- Perhaps this fly fishing apparel designer should seek an endorsement from fellow British Columbian and fly gal April Vokey? http://bit.ly/gvLZRN
- Let’s hope this isn’t what Opening Day looks like: http://bit.ly/gvLZRN
- …and a good reminder just before Opening Day (at least here in California):
Tag Archives: California
fishing for words turns five after fourteen years in the making
fishing for words (ffw) was born on April 19, 2006. However and without knowing it, my blogging started fourteen years prior to that.
During the mid ‘90s — the beginning of the end for most grunge bands — I joined the few civilians who could make sense of this thing called HTML to launch a website with the unoriginal title “My Little Corner of the Internet.” It was a kooky little site for which every new entry required incorporating text into hand-coded HTML.
The trend at the time was to post a relatively static website about one’s self, and looking back one can see that the early “posts” — stories about trips or family events — popped up once or twice a year from August 1997 through July 2003. There seemed to be more to write about starting in 2004. I don’t know if was the fact that the kids were growing up and it didn’t take a trunk full of diapers, bottles, food and a stroller to travel more than five miles, or the fact that my new wife actually encouraged me to enjoy some adventures on my own.
My writing was largely directed at family and a few friends. Though a student once thanked me for my page on Aloha shirts (apparently it aided him in writing a term paper), I suffered no delusion that anyone would take an interest in what I wrote if they didn’t know me personally.
Perhaps the future will bring a new immediacy to outdoor blogging. (That’s not me...it’s my son with a wild rainbow on Stream X.)
Now, 139,512 words and 458 posts later, I still resist defining my blog. It remains a place for family and friends…with a loose definition of “friend.” Over the years, nearly everyone in my immediately family has made an appearance in my blog — whether they liked it or not. Friends run the gamut: fly fishing club members, fellow bloggers I’ve surprised by actually showing up on their doorstep met face to face; folks who thanked me for suggestions on where their kids might have a good first fishing experience; even a few buddies met online with whom I eventually shared a fishing trip or two. Every reader is a potential friend, just like the older gentleman and younger guy wearing waders that were too clean and waving barely used rods.
While ffw doesn’t subscribe to any specific definition, it’s definitely been about sharing a personal story. It’s about stepping out of my little universe to share encouragement, a laugh, an experience, a tip or a trick. And every once and a while I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that my words do encourage or earn a chuckle.
Some folks might lament about how much things have changed in five years. I’d say that it’s only our methods of our interaction that have changed; the folks behind it remain much the same. Take a look at the Outdoor Blogger Network, for example — a group of good folks coming together over common interests. They’ve got to be good folks; they let me and my little blog join in the fun. And fun it’s been, sharing my misadventures and adding a couple of new readers every year.
As for the fly fishing, the places I fish usually are not covered in the slick pages of magazines. These are places that can be reached with relatively modest means and without a 4×4. (I did learn last year that a 4×4 would be helpful on the roads to and from Yellow Creek.)
My hero shots find heroism in fooling small wild and skittish brook trout with a fly tied with my own hands. (This summer, hero shots may include a fly rod built with those same hands.) And though the “body count” isn’t so important to me anymore, it’s still about duping that first dozen fish and the story that comes with it.
I’m hoping that there will be many more fish to write about.
modest proposal suggests concrete amusement parks for the catch-and-keep folks; good ideas for catch-and-release fans
At first it’ll likely prompt feigned outrage as the bait and hardware crowd wail and gnash teeth, claiming that the real goal is to enjoy the outdoors… That’ll die down once the realization sets in that it’ll mean easy access, flat surfaces for lawn chairs and coolers of beer and a near-guarantee the freezer can be filled without breaking a sweat.
This is only one of a few proposals and changes at California Dept. of Fish & Game growing out of the Center for Biological Diversity’s 2006 lawsuit and subsequent proceedings. Now that I’ve moved up the ethical pecking order to become a catch-and-release fly fisherman and have washed away any lingering odor or memory of ever using bait, it’s easy to write with a straight face that perhaps this isn’t such a bad idea. (Not to worry, this modest proposal still allows for an outdoors experience with the stocking of mutant triploid trout in reservoirs.)
Most of us are guilty — at one time or another — of enjoying the rewards of a 100-plus-year-old stocking program but the commission may be on to something here. It’d be easier to outlaw deadly barbed treble hooks on streams and rivers when the option for Power Bait aficionados is a raceway brimming with stupid hungry trout.
Though the state is trimming the budget, there’ll be no need for access fees…lure in the crowds, and there’s new income to be found in raceway-side concessions.
Besides the reduction of streamside competition accumulation of empty Power Bait jars and Styrofoam worm containers, there just maybe a bigger upside for fans of catch and release.
In addition to increasing triploid production for future years, DFG is developing greater capability to successfully produce and stock heritage (native) trout species. Currently, four native species are being produced in DFG hatcheries. Kern River Hatchery is being modified with a water delivery back up system and other infrastructure upgrades for production of the native Kern River rainbow trout. Establishment of a broodstock is expected by fall of 2011. Five heritage species should be in production by January 1, 2012, with 25 percent of overall production to be comprised of heritage species. The feasibility of rearing Lahontan cutthroat trout for the Lake Tahoe basin restoration…
If it means an opportunity for me everyone to target more of our native species, that’s a sacrifice I’m we’re all willing to make.
what we see… (03/16/2011)
- Write up over at Eat More Brook Trout about a ‘small gesture’ tied to fly fishing that will go towards relief efforts in Japan: http://bit.ly/hM9S7t
- Wine, fly fishing flicks, demos and gear not too far away from me at the Grand opening of the Leland fly fishing ranch. Best of all, it’s free (except for the films): http://bit.ly/SaiKi
- Take a gander at Eastern Sierra guide Tom Loe’s winter ride…it’ll get you to the Upper Owens River in style, with lunch and cold drinks:
The "War Wagon"
dropping the blogging ball
To the chagrin of some folks I’m not retiring like other bloggers we know, but I am “dropping the ball” this week to spend a little time in the Sierra foothills. It comes down to simple logistics. The family cabin is truly that; a few rooms insulated only by a couple of inches of siding, a simple affair with no connection to the Internet.
That’s not to say it’ll be time away from the everyday without sacrifice. There is a plan afoot to fit in some fly fishing — regardless of weather forecasts that include snow at elevations not too far from where we’ll be chasing wild trout.
I won’t jinx this unusual winter trip with any details, except to say that even The Wife has taken notice of my itch to fish and freely volunteered that I might visit one of the few open western Sierra foothill rivers. Maybe the feverish tying of flies and a continuous parade of fly fishing television shows gave me away.
It’s been more than a year since I’ve tested this tailwater. For the most part, I’ll be going subsurface, mainly through riffles and tailouts. Though this time of year it’s the more imaginative fly fishing technique nymphing that’s more effective bringing up the fish, with some luck late afternoon might include a decent blue-winged olive mayfly hatch.
To anticipate one question; no, I won’t be taking the new rod. Even it were fished, there be steelhead in this river and the one fish that broke me off in 2009 suggests that it’s better to carry a rod with a little more backbone.
Hopefully, I’ll be back with more than a tale of a riverside hike.
what we see… (02/09/2011)
- The Unaccomplished Angler and Trout Underground step up when John Walsh doesn’t: http://bit.ly/hztyUN, http://bit.ly/hA4G4K
- Going on my “I Want that Job” list, because of the trout; nothing to do with co-host Hilary Hutcheson. (Look out Rich Birdsell.): http://bit.ly/gpDlMf
- What trout will you chase? And what’s this “Other Trout” some folks will be waving sticks at: http://bit.ly/hGIAyd
- Below, a day at the Oakland Zoo (The Wife declared this date “Spontaneous Saturday.” We ended up at the Oakland Zoo and enjoyed dinner with the San Mateo nephews and their parents.):
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new fishing license; origami encouraged
At 22¼'' it’d be a very nice trout.
My permanent annual license was kicked out by the Automated License Data System and it arrived the other day (a temporary was printed from the computer). Attached to the dollar-bill-sized basic sport fishing license is a required report card for the steelhead I’ll never hook.
I measured it. It’s sad when the license is longer than most of the trout that end up in my net. …Sad that the license is so long; I’m perfectly happy with smaller wild fish. Folks who add sturgeon report cards, hunting licenses or are lucky enough to have a lifetime licenses have reported lengths of 10 feet or more.
(I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that the license I purchased in Washington state last year and recently returned with fat zeros on the catch record card measured just about as long as my new California license.)
There’s an upside. It’s no longer a requirement to visibly display your license. I thought about putting mine in my wallet, giving it a girth not seen in many years.
That, on the other hand, may not be a great idea.
These licenses are printed on waterproof thermal paper. Waterproof good; thermal paper bad. Leave it exposed to heat source and you’ll be making a trip to get a new one.
However, a swipe of your driver’s license your local vendor can retrieve your current license data, and for a small fee, print a duplicate. Applying circular reasoning, maybe the boys in Sacramento, short on revenue, did know what they were doing all along…
P.S. Sometime after this post goes up I should be applying epoxy to a certain 4 wt fly rod.
…they’re the people that you read each day*
This post brought to you by the writing prompt “Which Outdoor Bloggers
would you like to Meet?” from the Outdoor Blogger Network (OBN),
though not all of the bloggers mentioned here are OBN members…
Contemplating this question I realized how lucky I was to meet Kirk from The Unaccomplished Angler in person before his recent retreat from fame. It certainly brings your inflated online impression of someone who’s written a few books and maintains a consistently enjoyable blog down to earth when you sneak up on him while he’s doing yard work. Though I’ve already met him, I’d still like to someday take up Kirk on his offer to spend some time on “The Forks.”
I started my blog before the term existed. I started in 1997 with a simple website that was cumbersome to update, and because it was hand-coded HTML, new content (e.g. “posts”) appeared periodically. (Those of you who recently stepped into blogging don’t know how easy y’all have it with CMS and blog publishing applications.)
Then one day I came across something quite wonderful back in aught-six of the third millennium. One of the first blogs that actually looked pretty nice. Tom Chandler had pieced together a good-looking layout for The Trout Underground. My more modest talent has allowed me to make some money in the field of writing, and Tom’s prose gave me the inspiration to reach outside my training as a journalist for the creative side of writing. Just as much as I enjoy Tom as a writer (regardless of whether his Fly Fishing Underground Writer’s Network is competition for OBN), there’s also the lure of joining him on some of his home waters, which are open during the winter, when I’m often jonesing for a fly fishing fix.
Linking from The Trout Underground, before I knew it would be against better judgment, I ended up on Singlebarbed, where Keith Barton‘s skewed outlook near the shores of the Lil Stinkin’ can alternately leave you laughing, crying or shaking your head. His take on fly tying is what I like best…there’s no recipe that doesn’t deserve to be messed with, whether that means cheap different materials, methods or colors. Keith fishes some less-than-pristine waters near me, but meeting and fishing with him might require a 55-gallon drum of body sanitizer and a hazmat suit.
I’ve found that recovery from a visit to Singlebarbed can be aided by a visit to David Knapp’s The Trout Zone. David’s got a keen eye for photography and a “quiet” writing style. David fishes some prime trout waters in Tennessee, particularly the type of small streams I enjoy; all the more reason to want to meet him for some photo pointers and fishing.
It’s possible I could go on writing for pages and pages screens and screens about various bloggers that I’d enjoy meeting and likely fish with, but to finish up I’d have to include Chris Hunt over at Eat More Brook Trout. How can one not love his blog’s irreverent name? Personally, his story is one that I could make my own — a journalist who retires to work for Trout Unlimited, write essays about fly fishing and spend his free time fly fishing in a pretty awesome place. Even if only for a few days, Chris would be another guy with whom I could spend some time.
In closing, I’d certainly have to add Rebecca Garlock (The Outdooress) and Joe Wolf (Flowing Waters) to my list. Not necessarily because I’ve enjoyed reading their blogs (I have), but to possibly get a glimmer of a hint into their plan for OBN’s worldwide fly fishing blog domination.
*”Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood blog network?
In your neighborhood blog network?
In your neighborhood blog network?
Say, who are the people in your neighborhood blog network?
The people that you meet read each day”
finding fish, but not fishing, close to home
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Muir Woods National Monument in the hills just north of San Francisco could be like someplace near you. That place that’s relatively well-known and frequented by out-of-town visitors, one that you always mean to visit but never set aside the time to do so. The trees of Muir Woods quietly stand in a valley accessed by roads that progressively shrink from a highway to a local boulevard and, finally, a small two-lane country road that twists down the hillsides without the comfort of guard rails. It’s a drive that requires patience. It’s worth finding, however, because this 560-acre national monument encompasses one of last groves of old-growth coast redwoods on the planet, and the only one in the San Francisco Bay area.
Fern Silhouette
It was a gray morning last week when The Wife and I left the rolling hills of home and headed west across the San Pablo Bay Tidal Wetlands and into the hills of the Coast Ranges. The air was cold, the sky hidden by fog, dense and unmoving. The kind of day that suggests you’d be better off nestled by the fireplace with a hot beverage.
Most of the drive was familiar and thus unremarkable, but soon enough we were rising into the hills and the fog. An all-encompassing grayness took the place of what otherwise would have been a sweeping view toward the coast. The fog, but not the chill it lent to the day, was left behind as we descended a number of switchbacks.
The getting there was easy; the parking was problematic. Even on a day like today, parked vehicles were overflowing onto the roadway. Maybe it was karma, or simply superior situational awareness, that opened our eyes to a slot unobserved by half a dozen other drivers at the end of one row.
On a short hike to the park the oak woodlands typical of California’s hills give way to a coniferous forest, dominated by towering Sequoia sempervirens. The paved trail parallels the babbling Redwood Creek, feeding guests toward the obligatory exhibits and gift shop, then the entrance.
Though there’s no escaping the noise of the crowds ignoring scattered signs asking “Quiet, Please,” the silent presence of these redwoods, many seedlings before World War II, can impress. Light filtered first though fog then the thick forest canopy lends a deep blue cast, deepening the greens of California bay laurel, Douglas firs, bigleaf maples, dogwoods, tanoaks, redwood sorrel and countless ferns; horsetail lady, sword, maiden hair, and gold back to name a few. It’s a wonder that such a place exists so close to San Francisco.
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Near Cathedral Grove
A quiet and easy walk took us deeper into the dense grove; wander first closer to then farther away from the creek. Soon I’m getting kink in my neck gazing at the massive trees in aptly named Cathedral Grove. These trees average 800 years old and taper from a thick base to a top that can’t be seen. They have survived fires, storms and man.
The trail leading back out of the grove crosses the clear waters of Redwood Creek, one of the southernmost streams in which coho salmon spawn. This time of year it’s the coho salmon (Oncorhynchus kisutch) that will make their way upstream, to be followed by steelhead (Oncorhynchus mykiss). It’d be dishonest to state that I wasn’t hoping we might be blessed to see fish in the creek.
We were blessed. The trail that would return us to our starting point crosses then parallels the creek four or five feet away from its bank. As we neared a small bend the bed of the creek moved. A coho, at least a good 18 or 20 inches, hovered in a couple feet of water. We watched, shushing the less courteous, as the salmon rested in a small eddy below fallen tree branches. Shortly, it was joined by another, similarly sized fish. After seemingly communicating via body language, the two cohos continued upstream. After a two-year absence, two more coho happened returned to Redwood Creek during our visit.
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Evidence that the Redwood Creek coho salmon may have a future...
Perhaps it was fell-good aspect of being outdoors and seeing nature at work (often despite humans), but lunch at the Muir Woods Trading Co. Café was particularly good. While Karen enjoyed a hot dog of grass-fed beef, I dove into a house special, the “Marin Melt,” which is built on a foundation of some of the most rustic bread I’ve ever met and two smooth locally produced cheeses. Add a bowl of fresh tomato soup, and it’s a lunch made for a cold morning near the coast.
Though there were no fishing rods involved in this trip, the fish were a welcome surprise.
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anticipation: the early edition
For a few weeks now it’s either been raining like cats and dogs or bitter cold. At least for this neck of the woods, where anything below 40 degrees is uncommon. A day ago it was -18 degrees in the in the Sierra Nevada’s Long Valley Caldera, a little volcanic crater of roughly 200 square miles that I’m not likely to fish at such temperatures. If I do, it’ll be via snowmobile and with a supply of Glen Morangie.
It’s good weather to mark on the new year’s calendar the days that’ll be dedicated to fishing. They’re adding up nicely.
It’s not that I’ll be sitting on my hands until the general trout season reopens. There’s a fly rod to be built and flies to be tied. We’ll finish the rod by early February during a series of Saturday sessions. Fly tying will include giving guidance to a son who wants to learn. Then there are trips to plan.
I think it was about three years ago that the realization set in that there was pleasure to be found in the planning of fishing trips. Planning can be a pain in the arse, sometimes literally, because the Internet has opened the doors to a crushing abundance of information; then it took a while to learn to let go of the niggling worries about the actual outcome of a trip.
So, rather than wantonly throw out New Year’s resolutions that are likely to remain unachieved, my inclination is to etch things in wet cement as soon as possible. Things were set in motion this year by that preference and petitions for early planning from some of the folks who’ve participated in the club-sanctioned trip I lead in the Eastern Sierra.
Lest anyone think that there’s an inherent selflessness in these acts, the record should be set straight. Part of my willingness to teach Sean to tie flies is rooted in the self-serving belief it’s high time that he lose his own flies. It’s with as much resignation as can be mustered that I’ll inform The Wife that I must again act as ‘fishmaster’ for the club’s Eastern Sierra trip, quietly omitting the multitude of benefits it offers.
Most fly fishermen will ascribe good fishing and great scenery to favorite fishing venues. The Eastern Sierra excellently fits that bill and hopes are high that this year it will be even better. The snowpack is in great shape and water levels are good; both point to fantastic things in the fall. For those who’ve never been, the attraction of the Eastern Sierra can be modestly measured by the six folks who’ve already committed to a trip that doesn’t take place for another nine months. Those benefits that need not worry my wife: good food, home-brewed beer and great fishing far away from clocks and everyday concerns.
This year my volunteerism will extend to kindly offering to aid a fellow fly fisherman to get acquainted with Crowley Lake. We’ll spend our first day on the lake with a guide I’ve employed a few times each of the last several years, as an introduction to Crowley for my friend and an opportunity to update my knowledge of current conditions. During the subsequent days there might just be an occasion or two to spend more time on the lake fishing from my friend’s boat. As you know by now, in no way did this influence my desire to help.
fishing for words 