t bite. Levi was a bit standoffish, or perhaps a bit more focused on grandpa and oma’s toy selection. It was an enjoyable afternoon.

August 2009 visit 024 Dad Mark Issaquah Brewery

Mark and Dad discussing beer at the Issaquah Brew House

Friday’s mission was beer-ucation. Fueled by a pancake breakfast and skewered meat for lunch, the boys-Sean, Mark, dad and me-it was off to Issaquah Brew House. Among the beers we tasted were the aforementioned Saint Rogue Red and Chipotle Ale, as well as Brutal Bitter, Chocolate Stout, Hazelnut Brown Nectar, Juniper Pale Ale, Morimoto Imperial Pilsner, Old Crustacean Barleywine, White Frog Ale (a favorite), and Ménage À Frog Ale (an abbey tripel, my personal favorite). It’s a great place to enjoy a variety of Rogue and “guest” beers. A place we should all hope to visit again.

August 2009 visit 026 Sean Raven

Sean and our flight at the Raven Brewing Co. (Redmond, Wash.)

Unfortunately, all of my research was conducted online, so our next stop was the actual brewery, and without a taproom it was on to the Black Raven Brewing Co. Tucked into an industrial park, the Black Raven taproom offers somewhat of an upscale, almost yuppy-ish setting. (Dad asked the barkeep if coffee might be available, and got a resounding “no.”) The selection of beers is limited to Black Raven’s production, but we enjoyed a flight, with Kristale Wheat bring one favorite, as well as an unfiltered version of a German weizen beer.

The next stop was predicated on hunger. Knowing that Redhook Ale Brewery tends to be popular and crowded, we stopped anyhow, hoping to grab some beer and grub. But a 40-minute wait didn’t sit well, so a short drive later we dropped in on Teddy’s Bigger Burger. Pretty good place; clean, well lit, with good burgers. And dad learned that a 7-ounce burger is much more filling than a 5 ounce.

Saturday started with stomach stretches as a prelude to a good ol’-fashion crayfish boil. With a Pacific Northwest twist. We occupied our time in the morning visiting with Mark and family, and Kaden beating me at Mario Kart on the Wii. Mark whipped up some salsa and guac’ to tide us over. Then Sean, Mark and me headed out to visit our hosts, Joe and Toby, then drooled over a few motorcycles before returning to the house, where dad was waiting.

August 2009 visit 034 Dinner

A meal!

When judged by Northerners, and even West Coasters, crayfish don’t top the list of foods with which we have much of a relationship. However, boiled with just the right amount of Zatarain’s seasoning and accompanied by king crab legs, shrimp, clams, three varieties of sausage, corn on the cob, and potatoes, crayfish become more than food-you-can-play-with. Add to that plenty of beer, ranging from Coors to Pacific Northwest craft brews; a sweet and deceiving alcoholic beverage with “vixen” in its name, side dishes, and desserts, and you’ve got a food festival. Between the crowd rushing the table as each pot’s contents were poured out, the kids running around, and the socializing, it was an awesome time. (Public thanks once again to Toby and Joe!)

Sean and I crashed at Mark and Kenna’s house that night…crashed I say thanks to Mark-made apple-tinis; only to awaken Sunday to a Breakfast Nirvana of stomach-stickin’ buttermilk pancakes, Lil Smokies sausages, and bacon. Kenna and Kaden had a party to attend, so Sean, Mark, Levi and me took the nickel tour of the area and took a man-walk around Snohomish, which is basically an antiquing town. After a stop in a coffee house, it was back home…

…and after doing laundry and filling our suitcases with clean clothes, we all met at the Ixtapa restaurant in Duvall. A nice ending. It was a great trip.

Just means we’ll be back again. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Below are the rest of the pictures…

Me, Sean, Mark, Mom, Kaden, Dad and Levi
Me, Kenna, Sean
Sean, me and Mark at the Issaquah Brew House.
Another flight.
Me and Sean at Raven Brew Co.
Mom laughing, probably at Mark.
Mark in a typical pose.
Kaden
Levi up close and personal.
Our meal in the raw.
Checking out the crawdaddies.
Mark and crawdad friend.
The boys.
Levi looking for a friend.
Sean, Kenna, Kaden and Mark around the fire.
Looking good!
Dad, Sean, Kenna, Levi and Mark around the fire.
Sean, Oma, Grandpa
Me, Mom, Dad

 


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sean’s fish pictures

I’m a bit tardy putting these up, but Sean sent me photos of two fish he caught while camping in the Tioga Pass area during July. The brown is his first brown trout, caught on a fly. The second is a brook caught out of Lee Vining Creek, where they can be quite spooky.

Sean’s Brook Trout from Lee Vining Creek
Sean’s Brown Trout from Lee Vining Creek


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ffw to hop a short flight; shaky promise of updates to come

Writing on the road isn’t that easy, and when ranked on a list that includes family, beer and free food, blog posts come dead last. Sure, facilities will be available — serviceable computers at my parents’ home and my bro‘s man cave and his wife’s cute house — but rather than force out mediocre musings, I’ll write when I can and hope it makes sense the next day after heavy editing.

I’ll be winging it north Thursday morning with Sean the Older Son; part of a pact sealed a few years ago and relating to his reaching the legal (alcoholic) drinking age. Countering the idea of that this entails the consumption of mass quantities; the hopeful lesson of this trip will be the appreciation of quality.

It’ll be another 43 hours before we join the herd filling coach seating on an Alaska Airlines 737-900. After one hour and fifty-seven minutes we should be on approach — then a few minutes later the ‘rents will zoom out of leisurely leave Sea-Tac Airport’s cell phone parking lot, hopefully to offer us a seat, instead of the trunk this time, for the ride to Duvall.

With the exception of a neighborhood crawdad boil to which we’ve invited ourselves, there’s no definitive calendar of events for this trip; only a punch list of things to do.

Photographic evidence A photographic diary may be in the offing, and at the very least we’ll take the easy way out to throw a jumble of words and blurry cell phone pics photos on Facebook.

Life is about to take on a welcome hectic pace that comes with cramming a bunch o’ fun into a few days away.

See you on the highway, in the air and eventually on the ground.


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hot weekend!

The often unknown price of planning a trip to The Cabin can come in many forms…frozen pipes in the winter, construction noises in the spring…and heat in the summer.

I knew it’d be a whirlwind (long) weekend, with Christopher and Katelyn dropping in Friday night for some fishing Saturday, followed by Sean and Kirsten arriving Saturday night for more fishing Sunday. (Both boys are at that age during which young men seem to test the devotion of girlfriends by dragging them around to all sorts of questionable activities.) I did not know that temperatures would soar those three days, breaking thermometer bulbs up and down the Sierra foothills. The car thermometer read 107°F at one point. While I’d rather not believe that figure, the psychological toll came nowhere near the physical.

But we managed to have fun. Christopher wanted to test the waters of the South Fork of the Tuolumne River, up the road from Groveland, so we did. Sean and I had visited this stretch of the river on Opening Day, only to find the flows quite high. This time around we found nice pools and decent fishing. I initially headed upstream, finding a welcome strike or two; finally landing a decent rainbow after casing upstream to a likely pool from behind a boulder. Christopher and Katelyn chased after some fish they saw lingering in a bigger pool.

My Tuolumne River Rainbow

My Tuolumne River Rainbow

My attention turned downstream. Fruitless casts into some bigger water prompted a switch to a dry/dropper set up (dry fly with a trailing nymph). This produced at least a dozen takes and a few smaller fish landed, including what might have been my first Sacramento pikeminnow, in juvenile form. After the Tuolumne we played at Moccasin Creek for a while. With the blame for the tougher than usual fishing placed firmly on our late afternoon arrival and the high pressure system that brought the searing heat — I still managed to hook and land four decent rainbows.

Sean & Bass

Sean & Bass

The remaining daylight after dinner found us, as promised, fishing a small pond near Lyons Canal for bass and sunfish. We all caught something. The bass were small but willing to hit nearly anything. Christopher and I threw streamers to hook numerous bass, while Katelyn landed one on a spinner. We closed the fishing for the day with a stroll along the canal, where Christopher landed a decent-sized brown trout. Later, Christopher took first in a round of miniature golf, with dad behind by one stroke. Then Christopher and Katelyn left and dad collapsed.

Sean and Kirsten were ready to roll about 6:00 a.m. Sunday and we were on Moccasin Creek by 7:15. The fishing was again a bit tough. I’ll blame my lack of fish to hand on the fact that Sean borrowed my 5 wt. fly rod because Kirsten was using Sean’s/my backup 5 wt. fly rod, leaving me to use a too-limber 3 wt., which made strong hook sets difficult. However, when all was said and done, dad out-fished Sean by two trout. I think it was 7-5.  Kirsten also hooked a few and landed one.

The post-dinner fishing was again targeting bass and sunfish. Sean had a frustrating time with a streamer. At my suggestion he switched to a dry/dropper and was immediately on to the small bass. The fun continued after I tied on a damselfly imitation to elicit some awesome top-water strikes. But let’s just say that the dad vs. Sean competition wasn’t even close in this venue. (Grasshopper, when you can take the fly from my hand, it will be time for you to outfish your father.)

Another game of miniature golf showed my consistency…again one stroke behind the son. This game, however, sure brought out Kirsten’s competitive streak. She was ready for an immediate rematch with Sean.

Did I mention it was hot all weekend?

Fat Fish
Rainbow from Water That Shall Not Be Named
Kirsten & Trout
Sean & Trout
Wild Brown
Kaitlin & Bass


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teach a son to (fly) fish…

“Give a son a fish; you have fed him for today. Teach that son to fly fish; and you will have to answer constant questions about where, when, how…and tie a bunch of flies for his next camping trip.”

Sean and Christopher are back after a three-day fishing/camping trip in the high country around Tuolumne Meadows. And the fishing went well.

The first report trickled in from a pay phone…at least once Sean figured out how to use it. I’m hoping he didn’t immediately leave the stream to seek out the phone, but it was great to get a message that he’d caught his first wild brown trout using a fly rod. Later I’d learn that he caught other trout, including two wild brookies in a section of Lee Vining Creek where I know it’s tough to get any interest in a fly. It’s also cool to note that he caught them on dry fly. I believe that’s the first time he’s hooked a trout on a dry.

It would have been nice to be there…and I’m still awaiting photographic proof…but it’s nice to know that Sean put to use skills and tactics taught by his ol’ dad to fool some fish. (Just need to keep enough secrets to myself so he’ll never outfish me!)

Apparently though, Christopher resorted to spinners and, of all things, that stinky, unnaturally colored man-made bait to land a bushel or more of trout. Guess he won the weekend on sheer numbers, if not on the elegance of the method. (Insert acknowlegement of a certain bias toward fish caught on the fly.)

It seems that for me days of fishing, and catching, have been somewhat of a rarity so far this year. Here’s to hoping that next weekend I’ll get in some make-up fishing.


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Yosemite photos up!

Got the many photos up from last week, when I took my grandson (and his mother) on his first camping trip, in Yosemite Valley! Look below…

Off we go!
Looking at the fry at Moccassin Creek Fish Hatchery.
Trout, trout and more trout.
Almost there!
Amanda and Alex.
Overlook on the way in.
Our lodging for our time in the valley.
Home Sweet Home
“Where’s the Xbox?”
Guess he’s more of an urban kid?
Alex absorbing knowledge.
Me and Alex on Stoneman Bridge.
Alex and Half Dome…
…and mom
Alex showing the depth of the flooding, as did Chris years before…
A comparison.
Yosemite Falls
El Capitan (foreground) and Half Dome
A walking we must go.
Afternoon on the Merced River.
Alex and mom learning about the Merced River.
Alex wondering what might be for dinner.
Checking out Fern Spring.
“I’m done now.”
Mom wants one more picture.
The Valley.
Hiking up to Glacier Point.
Me and Amanda #1 (Letting Alex take photos.)
Me and Amanda #2
Posing on Glacier Point.
Checking out the trees.
The view.
Just me, taken by Alex.
Me and Alex.
Alex getting in touch with nature.
Another view from Glacier Point.
Bridalveil Falls.
Pensive.
Gettin’ wet under Bridalveil Falls.
More wetness under the falls…
Sort of fun!
No, not the eyes!
Alex resting in the woods.
Waling with Junior Rangers.
Bear sighting!
With a ranger.
Lookatit!
The walk to Yosemite Falls.
“Okay, I’ve seen it…”

 


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next stop: Yosemite

This week I hope to pass the torch to my grandson with his first introduction to camping.

Tomorrow we’ll be on the road to Yosemite Valley; a pretty great place for one’s first camping trip. The hope is to hit all the usual highlights: the granite sentinels (Half Dome, El Capitan, Cathedral Rocks, Three Brothers, and, um, yes, Sentinel Rock), Yosemite and Bridalveil (and maybe the seasonal Ribbon) falls, Glacier Point, the Yosemite Valley and Happy Isles visitor centers, and maybe a dip in the Merced River.

Somewhere along the line I also hope to give Alex his first experience in fishing. If we’re lucky, he’ll land a trout; really lucky will mean bass and sunfish too.

Our adventure will continue with a weekend visit to the cabin, maybe a little mini golf at Twain Harte Miniature Golf, maybe some frolicking at Twain Harte Lake. And it’ll all be capped by great hamburgers at Diamondback Grill. Doesn’t get much better.


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me, the wife and bass pro shops

When a spouse voluntarily says that she’d like to visit the local Bass Pro Shops stores, and after the initial shock wears off, any sportsman will conjure up many fond thoughts as to why he married his gal. She gets me. Coolest wife ever. She loves me that much.

But fate can dealt ironic twists.

The wife was suitably impressed with the Manteca store. It took about ten minutes to soak in the sweeping atrium that greets all who enter. A quick trip to the aquarium, then upstairs for a wide-open vista of both levels. She began to grasp the attraction of this sportsman’s delight.

She’s put up with my stops at the local and not-so-local fly ships, and the fact that she’ll knit while I drool allays some of my guilt.

But it’s clear that Bass Pro Shops transcends age, sex, geography, one’s choice of outdoor sport and just about any other classification. The theory is that appealing to a wide-ranging audience gives the whole family reason enough to enjoy an hour or two or seven shopping and spending money. But I was to get schooled in how far and well Bass Pro Shops crosses these lines.

Truth be known, under the guise of acting as guide for the wife’s first experience, my goal was research. I was on the hunt for a reel or two at the fly fishing club’s coming auction, and a bit of hands-on time would help firm up my decision.

Without a map I forged ahead towards camping gear and big-a** barbecue grills, forgetting that the trail would led us through the shoe department. I’ll give credit where credit is due: Bass Pro Shops does stock the shelves with plenty o’ boots and, apparently, some pretty tasty looking women’s sandals.

And when all was said and done and paid for, we walked out of Bass Pro Shops with two pairs of women’s sandals. Good thing none of my fly fishing buddies were there to see it.

Otherwise I might’ve had to quickly figure out how to stuff those sandals into a fly rod tube.


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end-of-season fishing with a side of surprise

Sean and I double-teamed the driving to make a late-night run up the hill to squeeze in a final day of the trout season. If you’re lucky enough to have kids who understand the value of holding down a job, you know it’s hard to mesh schedules, so instead of the entire weekend our plan was to run up to the cabin Thursday, to fish Friday and leisurely wind our way home Saturday.

With a few short hours of sleep and only a day to fish, our eyes were on catching, not just chasing ‘em. So Friday found us on a tributary of Don Pedro Lake, a place not too far away and — fly fishing purists close your eyes — known to be stocked. I counted on the lackadaisical nature of fishermen who fall under the latter half of “put and take” to offer assurance that there’d be some rainbows left even though DFG trucks hadn’t visited this particular stretch in over two weeks.

Rigged up and ready, Sean was first to cast, and on that fish cast it was “fish on!” Though not landed, we took it as a good sign. Sean’s learned a lot since that first fly fishing lesson last spring, so it’s not only because yours truly graciously granted him first crack at one of the best runs that he landed four decent rainbows before I had a chance at a single one.

A bit later and a bit downstream I showed Sean a few seldom-fished and often productive pools, then it was back up to a more popular section. Thanks to the waders — most bait and hardware fisherfolks precariously perch on roots near this section — we effortlessly walked upstream and downstream near the opposite bank, targeting pods of trout as well as individual fish. Both of us hooked numerous fish and landed a few less than hooked. (Sean would probably agree that his fly fishing education might benefit from a focus on the hookset.) Our biggest were about 14 inches, with some broad-shouldered bruisers in the mix.

A better day we couldn’t have asked for. The sun was out but the air temperature was pleasant. The water was a bit high but the fish were willing.

But the “good day” rating was to be pegged just about lunchtime.

Fishing the tailout of a pool with a size 22 midge (very small fly for non-fisher folks) I was able to watch a fish adjust to the fly’s path and a white flash told me it had opened its mouth for the take. That white flash of the mouth — rainbows have darker mouths — suggested that this would be a brook trout left over from stocking earlier in the year. The fish sure did shake its head like a brookie. But then it jumped. “Whoa!” Sean yelled as it did. Another jump and it was heading downstream, taking me with it.

About five minutes later, after doing a “rock dance,” and about 20 more feet downstream, landing procedures commenced. It was then that the coolness factor of this fish rose quite a bit. I was a hooked-jawed wild brown trout headed upstream from the lake to spawn. All 15 inches of him. One very cool surprise.

The downside is that we left the camera at home. But ask Sean. I think he’ll tell ya it was a good day with a great fish among the many good.