Monday, September 26, 2011

Why I Fish

Fishing on the Truckee is always fruitful and restful time for me. It's one of the only times I feel like my A.D.D. ramps down, along with my stress and internal chaos. It's time I can have conversation with God, and get my heart rate up.  Fall is a great time to be on the river

Thanks to the generosity of my Dad and a good friend, Jan Nemec, I'm on my way to being a productive fisherman with the fly-rod. Catch and release of course. Get out there and catch something!

This was my phone background for over a year.  Shot on the stretch below my house.

 First fish on the fly-rod.  An important milestone.

Oliver just before his 2nd birthday (October 2011).  Loves river adventures with Dad.

Nice bow I caught while being harassed by a homeless man's dog.  True story.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

The Tipping Point

I've officially decided it's time.

I've fished my whole life.  Literally.  I was on a lake fishing (well, my Mom was) a couple of days before I was born. True story.

And just like every kid has to leave the putt-putt golf course eventually (because the close every evening) and decide to pick up a set of clubs and venture into "real golf", I too have come to a cross-roads.  But first, a quick recap of events.

1.  Dad gave me his old Sage rod.  Boom.

2.  I find a fishing vest in the bushes of the Truckee river bank, post ads online, wait 90 days and then "inherit" a ton of fly fishing stuff.

3.  Every time I cross paths with a fly-fishing guy on the river (of whom I can out-fish the vast majority of with a yellow speckled Panther martin or J-11 Rapala), they give you stereotypical disdainful glance.  It's low grade harassment.  They'll fish right through you because you don't count as a real fisherman.  They won't give you the time of day in conversation.  They see the spinning rod and assume that you are this idiot.  Elitists and pompous yes, but no one likes the putt-putt kid showing up to the driving range either.

4.  A friend and fly-fishing pro has perma-loaned me some boots and waders.  I really have no excuses now.'s time to make the switch.  Here's what my first couple of trips turned up:

 I know the net isn't to code, but I took the picture with the fish underwater, so shut it.

 Brownie bite.

 Brownie fun size.

 An increasingly uncommon cutthroat on the Truckee.  I suspect they can't compete with the other species based on the thousands of pounds of Rainbows stocked and the aggressive and tolerant Browns.

Nice spots, kid.

I anticipate a long road ahead.  I'm a pretty pragmatic guy, so the biggest thing working against me is that I can catch plenty of fish on lures.  It's the same reason I am the fastest hunt-and-peck typer you have ever met or read...literally.  Never had any incentive to do it the "right way".

Here goes nothing.  And you better believe I plan on breaking all the usual stereotypes of being an ass on the river.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

It's Not the Size of the Fish in the Fight...'s the size of the fight in the fish.  

What the hell was this guy thinking?  What was the outcome he was hoping for?

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Goodwin Ponds

One of my best friends is from a ranching family.  They have 17,000 acres in CA.  A conservation agency came through and built some ponds from the existing stream and stocked it.  With little to no pressure, the fish get huge and they are plenty.

No beasts were landed today, but we had a blast.  Sister-in-law was fair game for the trip out too, so she scored some major points.

We occasionally get to ride the ATVs in cutting the travel time down substantially.  Looks like an advertisement.

 Wash the thing off, before you snap a shot.  Geez.

 Taylor with a healthy bow.

 Taylor with a healthy baby bow.

A little brown.  Notice how spaced out the spots are compared to the Truckee.

 My sis-in-law Katie.  Did great and kept a good attitude.  Caught a few.  Played a prank on her where I pretended to lose my wedding ring in the calf-deep mud and sent her looking for it.  Hilarious.

She's happily married gents, sorry.