Set It Free

I've been starting to revisit some of my favorite holes in the Truckee since making the switch to a fly rod.  It feels like starting over in many ways, but the rewards have appeared occasionally.  Last week I returned to some deep water I was fond of. 

Two casts in, something angry ripped my beer-head baetis off the line with 2 big shakes.  I used to be able to tell the size of a fish plus or minus 2 inches from the moment I hooked up.  Not so anymore.  Learning what fish feel like on the fly rod has been one of the biggest challenges, but having recently landed a few 20"ers, I am pretty confident this guy was much bigger than that.

Then a few casts later, something lighter took me for a ride.  After a nice surfacing and plenty of swim-bys, he broke me off.

Fast forward a week.

Determined to finish our exchange, I popped back to the same run yesterday.  Despite the silty water, I managed to hook up with a fish before heading into the office.  I'm 90% sure this is the same 19" fella.  My need for closure satisfied, I left with a grin on my face.  Long live the baetis.

Frenchman's FTW

Frenchman's was insanely windy and insanely productive. We caught around 50 trout between the three of us over four hours. None of them were huge, but it was one of those days when you hardly had enough time to let your thoughts wander because there was so much action. Most of them took a blood midge or zebra midge below an indicator. Good times.

 

 

Finally.

30 casts.
15 bites.
10 hook-ups.
6 fish.
1 new personal best.

Heavenly.

After losing one over 20" moments before hooking this guy, I resolved to not just muscle the next one in. This new plan backfired. I ended up covering almost 250 yards in the stream (yes it was that far), after he refused to be steered or directed towards quieter water for netting.

Once I finally closed the distance, I realized that my friend had unclipped my net from my vest to assist me 20 minutes earlier. Translation:  I didn't have my net on me.  I looked over my shoulder to see him sprinting towards me up the bank, giggling with my net in hand.

21" of beautiful color.

Got skunked 3 times after this trip out, so rest assured that the Truckee keeps score.

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.

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.

So...it'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.