Tags: Fish Stories

Women.

They have caused more men to resort to violence, irrational behavior and fits of lunacy throughout history than any other force of nature.  More wars have been fought, alcohol been drunk, and fishing trips taken over women than anything else.  Since time immemorial women have been causing trouble and breaking hearts; driving men to anguish, great distraction, and long fishing trips.

So it was with me yesterday.

A conversation with a certain young lady left me feeling the need to get up in the mountains to fish the high lakes I was talking about yesterday.  It was one of those conversations where your heart starts in your chest and somehow winds up in your feet.  And the bad news just kept biting me in the ass.

The trail to this particular lake I was after wasn’t marked too well.  The signs sent me in about a three mile loop, right back to the parking lot.  Brilliant me left my trail map at home, so I was just following the signs.  By the time I saw my car again and hurled the necessary profanities at whatever idiot put those signs up, I was ready to just cast a line.

The reservoir was just up the road, and it only took a couple of minutes to get rigged up.  There’s a small creek that runs into the lake near the trailhead, and I managed to get a good strike on a leech pattern before two tourist baitheads pushed me out.  Bastards.

So I walked along the shore line, aimlessly tossing my fly, stewing in self pity.  A couple hundred yards down was a big rock that I sat my unhappy ass on and stared out into the choppy water.  Rain showers had been around all morning, but now one was moving in to hit hard.

Not really thinking about it, I picked up a rock and chucked it into the water.  Then another.  And another.  Funny thing happened too.  With each rock, I felt a little bit better.  There is just something about watching the rock sailing over, then the water flying everywhere, and the bubbles rising from the deep afterwards.

As a kid, I used to throw rocks with abandon.  Every float trip, we would have to stop on an island and let me throw rocks.  I could stand there for hours and hours on end.  But as I grew up and progressed as a fisherman, I didn’t do it as much.  Then hardly at all.

Yesterday marked the first time I had just sat there chucking rocks for a good 20 minutes in probably ten years.  And it felt damn good too.

By the time the rain really moved in, I felt much better.  I didn’t get the girl.  I didn’t get to the lake I wanted.  And I didn’t catch a fish.  But somehow the world didn’t seem like such a bad place.  Norman Maclean wrote about the healing power of mountains in his short story The Ranger, The Cook and the Hole in the Sky.  If you’ve ever been troubled and hung out in the mountains a bit, you’ll know what he was talking about.

It’s nice knowing some things never change.  The mountains will always be there, the fish will always be hard to catch, and the “Sploosh!” of a chucked rock will always manage to salve the soul.

But I swear to God, the next person that tells me “Oh, you’ll find a great girl” or “You’ll meet someone as soon as you stop looking” is going to get their fucking teeth knocked out.

Tags: Damn!

It’s that time of year again here in Southwest Montana.  The weather is warming up, the snow up high is melting, and the rivers are all high and dirty.  Yep, runoff is here.

Sure, tailwaters like the Lower Madison are still running reasonably clear, and there are a lot of lakes and ponds to fish.  With all the fishermen in the area going to only a couple of places, it does get a little crowded sometimes.

The weather has been playing a cruel game with us.  It’ll be warm for a few days, which pushes flows way up, then it will be cool and rainy, resulting in rivers dropping a bit and clearing up.  This gives all us suckers false hope that “oh, its not too bad out there!”.  I wish it would just be 80 for two weeks and get it over with.

One of the salvations from both high water and the crowds are the mountain lakes.  The ones you have to hike a couple miles to get back to.  Most people don’t want to walk more than 100 yards, much less any distance uphill.  And fortunately, there are a lot of options to pick from.

So, for the next few weeks I think it’s time to put away the waders and break out the hiking boots.  I haven’t done much lake fishing, and I’m sure there will be a learning curve in there somewhere.  But half the fun is learning something new, right?

The map is out on the table behind me, the hiking boots are by the front door, and I’ve got a pack loaded with rain gear and 6-wt sitting by the desk here.  Don’t forget the bear spray…

Tags: Damn!

Tags: Fish Stories

I’ve arrived in Murmansk after 30+ hours of flying. Strange to think that 30 hours can land you – quite literally – on the other side of the world. I connected with two of the American guides – Patrick Brennan and Barrett Mattison – in Moscow and flew final leg with them. We were picked up in Murmansk by some of the Ponoi River Company team and brought to our hotel for the night.

You have to love an airport where they unload luggage into ancient pickup trucks and the baggage claim are is about the size of a decent barn stall. Made me think of Montana.

This morning we connected with three more guides – Boris Mamantoff of Argentina, Angus Walton of Scotland, and Matthew Solon from Ireland. The six of us were escorted through a morning of medical tests at various locations all over Murmansk, patiently led by Julia and Sasha from the PRC. I’m thrilled to be finished with day one of testing and will be even happier when we’re done with tomorrow’s medical rounds. I’m not a huge fan of hospitals in the States, and especially not when I don’t speak the same language as the staff.

But for now I have a few hours to catch up on some rest (in reality, catch up on some work). Russia already feels a bit like home; after being in Texas the simple sight of evergreen trees brings me comfort. I can stand at my room window and see the Kola Bay, a finger of the Barent’s Sea, and the busy shipping port of Murmansk. Polyarnie is just around the corner up the sound.

It all seems a bit surreal.

I’m beginning to pick up a few basic Russian phrases and am anxious to learn more. A smile and gestures can get you far, but it’s always nice to be able to have some form of conversation.

I have one more day in Murmansk, then drive to the helicopter base, a two or three hour drive, Wednesday morning. It’s a two+ hour ride in an old Mi-8 to Ryabaga Camp. I’m anxious to get there and get the lay of the land!

Tags: From Russia with Love

Okay, so this short isn’t about rivers and fly fishing. It’s a nifty look at water and waves from our friends in the surfing world. Would sure beat work this morning…..

Tags: Videograpy

Shot entirely on the iPhone 4S. Nifty.

Tags: Fish Stories

The other night proved me to that perhaps people aren’t so bad after all.  Shane and I were headed out to fish the Lower Madison after I got off work, even though it was a somewhat chilly, rainy night.  Of course, in my haste to leave the house that morning I had forgotten my rain jacket.

It didn’t start raining until we pulled up to the Warm Springs parking lot.  We debated back and forth about fishing or not and figured what the hell, we drove all this way.  I didn’t mind getting wet.

As we started gearing up, the only other party at the takeout recognized Shane.  It was Kris and some of the gang from Montana Troutfitters.  After a bit of chatting, Shane asked if anyone had an extra rain jacket for me.

I was aghast.  I’m stubborn as hell about stuff like that and normally don’t ask for help that much.  But, much to my surprise, one of the guys who I didn’t even know walked over, handed me a jacket and said just to run it by the shop the next day.

This blew my mind.  Here was some guy who didn’t know me from Adam letting me borrow an expensive Gore-Tex jacket.  For all he knew, I was going to rip it up, steal it, whatever.  But it seems in some circles, the trust among fishermen is still there.

Most fishermen, crotchety as we might be, are generally decent people.  We’ll tell folks where to go if they ask, point out some good flies, pick up a hitchhiker in waders trying to shuttle a boat trailer

The next morning when I returned the jacket that guy wasn’t working, but if he happens to read this, I owe you a beer, dude.

I’ve been a little down on people in general lately, working retail you see a lot of the worse side of folks.  But sometimes just the simple generosity of a stranger is enough to restore faith in the human race.

That’s one of the many reasons why I fish.

Tags: Why I Fish

Tags: Flies

I have less than twenty-four hours before I fly out for a season of work with the Ponoi River Company on the Kola Peninsula in northern Russia.

Two months ago, thinking of summer plans, life above the Arctic Circle was nowhere to be found on the list.

Sometimes good things happen quickly.

I’ll be working as the Ryabaga Camp Assistant Manger and Hostess. Long hours and lots of work to be done, but seeing as the sun won’t’ set for two months this summer, there will be time to get things done.

The team at Ryabaga Camp is from al over the world, as is the clientele. I’m not sure if I’m more intrigued by the fishing or by the potential people I will meet throughout the summer.

I’ll be writing a weekly blog post for Chi Wulff as well as more frequent (hopefully!) posts on my own blog. In theory we’ll have satellite internet in camp, and the camera gear is most definitely coming along.

I’ve been packing this afternoon as have come to the realization that as long as I have my camera and computer gear, clothing comes second. Though a background in outdoor retail luckily has me reasonably stocked. The past few days have been a whirlwind of paperwork, vaccinations, and emails.

My next post will be from somewhere in Russia. See you on the other side!

Tags: From Russia with Love

His cryptic text said to meet him in the southwest corner of the Safeway parking lot in Gig Harbor at 6. And to try not to look or act suspicious.

Though I was right on time, he was late; the two motorcycle cops parked on the other side of the parking lot must have delayed his arrival. They left 10 minutes later and sure enough, he pulled up in his vintage chevy pickup which was just as much rust as it was some tint of long faded blue.

The cooler was in the back.

Scoping out the parking lot in a manner eerily reminiscent of a drug dealer in a bad B-movie, he finally oozed out of the cab, ambled over and said the terms of the deal had changed. The price, true to form, had gone up since I placed the order.

I knew it would be useless to argue; he said he had to move the goods and he other buyers waiting if I didn’t cough up the cash then and there.

He knew he had me. I handed over the cash, we walked around to the cooler (a 160 qt Yeti by the way – business must be good) and he hand cut it right there, bagged it, iced it and dropped it in my hands.

Just then we heard a tense female voice utter ‘got it you assholes’ and turned to wave at a mom in a minivan filming us on an iPhone.

We waved, smiled and both said the word ‘Halibut’ at the same time.

Yep, halibut.

With market price for fresh halibut fillets and steaks at the $21-22 dollar altitude my new ‘friend’ has been running to the market in Seattle, buying a whole halibut in the 40-45 lb range (at a market price of $13-14 as of this morning) and selling it at a tidy profit. Subtract a tank of gas and he still clears $300 a day in cold, hard cash.

She Who Must Be Obeyed has become an ardent fan of really good halibut fish and chips and I’ve been itching to grill today’s recipe again – Lime Basil Halibut, though (almost) shamefully I’d have to admit the Chipotle Aioli is so outrageously good in a fish taco made with this recipe I dreamed about ‘em the last time we made it.

Halibut
2 cloves fresh garlic, minced
3 tbsp. fresh basil, finely chopped
1/2 cup good olive oil
1/2 tsp. good salt
2 large limes, freshly squeezed (a must)
4 6-ounce halibut steaks or fillets

Chipotle Aioli
2 egg yolks
3 cups good olive oil
5 dried chipotle peppers, seeded, rehydrated and pureed
1 clove fresh garlic, minced
2 tbsp. fresh parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper to taste

Marinate the halibut. Combine well the garlic, basil, olive oil, salt and lime juice. Cover the halibut steaks with the marinade; let sit for an hour at room temperature. (Don’t go longer or the lime juice will begin to ‘cook’ the halibut.)

Make the Aioli. Set up your trusty food processor, add the egg yolks and beat them well. With the processor running, dribble in the olive oil (slowly) to form a mayonnaise consistency mixture in the bowl.

Fold in the pepper puree, garlic, parsley, salt and pepper. Chill.

Grill time. Fire the grill; when ready, grill the halibut for 4 minutes or so a side until done to your liking.

Serve. Plate and serve immediately with a big dollop of the Chipotle Aioli on the side or flake and create your new favorite fish taco with all the fixin’s.

Enjoy.

Tags: Friday Feast

Tags: Flies

What’s the most important part of your morning routine?  Going for a walk, making breakfast, tying flies?  For me, one of the most vital things to help get me going in the morning is a cup of coffee.

I’m all out of coffee this morning.

Damn.

It doesn’t have to be a fancy blend or whole beans from some exotic location.  Due to my budget restraints I’ve been drinking plain old store brand pre-ground stuff.  It’s not too bad actually.  And when you stumble into the kitchen at 6:30 you don’t really care where your coffee comes from.  I drink my morning coffee black, for two reasons.  One is the jolt is just that much better, and the other is cream isn’t cheap.

All the rage these days are those single cup coffee makers (the names escapes me, probably because I haven’t had my morning coffee), but I prefer your classic Mr. Coffee with the glass carafe and white plastic body.  Not only are these damn cheap, but they can last you for years and years.

And I can almost guarantee that any one of us who has spent serious time outdoors has an old metal coffee pot somewhere that makes incredible camp coffee.  I’m talking the kind you nestle down into the coals of a fire, throw in “about that much” coffee grounds and go to it.  The kind of pot that produces coffee that a spoon will stand up in.

As with almost anything, coffee does indeed taste better in the early morning chill either standing by the river side or back in camp waiting for breakfast.  But right now just a plain old cup of Joe sounds pretty damn good.

Looks like I’m going grocery shopping today.

Tags: Thirsty Thursday

Tags: Fish Stories

New friend and Gig Harbor Fly Shop mate Matt H. sent this vid over this morning after we chatted about creative spaces, inspiration and creativity yesterday.

This is nifty.

Tags: Photography