fishing for words

(and tossing out random thoughts)


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interesting surprise

Amazing what open eyes can see. Assuming the brain can connect the dots.

Planning for trout chasing next weekend gets all eight cylinders firing when in comes to research. Water levels are low. Temps may be high. And little good can come of catching and releasing already stressed out wild fish.

So the interweb gets tickled for any insight into Sierra West Slope possibilities. A search gives up an old Mapquest query left behind by an unknown soul. Tantalized by the possibility it might pinpoint good trout water near my Sierra foothills permanent base of operation, a click is made.

I recognize the location. Not near any stream that I know of. But I’ve driven past this place four or five or six dozen times over the last few years, not knowing that Galvan Fly Reels quietly cranked out1 a modest line of respected fly reels.

Here’s to hoping they offer a factory tour that ends with free samples…

1Pun not intended but left in anyhow.


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nothing beats a “free” weekend

In the words of my father, I “made out like a bandit” this weekend. And had a spot of luck too.

It began Friday when the new hard drive for our Series 3 Tivo arrived. The old hard drive decided to take a permanent vacation, presenting the dilemma of either purchasing a new Tivo, meaning we’d loose the lifetime subscription that has paid for itself a few times over, or trying to drop in a new hard drive. Either way, it would cost about the same. The hard drive install was quick and easy, and after running through the guided set up our resurrected Tivo was running smoothly with our lifetime subscription still intact.

Saturday afternoon the wife and I visited a fellow fly fisherman and his wife with the express purpose of combing though some fly tying materials. Comb through we did. About an hour and a half later I was putting a grocery bag in my car full of materials, including seven dozen spools of thread of all sorts of colors and hues. All that and a dinner date with my wife.

Sunday’s event was courtesy Honda. As a participant of an online Honda Owners Panel (which conducts surveys about once a month) I was awarded two pass to the IndyCar race at Infineon Raceway. Christopher and I arrived about ten that morning to enjoy a continental breakfast in the Honda tent, which was set up at turn two. (An uphill right-hand sweeper.) After walking around the various exhibits and watching the Historic Gran Prix cars head out to the track for warm up, we headed back to the tent for a great rib lunch. Lunch gave way to a visit by the Ryan Hunter-Reay (driving the ethanol-sponsored Rahal/Letterman Racing #17), then a tour of the garage area. Though I wouldn’t pay for the privilege, it was fun seeing the race in person. Helio Castroneves (Team Penske #3) won, with Ryan Hunter-Reay finishing 18th. Gotta love free stuff.

I’ll be the guy looking for more freebies…


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big guy, pink fishing rod, one big catfish

Sometimes it’s a good thing to take break for fishing to hit the “potty;” had three-year-old Alyssa not handed her pink Barbie fishing rod to grandpa, she might be swimmin’ wit da fishes. Catfishes that is.

That’s 32 inches of whiskered fish — almost as long as his granddaughter is tall and two inches longer than the pole. Look at the picture here and read the full story here.

This that a grimace of embarrassment that a $13.95 Barbie rod enabled the landing of a certified state record, rather than his six-foot rod with a more robust open-faced spinning reel?

I’ll be in Wal-Mart’s sporting goods department…


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one fly for the trees, one for the fish, one to remember how to tie the blasted thing

Scooped up my fully equipped fly tying desk — which eerily looks much like a little folding wooden TV tray — and plopped it between myself and the TV last weekend. Armed with a rack of threads, small and even-smaller hooks, a few tungsten beads and a diet soda, I set to tying a few simple flies. Despite no definitive proof that tying one’s flies saves money, it’s nice to think that idle time spent watching fly fishing shows on the boob-tube doesn’t always or entirely have to go to waste.

Not being a fly fishing crazy purist and intent on catching trout, I find no difficulty in lining my fly box with plenty of nymphs instead of dry flies. Before the fist show was over there were enough Zebra and Blood Midges to share with a family friend who’s expressed an interest in spending tons of money on joining the world of fly fishing. While simple enough to tie, they seem to work best on size 20 or smaller hooks. A size so small that a sharp inhalation could spell danger if one is bent over a pile of loose hooks.

Later that same weekend I upped the ante to tie some glass bead head emerger midge nymphs in both black and red. A made-up name to be sure, but a sometimes very productive pattern that’s also relatively easy to tie. Dropped one or two into the friend’s makeshift fly container as well.

Even learned something new, all on my own. Last Christmas Santa delivered via my stocking a small kit for tying a single fly. While this kit contained a less-than-impressive clip that was intended to act as a vise, the simplistic instructions offered just enough insight to prompt the tying of my first soft hackle wet fly1. No doubt one of the more artistic flies I’ve so far tied. Maybe I’ll soon post a report on whether or not it catches fish.

I’ll be “sacrificing” a few flies on a nearby stream…

1While nymphs and wet flies can be lumped together as “wet flies,” i.e. fished subsurface, wet flies generally refer to soft hackle flies meant to be fished as a drowned mature insect, baitfish or any other desirable food morsel. Nymphs are designed to imitate, well, insects in the nymphal stage. (And the pupa stage in some cases.)


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fixin’ to fix stuff

In between relaxing and hiding in a movie theater, I spent some “getting-to-know-you” time with CB. Armed with a few new slip-on connectors, a crimping tool and a somewhat faulty thinking cap, I lunged headfirst into the mystery of the only occasionally front brake-triggered taillight.

My highly technical jiggling of wires hinted at a bad connection. It was off with the old ones and on with the new. The classic-never-been-touched look on this 26-year-old Honda was retained by, of course, slipping the old sun-faded rubber covers over the new connectors.

…Sad to say, new connectors were not the answer to the problem. A bit of head-shaking and staring at the bike led to monkeying around (another highly technical maneuver) with things a bit more. The wire seemed to be intact. Giving into the “dark side,” worries crept into the grey matter…worries that this would have to be solved by a guy in greasy overalls who charges $80/hour.

That $80/hour inspired a move “upstream”…to the actual switch — a small, naturally unrepairable and self-contained device that uses a plunger activated by the depression of the front brake handle. A poke here, wiggle there and sure ‘nough, the quarter-century old switch apparently had breathed its last. (That’s a picture of the offending part to the right.)

Gratification quickly became mortification.

It’s an old part. It’s older than three of our four kids.

My heatbeat was restored to whatever resembles normal when a quick search of the interweb found that part #35340-MA5-671 widely used in Honda bikes and as late as 2005. Forking over about $10 was all that was need to have one sent.

See ya on the road in about a week…


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a hopefully excellent adventure

universal-technical-institute-logoChristopher will soon begin an adventure as he reports to the Universal Technical Institute at six-thirty Monday morning. He’s undertaking the Toyota Professional Automotive Technician program, and, hopefully, after sixty weeks, he’ll be on his way to into business of automotive maintenance and repair.


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the rod that gives and gives…

I was happy to hear the Sean got out on the Truckee River last week during his visit to a cabin on Tahoe’s north shore.

I had set him up last Wednesday with my three-year-old $125 Cabela’s 5 wt. fly rod, the one I learned with. Set him up with leader, tippet and five different types of flies. I did take Sean fly fishing, for the first time, about two months ago, but gave him a quick refresher course. Too bad Sean can’t take the fly fishing course in September…

I’ll be the one (hopefully) teaching Sean more about fly fishing…


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skinny water but fish nonetheless

Lower water on the Tuolumne River.

Lower water on the Tuolumne River.

Finished washing some Sierra Nevada foothill mud and gravel off my wading boots and already I’m looking forward to the next visit to the cabin. (Increasingly one of the few “true” cabins in Twain Harte, it seems.) I took a day off to squeeze a bit o’ fishing in last weekend.

Headed up Thursday evening to allow for two full days of fishing and by seven o’clock Friday morning I was casting on the skinny water of the Lower Tuolumne River’s North Fork, near Basin Creek. This is the same section of the Tuolumne I enjoyed fishing back in May. What a difference 10 weeks can make! Low water concentrated the remaining fish in a few pools and small runs, and campers building rock dams limited me to fewer locations. And, of course, I would have to cast under overhanging branches or to the far side of boulders to reach the best feeding lanes.

Nice rainbow.

Nice rainbow.

But I did reach those feeding lanes. After a painfully drawn-out slow start, I had the first rainbow to hand about thirty minutes after my arrival. Surprisingly, this decent-sized trout rose about four feet from the bottom of a deep pool to nail my dry fly. After I pulled this fish to the side for a quick release, three young boys each cast a spinner to the very spot where I hooked my fish. So upstream I went. Unfortunately, after about an hour of hiking, I didn’t find too much suitable water.

Returning to some of the downstream waters I enjoyed the challenge of presenting a dry fly (with a nymph dropper) well enough to encourage a strike. I did well enough to put about nine fish in the net, but because I was using a size 20 bead-head nymph (and perhaps because I was late in setting the hook), about as many fish were granted a long-distance release. It was a good day, capped off by a visit to Diamondback Grill, a favorite family hamburger joint.

Saturday was a lucky day for me. I was at Moccasin Creek about six-thirty that morning, only to find that my fly box was not in my vest pocket! After searching my car and racking my brain, I resigned myself to the will o’ the winds. It was only a thirty-minute drive from Moccasin Creek to the Tuolumne, where I had fished the previous day. I scanned the ground where I had parked the car and, with my waders on, began to retrace my steps. Surprised inadequately describes how I felt when, only two minutes later, I found my fly box resting on some moss on top of a rock. The day was saved. I headed back to Moccasin Creek.

I was finally on the water by nine o’clock. Which meant that most of the prime spots were being flogged by hardware or bait fishermen. But with a bit of testing I found another nice feeding lane that terminated near a tree-shaded tailout. Sure enough, fish were there. I don’t think more than thirty minutes went by without my landing a rainbow or brook trout. As the day progressed and lesser other fishermen left for lunch, I had much of this stretch of the creek to myself. One of the highlights was a beefy rainbow of about fifteen inches. The other was a big fish…one that nailed my nymph, flashed a broad side near the surface, then headed deep and stayed deep. It was bendo time with the ol’ fly rod. But I was using size 20 fly and this fish was able to spit it out. The afternoon presented the challenge of changing tactics…and I ended up landing fish on dry and wet flies as well as nymphs. Even some flies I tied myself.

Best of all, most everything except fishing was banished my thoughts for those two days.

Lower water on the Tuolumne River.
Ah, suggestion for a fly pattern.
Nice freckles!

 


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catching up

Summer.

A time of day dreaming punctuated at irregular intervals of reaching for those dreams. Tends to keep me away from the keyboard.

The weather here in Northern California has alternated between the glorious “summer pattern” and hellish heat. Mix in a gloomy shroud of wildfire smoke and you’ve got some downright ugly stay-in-the-house days. That and better-than $4/gallon gasoline.

Sandwiched in between my solitary fly fishing quests and the mandatory job, sleep and nourishment the Wife and I headed to the coast for an abbreviated weekend after the Fourth of July. Surprisingly, thought one might blame arm-and-a-leg gas prices, we were able to secure a room in Capitola, one of those coastal California towns whose name is often preceded by “quaint.”

The location of our destination virtually ensured cooler weather and fog-cleansed skies. It was a leisurely and short-than-expected drive to the sea. Lunch at Café Limelight — where the dog was able to join us at the outdoor seating — was great, particularly Farouk’s homemade Hummus, served with fresh organic veggies, olives and warm pita bread. A walk on the Santa Cruz mall completed the pleasant afternoon. A quick check in at the hotel and a short walk into Capitola and it was time for mass at Holy Cross Catholic Church, which is part of Misión la Exaltacion de la Santa Cruz, the 12th mission built in California. It’s a pretty incredible “old world” church with striking stained glass windows.

Back in Capitola we sat down for dinner at Michaels on Main, enjoying the outdoor patio in back of the restaurant. Entertainment was a local high school’s 10th anniversary reunion. As one approaching a 30th anniversary since high school graduation, it was quite amusing interesting. I also enjoyed my mushroom encrusted halibut.

Sunday morning found us slowing making our way toward Aldo’s Harbor Restaurant, again putting us in Santa Cruz. Good solid food with the harbor entrance as a backdrop. A beautiful drive through the redwoods and along the UC Santa Cruz campus brought us to the Bonny Doon Vineyard winery tasting room. Bonny Doon was a pleasant surprise — it offers some of the more unique wines among those I’ve tasted, particularly the 2007 Vin Gris de Cigare (a rosé) and the 2007 Angel Paille (a dessert wine).

We lingered just long enough, then it was north on Highway 1. I don’t think I get out to this stretch of the coast often enough as I’m always struck with how close it actually is to home. After passing the one-of-a-kind Taco Bell on the Linda Mar Beach — yes, right on the beach with a walk-up window for surfers — we headed inland to Pescadero for a visit at Harley Farms Goat Dairy. I packed some of Harley’s excellent goat cheese in the trunk and pointed the car back to the coast, where the fog and overcast keep the temperatures cool and colors muted.

We procured lunch at the Half Moon Bay Brewing Co. restaurant in, yes, Half Moon Bay. Thankfully, time had not distorted my memory of their excellent fish and chips, which Karen and I shared with a flight of various beers. A good lunch stop not to be missed if you drive this stretch of the Golden State coastline.

A few more hours found us home, where the searing temperatures made me all the more happy to have hidden in California’s coastal hills for the last couple of days.


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happy fourth

Best wishes to everyone for happy and safe Fourth of July.

Unfortunately, here in California we have plenty o’ natural fireworks going off – though not all naturally caused – with 1,781 fires and 505,872 acres burned since June 20, 2008. Here’s hoping that the services of the 20,254 committed personnel, 1,503 fire engines, 571 hand crews, 340 bulldozers, 482 water tenders and 119 helicopters soon won’t be needed!