2nd Annual Al Crise Day

Al as a 2009 CfR River Helper

To honor the memory of a beloved friend, fisherman, and member, the Fort Worth Fly Fishers held the Second Annual Al Crise Day on the Paluxy River in Dinosaur Valley State Park located in Al's hometown, Glen Rose, TX.  Cody and I chose to attend this event because the monies raised supports two of Al's favorite charities, Casting for Recovery and Reel Recovery.  Cody and I enjoy being River Helpers for the North Texas CfR retreat for the past two years and see its positive impact on the ladies it supports (click on the link to read a wonderful thank you note from a 2010 participant).  In addition to attending to support the charities, we just like to fish, and this event was a fun outing.  TPWD also chose to help out and stocked 1,000 Rainbow Trout--a first for the Paluxy!

Originally, after donning pink waders and greeting friends, I headed off just downstream of the Blue Hole with my 2# rod and Beadhead Prince Nymph--a huge hit with the Springfield Lake trout (i.e. Austin stocked trout) to participate in the Trout Derby.  (I did forget to bring my creel, so it was going to have to be in name or photographic documentation only.)  Now, there were already a dozen or so fly fishers lining the near bank and nymphing to the far side, and two fly fishers chose to move even closer to Friday's stocking point.  I saw people to the left of me catch fish and people farther to the right catching fish, two being the DFF's president and vice-president, but because we packed the river like sardines, I really couldn't move to a better spot.  Anyway, Cody had said 35 minutes earlier, that he was going to the car to get his gear on and bring my 4# rod with him.  Having only one hit, I headed back to the car.  Unbeknownst to me, I dropped my fly box of Guadalupana's--sad face when I learned it!

Cody Bell was nowhere to be found, neither was his chair, his 4# rod, my 4# rod; no sign of the Boy anywhere.  So I headed back down to the river and continued to walk farther downstream.  As I walked along the elevated path, I noticed some beautifully deep runs that just looked fishy from the bank.  I ended up almost to the second and most visible Dinosaur tracks, and there were a slew of Boy Scouts (skipping stones upstream--ugh!), and I knew Cody Bell would be nowhere around that place.  I headed back up to towards the pavilion and finally ran into my man.  Cody had been hiking, and he was tired and sweaty and not dressed to fish.  I listened to his tale, and the man must have hiked a mile or so around this section of river--crazy, yes!

Cody unfolded his chair along the bank, drank his Dr. Pepper, and watched me fish.  Asking if Cody brought the prized Cody and GirlieBuggers, Cody said he left them in the car and was off to retrieve them.  I thought I was nicking the bottom or rocks and accruing moss on my hook; instead, they were timid hits from a shy trout.  About the fourth retrieve, the trout emboldenedly inhaled my fly--an amber Bonefish Bitter!  I couldn't believe it.  I had his head out of the water and fiddled with my stupid net (I will be buying a new one--ASAP!), and I decided to have compassion on the fellow, so I allowed his head to dip just below the water surface.  Still messing around with my net, I raised the ol' boy's head out again and brought him up to get a better look.  The trout amazed me with how pale he was colored, looking nothing like the two-week old stocker trout at Springfield, nor its counterparts existing in the wild; its scales were very shiny, though.  In frustration to unclasp that net from the back of my vest, I dipped my rod tip well into the water and needing the net became a moot point! 

Cody returned, tossed his fly canister to me, and I tied on a very pretty CodyBugger with red lips.  I cast four casts, and it was FishOn!  Yeah, I was finally catching fish.  They wised up pretty quickly, and it was a change of the fly, again, but, oh no, I had lost my fly box holding my Guadalupana's (a Lefty Ray Chapa pattern I learned at this year's Houston Fly Tying Festival).  Cody decided he couldn't stand it any longer and walked downstream about 50 feet.  Tying on a CodyBugger too, he fished it from bank to bank.  Standing about 15 feet above the river, casting maybe 20 feet out into the river, and fishing for all of five minutes at the most, Cody had FishOn! himself, a nice Rainbow Trout!  Of course, I snapped his photo.  I tied on another fly, a shortstrike Black SMP, and it's FishOn! for me too.  These crazy little Rainbows were hungry!  Cody fished just a little while longer, because the footbridge traffic 50 yards downstream was too voluminous and too boisterous, so Cody headed back to the pavilion for bar-b-que!  Of course, I stayed to fish.

Feeling pretty sure my spot was played out and needing something other than a 10 ft incline to climb so I could leave the river, I moved upstream to another deep run.  Getting tired, I chose to cast across the bank, and seeing that the black SMP wasn't working, I tied the Bonefish Bitter back on my line.  Fine decision since it imitates a crawfish, as best as I can tell.  A Bluegill liked it, too and paused long enough for me to snap his photo.  Two casts later and near the same spot, I had a BassOn!  His size merited the net, oh the curséd net!  As I attempted to unclasp the net, the bass wriggled himself off my hook.  In frustration, I slapped at the water with my pole, which was enough movement to entice that same bass to bite my fly again!  I failed not in landing him this time, and boy was I glad I did.  I caught a Spotted Bass, a new species for me--wahoo; it is #40 on my species list!  Now, it was time to call it a day, so I left others on the river to head for bar-b-que.

Cody and I met up on the path, and I had fished past dinner.  I changed clothes, talked with friends, enjoyed the raffles, and tried to snap some photos, but my camera battery is way past needing a charge--it is d-e-a-d!  Someone found and turned in my fly box, so I was able to get it back.  We vowed to see friends on the water, at rod-building, or at the next meeting, and off for home we went.   When I think back on the day, the camaraderie, the laughter, the fun, and the fish, I know Al was once again with his fly fishing club.

From Pond to Plate to Palette

I love to fish.  I attempt to fish often.  I think fish are gorgeous and have exquisite color palettes.  Fish taste delicious and make for an excellent meal.  Until last August, I never practiced catch and keep, but since I was fishing for Coho Salmon, which will die once they return to freshwater, I kept six males I caught.  Tuesday, I once-again kept fish for table fare.

Cody returned home from the Burnet Ranch, and I regaled Cody with tales of fishing Springfield Lake.  Well, Cody decided it was time to catch his first fish of the year.  Armed with his GPS, general directions from me, his float tube, fins, and rod with a Flashback Beadhead Prince Nymph tied on, Cody waded out in to cold, clear water.  I arrived about 30 minutes later and heard a tale of a nice bass who broke off.

Prepared to catch fish, I explained where the previous Friday's honey hole was located, we selected our spots, and began to cast.  Before long it was FishOn! for Cody Bell.  Bam!  I followed and we were FishOn! double.  Cody called that his Rainbow Trout was big enough to keep and so we paddled towards the middle.  I wasn't paying attention and accidentally let my trout out of the net.  Cody stocked the creel with his catch and challenged me to catch some supper, and catch we did.  Cody ended up catching 18 fish for the day, and I caught 13.

We chose to keep four pretty, pretty rainbows.  Cody cleaned and gutted them, and we were homeward bound.  Now, I don't mind eating animals, but being the purveyor of their death has never appealed to me.  As Cody pan-fried, in butter, those fillets, I kept looking at their heads.  Great smells to the right, death to the left, and so it went, much like a good tennis match.  We prepared rice, green beans, and corn bread (in bream shaped pones) to accompany our tasty fillets. They were tender, flaky, and oh so fresh--delicious, just delicious, and not much meat left on the bone!

Since dining on our trout, I dreamt: the headless fish was after me as I waded in a stream; fish heads ate my toes, and, of course returning to the crazy childhood dream, it was no longer safe to go to the potty.  In the future, I do not know if I will practice catch and keep, but I do know, I'll keep on catching!

What's a Fair Deal?

All my life, my Mom has striven to instill in me that life is not fair.  On my grandparents' wall hung a gorgeously decorated Serenity Prayer, which is probably one of the first poems I learned.  As sincerely as Mom tries, through no fault of her own, Mom fails.  For me, life is very black or white, with no gray whatsoever, which makes life easier to handle, because things are right or they are wrong.  So, what happens when things aren't fair?  I thought about this on my way home tonight, and I feel I need to rectify an unfairness.

Did you know that you do not need a fishing license to fish waters in a Texas State Park's boundaries?  Did you know that during the late fall and most of winter, that the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department stocks almost 1,000,000 trout throughout Texas' state parks?  Did you know the stocking is done cost-free to the public?  So, what is a fair price to pay to get to fish in a state park where they have stocked trout for the public to catch and keep, limited to five per day?  Would you believe me if I told you $2.00?  I think that is a ridiculously unfair price--unfair for TPWD, that is.

On Monday 31 January, I headed to Fort Parker State Park, because about a week prior, TPWD stocked a 1,000 trout in Springfield Lake.  The park's boundaries encompass the historic town of Springfield; only the ghost town's cemetery and 4 acre lake exist, today, and what a fine fishing lake Springfield is.  I did not have my float tube with me, so I waded in to the waters, but the heavily silted bottom keeps the wading pretty close to shore.  Not catching anything this day, I left after a two-hour foray, but I vowed I would be back Tuesday with float tube in hand.  The winter storms came, and so, the waders stayed in my car.  My vinyl lunchbag rested near my waders.  What a valuable lesson I learned, when I retrived my lunch bag .  There were these strange brown things all over it.  Upon further inspection, they were brown scuds, or from the fishes' perspective, dinner!

Armed with the knowledge of the fishes' diet, today, I set off with my float tube.  I tied on a size 14 Flashback Prince Nymph, and I reaped rewards.  After about 15 minutes on the water, I hooked up with a nice size Rainbow that jumped no less than six times!  Wahoo, I was having fun with my 2# rod.  I land it, take photos, release the trout, cast, and FishOn! again.  Bluegill this time.  I land it, take its picture, and release it, and cast.  FishOn! again.  Small Rainbow who squirms off my float tube before its picture is taken.  Cast and FishOn! Aaahhhgain, Yes, four casts; four fish!  It was another small Rainbow.  I touched the leader and was putting him on to the float tube net when he flopped off.  I receive about a 15 minute reprieve, and then it was FishOn! again, and this time it was a Redbreast Sunfish, a new one for my species list, and this boy was a p-i-g hog!  He really engulfed that fly.  Once retrieved, I cast a few more times with no success, and then I hit that same spot the Sunfish occupied, and it was FishOn! again.  This time, a small Smallmouth Bass chomped down on that nymph.  He gets his photo taken, and I release him back to the drink.  I cast and move around the western end of the lake.  The sun is beginning to set, and the fishes' strikes are becoming lethargic, when this little Rainbow decided my nymph was supper.  Resting in the net, I snap his photo and send him on his way. 

 

With a numb backside, hands, and legs, I decided to call it quits.  Eight fish/four species (with a new one to add to the list) in less than two hours is waaayyy better than the $2.00 entry fee.  I built my 2# rod; I chose my fly, carefully matching a food source; I fished from a float tube.  Yes, I really increased the odds that I should catch fish, but I feel that TPWD is getting an unfair deal, and I have no idea how to get them back on the right side of fairness; it would take a lot, considering the day I had at their place.  A good work day had turned really rotten, and then a $2.00 deal made everything good.  One of my favorite columnists is Regina Brett, and so I shall end with one of her 50 Life Lessons..."Life isn't fair, but it's still good."  Ohhhh, yeahhh!

New Year's @ Broken Bow

30 December 2010 - 2 January 2011

Well, our first trip to Broken Bow after the flood produced mixed feelings.  Always seeking fish and fishing excitement, we went north to catch the first fish of the year.  Accompanied by our dear friends Dawn and Jason, it was FishOn the fly time.  Cody likes Broken Bow fishing; I, however, do not fish the area well, and I am not sure why.  I stocked up with flies from TailWaters Fly Fishing to add to my trout box and adopted a "can catch fish" attitude.

We checked in to our Pine Meadows Cabin, now minus the teepee, cranked the temp to 104 degrees on the hot tub, rigged up our nymphing rods, and headed to Lost Creek for about an hour of fishing.  Cody nymphed below the bridge getting several hits.  Unfortunately, my favorite rock, on which I have always stood, and the only place I have ever caught fish in Lost Creek, no longer exists.  Great.  I skipped over the next hole, since a dad and son occupied it, and began to nymph my hot pink San Juan Worm with a Flashback Hare's Ear dropper.  Lo and Behold, I caught a fish on my third drift!  I could not believe it, and while I wanted to shout out to Cody Bell, I refrained.  I figured I caught the last fish of the year, but out of at least 10 trips to Broken Bow, this was about my seventh fish ever to catch.  Sad face for Cody, though; no fish Thursday night.  We met up with Dawn and Jason, ate, enjoyed the hot tub, and hit the sack to get ready for Friday's fishing.

Oh, the Fishing Gods looked down on us and laughed heartily!  We fished lower Spillway Creek with absolutely no luck.  I had one hit.  Cody spotted a hole that actually had fish, but the spillway just upstream of the hole but a bend in the line that deterred a straight sink, and I was using a 150 grain sinking line on my 4#.  Cody came to the best conclusion, with the lower foot bridge gone, stocking trucks can no longer access farther upstream, and most of the fish are caught at Upper Spillway Creek at the dam's tailrace, so there seems to be few fish.  I know I did not see anybody's pole bent, not even the bait chunkers using PowerBait.  There are beautiful pools, lots of fast-moving water, but oh-so-few fish.  We did learn Dawn hooked up with a fish--Dawn's first nymphed fish, and that was the catch-of-the-day.

Not to let the lack of fish deter us, Cody previously made dinner reservations for Abendigo's.  We dressed up, enjoyed one another's company, reveled in the delicious six course meal--filet and snow crab legs.  Cody Mood even ate the third course's Peach Rum Sorbet; yes, you read that correctly, Cody Mood Bell III ate a fruit! It was back to the cabin for some hot tub, champagne, wine, and ginger ale, and the fishing video EASTERN RISES.  Oh, yes, Kamchatka is still on my want list, right behind #1 Mongolia.  I would love to spin some deer hair and create some mouse patterns for eastern Russia!  With Auld Lang Synes exchanged, it was off to bed for the "first fish of the new year."  For us, catching that first fish of the year means good fishing luck for the rest of the year.  The pressure was on.

Cold Hole, Lost Creek, and the start of Evening Hole changed dramatically after the flood.  Personally, I am not a fan of the new Lost Creek, especially how it empties into Spillway Creek.  I used to love to fish the end run of Lost Creek, and work my way back up the Canyon to the relatively quite Cold Hole.  Auld Lang Syne to Lost Creek, the Cold Hole, and fishing along the Canyon.  Evening Hole's beginnings are a nice improvment--good gravel bars and a nice run with trout holding.  Unfortunately, those are some wise trout.  I watched many people fish, and regardless of what they threw, the fish, ever-so-politely may they be, gracefully slid out of the way of the fly and returned to their spot after it/they passed by. 



GirlieBugger catches Rainbow

Getting frustrated, I decided the one place where I could catch fish--on a dry fly at that--is what we affectionately call Jonathan's hole (after DFF member and friend Jonathan Gonzalez, because he can always catch fish there), which is the second bridge below Sid's and just upstream from the Powerhouse.  I was giving up on the Spillway Creek,/Lost Creek/Evening Hole area, I left Cody a note on a napkin and started walking.  I made it to the Evening Hole bridge, and no one was fishing below it, it looked good, so I thought I would give it a few quick casts and be on my way.  What a time to pick a spot.  Using my 4# with 150 grain sinking line, I tied on one of Cody's GirlieBuggers.  Third cast--FishOn, baby.  Oh, yeah, the curse was off my back.  Hyped from my catch, I cast again, and bigger FishOn!  Rainbow had its photo snapped, but my macro feature focuses on the background, but the fish was landed.  Two more casts and third FishOn!  Oh, yeah, an excellent detour.  I left the hole because dusk emerged, temps dropped, and my fingers were so red and numb, I kept having to look at them to see if they were there.  I wish I had caught a fourth, then I could say one for each of us, and the day was good for all, but I didn't.  We went in to Broken Bow to eat, watched TCU win, and planned strategy for Sunday.  Still suffering from cold, I needed the hot tub, and then, I retired early.  Dawn challenged us to be on the water before the sun to maximize our time.

I think it was a first for me to fish in 26 degree weather; I hope it is my last.  We made it to Jonathan's Hole, and boy was I shocked.  Usually, the hole's depth is at my stomach.  It was at my shin, but I was determined to fish bridge to riffles.  What a waste of time.  I saw no fish, had no hits, and not only did I end up with ice in my guides, my line froze to my tip.  I had no place to set my butt end, so I tried to keep the reel out of the water while I wrangled with my line.  The rod is 8'6", and I failed.  My reel got wet, so about every second cast the line and reel froze.  To remove ice in the guides and to defrost my reel and line, I had to dunk my rod in the water.  I eventually gave up, left Cody a note, and hiked to Sid's and fished below the bridge there. No luck, either, but I did see someone pull out a fish just above the bridge.  Hope springs...yeah, well, not that far.  A park ranger saw me walking back and gave me a lift.  I had to hang my rod out the window; that was a first, but the guy was really nice and offered some fishing advice. 

We visited Sid's for a while, broke for lunch at Sonic, and headed to the ReReg Dam.  Cody talked us in to fishing Presbyterian Falls, where I lost my GirlieBugger.  After an hour in the area, we moved up to the dam.  The Jancos were also fishing Broken Bow, and I fished opposite them along the chute.  Jack hooked up with a nice 12" rainbow; I had no luck.  Oh, I was also standing on top of a boulder about 7 feet above the water, so when Jason hooked up with his fish, I was able to watch it all.  Jason will stay with one spot until he angers the fish who gives up and bites the fly just so he can hold in peace.  Cody and I each fished the dam pool with zero luck.  We eventually had to leave because it was time to check-out of the cabins and head home.

I felt really badly for Cody.  Never, and I mean never, have we ever fished any where that he did not catch a fish.  I guess, as sad as it is, there is a first time for every thing.  Due to the nature of the fishing and the coldness of the season, we are not going to the LMFRF One-Fly. 

Casting for Recovery

Anji, 2009 Participant

"To fish is to hope," and thus Casting for Recovery began in 1996 in Manchester, Vermont.  The brainchild of a breast cancer reconstructive surgeon and a professional fly fisher, CfR started as a grassroots movement.  Casting for Recovery was founded on the principles that the natural world is a healing force and that cancer survivors deserve one weekend — free of charge and free of the stresses from medical treatment, home, or workplace — to experience something new and challenging while enjoying beautiful surroundings within an intimate, safe, and nurturing structure.



Natalie, 2010 Participant

Today, CfR appears in 42 states, and Texas plays host to two retreats--one in Apirl and one in November.  Cody and I have had the wonderful opportunity to participate in the North Texas 2009, the inaugural year for the North Texas retreat, and 2010 retreats.  Cody takes pictures, and I serve as a River Helper.  We fish the Pauluxy River in Glen Rose on the last day of the retreat with 14 ladies who have or have had breast cancer.  All the River Helpers are volunteers, most coming from area fishing clubs.

Cody and I find giving back to CfR important and pertinent to our lives.  Cody learned a new term--Co-Survivor--when we cheered the Susan G. Komen 3-Day/60 mile walkers two weekends previously, and has taken great pride in being a Co-Survivor for two reasons.  Cody's momma, Donna Bell of Upton Co., is a 24 year breast cancer survivor and was first diagnosed in 1988.  Cody said of his Mom's cancer, "I knew Momma was really sick when she couldn't tote a sack of feed and help take care of the cows."  Beginning in September 1994, doctors initially struggled to diagnose my breast cancer, but having reached a diagnosis and treatment plan, I am a 15 year survivor.  CfR was not available to Miss Donna or I at the time we were treated, but being a part of CfR now, offers Cody and I a form of therapy and pride.  Cody volunteers in honor of his Mom and me, and I volunteer to offer hope and be a walking billboard, showing the ladies that where I stand, so will they. 

My favorite fly rods and freshwater reels are Temple Fork Outfitters rods and Ross Reels.  They, along with Jim Teeny fly lines, have combined to create a fun and supportive fly-fishing rig.  TFO builds an 8½ foot 5# and 9 foot 8# cranberry-purple colored fly rod decked out with the pink ribbon breast cancer logo and a hot pink rod sock.  $25.00 of the rod's price goes directly to CfR.  Ross Reels designs a hot pink Rhythm Fly Reel with the breast cancer ribbon logo, numbered edition and anniversary year, and motto--"Reel in a Cure" engraved into the reel with all of its reel price going to the Susan G. Komen foundation.  Jim Teeny designs a weight-forward floating fly line, with the 30 ft. running head colored pink and the remainder of the line is a beautiful purple; 10% of the line's cost is donated to CfR.  I have this complete set-up, thanks in part to Cody Bell, who bought my reel and line at Blue Ribbon Fly Shop in Mountain Home, AR.  While it is a great conversation starter and has helped me catch many beautiful fish, Cody and I realize its real significance, and we give each other a knowing look as we fondly talk about this special fly-fishing outfit.  To fish is to hope, without a doubt.

Oktoberfisch 2010

Why do people feel comfortable with repetition?  Why visit a fishing spot again and again, year after year, and look forward happily to seeing that spot?  Afterall, the water travels over the same terrain and bends and curves in the same places, making the same subtle and rushing noises, and that sameness can be extended to the vista, the State Park, the campground, and the beauty.  Within the sameness, there is always something new, something unexpected, something refreshingly different.  So even though there is comforting familiarity with a place, a surprise always awaits even if it is a subtle one.

Oh how I adore October, and 2010's October proves continually to be one of the best ever for me!  We spent part of our honeymoon fishing the Fredericksburg Fly Fishing club's annual Oktoberfisch on the South Llano River.  We chose to camp at the Shady Morgan Campground, instead of cabins farther upstream.  Jason's new girlfriend, Dawn, accompanied us this year, and Diane provided casting instructions to all who were interested.

Dawn and Jason spent Thursday night at the ranch with us, so we introduced Dawn to fly-fishing at the Catfish Pond, where Dawn hooked-up with several Bluegill.  Holding true to a fine tradition, Dawn kissed her first catch with assistance from Jason.

Having attended Diane's casting class and hooked-up with several fish, Dawn readied for her kayak lesson.  Believing their is no better way to learn than baptism-by-fire, we showed Dawn paddle strokes and how to hold her paddle, and then put her in the kayak.  We used the South Llano River State Park's river access as our put-in point, and Dawn paddled around while we assisted one another in getting launched. 

Somewhat disappointed by the lower-than-normal water levels and heavier-than-usual traffic on the five-mile stretch, the South Llano still provided gorgeous scenery, beautiful fish, especially a healthier Rio Grande Perch population, and plenty of pools in which we threw our flies. 

Jason spent time teaching Dawn casting from the boat and making sure Dawn was comfortable with the kayak, the rod, and the water.  Much to all of our delights, Dawn loved fly-fishing, and, using a top-water bee fly pattern, even hooked up with a Longear Sunfish on her own.

Cody built my own anchor, and I loved using it.  I could hold in positions that in previous years weren't possible.  As a result, for the first time, I fished a beautiful, tree-shaded curve just after the bridge at the state park, that has always looked fishy, and I was rewarded pleasantly so with a beautiful Rio Grande Perch, one of my favorite freshwater fish.

Cody used the pontoon boat this year, but unlike Jason and I in years past, it didn't seem to kill him.  Cody picked his spots, nailed his casts, and landed some beautiful Guadalupe Bass, Rio Grande Perch, and Sunfish.  A Blue Heron did take offense to Cody, for some reason, and pooped all over his boat; fortunately, the Heron spared Cody.

We look forward to more fishing trips together and a wonderful anniversary trip back to the South Llano River and Oktoberfisch in 2011.

North, to Alaska, North for Coho Fishing



Alaska, beautiful, majestic, immense, and home of many fish species.  I love going to Alaska--driving, flying, boating, it doesn't matter the method of transportation; I just love going to Alaska!  As always, like the majority of our trips, our purpose was to catch fish, and Coho was the target, Coho coming from the Pacific Ocean and Norton Sound headed home to the Unalakleet and North Rivers, and for one week, we called the Unalakleet River Lodge our camp home.  We needed one hotel, two planes, and a boat to arrive at the URL, but every leg of the trip was worth the journey, except we missed breakfast at Gwennie's in Anchorage, which was a brothel back in the 1920s.  We left Dallas on Saturday, arrived at Anchorage and the Millennium Hotel Saturday evening, and yes, the sun still shone as we finished supper at 10pm.  We left Anchorage on Sunday, arriving at Unalakleet that afternoon, boated up the Unalakleet River to the lodge, took the tour and became acquainted with the staff and our guide, dined on a fine meal, and rigged our rods for five days of glorious fishing.

For Cody, this trip was about adding to the freezer; for me, it was about adding to my species list.  Missions accomplished with lots of flare and fun.  Like most places this spring, the Unalakleet was blown out, so we only fished a few spots before trekking to the North River.  Lowell, our guide, put us on salmon early; however, on Day 1, I brought the 6# and 4#, accidentally leaving the 8# in the room--mistake, but not devastating.  On his fourth cast, Cody caught a pretty male who still had sea lice on his body.  My 6#, newly completed, hooked up with many salmon, but it was about an hour-and-a-half before I landed my first salmon on a pretty pink and purple fly I had tied.  Now, up until this trip, I only practiced catch-and-release fishing.  I knew the salmon were going to die, but catch-and-keep fishing was new to me.  No, I didn't listen as Lowell knocked the bucks senseless, nor did I watch as he sliced their gill plate to bleed them.  Lowell was very efficient and humane, but this fishing was a guilty pleasure.  The goal for everyone was to catch their limits early in the week, so the fish could be processed and packed for the flight home.  While we were at Unalakleet, the limit was four Cohos per person per day. 

We continued to fish for Coho as we worked our way up the North to a nice little cove.  There we fished for Chum.  Those fish are ones Picasso would have appreciated.  Lowell told us about a guest who was holding the fish, posing for a picture, when the Chum turned its head towards his bicep and clamped down.  While the guy had on layered clothing, the fish took a piece out of his arm.  Needless to say, I did not hold any of the Chum I caught.  I let the boys hold them. 

Moving farther up the cove, I fell in love.  The Coho and Chum were great fighters, but the Grayling and Dolly Varden captured my attention.  I loved watching Cody fishing mouse patterns.  The fly would hit the water, and 15 yards away, the Grayling would react, stealthily swimming along the bottom, and then, darting quickly to the fly.  Several were just hit and runs, but then, after about the fourth or fifth hit, it was GraylingOn!  What a fish--colors, fins, fight on a 4# rod with a dry fly.  For the day, I only caught one Grayling on a size 12 Elk Hair Caddis, but it was great fun!  While Cody fished for Grayling, I fished upstream for Dolly Vardens.  If I ever go back to Unalakleet, forget the Coho and Chum, I want large Dollies on the end of my line!  Overall, both Cody and I had a four species first day!

With the exception of Thursday, the weather was menacingly cold, high of 40 degrees, and constantly overcast.  At the dinner table, other guests shared how each day they layer dressed more than the previous day's clothing.  Tuesday, we were one Coho shy of our limit before lunch, so Lowell brought us back to the lodge for lunch so he could clean and process our fish for traveling, and it was really nice to warm up in front of the fire while having lunch.  I almost boycotted going back out, but I didn't.  The Dollies and Grayling awaited.  We fished the mouths of several small creeks, whose colors were bright red due to the spawning salmon packing the creeks.  The salmon aren't feeding; in fact, once the salmon hit fresh water, they never eat again, and apoptosis, cell death, begins to occur.  The salmon are returning to spawn, and bite the fly because they feel it is a predator who will eat their eggs.  Fishing the mouths of the creeks took lots of patience and several days, but Cody finally caught a brilliant red spawning buck.  I chose to fish the faster water for Dollies and was not disappointed.

The coldest day was Wednesday, and we started the day at Butch's Cove.  The Dollies I love so much decided they liked my flies, and I caught the biggest Dolly of our trip.  The day was pretty rough, though, and I refused to wade at times.  I just could not warm up or feel my feet.  Cody waded and caught Coho and Chum, while I stayed with the boat, catching Grayling and Dollies.

Two days, Lowell took us up the North several miles.  Thursday, the sun shone and temps warmed, so we fished for Coho, not to keep, just to catch and release.  These bucks and hens were nearing their spawning grounds, and Cody and I had several Coho doubles.  That day, the sun's light added a brilliance to the landscape.  Matt even stayed up past midnight to capture one of the most beautiful sunsets of his life.

Friday was our last day of fishing, and we wanted to end the week like we began it--catching four species for the day.  Lowell had taken us to another creek, which we waded.  Grayling thrived there.  We fished it earlier in the week, but when we returned, Friday afternoon, we saw a King Salmon.  He was rather red, but still had plenty of fight left in him.  I asked Cody if he would fish for the King, but Cody said Lowell would probably despise it.  Lowell told Cody to cast for him, but the King was really chummy.  (King Salmon make their runs back to the freshwater in late, late May and June; Pink Salmon runs happen in July, and August is the Coho Salmon run.)  The Grayling gave the King a wide berth, but would encroach upon his space.  For a while, I had been casting to a Grayling upstream of the King.  I finally got that Grayling to take my fly, and as I am bringing him in, the King honed in on the Grayling's splashing and targeted the Grayling.  I began fervently fussing at the Grayling to not fight, but Cody and Lowell kept trying to talk me in to letting the King get the Grayling.  I refused, though, and landed the Grayling, snapped his photo, and let him go, unharmed.  We motored down to Butch's Cove so Cody could catch a Dolly.  Ultimately, we caught Chum and Dolly, so it was--another four species day.

Even though we fished all day, wading a good part of the day and fought the cold, because the meals were divine, we could have gained weight.  At Unalakleet River Lodge, the last dinner is always Norton Sound crab.  It was the best crab I had ever eaten, and it was all we could eat, too.  Before heading home on Saturday, we had New Orleans style beignets, and they were to die for.  We learned how to make a maple glaze for our salmon.  We bid our good-byes, enjoyed the boat ride down river to Unalakleet and the airport.  We left a cold Anchorage, Alaska on a Saturday (snow would be falling within two weeks) and arrived home Sunday morning to temps in the upper 80s.  We brought home three boxes of salmon, collectively weighing over 50 pounds and can't wait to eat and share our fish.

In 1805, the Corps of Discovery grew tired of the salmon when they camped at the mouth of the Columbia and resorted to eating horses just so they could eat red meat.  I don't think I could ever tire of salmon, and I guess we have 50 pounds to answer the question. 

Port O'Connor, TX

The first saltwater fish I ever caught was a Redfish, albeit, an approximate 5" length Redfish, but a caught Redfish, nonetheless.  I caught it wade fishing with my friend Jack in the Lower Laguna Madre.  I think Redfish are pretty.  Not truly red like a Red Snapper, the Redfish possesses beautiful colors--the obvious black "eye," orange body with 24K gold flecks near its belly, it is a beautiful fish, but what I think is the most beautiful about a Redfish's hue is the shimmery, light turquoise color edging its fins, particularly the tailfin.   So, when I was asked to join Jason, Malcolm, and Cody for an extended weekend Redfishing trip at Port O'Connor, I could not resist.  However, it took me forever to pack and decide what I wanted to take, so Cody did not get to meet up with Jason and Malcolm for the Shiner Beer Factory tour.  Sad Cody.

Mullet drive me nuts!  I know people in Florida eat them and even serve them on the menu, but mullet are annoying.  They jump out of the water and sound like Bass, so the head turning is a natural reaction--for nothing; they spook and scare other fish near them; they move in on a Redfish's feeding ground; they just make a nuisance of themselves.  Saturday we fished with a guide who pointed out places for Cody and I to go, and took Jason and Malcolm to another spot.  We fished diligently all morning, but with the plethora of mullet, all other fish remained elusive.  I did get a good hit from probably a speckled sea trout, but that was it.  We moved to the area where tarpon exist, but saw beautiful porpoises rolling, instead and no fish.  We waded and some other boat encroached in to our area.  Basically, outstanding desire + excellent effort yielded NO FISH, argh!

When we five met up again, Jason was the only one with a bite and landed Redfish.  Malcolm thought he snapped the photo, but it wasn't present on the iPhone when we broke for lunch.  Jason said he had it stored in his memory and that was all that counted.

Cody and I headed out again, mainly sightseeing and attempting to go beyond the breaks, but the waves rolled too high, so we headed back into the bay, all the while the black Matagorda Island Lighthouse peered above the southeastern horizon.

Hitting the water at 6 a.m. again Sunday, Malcolm and Jason rode in Malcolm's Mowdy and Cody and I in the Mitzi.  We headed to the Saluria Bayou area, and though it took a while, Malcolm motored Jason over to a school.  Jason made about 15 false casts, landed his fly in the middle of at least 10 schooling Redfish, and immediately, Jason's 8# rod bent and bent hard.  Meanwhile, Cody and I hung back watching the rest of that spooky school make a V wake toward us.  I casted to a tail about 30 feet away, and what should happen, an interfering mullet scared the school to hither and yon.  Meanwhile, Cody and I watched Jason work that Redfish who peeled line off that Lamson, and then Jason reeled it in, all against a gorgeous sunrise.  I was glad to see Jason land that fish, because two days, amongst four people, a total of three Redfish were caught.  Jason had two, and Malcolm would catch one later that morning.  They genuinely are easily spooked fish!

Not long after Jason caught his fish, I casted to two tailing Reds, but one only nipped my spoon fly, and then there were none.  Since we were in an outgoing tide, we should have paid more attention to our grass flat, that would eventually become dry at low tide.  Malcolm's boat maneuvers like a mini-airboat, skims over water shallow or deep.  The Mitzi is a flats boat, but the flats became too dry, and Jason and Cody had to push the Mitzi out of the flat--not an easy task in the sandy, more muddy, areas. 

Eventually pushed out in to the channel, we knew Malcolm's boat could go places the Mitzi could not, so he headed off to a favorite fishing spot, and Jason, Cody, and I took the long trip back to Clark's.  What was supposed to be a long weekend, quickly became a regular weekend, and even though we enjoyed one another's company, this bad fishing trip, yes, I said bad, and that is a first for me, ended, and we headed home, with a side stop in Lulling, TX to buy a wonderfully sweet Black Diamond watermelon.

I know Robert guides the Port O'Connor area, and his clients land fish, but I have a negative impression of the area.  The best thing about POC, besides fishing with friends and seeing a healthy Brown Pelican population, was the lighthouse.  A black sentinel that served as a beacon, even in the daytime, and proved that while the fishing skills might have been lost, we would never be.

Rod Building with Norm

Fly fishing is an art--in four dimensions and is both modern and classical, as well. 

Many have seen the movie A River Runs Through It, where Jason Borger is Brad Pitt's stand-in for the casting scenes.  Watching Jason's casting, hearing Jason's casting demonstrates one aspect of this unique art. 

Making a good cast or a mediocre one and hooking and landing a fish, most of the times a beautiful fish with gorgeous colors, stripes, spots, and shine, offers another artistic aspect.

However, what prompts people to continue fly fishing when casting is an innate habit and landing fish is a frequent occurrence?  Fly tying and rod building are the answers.  You know, someone had to tie the flies seen in fly shops, because there is not a machine that ties them.  Save some money and perfect fly-tying skills, so that fish are biting flies you tied.  It really is an added bonus, not to mention a third facet of this beautiful art.

True, pure fly fishing art form is presenting the perfect cast with a rod you built and a fly you tied and landing a fish.  Taking a blank and creating a unique design, which sets your rod apart from the store-bought rod, creates an added addiction to fly fishing.  I guess that is why Norm and Brother Mike suggested I name my first rod AA, because it is addicting (and due to work's interference, it took me from August to April to build that first rod).  Catching fish on a rod you built does nothing but encourage the building of another rod.  Just ask our friend Jason, who built 14 rods under Norm's tutelage.

Many of us in the Dallas Fly Fishers had a wonderful teacher, Norm Goheen, who on Wednesday nights taught us the meticulous, rewarding art of rod-building, well, building graphite rods.  (If anyone wants to learn to build a bamboo rod, Colonel J.A. Bradford is the man to see.)  Norm fought a courageous battle against several cancers but succumbed to the disease at the end of November 2009.  I love TFO rods, and with the exception of my Casting for Recovery 5# rod, I built every one of them under Norm's guidance. 

I did not have a four-piece 6# rod, so I began one under Norm's instruction in August 2009, but I did not finish it before Norm passed away.  I had the vision of the rod in my mind and shared it with Norm, who thought it would be an interesting rod, but I put it aside with Norm's passing.  Seeing as it is now needed, I picked it up again to work on it.  I have tried to look at it as Norm would, critiquing its craftsmanship like Norm.  I think it would pass his muster.  I have unwrapped and rewrapped some guides that I did not feel Norm would approve. 

Most handles are designed with a man's hand in mind, which means the handles are bulky and chunky.  Therefore, Cody started designing the handles for my rods, my 2#, my 4#, and my current 6#.  Cork is delicate, at times, and boring out the cork on the end for the reel seat to slide into is not an easy process.  Tonight, Dad, Cody, and I used Dad's drill press, not to mention the presence of six hands, to create a perfect handle.  I know Norm would be impressed with our precision and Cody's beautiful craftsmanship. 

I miss Norm.  I miss his lessons on Wednesday nights.  I miss his advice.  This is the last of my rods that he touched and offered construction advice.  It has taken 9 months to really decide if I wanted to continue rod building.  I knew I wanted to finish this 6#, just because Norm had a hand in it, but what about future rods?  Do I want to build a new rod without Norm's influence?  I have been thinking about a 7# rod and have a design scheme in mind.  All that we learned from Norm is in our minds, and we collectively share with one another what we remember Norm teaching us, so while I have five rods built under Norm's direct supervision, all of my rods will have Norm's guidance and passion in them.  My goal is to have a collection of rods from 2# to 10# that I built, with the exception of my 5#.  I need a 3#, 7#, and 9# to complete my goal, and while I wish my teacher and friend was here to help with those, Norm will be present in each rod.