American River Fishing

LOTS OF EXERCISE AND FINALLY SOME FISH

2012-01-28T22:01:00.000-08:00

Wasn't going to fish today at all but I couldn't think of anything better to do so grabbed my gear and headed out.

I chose not to battle with the crowds upriver and so pointed my truck towards the quaintness of Sarah Court. I found some willing fish but they were just lil bait nippers. I finally got one to stick when my float sank. It was a shiny, scrappy smolt...

Moved up to the next bar and found even fewer fish.

I did find a tidy lil campsite in the alder and willow trees someone had staked out. It was complete with; rubber raft mattress, rock ring fireplace, kindling neatly stacked betwixed two as-yet-unfelled trees and an empty carton of Donald Duck Orange Juice. I took note of all this as I used the toilet. I flushed with sand, rocks, leaves and a seasoned digging stick so the tenant wouldn't have sewage in his living room.

WTMI? Well, if the fishing was better...

I hiked back out and when I arrived at the parking lot, was oh so happy to find my truck with all doors, hatches and windows intact.

I grabbed some fast food and took stock of the time. HELL!! Its' only 1530 hours! I can zoom on up to Sailor Bar and be fishing 'fore 4 and so it was done.

There were way too many cars and trucks in the dirt when I got there so I knew I'd have some kinda company but also knew that most of the riff raff would be stomping around on the spawning gravel and though not so great for spawning fish, would be great for fishing well above and away from the morons...

I tried to float the area but the sun shone too brightly between my bobber and me and it hurt my eyeballs too damn much to try and follow it. I sent a spoon out there next. I made several swings through the sweet water before my line stopped and I felt that slow womp, womp. I lifted the rod and took a slow, lazy swing upward but it only raised the fish and raised the fish's awareness enough to spit the barbless, Siwash hook.

With only a good hour of light left, I decided to pick the most sensible tactic (bottom bouncing roe) and stick with it.

Zeroing in on the spot and the correct weight took longer than usual. It was a more precise exercise than usual. 1-1/4" of 1/4" lead was too much and 1/2" of 3/16" was not enough and it couldn't just be tossed and drifted... I had to lift, reel, drop, slide, let sit, slow down, help it along etc... to keep from getting hung up.

I changed baits from flo red to natural to orange and back to flo red. I got bit on all of it. The first fish was a big buck that felt like a log until I moved and it moved... I lost that one. I hooked a second fish right out in front that was a more classic take. She came unbuttoned also.

Some guy with a spinner started encroaching on the water I was working. He stayed just barely out of the way though it kind of irked me that with miles of river, he found the need to stand 10 yards from where I had just lost a fish. I contemplated saying something and then the best possible thing happened... the water exploded not too far from his leg.

A bright little buck of about 5lbs. tore up the water and seemed to splash DUMBASS! at the befuddled spinner guy who asked, "You got it?" "Yah, I got it... and was just about to tell you, just a few minutes ago... I lost a fish right where your standing..."

A jumping, splashing fish at ones' feet is the best possible way to let a guy know he's in your drift, snicker, snicker~;)

It was a long. long day that closed with a happy ending and a purdy sunset.

COMING OF AGE IN A SMALL, SMALL WORLD

2012-01-23T22:47:00.000-08:00

Had the good fortune of spending time with my buddy, Ryder this weekend.

Ryder, whom I introduced to steelhead fishing 6 years ago... is now a died-in-the-wool fly fisherman and spey-casting aficionado. He's got a 4.0 GPA, a partial if not full-ride scholarship to the Seattle University, two years experience at a summer fishing lodge in Alaska and is in love with the girl of his dreams (actually a young lady who is 3 years his senior...)

WOW! the dude's got it going on.

As providence would have it, I happened to have met Whitney Gould, an advanced, fly fisher, guide, instructor and two-time, Women's National Spey Casting champion just 2 weeks ago.

I saw her making impossible casts in the pond at the Sailor Bar launch ramp after fishing one day... It struck me as odd. My first thought was that she was waiting for a boat to get untrailered and then go fishing.

I asked her why with such amazing casting ability... she wasn't out on the river chasing steelhead.

She humbly offered that she was getting ready for a tournament of some kind at the Golden Gate Casting Ponds in April.

We talked a bit and everything she said and didn't say told me what a remarkable human and a real sweetheart she was~:) Her dog, Willa reinforced this.

I told her about Ryder and how awesome it would be if they could connect.

Whit' as she is oft called, offered to meet up with Ryder and offer him free lessons.

I'm a gear guy but I subscribe to the Nemaste wisdom of fishing and know that we're all in the same family, related to the joy of Carpus Piscus (SP?). I also knew that Ryder would be very excited about meeting someone so immersed and so accomplished in the obsession of 'Spey-O-Rama'...

Fast forward to the weekend of the ISE show at Cal Expo.

I never firmed up plans but thought I would meet Ryder at the show on Saturday.

I got distracted by fish and didn't make it.

Fortunately, Ryder took the initiative to introduce himself to Whit after a casting demo and it looks like they'll be able to hang out at the ponds next week, COOL!

The fishing end of things for Ryder and I didn't work out as any better than Superbowl plans for the Forty Niners but... owell, the best is yet to come.

Here's a couple of photos from our last outing in early December:

The often times tranquil, Arden Braids...

WATER!!! The Crucial Ingredient...

2012-01-16T21:44:00.000-08:00

Yes, we had it
Yes it left us
Yes we need it
Yes it's coming
Or so they say...

All of the rain-filled reservoirs and aquifers and the uber-snow-packed mountains which had us oh-so-assured that the drought was over... have since drawn down, way down... and here we are again, parched and prayin' for some Pacific precipitous pounding...

The fishing has devolved from great to good to fair to f#@$ed up or something like that...

It's everywhere too!

The valley, the coast, the Pacific Northwest, even the Cabela's oprator in Nebraska said it was unusually warm and dry for this time of year...

So what does a fella' do in the absence of rain? and low/clear water conditions?

FISH ON!! of course.

I went out today expecting not much at all.

My expectations were easily met.

Ted blanked, as did the Russian guy with the shopping cart, the duct-taped rod and squeaky reel and the 12 ft leader with tiny, red beads, suspended above his also-red, anchor-sized hook... A family of 5 who dropped in from who knows where with every color, curvature, shape and size lure imaginable to humankind... also scratched their heads in disbelief...

At some point, I got a phone call from a certain game warden who had been peering down upon his dominion and wondering what a canoe was doing under the bridge...

Fast Forward to a swift evac, a cup of Peet's coffee and another departure...

Said warden went north to keep the hunters legal and the geese safe. Ted went home and I went to the south side of Sailor Bar.

I bottom bounced with an egg-sucking leech, roe, and bumper eggs for nada.

Mark, Ole man Bruno and Joe T were out there with a couple of strangers sprinkled in for good measure.

I was watching Mark's indicator (a thingamabob, methinks...) float down and fall about 5 feet short of a bunch of holed-up fish.

I contemplated rigging up a float rig but when I looked closer at the fish and saw mostly spawn-colored males, I re-neg'ed and kept bouncing bottom and occasionally throwing long for the 'Hail-Mary' which as for Aaron Rodgers... never quite transpired.

Minutes later, I caught a glimpse of a silver flash out of the corner of my eye.

OK, gotta do it. No one including me is hooking and no one including me is using a float and getting that perfect dead drift either alas~

I rigged up the gay-ass, stealthy lil pinner piece of plastic known as the Drennan Loafer and spread my shot out evenly and threw out just upriver. Quick mend on the line to get it behind the float and off the water and then followed it down with my challenged eyes. I saw a tick! I think... Did I?

I reel up and see a slightly droopy skein and sagging eggs but it still looks good enough hanging on a #8 bronze single egg hook.

Second pass down the same lane and at 11-o-clock, my bobber plunges. It stays down and when I lift up, I'm expecting a snag and not because it wasn't a perfect drift; it was! and not because there weren't fish there; there were! and not because my bait was dragging bottom; it wasn't! and I know it wasn't because I had the float set to run my leader at a depth of 1ft and the water was at least 2.5ft deep along the path of my drift.

My cynicism lay in the fact that I'm just not confident with the float... and that's mostly because I get frustrated having to watch it, CARE-fully cast it, untangle it, and pay constant attention to it...

The rock I snagged slightly moved when I raised my rod tip. When I set the hook, said rock swam and violently shook its rock head. When it saw me and came up, she bolted and got all snake-like, twisting and turning constantly as she darted back and forth.

In the end, she succumbed as the very small hook was deeply embedded in her lower lip.

Many onlookers came and tried to duplicate what they had witnessed but to no avail save one young man who caught a smaller but brighter fish on a big piece of red yarn.

The forthcoming storm should bring some fresh and willing steelies into the river later this week. Time to find my raincoat~;)

3 years and many fine fish later...

2012-01-06T22:17:00.000-08:00

Been away a long while...

At least 700 fishing days since my last post...

2011 was the first year I actually spent more time at home working instead of on the river chasing fish.

Back to my senses in 2012 and it feels great~!

I actually never severed my connection as even while absent from the river I was getting reports from dedicated angler friends. I also spent some time doing advocacy work (meetings, letters, public hearings) to protect that which we all live for and love (fishing in our Sac/SJ Delta watershed).

Here's one such letter sent to a bureaucrat :

Dear politician!

I attained a Bachelor of Science degree in ecology/environmental communication from Humboldt State University.

More importantly, I have fished and studied the fisheries and greater ecology of the Sacramento/San Joaquin delta ecosystem and its tributaries for the last 30 years.

I know from empirical data and factual evidence that the decline in pelagic fish species and more specifically, in endangered fish species (ie, delta smelt and Chinook salmon) is corollary with the increased volumetric flows of fresh water out of the delta watershed. Predation on these listed fish by striped bass is minimal and not a significant factor in their demise as has been recently suggested.

This year, on the American River, we witnessed an amazing return of 2-year class 'king salmon' (Thousands of fish) to the Fair Oaks Bridge. This was the result of A) the CA. Dept of Fish and Game's decision to plant 2 million salmon smolt at a boat launch adjacent to the aforementioned bridge 2 years ago and B) the fact that last winter, we had record snow pack and rainfall which kept our rivers flowing at significantly-higher-than-average levels (3,000-6,000 CFS) during fall of 2011 salmon returns.

During the prior three years, the central valley witnessed drought conditions and the American River flowed at (1,000-1500 CFS). Coincidentally, the American River hosted quite meager salmon returns during those three years.

Even a layperson with no biological background can look at this actual evidence and draw the rightful conclusion that salmon returns are most directly affected by water availability.

Simply put... Fish need water to maintain healthy populations.

Stewart Resnick is using his affluence (wealth and power) to pay off Feinstein, Brown, and other politicians to protect his financial interest in selling and profiteering from MY, OUR PUBLIC TRUST RESOURCES = water, fish, birds, scenic beauty, soil, plants, and all constituent pieces of the wonderful and life-sustaining Sacramento/San Joaquin Delta Ecosystem.

This is absolutely unethical and goes counter to Public Trust Doctrine legislation which seeks to protect that which belongs to everyone and yet no one.

His push for legislation to help eradicate striped bass, is merely a tactic to sidestep any responsibility of environmental and social responsibility.

Here is a well-documented video series on the topic: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1h8sAv0pQJU

PLEASE educate yourself about this very corrupt plan to misallocate public trust resources which would ultimately lead to the demise of our natural resources.

Thank You,

Mark L. Lynn

Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do

2009-04-30T01:04:00.000-07:00

"Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do!"

What a great mantra...

and it fits in perfectly with my life of late...

I have some major challenges with which I struggle and deal on pretty much a daily basis.

Yet, I somehow manage to get along.

and fish on a supra-regular basis.

For me, abstinence from fishing is not an option.

I also find that the less self pity and the more gratitude I indulge in... the better off I am.

The perfect opportunity arose last weekend when fellow AR angler, Ryan Miller invited me to help out at his Downstream Outreach Program.

Ryan grew up with his younger brother, Mark (KOOL NAME@!) who was diagnosed as having Down Syndrome.

As Ryan grew up and metamorphosed into a fishing fanatic... he was diagnosed as having Down-Stream Syndrome and rather than fight it... he became a fishing guide.

Looking back, he realized that his brother actually taught him a good many things most notably, attentiveness, patience, perseverance, and compassion~:)

Mark admired and looked up to his brother and vice-versa I'm sure.

I bet they've fished a good many streams together over the years...

Ryan must have pondered how cool it would be to share his love and passion for the sport of fishing not just with his bro but with many young folks who often, because of their somewhat different appearance and exaggerated behaviors, get shunned by mainstream society.

And hence, Downstream was set into motion.

This was the third year of the annual event Ryan designed to connect special-needs folks with something very real, engaging, and inspirational.

I got a bit lost on the way to the event and not once or twice mind you... but three times. When all else fails, read the address on the directions!

That was what finally got me there.

I hadn't missed much as the band was just starting to move towards the pond.

I decided to just help out wherever needed and try to capture the essence of the day with camera and memory card.

It seems to me that human nature has a tendency towards remorse and sympathy for folks like Mark and Alison, Oscar and Peter, Chele and Sam who happen to have been born with a condition like Down Syndrome. I have pondered the hows and whys of this many times throughout my life and the best I can come up with is that there is a design far grander and far more purposeful than our mortal minds can conceive... a plan, a purpose which defies our limited comprehension and preconceptions of right/wrong, good/bad, normal/strange...

...and anyone with open eyes, mind and heart could surely see that these folks needed no sympathy. I walked the perimeter of "BOW'S END" 1/2 a dozen times during the course of the day...

and everywhere I went I saw only enthusiastic, jubilant, happy, smiling faces.

I think everyone must have read the back of the shirt that day and taken heed to John Wooden's directive:

The clouds and drizzle subsided and the morning sun emerged. There were 20-something students and at least twice that many volunteers.

I saw some old/new friends whom I'd met on my home river; Adrian, Theresa, Jason H., Rob, Charlie G. and also made many new friends during the course of the day.

It should come as no surprise that veteran angler, Mark Miller would put the bends to the first trout of the day... and what a fish! Way to go Mark!!

The program was divided into 4 sections:

CASTING

FISHING

Sometimes, the individuals who least enjoy 'living in the limelight'... are the ones who most inspire and leave the greatest, lasting impressions... Such is the case with Alison. I asked permission to take her photo at the FISH ART station and she was quite reluctant. Later in the day, I watched her fight and land a trout. The volunteers brought the netted fish to her and while we were all focused on the photo opportunity, Alison was concerned only with getting the fish back to the pond as quickly as possible... "Oh poor fish. We need to put it back NOW so it can LIVE!"

Way to go Alison! Many of our fisheries and anglers thereof could use the guidance of your wisdom and compassion...

FLY-TYING

FISH ART

Making repeated smooth casts, tying up the perfect wooly bugger, painting a 'rainbow-whale' and fighting lots of fish demands much energy so by noon time, everyone had worked up quite the healthy appetite.

Ryan gathered up the troops and passed out some fishing literature courtesy of one of the event sponsors.

I expected 'mundane burgers' and/or 'quick and dirty dogs' Man, was I surprised!

The spread of food was incredible: gourmet hot dogs, marinated/grilled chicken breast, fresh big-leaf lettuce, sweet, juicy tomatoes, succulent strawberries, pineapple, grapes and assorted other fruits.

Chef extraordinaire and fellow American River angler and guide, Charlie Gonzales and his entourage of helpers were responsible for the awesome eats. This guy knows how to cook... THANKS CHARLIE!

After the fine food and a bit of R&R, we went back to the pond to battle more bows.

Many more fish were caught and many more smiles were shared.

I left Downstream 2009 feeling as though we had each accomplished something very worthwhile and had learned a bit more about who we are in the process.

And in the end... The love you take, is equal to the love
you make~:)

Sir Paul McCartney ~1969~

THE STRIPED BASS NEED YOU~PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE SIGN THIS PETITION!

2009-04-15T22:02:00.000-07:00

To those of you who don't immerse yourself, live, breath, toil, sweat, daydream, drool and celebrate in the splendor of our Sacramento/San Joaquin Delta fisheries...

You wouldn't know this... but there is currently a bill in the US Senate (drafted by assembly woman, Jean Fuller) which comes up for review on April 28th. which if passed would be devastating to the striped bass population and fishery and ultimately to most if not all fisheries and all forms of flora and fauna in the delta which depend on a sustained, healthy inflow of fresh water.

The bill seeks to remove the striped bass from game fish status and remove any and all restrictions on their take. Ultimately, this would very likely extirpate the striped bass from our pacific coast and inland watersheds.

In a nutshell, striped bass were introduced (from New Jersey) to California in 1886 as they are a hardy and desirable game fish species. These fish thrived and coexisted with salmon, steelhead, sturgeon, delta and long fin smelt, and all of California's native species in healthy numbers for over 125 years.

The relatively-recent, sharp decline- particularly in salmon and the endangered delta smelt- has been scientifically proved to correlate with increased water exports and NOT predation by striped bass.

In fact, the numbers of striped bass themselves, have decreased exponentially right alongside the fish they are being charged with endangering.

The bill is backed by California agribusiness farmers and the politicians whose votes are bought and sold by such constituencies.

The greatest travesty is that with no scientific basis, a group of politicians is attempting to divert public attention and awareness away from the truth (that the faltering state of our delta ecosystems is directly related to increased fresh water exports) in order to promote their agenda (to divert and export even more fresh water from that already fragile ecosystem).

The baseless conclusion, portraying striped bass as the main culprit in the disappearance of delta smelt and salmon stocks is merely the latest (red herring) attempt at justifying greater water exports out of the Sac/SJ Delta under a false premise.

After all, if the public buys the propaganda and is duped into believing that striped bass, rather than lack of water, is responsible for dwindling salmon and delta smelt populations, the bureaucrats may proceed unchecked to increasingly drain the delta.

Anyone who has fished this region since the 1960's can tell you (not from politics, not from studies nor collected data but rather from first-hand experience) how the numbers of sport-fish of ALL species have exponentially declined since the 1960's when water exports were significantly increased.

Yes, there are other factors which challenge the survival troubled fish species; habitat loss, climate, oceanic, estuarine, riverine conditions, pollution, poaching, and cyclical events... but it does not take a rocket scientist to know that above all, fish need water and in the absence of water, they will perish.

I love to fish for striped bass and so of course I do not want to see them eradicated... but my bigger concerns are A) the overall health of the Sac/SJ Delta ecosystem and B) our rights as anglers who pay increasing revenues each and every year to have the privilege and right to enjoy the sport of fishing... both of which will certainly be severely compromised if this bill is passed into legislation.

And what will be next? Will largemouth bass, smallmouth bass, bluegill, crappie, American shad, threadfin shad, brown trout, brook trout, lake trout, kokanee, white/yellow/black/brown/blue/flathead and channel catfish (and the list of California's currently-thriving non-native fish species is MUCH longer) all be wiped out also due to their non-native status?

I hope that someday, humankind will wake up and take responsibility for the travesties it has inflicted upon our suffocating planet. There are places (like Alaska) I've never been but which I hold close to heart simply knowing that they have largely remained wild and free from the spoils of our species....

I sincerely hope that whether or not you fish, you'll see through to the core of what this 'anti-striper' legislation is really about and will opt to at least click on the link below and sign the petition to undermine it.

Please click on the underlined links below. If you need to get back to this page, you can left-click the left arrow on your web browser page or hit the BACKSPACE button on your keyboard.

VIDEO OF LOCAL ANGLERS EXPLAINING THE SITUATION

PETITION

THANKS!
Mark L. Lynn

The End of the Drift Aint Always the End of the Drift

2009-04-08T18:10:00.000-07:00

How many times have you heard...

"MAN! That thing bit right next to the bank!!"

or

"Those fish are closer than you think..."

or

"I was reeling up and I got SLAMMED!"

or in the 'fly-guys' world... "It often pays to let your fly sit for a second or two after it completes its swing as fish will often grab it on the hang-down..."

We are a culture, a society, a people of ACTION, of DOING, of TRYING of EXERTION to exhaustion. Much is good, more is more BETTER. The harder you work, the luckier you get...

This inevitably translates to our world of fishing. I am 101% guilty of the hardcore approach to fishing. To me the hunt is anything but leisurely or passive. I don't fish to relax, reminisce, remedy my ills or recreate my auric essence (though I'm sure those benefits are often a byproduct...) I fish to CATCH FISH! and I'll hike 10 miles, drive 1,000 and trade an empty wallet, dehydration, exhaustion, hunger, sleep deprivation, hypothermia, and mental fatigue for a good time on a river somewhere.

Further, as a semi-hopeless product of my environment... I do at least somewhat buy in to the fact that the more water I cover, the farther I cast and the faster I reel up to make the next drift... the greater my odds are of getting my rod bent.

I went out to the river not far from my home one day in March. I had just come off a trip to the Russian River where my friend Vic, a long-time steelheader extraordinaire, had opened my mind up to a few things about the likes of winter steelhead.

He had generously sent me on my way with some of his "the redder, the bedder" steelhead candy.

The day was one of those freeze-frame days with billowing clouds and soft light that makes your surroundings seem like some place out of an old oil painting. Perfect weather and even more perfect lighting.

I took some panoramic shots before setting up to fish.

I'd gotten a late start and only had a couple of hours to try and make something happen.

The water was up a bit and I figured I'd be able to locate some smaller spring fish if not some winter downers.

I used spoons, goofy worms, real worms and couldn't get a bite to save me. The only thing I hadn't tried was one of several smatterings of red roe I'd laid out on paper towels in a small, Tupperware container buried in the lower-right pocket of my worn-out fishing vest.

I re-rigged and found a suitable corkie to keep my eggs out of the clay, mud and gravel.

Many casts later, I was convinced that there wasn't a steelhead nor even a smolt within miles of me. I casted farther and reeled and dropped to give the bait and the bob more action. I worked the far shore, the seams, the rapids and runs, the flats above and the tailouts below but always came up with an unchanged wad of bait... same size, same shape, same color.

I started to feel a bit burned out, almost nauseous. Still, I cast and I drifted down to where surely any self-respecting steelhead would be absolutely honored to hold...

The sun was just sinking towards the horizon. My back was killing me and time was running short. I wasn't dreading the thought of a fish-less trip at all but I WAS dreading that I had only been here for an hour and a half and that soon I would have to leave.

I reached in to my wader pouch for a smoke. Thoughts of, "AGGHHH, I should have stayed home instead of driving and walking all this way for 2 short hours of fishing! I grabbed my lighter and put flame to the Marlboro clenched in the corner of my mouth and as I struck the flint wheel and depressed the butane button, I felt my Loomis shaking between my legs.

WTF?

It shook again and this time, the vibrations registered in my knuckle-head. NO W@Y! I got a F-I-S-H!

Shit, Howdy! Expect it when you least expect it. My line had finished its swing through the sweet spot about the time I fetched the smoke. Somewhere between my questioning whether I should even have come out fishing and lighting up a smoke... a fish had sniffed up my dangling roe in 2 feet of water about 18 inches off the bank.

The lil steelie put up a spirited fight for a small, recovering down-runner and got the skunk off my back.

By Fish-Sniffer and other 'internet-wizards-of-the-waterways'... it was A CHROMER!

Hah hah hah, I'm glad they don't know any better~;)

Turned out to be a productive day... and not because of the one small fish I caught and released but because I was re-educated on a simple, already-known fact... that when water comes up, fish get out of its way. It was a day that plunkers might do better dropping than casting and drift boaters would benefit from less boondogling and more side-drifting. In my case, it paid to light a smoke, prolong the end of my drift and let my knees answer the wake-up call in the soft 'holding' water below me.

M

Pretty in Pink~The PMESL Strikes Again@!

2009-04-03T15:04:00.000-07:00

Yah this is old hat considering I've taken a road trip to Oregon, fished 10 different spots for three different species on 4 different bodies of water and lost a monster striper since this outing 2 weeks ago...

I set out on this day to revisit one of my fave' haunts downriver and see if I could conjure up one of those spring time steelie-heads.

Having had my truck broken into on two almost consecutive trips... I wasn't all that excited about parking in the access lot so I instead parked in the hood and walked the extra 1/4 mile in to the river.

Spring was definitely in the air and I nearly broke a sweat under the weight and tension of neoprene waders and my usual pack full of shit. not shit, stuff... mostly stuff which I'd never take out much less use... but one must always be prepared.

I passed this tree along the way and it stood out with its bold PINK-ness... could be a sign?

On the river, I threw roe and worms and spoons and even a spinner or two but what finally got bit was the pink on pink Poor Man's Egg Sucking Leech.

The whole concept is a sham... There is no such thing. Leeches attach to organisms with a reasonable amount of blood to sustain their parasitic/metabolic needs... Eggs while in the skein, get their O2 dissolved in blood from their mom's ovarian arteries. When they eye out and develop an embryonic sac they get blood and nutrients from it. But a single egg, in its early developmental stages, has scarcely enough blood to sustain itself much less feed something 10 times larger than itself...

Sometimes shit just works with no rhyme nor reason and without scientific justice.

It didn't work THAT good as I managed only the one hen and a smolt before leaving the river.

It was nice to get out and to be shown by a couple fish that the PMESL is not just a fluke (pun intended).

I Love Dogs... More Than Their Owners...

2009-03-25T23:47:00.000-07:00

"I like dogs better than humans

Both have heads but only dogs got brains

I like dogs much better than humans

It's the owners of the dogs who need collars and chains.

Dogs are instinctual, loyal and true.

Humans are dumb-asses; haven't got a clue.

I like dogs better than humans

Dogs dig dig dig just playin' in the yard

and don't jig jig jig things around so hard.

A pat on the back, a clean place to shit,

Throw 'em a bone and they're all over it.

No need to be extravagant nor make up lies

A dog barks it like it is and looks you in the eyes

Scratch like hell when you got a flea and lift your leg when you got to pee.

Don't worry 'bout naked or hiding in the stalls

Feel free to reach around and lick those balls

Dogs don't marry and dogs don't beg

They shake and jump and they'll hump your leg.

Who is the master? and who is the pet?

Who picks the shit up? and pays for the vet?

I like dogs better than humans.

I don't have to own one to know that it's true.

A dog's life is so named for a reason.

In the doggies paws is me and you."

I wrote that lil ditty a time ago after a day on the river...

I'd hiked many miles to find my place of solitude. The fish were jumpin' I was all rigged up and ready to 'rip some lip' as they say...

I made a cast and as my line drifted along the opposite bank, I noticed an over-energetic golden-retriever.

Great dogs... full of love and slobber and always so starved for attention furry beasts that they are...

I reel up and prepare to make cast #2 when I notice said Golden's master (a woman) has approached the same river bank I am casting to. She decides she wants in on the action too but she doesn't have a fishing rod... she has one of those gay, blue rubber spikey/squeaky balls and she lobs it in to the river in the exact spot I am trying to catch a fish.

Ker-SPLASH goes doggy and the gay ball and the water and the froth and the foam and the shockwaves AND I's sure... THE FISH!

Geez Lady? Ya think you might find another place to play fetch in some 1,000 square miles of river bottom BESIDES directly in front of a fisherman whose daintily wading lightly presenting his line to a fish that flinches when it sees the shadow of a dragonfly?

Yeah, I didn't think so...

Anyway, that was last year (though dog-owner disrespect is sometimes an every day occurrence on the American River).

I was out one morning fishing a favorite stretch of the AR 2 weeks ago. I had caught one fish and was scouting for more when I heard a rustle in the brush across the way. I looked up to see a young doe come crashing through the trees.

I heard another, larger animal upriver from her position as she disappeared in to a thicket.

I expected another doe or perhaps a buck to show himself.

What instead appeared was a large black German Shepard with ears erect and tongue dripping out the side of his agape mouth.

The deer reappeared and the dog was now in hot pursuit. Said deer is confused and stressed a bit to say the least...

Dog chases deer. Deer runs.

Deer goes to island. Dog goes to island.

Deer goes in water. Dog jumps in for a swim.

As this is happening, I'm amused and am taking full advantage of this strange scenario with my Nikon. If only I'd had a telephoto instead of a wide angle lens...

The deer goes further into the river's depths and I'm most certain that the dog will fall back but NOPE, he does not. He runs and jumps at the deer.

So far, no blood, no biting, no barking, no apparent intent to kill on the dog's part but the deer isn't so convinced of this at all and she's starting to look a 'little wet behind the ears'. Actually, she's a LOT wet behind the ears and her ears are pinned back like a rabbit ready for the butcher block.

The lightswitch turns on in my head... "Get your ass out of the camera view finder and call this dog off before 'Bambi' has a conniption.

Alas, I look at the relentless canine and scream out, "HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" which does in fact, send the dog zipping off in retreat to the hills from which he scurried down after his 'new friend' only minutes before.

The deer is taking no chances and so takes leave of the area and begins swimming out in to the faster currents of mid river. I can see her shaking and panting as she wearily weaves her way across the river towards me. She pauses to glance back at her unwanted, black, furry companion with the mouth full of meat-shearing teeth.

I've seen many a deer cross the river in much deeper, wider and faster water and they normally do so with speed and precision but being stalked, chased and harassed into a river crossing is completely different situation. Besides, this was a yearling, well past her spring ago's fawn stage but not yet matured in to capable doe-dom. She was uncertain but determined to do what needed to be done.

I started to run down river thinking I might need to intervene and rescue the tired girl. Thoughts of nervous hooves kicking me in the face and then a fear of my stressing her out even more and in the end being the ultimate cause of her untimely death... stopped me mid way. I looked at her and she at me...

I continued to watch from a distance and took a few final photos as she caught her breath and grasped the river bed with her outstretched front hooves. She slowly regained her composure and hobbled on to terra firma.

She sauntered along the hillside and once behind a grove of young alders, burst quickly out of sight.

I was happy for the deer but had to wonder about the dog...

I wonder what the Osprey thought of all this? He was really high and he watched it all go down~;)

M

Nothin' Like the Real Thing... but MUCH BETTER~Plastics for Steelies and Bass

2009-03-24T01:32:00.000-07:00

I have little room and low tolerance for superficiality in most aspects of life...

Make it right, make it real or just shut up and done the deal~

But fish don't always want a straight shot nor do they always have the conscious-keen-eye to see through the fluff...

That works out quite well for me in the spring.

I lean towards artificials in all of my fishing endeavors. My salmon and steelhead GO-TO is the spoon. My striped bass weapon of choice is the swimmer or surface plug and for bass of the green, landlocked variety... poppers, jerks, or plastics make up the gist of my arsenal...

There are times when a wad of roe, a live shad or pike minnow or a night crawler beckon to 'pinch-hit' for the usual lineup of offerings to the hard hitters of respective species... and spring time in particular is a time when bugs, bait-fish and worms are first-choice on the menu for fish coming out of their sleepy winter slumber.

Off to the river I went. The water was still a bit high and colored up so ditched the fly rod and got back to my roots...

Had the full Himalayan-excursion pack and vest outfitted and ready for any bait or hardware scenario.

I got down to the water where a couple days prior, I'd hooked a 5# chromer blue-back. It was one of those text-book moments that happened right in front of a resting blue kayak and its pilot. The fish exploded out of the water with my gold spoon in her mouth. One cartwheel and two head-shakes later I was on the phone crying to Benny about the chromer that got away... Sometime during our conversation I discovered the reason she got away. My spoon was dangling an empty split ring at its obtuse end. Somehow, the fish (or the fisherman) managed to slip the hook from the ring before or during the fight which never really transpired...

So today, I was well-stocked and oh so prepared to get revenge. Only, one small problem... I reached in to my vest pocket to find a weight and there were no weights. Hooks? I had ONE. Bottom bouncing gear? NOPE! I left my night-crawlers on the kitchen table also.

I had somehow managed to leave most of the 'most-essentials' behind... Here's that making the best of it theme again...

I did happen to have my rod pre-rigged with a float and the one hook I had in possession so I figured that's what I'd be using.

I pulled out one of the bags I did bring, loaded to the gills with puffed plastic, blown foam and molded latex... Corkie? Puff Ball? Spin N Glo? Mad River Flouro's? nah, nah, nah.

Ah SNAUSAGES! actually, Berkley bubble-gum Power Worms, yah that's sexy. Perfect for the dirty water just wish I had some weight to bounce it but I didn't so I rigged up the pink-pearl Worden's DB and the snipped strapped a snausage on the shiney lil #6 Gami' and started browsing the waters. I had crossed the river earlier and decided to make my way back along the only large, sweeping tailout in the area.

I damn near stepped on a 6-7# upriver bright. I tried to retreat and recoup a drift but I'd already sent that fish 2 miles upriver with my shadow.

I saw a spawning hen near the opposite bank so figured there had to be some life around. I tossed the PMESL (poor-man's egg-sucking leech) into the sweep rage of the tailout directly downriver from me and I felt the slam a good two seconds before I watched my bobber drown...

Not a big fish but definitely an upper and purdy one...

I set her free with renewed expectations of bigger and brighter fish but you know what they say about expectations... I later tossed hardware in all the right places but got repeatedly rejected.

Not a bad day at all considering I'd left most of my gear at home...

One of the great gifts of the trip was the renewed confidence in plastic worms for spring trout. Night crawlers are such a pain in the ass... to get, to store, to keep, to thread, to sustain, to cast, to use...

I went home and found all the stuff I had left right where I had left it funny how that works.

The day was young and the sun was shining so I figured on a quick scout to the local pond. Fake worms worked in the river why not feed some to the bass?

I grabbed my trusty RB's, hooks and some lead and was off.

Can't say it was on fire but 5/6 on the first scout of the season wasn't a bad score...

Nothing better than a Bi-fecta except a TRI-fecta... but that may be a week or two away~;)

Gotta love the latex!
M

Condensed Winter/Spring American River Chronicles

2009-03-20T01:18:00.000-07:00

So much to say, so little time to say it...

Much to reflect on of my many days wading the waters and kicking up cobbles in my riparian temple of sanity...

and insanity...

Here's our boy RHook tussling with a bug-eater... The fishing was decent that day and the 'emergers' were finally starting to show in numbers which would soon undermine the deeper meaning of the quest for mighty, winter steelhead...

Eventually, the time came to explore new, old haunts and rediscover lost connections with the river and the landscape...

I encountered another angler who actually depended on procuring fish for its survival.

Sometimes, I feel like a great blue heron... ever wading, ever watching, ever stalking, often desperate to bring a fish to hand or foot, sometimes just blending in and waiting stealthily and hopeful that my perseverance will be rewarded. Puffing up my feathers and making a ruckus when an intruder approaches the water I've chosen to canvass...

With February comes the emergence of catkins on the alder trees signaling the silent but sure approach of spring. The heron and I have different agendas... I seek quiet water and solitude. The heron, dressed in colorful head plumes and neck feathers and sporting a new, yellow bill, seeks to be noticed by his future nest mate where together they will join the throng of other nesting, noisy birds in their tree-top rookery.

Numbers of large, winter steelhead give way to a greater populace of smaller fish. I can't recall where I caught this little guy...

but he had remarkable teeth!

The quest continued and I was only too happy to have traded this...

for THIS!

to be continued...

One morning, I set out not far from home with only the sissy stick and a vest full of flies. The water was big and brown (something it hadn't been for at least a year...) and so I opted to ditch the egg and nymph patterns and use the biggest bugs in my boxes... wooly buggers, coneheads, streamers. I got to the river and before crossing out to the island, I strapped on the black/grey spey fly Bill Lowe had left me with a week before. It made sense to swing something with profile and darker colors in the stained water. Of course my confidence level was about that of a Charlie Brown inviting Lucy to a swinger's club pardon the pun...

I launched the thing toward the edge of a tailout and let it drift down the glide and repeated the motion. On the second swing, my fly stopped before the point it logically should have. Ah shit, F-ing SNAG! POP, POP, WHOAHHHHHHHH it's MOV-ing!! My rod tip danced above the weight of the fish which answered my klutsy hookset with a few hefty head-shakes the last of which sent me back to sit in a corner with my shortened, fly-less tippet.

DAMN! those things DO work...

I had high hopes with a respectable adult on and off in only the first few minutes of my outing... but after a several hours, a few hundred casts, four river crossings and many traded fly patterns, I had only an education, one other lost steelie and a sucker (ate wolly buggers) to show for my fly fishing session. I attributed the first fish to a Karmic experience and had thoughts about how my 'luck' might have changed had I brought some bait or hardware... No worries though, I needed the practice and the change of pace.

On my way out, I was reminded that simplicity and resourcefulness is often superior to abundance and preparedness. You can't always have all things exactly as you would like them but you CAN always make the best of what ya' got right now...

Case in point...

or perhaps I should say, "Casa on Point"

Sometimes ya just gotta.... Fly fish

2009-03-16T11:14:00.000-07:00

I'm what they call a 'gear guy'... but a legit' gear guy not a flosser, liner, snagger. I evolved beyond that long ago.

I've always been a proponent of using the best method for getting the job done.

The journey is much more the means than the end... but the goal is to hook and land fish. If the fish want bait, I'll break out the roe. If they want worms, I'll thread those slimy bastards up and use whatever variation (wacky, in-line, puff-ball, corky, half, whole...) I must to get the worm swallowed. Bait is messy, bait is cumbersome, bait is a process to procure, bait is expensive, bait involves killing animals, bait in some minds is cheating... but often times bait is the answer.

Spoons are simple... grab a box of metal, a hook sharpener, and some reliable snap or duolock swivels and you're good to go. Travel light, cover lots of water, no burden, no mess. Use a barbless single siwash hook and 99% of the time a hookup is fair and clean with no blood involved.

Our little American River, plagued by dams, water mis-allocation and three years of drought... has run at a mere 700-800 CFS for the past many months. Low and clear has been the norm through the crux of our steelhead season. The fish blasted upriver quickly and mostly held only in the restricted waters below the weir and above the USGS Geological survey cable below the hatchery... Yes there were fish caught above and below but not in great numbers and never for sustained periods of time. Those who would argue this point are those happy to catch spawners and downers and those who can't tell the difference between pre and post spawned fish...

As the water began warming up, late February/early March, some smaller, fresh fish came through the system. I decided it was time to take up the fly rod. I went to several downriver spots which traditionally hold fish later in the season. My timing was bad for taking up the sissy stick though as we got dumped on by two consecutive storms. The lil AR that never gets blown out (in the words of one self-proclaimed expert...) got severely blown out and had as little as 1 ft. visibility...

Still, I tried and not with tandem rigs nor tiny nymphs and little egg patterns which would be hard for the most aggressive fish to find and suck up... but with woolly buggers, coneheads, leeches and streamers.

In 5 days of pounding (or swatting as Benny likes to call it) the water with the fly gear, I realized that in the right conditions (low and clear) it could be very effective for getting down and in to water not as approachable with a float, bottom-bouncing gear or hardware. I also realized that it's a lot of work but the rewards are definitely there.

My rewards were: 5 hooked and lost steelhead and 4 hooked and landed suckers.

My first day out I hit up Sunrise below the walk bridge and above the new steelhead side channel. I awaited my turn since there were 4 guys and a Clackacraft drift boat fishing the tailout spot.

I ended up making some passes in the speed-bumps above. Yes, there were spawning fish below me but there were also some small, bright fish in and around them eating eggs so I worked the water away from the redds hoping to entice one of the egg-robbers.

At some point, a guy came charging up from behind and announced, "You know those are all spwaning fish right?"

Now, here was some ultimate irony...

I explained to the guy in a non-defensive tone that I wasn't doing any of the things I'm constantly harping on others about doing (walking on redds, sightfishing, lining, or otherwise targeting spawning fish). I also thanked him for his compassion and balls enough to approach a stranger on the river in defense of the fishery.

He introduced himself as Bill Lowe and gave me a beautiful black/gray spey fly I would several days later put to good use.

We parted paths and I drove and walked several more miles of river looking for opportunities. Hours later, a man with a spey rod came down to the river at Upper Sunrise and said something about being "...off work now so I thought I might do a little fishing of my own..." It took me a while to add up 2 and 2 and realize that it was MR. Lowe whom, I'd met earlier in the day. I told him of some nice fish I'd seen and spooked. I picked his brain for some info on swinging streamers and we talked about the thrills and woes of chasing steelhead in Metropolitan Sacramento...

Nice guy that Bill. He obviously is very passionate about fishing AND THE FISHERIES...

http://www.billloweflyguide.com/guide.html

M

COUPLE TRIPS/COUPLE FISH

2009-02-25T00:46:00.000-08:00

Been tough for a gear guy lately.

I keep threatening to break out the fly-rod and having witnessed as many hatches and slurpers as I did this morning... it's bound to Spring into action soon...

Some photos below and a report to follow...

Benny's purdy gurlz:

My 'not-az-purdy boy'

Time to sleep, zzzzz

Well I woke up finally.

Actually have slept very little and fished a very lot in the past few weeks. I could write volumes on what I've seen, done and learned in this spring transition.

The highlight from this trip well downriver from Sunrise... was the 12# chrome hen Benny and I watched as it cartwheeled and tail walked away from rather than away with... my silver BC Steele 2/5oz. spoon. The spoon bite's been tough.

Benny managed the one small hen in the photo above on one of his poor-man ESL rigs. We didn't see much more action but didn't see another angler or a boat either and that's worth it's weight in chrome...

What's most amazing is that Benny could even concentrate enough to hook and land a fish without his chew. He left his tin in the truck, damn that's gotta sting. I helped him by with a few Marlboros, gawddamn nicotine sucks!

WORKED HARD FOR ONE TROUT

2009-02-19T20:21:00.000-08:00

Spent most of the day fishing between the willows above the pipe and the willows below it.

I watched the fly-liners come and go and cringed as they sight-fished and lined steelhead.

I lived and died by the bait, fishing roe under a float for nearly the entire day. The fish just didn't want to eat.

The fact that fly-guys hooked many fish and the roe hooked none, was a clear confirmation of my suspicions that it was the 9 ft. of dangling leader and two hooks (flies/beads) below an indicator... that led to their success (if you wish to call it that) and not the fishes' preference for plastic over real eggs...

Old man Bruno came down and fished for a couple of hours and a couple of hookups that failed to bring fish to feet...

As more people showed up for the afternoon 'bite'... I decided to abandon the crowd and find some solitude below the last of the hovering anglers.

I probably wouldn't hook a steelhead but at least I wouldn't see anything that would make me want to kill someone...

I got back to basics, ditching the float for a simple bottom-bouncing rig (split shot, a tiny piece of lead, a #8 hook and a chunk of worm).

The crawler got railed on my second drift.

Ted came down to give me the poacher report and firm up our plan to remove the wing dam built by wing nuts over at the 'crack-pipe'.

As he approached, I was tugging on a cute, pudgy little resident rainbow.

She had eggs and would have made a fine meal but I would have shamed Ted and myself carrying the little thing out dead so I let her go and tried for a bigger model.

It wasn't to be and with a little light left in the sky, I packed it up and headed out.

We had fun destroying the break water and a couple of feisty adult steelhead swam up the falls to say thanks.

The whole time I was imagining a game warden coming down and citing US for tampering with the streambed and molesting the fish. Ironic shit like that happens to all the wrong guys sometimes.

We left unscathed and fish-less to pay Starbucks an unreasonable amount of money for a cup of coffee while Ted tried talking me into a trip to 'The Albatross' (Thunder Valley Casino).

Times are tough...

No water in the river and very few fish worth talking about. There's two new spawning gravel restoration areas on the river and no wardens to police them and keep snaggers out of and off 'em.

No money in the casinos and very few machines worth talking about. There's a new multi-million dollar hotel on the property and no money in the bank to hire and pay the union labor wages enough to complete it.

Fishing on the AR for steelhead is a lot like gambling at 'Blunder Valley'.

I need a new day job.

SAVED ONE FROM THE FLOSSERS/LINERS/SNAGGERS~STEELHEAD ACTUALLY WILL EAT

2009-02-15T13:07:00.000-08:00

Never judge a man by the sort of his stick nor the package he carries. Just as any experienced woman could tell you... it's neither the type nor the size of the gear he sports but rather in the way that he uses it...

I headed out to the 'crack-pipe' today (my Mark-ism for a spot below the Nimbus Hatchery where people go to get their fishing (if you can call it that) fix.

They hover like pack dogs over bloody meat at a man-made spillway which they've 'enhanced (actually ruined) by constructing a cobble wing dam to further entice the fish in to a 5x10 ft. area to which they neither drift nor swing but rather plunk, sweep, line, and often snag fish that they usually see before they hook.

The greatest offenders foil their lack of fishing skills behind a fly rod, which of course is attached to a 9-ft leader, two skin-piercing hooks and an indicator (bobber) to let them know when one of their two flies has found itself ensnarled in the head, back, belly, fin, ass (tail) and/or an occasional mouth of a steelhead believing it has found the freshet (pipe) in to which it will travel and eventually spawn.

In the words of a man who has fished the American River since 1949 and who to this day still catches steelhead ye ole-fashioned way (with a 12-16" leader and a wad of roe)...

"If Bill Schaadt were alive and he saw this... he'd come down here, snatch up every one of those rods... break 'em over his knee and toss 'em in the river" That aint' fly fishin'... That's trule dippin'!"

A fly rod in hand doth not an angler make...

And I am NOT rippin' on (legitimate) fly fishers by any means. There are many fly dippers, drifters and swingers on the AR who actually read and fish the water... who cast, who mend, who drift their flies to willing grabs and takes from fish. These ladies and gentlemen employ wisdom, experience, skill, and ethics in their angling and wouldn't be caught dead standing on redds at Sailor Bar, sight fishing above the spawning gravel adjacent to the hatchery nor site-fishing, lining, 'tule-dipping' at the 'crack-pipe'.

I try and split my time between fishing the lower stretches of river where one has a slim but possible chance at an up-runner, bright adult and fishing in the upper river where 90% of the winter fish in the system are concentrated and where, lately many of the newer, spring fish have also decided to venture...

Will I fish the pipe? HELL YES! but there are vast differences between the way my friends and I fish it versus the way the tule-dippin' pack dogs do it...

Just two weeks ago, the only redeeming quality I saw in a float (bobber, dink) was that it didn't weigh my vest down nearly as much as my bag of pencil lead...

My first bobber-down experience which yielded a nice little steelie changed my attitude and made be a believer in the float... I've since progressed from believer to strong advocate...

Low clear water, spooky fish, countless dead (actually very much alive when you tangle up in one...) lines deposited on the river bed (courtesy of the long-lining, snagger majority) has made bottom bouncing a thing of the past.

Enter the float... it allows one to dead drift roe, worm, egg, or other offering in the zone without dredging the bottom. It allows nice, slow drifts in 6 ft., 4 ft., 2 ft., 1ft., or even 6-inches of water without much worry of losing terminal gear. And since reeling, sweeping or jerking the line would stall the float, upset the drag free drift and in most cases... spook the fish, it makes for a clean-presentation method with an extremely low to zero probability of foul-hooking a steelhead. Two other factors make snagging fish while float fishing pretty much non-existent:

1) I typically run a leader length of 8-14" and 16-18" when I feel the need to get down a bit deeper. Keep in mind that I'm fishing a veritable creek of a river which normally runs at an average CFS of 3000-5000 in the winter but this year runs at a 'skinny' (CA term) or boney (WA. lingo) 750 CFS...

2) Regardless of leader length, I stagger split shot evenly between my float and my hook so the leader presentation is always vertical and never horizontal (for more than the 8-12" between my lowest, BB split shot and my hook.

I got down to the river at around 0900 this morning. the 'usual suspects' were there with their 7 WTS taking turns at the crack-pipe-holding-pen... I made a few drifts. I was afforded most of the run there because the dippers were pretty much plunking flies at their feet and just waiting for the bends...

Three passes, no fish, time to move. I worked my way downstream but not very far so as not to end up floating over and disturbing spawner salmon and steelhead on redds... Heaven forbid... I wouldn't either wish to disturb the 'fly flinger' who sat their perched, making short cast after short cast over and through said redds...

I backtracked 100 yds. upriver and made several unanswered passes in front of the willows before my float suddenly stopped and sunk. It UN-sunk faster than I could say BOB and faster than my reflexes could tighten the connection between a sunk float and a suspecting fish...

On my next drift, I walked slightly behind and alongside the float keeping line and shadows off the water but no amount of stealth can yield a bite where there isn't a fish so I reeled up and went back to my original spot just west of the dippers. I traded my wad of saggy, wet roe for a small bundle of bright, glowing, uncured eggs all stitched up in a small sack of "spawn net" (nylon). I hadn't much faith in 'the sack method' on our little river of late but it looked great under dark, cloudy skies.

One cast, one drift, one stopped heartbeat and one scrappy though fairly fast, single-handed fight later... I realized that hungry hen steelhead aren't put off by nylon mesh when there's 'eggs for breakfast' to be had...

I took a couple photos...

I thought about the encroaching 25-40 mph winds and thunderstorms and about the fact that I myself had not eaten breakfast... I thought momentarily about how the fly guys would think their judgments about my killing a hatchery brat despite that they have no problem lining and snagging their penned-up fish over and over... I saw the many line imprints across the fish's laterals and the hook scars on her head, shoulders, back and belly... and then I took note of her body cavity... distended yet firm beneath her all white but slightly-graying head and chin. Her cloaca just breached her vent so she'd be at least 2 if not 3 weeks out from dropping any eggs. Down to less than 1/2 a skein of roe in my 'bait tank' I knew it was time to dirty my report card.

Looking at the tail of the fish, I could see no caudal V-clip so this girl had never been up the hatchery ladder and likely was a more recent (early spring) arrival.

I held a moment of silence, gave thanks to the grand provider and then pulled gill arches out from inside 'er. I told the others to enjoy the day as I left to go have breakfast, a hot shower and to cure some much needed roe.

I'm proud to be a harvester and not a hoverer...

Give a girl somethin' tasty...

and she WILL BITE!

M

COUPLE LIL ROE MUNCHERS-SMALL FISH/BIG APPETITES

2009-02-11T20:17:00.000-08:00

Hit the river late this morning. Woke up at 0700 and felt the frostiness outside. It was enough to scare me back inside for a cup of coffee.

I must be gettin' old. I used to live, thrive, run, play and laugh at ice, snow and sub freezing temperatures but now my bones get chilled by 40-degrees.

I managed to get my saddlebags packed and my steelhead horse mounted by 0900 hours.

Got down to the river to see all the usual suspects... The action was 'fly-flossin' at the 'crack-pipe'... not really my cup-o-tea so I worked the drifts above and below the crowd.

I had several hits but no sticks. Down to my last skein or two of steelhead roe, I was using quite conservative amounts on a size #6 and then #8 Daiichi single egg hook.

Big George hooked the nicest couple of fish I saw early on. He came down to say hey. George is a giant but one of the gentlest and kindest souls on the river once you get to know him. He also has ethics and skills and knows how to get the steelies to bite.

He left the hole to go home and take care of his doggy and I stuck around.

Ole-man Bruno came down sometime shortly thereafter with his usual smiling face and cheery demeanor. He's another regular on the river that hooks fish. He not only hooks fish, he falls in love with the whole experience and each new fish he connects with is as magical to him as the first. Bruno embodies the spirit of everything good on the river we all share and love.

It didn't take long for Bruno to hook a steelhead but it had other plans than coming to hand... He landed his next fish but it was bright orange with a down-turned bugle for a mouth.

Bruno said he had something for me and asked me to grab a bag out of his fishing vest pocket. The 1/8" diameter pencil lead weight I can never find in stores. Bless his heart. The man is always thinking of his friends.

I placed the lead in my vest for later and moved a ways above Bruno to float some roe in shallow seam water. My bobber stalled up and went down slowly but I came up with a hook stripped of all but two eggs embedded in saggy slink of skein.

As soon as I turned my back on Bruno, I heard a splash and craned my neck to see his flyrod doubled over and his mouth creased with a that Big Bruno smile. I reeled up, put my hook in its keeper and grabbed the Nikon to catch some action shots.

As I approached him, Bruno put out his hand and said something about his heart and handed me his rod. Bruno had a pacemaker put in last year and though his spirit is strong as an ox, his heart sometimes beckons his caution. We traded rods and I tried to play catch up and run the big fish down but after many fast steps and a few knuckles busted I knew the fish was foul-hooked and so popped it off.

We took a breather together and then walked back up to find another willing and hopefully, more cooperative fish.

What the hell... go for broke... I fished out the biggest, juiciest wad of roe I could find and folded it over three times under my roe loop. As soon as my bobber hit the water it went under and one fast swoop of my rod tip sent a semi-ripe hen leaping out of the water.

I landed the fish in pretty short order, snapped a couple happy snaps and turned her back to do her business.

A few minutes and a couple of casts later my bobber sunk again and a smaller, brighter hen showed herself. She was a pretty scrappy lil miss for her stature of only 2 pounds and change. Once at my feet, I could see her eyes and throat were bigger than her stomach.

She'd managed to suck my hook through a gill raker and in to her gullet.

I'd intended to harvest a hen today and this wasn't the one I was looking for but she'd have to do. I retrieved the hook from her gut, bled her and walked out with Bruno.

Bruno must have been a Boy Scout cuz' the man is definitely a firm believer in the BE PREPARED! motto... He afforded me a bag for my fish, some sav for my dried out hands and a even hooked me up with a bag of extra baked goodies his wife packed him for lunch.

Thanks Bruno!

Hopefully, I'll get up and out to the river tomorrow early enough to fish a bit with you and Ray.

BOBBER DOWN! Slowly mastering a new technique~Float fishing for Steelhead

2009-02-09T19:01:00.000-08:00

Once again I have Ray Hartley to thank for his prodding me along towards a deadly technique for Steelheading in low, clear water.

A few years ago he convinced me to invest some time and money in expensive, plated brass and thus my introduction to the BC Steele spoon was born.

I at first was very skeptical about steelhead grabbing a large slab of far too flashy metal.

I ordered the spoons to the tune of nearly $100 for 20 pieces (without hooks or split rings).

My first frustration was getting the damn split rings sprung on to the spoons without spreading 'em... On the water, I was unsure what the perfect drift looked or felt like. I knew it wasn't the right drift when I rolled along the bottom and caught a rock or some snagger's 12-15 ft. dead-line leader and had to break off and lose my spoon to Davy Jone's locker...

That first mission was expensive and fishless.

My second time out, I think I started to understand and feel the klippity-klop, flutter, wobble, whomp... that Ray spoke of.

My third time out I actually hooked and landed a respectable fish and Ray's words of wisdom echoed through my mind... "Just stick with it and you'll start hooking up." "Pretty soon the spoon will be your GO-TO method and you'll be wondering why you didn't start using them years ago..."

I can honestly say that in the past few seasons I've hooked more steelies on spoons than on any other method and that nearly all of my larger, chrome-plated fish have succumbed to the BC Steele silver, gold or copper 2/5 or 1/4 oz spoon.

Thanks Ray and Thanks Sarah and Bobby Killingsworth at Pen-Tac.

This year, I caught spoon fish early on. The months of October, November, and December each produced at least one fat upriver bright steelie by way of the STEELE.

But January was a tough month. Whatever fish had been holding downriver or slowly pushing their way upriver... suddenly seemed non-existent.

In the skinny waters near the hatchery, hardware has been a tough go. The water is low and clear. Most of the fish that far along the system have been flogged by flies, pummeled with plugs, bombarded by liners and snaggers and are in fear for their lives so are reticent not ravenous. The drift up there has changed significantly not only due to the low flows but also because of the restructuring of the riverbed in order to create the spawning riffle further up river.

Add to that... an exponential decrease in the numbers of steelhead and increase in the numbers of those pursuing them and the odds are long for having a multi-fish day on hardware or bottom-bounced roe.

The runs which were so good to me 2 and 3 and 4 months ago are now strewn with dead line and sunk sinkers deposited by the many anglers (if you can call them that...) who just can't get away from the long leader and big chunks of molded lead... To get a drift with even a split shot is a major challenge.

What does one do? Certainly not give up...

For almost as long as Ray had told me to drift spoons, he'd also belabored the merits of float fishing. Two season ago he gave me one of his high-dollar, fancy-schmancy Drennan Loafer floats. I may have rigged it up a time or two as I had done with other, various store-bought versions: Thill, Eagle Claw, etc...

I always had issues either with the casting/tangling or the rigging/weighting or with the drifting/visibility factor.

One day last week, I pulled the silly little transparent pendulum with the bright orange tip out of my bag of tricks. Amazingly... after 2 years of careless storage... I still had it and it still floated. I rigged it up and decided that come hell or high water (actually more like hell and low water...) I WOULD STICK WITH IT!

Again, reflecting on Ray's advice... he was 101% RIGHT!

I hooked my first float fish in 2 feet of water under blue-bird bright day conditions!

I've been committed to the float ever since and in 3 outings, have banked close to a dozen steelhead.

I'm still tweaking and tuning... figuring out the perfect weight balance, split-shot sizing and spacing, leader length, and most optimal travel lanes for the float. I have much to learn but I'm well on my way and above all... I now have confidence in something that before only frustrated me. Thanks again Ray for your opening my eyes to the path of least resistance, the bright, orange tip of a Drennan float and the ultimate rush of BOBBER DOWN!!

In my many days on the river I've seen how terribly these poor fish are treated by many... Dragging fish up on rocks, holding fish in sandy, muddy water with fingers near gills, pulling fish out of water to take photos and then handing them off (after dropping the poor creatures on the rocks) to their friend so he can also have a 'glory-shot' holding the fish. Finally, they carelessly release the fish back to the water backwards and upside-down... In fact, one guy actually KICKED his escaping steelhead up out of the water and on to the bank so he could get a photo of it and then release it!

Alas, I have made it a point to NOT REMOVE any fish from the water unless I intend to kill and eat it. I have had many fish swim away as I got my Nikon geared up but that's okay.

Here's some photos of a few cooperative fish who didn't mind posing before being gently up-righted and sent back to their aqueous environs.

PS: YES, some of the fish were photographed more than once. I think there's 6 unique fish shown. Of particular, ironic interest is the 3-4# hen with some FLY-GUY'S bead-head "Prince Nymph" embedded in her side while THE GEAR-GUY'S (that would be ME) #6 hook with roe skein is just slightly impaling the tip and corner of her upper palate. Proof yet again that conventional (bait and gear guy...) steelheaders are much easier on the fish than MANY fly-slingers...

One Fine Afternoon~a Bright Day with Even Brighter Fish

2009-01-31T21:54:00.000-08:00

It was another upper AR mission.

I again, fished with 'Old Man Wilson' who really, despite his age of 69 years, is anything but old...

He wakes ME up in the morning, almost always gets to the river first and moves up and down the bank like a phantom on a steroid-infused ghost chase.

He is the real deal as his license plate; ANGLER1 suggests.

Ted doesn't fish to relax. He fishes to hook big, hungry steelhead.

When he totes his custom-wrapped Loomis spin rig and vest bulging at the pockets with the finest steelhead candy (borax/jello-cured roe) in the west... he is on a serious mission.

He keeps it simple at the terminal end of his line with nothing but lead and hook... yet he never leaves home without his spool of orange thread. He lives and dies by the 'thread-wrapped berry' which he quickly but carefully forms like a spider meticulously spinning her victim in a tomb of silk.

A dip in the water, three wraps above the bait, several soft 'cacoon-wraps' around the eggs, finished off by a few more wraps to the hook above. The final result is a delectable, tempting berry fluffy and oozing, draped over a #6 Gamakatsu red octopus. Any steelheader knows this to be a superior, fine-wire hook and not a blushing, Japanese cephalopod...

Reel, drop... reel, drop... reel, drop...

Got to keep that morsel moving. The river is low and lacks enough flow to move the bait around the river bed properly. Besides... in a straight line drift changing the vertical plane the bait travels through can only increase the odds of a fish finding it.

And finally, Ted doesn't want the small fish, the dark fish, the lazy fish nor 'the slink' as he refers to a spawning steelhead... he wants the kind of fish we all want... the rogue, monster chromer that can't help but chase and rip into anything in its path worthy of parting its big rubber lips...

He works his spoons in similar fashion = FASTER than what the books or the experts or the die hard spoon guys tell you. Wobble: schmobble, flutter: klutter, thump: crump, slow: schmoe... "I'm not interested in that slow drift shit you and Ray like... I'm lookin for that aggressive bastard... that mean motherfucker that's on a mission... Throw it out, three cranks and KER-FUCKIN-POW!!"

Yes, we all agree that Ted fishes his spoons all wrong and yet... he catches monsters casting and retrieving his spoons the 'wrong' way.

The last day worthy of discussion was a sunny Thursday. Fishing had been tough. Fewer fish in the river and yet, 100X the amount of idiots fishing for 'em. The nice, out of the way run that we'd been fishing since mid-October... seemed to have all but dried up. Complicating matters was that every Tom, Dick and Harry (mostly 'Dicks') had found our lil secret spot and within a week there were 100 lines, along with corkies, spin n glows, beads, shark-hooks and enough lead to sink the Lusitania... in all lanes of our once-clean drifts...

Ted was talking in his usual cheery demeanor... about how there wasn't a fish within 10 miles of us... and that the run was over and something about a waste of time and roe...

His pessimism was sharply interrupted by a fish who obviously had not been listening to his negative banter... "There it is!" "She grabbed that roe so hard she damn near yanked the rod out of my hand." He said something about it feeling like a small fish.

I reminded him that the weather and water were cold and that he might just be surprised.

Indeed, we were both surprised as the fish who found her spirit at the end of the tussle, took 12 minutes and a 50 yard dash downstream to finally land.

I suspected before I snapped the photos that she'd be sportin' a sail for a dorsal and a flag of flesh in front of her tail. Ted always seems to hook bucks or wild hens when he's down on his roe and most needs to bonk a hatchery hen.

After the exhilaration of the fight, and the frustration of yet "another fucking fish with an adipose fin" left his blood, and nerves...

...his face glowed and beamed a smile as he revived and released the girl back to her underwater world.

We returned to our patch of cobbles below the flower bush doubting but hoping that there may actually be more than one fish in the run. I snipped the spoon from my line and rigged up with a small chunk of steelhead roe. 3/4 into my drift I feel a line snag and as I raise my rod tip to pull out of it, 'the snag' starts shaking its head at my rod tip. I quickly changed my attitude and set the hook, FISH ON!

I knew it was a good one after the first run and though it wasn't quite as big as Ted's fish, mine lacked and adipose fin and had a belly distended with sacks of roe.

I landed and dispatched the cookie-cutter 8# hatchery chromer.

As Ted would say... we were shittin' in tall cotton...

Unfortunately, the cotton wasn't tall enough because a fly guy from across the river saw what transpired and so we figured on unwanted company in the days to come...

It didn't take long for Ted to hook a second fish and as usual... it was bigger and brighter than mine...

...a mint, hatchery hen in the 9-10# class.

With a limit of 1 each in pretty short order we had nixed our chances of great day of fishing and settled instead for a good day of fishing. We both kick ourselves for not releasing at least one of those hens so we could know how many fish were in the run... but quality fish had been hard to come by and each of our roe reserves were next to none so we planned our 'escape route'.

Most of the guys on the river make a big production out of their hookups... whooping and hollering... bellowing out, "FISH ON BABY" so all the world knows they're on a fish. Ted has taught me to do the opposite... to celebrate on the inside and not announce an invitation which ultimately leads to a crowd of idiots in your favorite spot of river...

We placed our fish in garbage bags and took the high and silent road out of the area. The action began at 1330 hours and we were off the water by 1415 hours.

I called Benny to fill him in on the action. Ted and I agreed to hang out and give him some roe so we went and had a Starbucks coffee and waited for Benny's mad dash from work.

We met up and went back down to the glory hole but as it usually goes... the fish had moved onward. It wasn't a total loss though as Benny did manage to hook and land a nice little buckaroo.

Since that day, I've fished more times than I care to count... and though I've hooked and landed a few steelies... the skunks have been way too frequent.

I'll try and get caught up with the entries here but time is short and fishing takes precedence over writing about it...

Tomorrow, I hope to tangle with a fat dime of a hen while (with any luck) the rest of middle America sells its soul to the NFL and the NBC.

FISH OVER FOOTBALL
M

GOTTA' LOVE HOOKING STEELHEAD OUT FROM UNDER A GUIDE AND HIS CLIENT'S FEET ON A RAINY DAY~;)

2009-01-10T17:37:00.000-08:00

Now, I'm not one of those arrogant bastard hot shots who likes to rub people the wrong way.

Nor am I one of those pretentious assholes who tears up the river with a fish and screams out, "FISH ON! IT'S A CHROMER!! YAH STEELHEAD BA-BEEEEEEEEEY!!!" so that every guy on the river and even the bag ladies in the adjacent neighborhood turn and look at me fighting my fish.

BUT I do tend to get a bit angry and vengeful when someone acts in a less than respectful way on the river...

It was the first rainy, cold day after the opener and I got down to the river in no big hurry.

A few friends of mine were drifting roe or indicator nymphing on our side of the river. Few, if any fish had been caught all morning. I came down with only my heavy gear box. the one stuffed with $300 worth of spoons.

I walked up and down with a copper 2/5 oz. I often do well with copper on rainy days...

An hour went by and the masses started showing up on the opposite bank. A guide and his client slipped in to the line with Hyde drift boat in tow. They pulled up, got out and commenced to swinging bugs with spey rods.

I walked up to the faster water above the run in part to get away from the developing crowds and in part to put my spoon in some new water. I was casting across the river between the edge of the riffle and some slack water on a small shelf extension below an upstream island. It didn't take long before a young steelie found my polished silver spoon. The small fish put on quite a show for the guys on the opposite bank as it jumped and splashed the water out in front of them.

I walked down quickly to get the fish landed and free up the water.

After a couple fast photos and release, I made my way back up in to the slot and wouldn't you know... my slot wasn't MY slot anymore because the drift boat guide moved to within 3 ft. from where I'd hooked the fish.

I laughed, told myself a 'fly-fishing/guide joke' and moved back down river.

In my new spot, I was positioned exactly between the guide and his client. I couldn't cast to the opposite bank now and work the seam water. I mean I COULD but ethically speaking... I wouldn't because I'd be fishing on top of the fly guys or in their swing so I decided to put on one of the heavy STEE-LEE spoons and work the fast water closer to the middle.

I saddled up the 'vintage, brass fatty' with bright, roe-colored swashes on the sides and rolled it out there. I timed it so the drop wouldn't interfere with the guide's swing nor with his client's cast. One cast and only a few seconds later... a lil' chrome bullet hit the skies with a #2 sickle-siwash impaled in his upper lip.

Now, I'm not a spiteful S.O.B. but I was almost as happy to hook and fight that fish as I was to watch the dumbfounded look on said guide's face when it jumped and damn near splashed water on said client's fly rod...

It was cool to get one on a wobbler-type spoon which isn't my usual preference... sometimes you just got to show the fish something new or something very old that just looks like new. Jason was kind enough to snap a couple closeups of the old-skool Stee-Lee in the Steelie's palate before I sent him back.

The rain let up a little and the fly fishermen came out of the woodwork. Spey rods. fly rods, indicators, thingamabobs, floating lines, sink tips, nymphs, egg patterns, Simms waders, vests and other very fancy and expensive accoutrement.

One guy hooks a 12" half-pounder...

"WHAT PATTERN YOU GET IT ON" is bellowed from across the river...

"Copper John" is the touted hot (smolt) tip for the day...

More fly guys descend the cliff... like paratroopers falling out of the sky on a tactical reconnaissance... rank and file... they work their way like stormtroopers, down the bank with whips in hand...

TIME TO GO NOW...
Mark

Many miles of river just to get 'a hit'

2009-01-10T15:37:00.001-08:00

Leary of the hordes of upriver anglers, sight-fishermen, cliff-jumpers, redd-stompers, liners, and snaggers and hopeful of new runs of fresh, unmolested fish... I set out Wednesday morning to REALLY cover some water.

Dressed for warmth and comfort, I set out to hike and wade 6 miles of river. I was traveling light... packing only a Shimano CU300DSV reel spooled with 10# Maxima UG and strapped to a 9'6" GL3 casting rod.

My only terminal gear was a box of spoons and swivels.

I find that spoon fishing is most effective when covering LOTS of water.

I got to the first hole. At 900 CFS, holes are few and far between... This was a soft water pocket formed by a bend in the river 75 yards directly across from where I stood in a long slot of mild rapids with a depth of 4-12 ft. The opposite shore adjacent to the triangular patch of soft, holding water was flanked by willows and alder trees.

I most likely had thrown 'the first string' in this stretch of river. I never like to forgo options and throw long before I throw short... I knew I was saving the best water for last when I pitched my gold BCS 2/5 oz. spoon straight out mid-river. The drift was a bit on the fast side even with mending and feeding line. I switched to a Riverfisher spoon which in faster or deeper water often gives a better feel because of its thicker edges and fatter bottom than the Pen-Tac models... Still no dice. I tried throwing upriver and high sticking. I switched to a 1/2 oz. Stee-Lee spoon in orange and brass and put a little more heat to my retrieves. There was either nobody home or I just wasn't showing the fish what they needed to see.

Time to try the ace in the hole. I put the gold 2/5 oz back on and threw slightly upriver and in to the middle of the soft water pocket all the way across the river. The spoon hit the water. I counted to 3 and as I engaged the gears of the reel and started to raise my rod tip to throw a mend, a chrome-plated beast of a hen surged out of the water. I wound as fast as I could and it was enough to feel my rod start to load. My line was directly out in front of me when the fish, now very pissed off... shot out of the water beneath the overhanging willows and towards current... She threw 2 violent head shakes at me and left my spoon slack lined.

I'm not a fan of spectra line though I'm pretty sure the "Power-Pro advantage" would have resulted in a landed instead of lost fish...

I still go back and forth between casting gear and spinning gear, light line and heavy line. On this mission I opted for casting gear and 10# Ultragreen. I'm not a rod tip nor line watcher. My eyes aren't that sharp and I'm a tactile kind of guy so I almost always prefer to FEEL what my spoon is doing in the water.

In most cases, this works just fine. But in this case I had three real disadvantages to the 'feel approach'. I threw upriver in to relatively-slow water. I had 75 yards of line out. I got picked up on the drop. Even though I've hooked, lost and landed some quality steelhead since that one... I still play the tapes over in my head about what I could or should have done differently on THAT fish: use braid; fish it from the other side; move upstream 20 yards and cast/swing down with a heavier spoon through the same water; wade out to mid river with the same spoon and do everything the same but be READY...

I worked the hole and all the water around it for the next 1/2 hour and never got tocuhed nor saw any signs of steelhead life.

Three guys in a drift boat showed up and asked me if I'd done any good... then proceeded to drop their anchor 20 yards up from where I'd hooked/not hooked that magnificent hen.

"You gotta' be fucking kidding RIGHT?" "You're gunna' drop in on top of the run I'm fishing?" was my question to which I already knew the answer...

"Aw man, we can't pass THIS up." he uttered as he grinned.

I guess I could have just hucked a rock at 'em but instead I took the higher road and said, "You could if you had any common courtesy and decency about ya' but do what you gotta' do." and I continued to fish as if they weren't there. They left. I left.

I continued up river and met a fly guy who'd claimed he'd not not fished since October. He was respectful and fairly friendly so I told him about my close encounter with an upriver bright and pointed the way to the spot. He said something about working at Kiene's.

I spent the next several hours wading, scouting, scouring and fishing every seam, pocket, hole, run, and tailout I could find. I saw one dark salmon and had a bump or two on this spoon or that but my rod never got bent.

The trip was a good one for me though. I learned a lot as I always do when I fish new water. I found a few runs and deep holes which I know will hold quality fish when we finally get some numbers...

I'll have to make the same trek with roe, plastic worms and jigs to see if the fish were absent or just sluggish and shy.

This has been a strange steelhead year on the AR. The river flows and temperatures have been consistently lower than I've ever witnessed.

I think the majority of the hatchery run has yet to come up but that there are more fish in the system than people believe. It's time to wake those fish up and give them a reason to move and eat.

YES WE CAN! all get along (Gearheads embrace fly guys and vice versa)

2009-01-10T13:41:00.000-08:00

Excerpted from my post on Bill Kiene's Fly Shop Forum:

My buddy Benny, his father, Jim, the family dog (Sadie) and I... headed out to the river this morning. Two spey swingers had gotten up and on the water a bit earlier than we had.

There was a gentleman advising a lady flyfisher on the finer points of spey casting/swinging.

Said gentleman was friendly and greeted my friends and I with gregarious demeanor.

My intention was to move 100 yds. below the two and fish.

I was asked not to step in and cut off the swing.

I conceded but replied slightly defensively and made a remark about standing on the fish...

It was already set in motion.

Preconception versus preconception (?) Fly-guy versus Gear-guy...

I retracted back to the gravel bar, closed my mouth and opened my heart and mind a bit...

The spey angler expressed his willingness to share the water but in rotation style and I thought about it and took inventory:

Friendly folks
Greeted us warmly
Communicated clearly and kindly
Willing to share the water
and they were there FIRST

Time for amends.

I apologized to said individual and thanked him for being kind enough to share the run.

Not long after... three more pairs of Simms waders showed up (RUH ROH)...

Long story short.

One introduced himself to me.

Soon we were all talking and realizing we had much more in common as anglers and as humans than we had differences.

The fishing was less than stellar but what made my day was the lack of pretention and the abundance of mutual passion and respect for the river and the sport we ALL so know and love...

You know who you are guys/gal.

Nice to meet you and thanks for the positive vibes.

One of these days, I'll get by the shop and say hey~

This reminds me of Bill's simple yet wonderfully-profound... post the other day on steelheading ethics and coexistence of differing schools of thought and methodologies.

This is a veritable can of worms... Night crawlers? San Juan? Mad River fluorescent pink 'jellies' with chartreuse tails?

I dunno' but since I opened it... I'll bite.

Bill W.?

I was referring to Mr Kiene's words of wisdom as stated in the Russian River thread.

Here it is again in case you missed it:

"Don't get excited about any of this because we have had the same discussions for about 40 years now. I can't believe there are any fish left but there are.

There are so many variables in the ecology that I don't believe anyone has the answers to any of this.

Just try to enjoy the days you have here on earth and don't worry about what others are doing.

We have little control over what goes on here on earth so enjoy it while it lasts.

Politics and religion are the real proof that we don't know much......no body does.

Really wise people know they don't know much.

People with answers are the ones who are in the dark.........

I think it's time for my meds?"
__________________
Bill Kiene

As for the swing zone etiquette... When I stepped in to the river that morning, I was intending to walk 75-100 yards downriver BEFORE casting so as to NOT be spooking the water at the end of Adrien's or Sheryll's (SP?) swing. They had no way of knowing this but I am always respectful to my fellow anglers on the water whether I am first to it or not and especially since the 2 were there first... I would never have stepped in to their drift.

I opted to retreat completely when he kindly suggested I not cut off her drift...

Spoon fishing is indeed much like swinging... The sweets spots are on the drop (12 o' clock) during the swing (lifting phase of spoon) at 10/11 or 1/2 o' clock (depending on side of river...) and the dead drift (end of swing at 9 or 3 o' clock). One enters the water and moves downriver and covers near to far and quarters down... all very similar so I have a very good idea of where I can go and not screw someone up.

However... as any Amato Publication or old timer steelhead angler who fishes tight quarters with other folks would tell you... Rotation (from top to bottom) of the drift is indeed the most democratic as it allows everyone to cover 'new' water and to have a shot at the sweet spot/s of the run's...

Because I fish alone most often, I had forgotten the rotation bit but once I thought it through it made sense and I followed suit.

Is it ethical to ask someone not to step in to your swing route? I say yes and if you were there first, the newcomer should ask you if it's ok to step in period (within 100 yards) in my opinion.

I should have asked 'Big-A' that question and/or let him know my intentions before stepping in.

Ironically, after everyone left, a gentleman (with a fly rod) approached and stopped 100 yards down river and before fishing asked, "Am I okay to fish here?" "Are you drifting down this far") and he was well out of my swing. I thanked him for his consideration and told him to have at it. I have found that many to most of the downriver 'fly guys' as we say... are extremely respectful and congenial.

The lineup...

I used to be one of those guys in the lineup with a long leader and bead setup (salmon).

For many reasons, I abandoned that method and moved on to what I know are more skillful and believe are more ethical means to hooking fish.

Standing in a line up of 10-40 guys to floss or even legitimately fish for and catch a steelhead... is for me about as enjoyable as having a root canal and I haven't seen the dentist in a long time.

Though I do have my opinions about 'liners' I will say that nothing is black and white, completely ethical or completely immoral. Many of the liners I know (or used to know) do release most or all of their fish. Further... it is true that steelhead will move from a hold to WILLFULLY eat a corkie, yarn tuft, and yes... even a bead.

Unfortunately, those same fish are often PULLED off their redds by a counterbalanced snare (1/2 - 1 oz piece of lead and a leader 8'-30' long) over and over and over again.

Ask the basin 'purists' (who hate/curse me for sometimes bonking a hatchery fish) about all the fish they release.

They have names for them 'cuz' they've hooked them and dragged them up and down the river so many times...

For many of those guys, it's more about camaraderie and being with their bro's.

I can respect that aspect.

I fish the 'secret spot' at Nimbus a few times a year. Sometimes, it's the place to be but usually' for me anyway, it isn't.

I covet fishing as a mostly solitary venture and by choice.

I'd rather walk miles of scenic river alone and get 1 quality fish or 1 quality skunk than listen to a bunch of crap, ego, animosity, and bs while breaking off on line snags in frog water every other drift, surrounded by; concrete, steel and trash.

And as for the idea that "gear guys rarely move"...

Not so... when I fish spoons, I will often cover 2-5 miles of river.

Unfortunately, with the river at 1000 CFS or less... holding water is in very short supply and was even more so when the upper river was closed... so locking in to a hole did have increased utility/appeal...

I'd say that liners take the #1 slot in not moving from their favorite perch. I know a guy who names rocks after himself...

With that... I think this has come full circle on the original thought as echoed by Bill Kiene...

Whether you fly fish, bait fish, bead fish, lure fish, plunk or even floss... there is one commonality between us all and that is that we each are in awe of and consumed by our passion and pursuit of the mighty O. mykiss.

It would be Utopic if all anglers/all humans in general... had an unyielding credo of mutual-respect which they never abandoned both on and off the river...

But since we are only human... we should simply strive to keep these ideals at the forefront of consciousness as much as possible while we each, in our own best way possible...

"...Just try to enjoy the days you have here on earth and don't worry about what others are doing..."

I know I will~

PEACE
M

Happy New Year To All~
M

AR STEELHEAD IN BETWEEN RUNS-SCRATCHED ONE OUT~12-22-08

2008-12-22T21:11:00.000-08:00

Got a late start today.

I had to go rescue a friend who needed parts for his truck.

Stopped by the post office to pick up an army issue parka my brother in San Marcos sent me for Xmas.

Twas a nice surprise inside the box to go with the foul-weather gear.

Dan knows I'm a spoon man and damn if he didn't come up with a shocker!

It's one thing for a bro to lay some free tackle on ya'. Even cooler that said bro would send you something 101% practical right in time for steelhead season...

But this one goes way above and beyond in the kickass gift department.

Take yourself back to the 1960's when manufacturers were trying to innovate in the hardware department... a time when the tackle dealers actually put some thought and craftsmanship in to their lure designs.

So many oval/oblong, smooth-finish spoons flooded the market... and the same company which still corners the spoon market some 50+ years later... introduced the wide, tear-drop-shaped, hammered-finish wobbler with a name no one could forget.

The innovatorer was ACME TACKLE CO. of Providence, R.I. and the spoon was the STEE-LEE.

I was stoked to get these. I thought about keeping them in collector condition but that thought only lasted a second. I popped the plastic and removed 2 of the cryogenic candies from their cardboard backer. In to my already-way-over-stuffed box of RVRFSHR and BC Steele spoons they went.

Orange/Gold isn't my go to color on a typical American River day but after it rains and the water gets stained, this is the spoon to have. The bright orange and gold show through the murk and the many facets of the spoons hammered finish reflect light in a thousand different directions.

I pitched one a few times today and I was amazed by the amount of flutter and thump it had for a 1/2 ounce, thick and fat-bottom spoon. Unfortunately, I didn't take the time to swap out the original, stock treble for a siwash and so I donated my first spoon in 4 trips to the river-rock-lords...

I look forward to hooking a chromer on one of these new-old stee-lees; Thanks Dan!

I continued the day fishing a channel slot/hole below a chute and had a couple of missed grabs on the Gold and Silver spoons.

I could tell a lot of newbies have been showing up and fishing these runs recently by all of the new snags I found. I started fishing this water hard in early November and until today, it had remained nearly snag-free. Now there are snags above, across, in front, and down-river such that if you don't make the perfect cast and.or mend your line several times... you're going to get hung.

I finally caved after an hour or so of hardware and broke out the roe. In hindsight, as much as I hate float fishing... today would have been the day to do it.

At some point, the fish went on a pretty ravenous bait bite but all the takes were subtle and soft. Sneaky lil bastards kept picking my eggs off the hook. I finally sunk my #6 Gami' in to something solid but she leaped out of the water twice, shook her head once and spat said Gami' back in my face minus the eggs.

This went on for a while. I at some point decided to try worms. Roe is at a premium and I hate wasting a whole skein on finicky, smart or smaller fish so out came the crawlers.

Getting the right drift was still a challenge so I made a few adjustments. I swapped spools from 8# to 6#, cut my weight down to about 1/4 oz. and walked further down river in to some softer water.

It didn't take to long after that to snag up again. DAMN! Where did THAT ONE come from? I questioned... and then I felt a head shake. No jumps, no flashes nor boils just bulldoggin' and musclin' its way around and pulling a bit of drag along the way.

She wasn't the fish I was looking for but at least I got to touch one and redeem myself for the others I failed to set the hook on.

This hen had obviously been hooked before as she sported a sore and a growth on the corner of her mouth. My hook placement was rather strange too... from the inside of the mouth out and from top to bottom.

I don't recall ever having hooked a trout this way.

Aside from the strange hook set and the maxillary growth, this fish also had a cropped lower mandible which gave her some serious overbite and a funny looking face. Maybe her stunted lower jaw predisposed her to get hooked the way she did...

I thought about how sweet these lil orange-meated hens are to eat and also about the fact that I have a large adult chromer in marinade on deck for the smoker...

so I kept my hands clean and turned her back to the river.

I continued fishing for another hour and had a few hits, one more dropped steelie, and I landed the perfect (striper-bait) sized squawfish which I also showed mercy towards (and didn't kill).

I was back to my truck before dark and all of my windows and doors were intact.

Reflecting on the day as I drove home, I was carrying a bit of disappointment at the fishing. But then I looked at the bright side... I had a nice day of exercise, solitude, a little action and I landed a beautiful 3# resident rainbow trout. Yes, the fishing could have been better but it could also have been much worse.

Thanks for the spoons Daniel.

Thanks for the fish and peace of mind river.

Until we meet again,
Mark

AFTERNOON BITE BRINGS UPRIVER BRIGHT 13# HEN

2008-12-19T13:59:00.000-08:00

After hooking a beaut' the day before... I couldn't resist another trip to the honey hole.

I got to the bar at 0830 hours and spent the next 10 minutes trying to tie a knot. The culprit was a bad interlock swivel with a burr in its ring... you know the type... no matter what kind of knot you tie, how perfectly you lay the wraps nor how carefully you cinch it down... the '30#'s-of-pull' test breaks the knot right at the top of the swivel...

Damn I'm tired just writing about it and also just tired so hell with the long-winded journey; here it is in a nutshell:

Found a good swivel.

Tied up the spoon.

Chris (only other REAL spoon guy I know on the river) comes down.

We talk.

He goes up-bar.

I pound the deep water for nada.

Chris leaves.

I go up and fish roe.

Tap, tap, tappy fishies, lil residents not so picky about their holding water (aint as much of them to hold...) very picky about your roe presentation, lil bastards@!

Hook/land/shake some a' the lil grunts.

Move back down.

Meet up with a toothless guy plunking. Camo, Ugly Stick, orange rod tip, pyramid sinker, 6/0 hook, bag of bubble gum roe he found on the bank... looks like old tennis shoe rubber... globs the size of a pool balls, dripping white like the fungus on a spent salmon hen's nose...

Enter flyguy.

POLITE flyguy... asks permission to fish the run 50 yards up from the point we're at.

Sure, wish more flyguys were like that... I told him about the fish I put back upriver...

Nothing too exciting... This type...

Weekday-weekend warrior and I shoot the shit. Nice guy. He heads across the river.

Alone again.

Sun is obscured by clouds.

Tropical storm front comes in.

Lighting is perfect for photography and rolling spoons.

2/5 oz. gold BCS. <- If it aint broke, don't fix it and it worked the day before.

Not long after... right place/time.

DIME TIME!

Sluggish pig of a hen.

No acrobatics but I'll take what I can get...

4-5 years ago, the hatchery must have hired PETA employees or Snooty (100% C&R) anglers to clip the adipose fins = nub, flap, spots, graspable but unmistakably-shaved vestigial appendages (Remember those big, long stupid words in bio class? Not sure why I do but I do) at the same exact angle as the lapped dorsal fin. The fight (or lack thereof...) was the first tell-tale sign.

Pity that many anglers and even some CDFG wardens don't know the difference.

31" x 18" x 13#.

Classic-corner hookset.

Damn I love spoons@!

Light load, less tackle, no mess, mostly bigger/bolder/brighter fish, vicious grabs 85% of the time or I'm missing more of the softer ones than I know.

Bullshit... world's full of it.

I'm full of it.

I digress.

I'm tired.

Photos.

ENJOY~

DAMN YOU'RE SHARP!

YES, I am a freakin' poser, photo-whore paparazzi... and yes I did take photos (live first) and then swapped the spoon placement in the jaws to get the other side... The eyes are always a DEAD giveaway... I love fish, I release fish, I honor and respect fish but I also kill fish.

Never on your water, in your hole, never wild... regardless of regs and when a hatchery fish kicks my ass real good before I land her, her genes go back in the pool whether my roe freezer's empty or full...

Looking forward to deploying my new RVRFSHR gear sent courtesy of Todd Ripley and Joe Hart. Love those guys... real guys, right attitudes, good hearts, hardcore fisherman, nice hardware. LOVE the hammered 50/50 and 3/8 is a great compromise between 1/4 and 2/5. That 1/8th. oz. over the one and the 1/16th. oz. under the other just might be the racer's edge... THANKS!

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

TWAS THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS

2008-12-18T23:15:00.000-08:00

TWAS THE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Twas the WEEK before Christmas, when all through the RIVER;

Not AN ANGLER was stirring, not even a SNIFFER,

THEIR WADERS were hung IN THEIR ATTICS with care;

In hopes that SOME CHROMERS soon would APPEAR,

TO GO AND FIND FISH WOULD BE THEIR LAST RESORT;

SO THEY SAT HOME AND WAITED FOR A WEBSITE REPORT,

ON THEIR COMPUTERS THEY HOVERED LIKE SALMON ON REDDS,

While visions of ACTUALLY FISHING merely danced in their heads;

DOUBLE D, MR. STRIPER, AND DR. K TOO;

and all the other WANABEES WHO HAVEN’T GOT A CLUE,

PUT UP THEIR POLLS, FISH STORIES AND CHATTER

WHAT ARE THE REGS? OH I GUESS IT DON’T MATTER

Away FROM THE INTERNET I flew like a flash,

IT WAS HIGH TIME I DID A FULL-SPEED DASH,

WITH A GOLD SPOON DANGLING FROM NEW 8# TEST;

DOWNRIVER WAS CALLING TO GIVE HER MY BEST,

I CAST AND I SNAGGED AND I SNAGGED YET ONCE MORE;

THEN CAME A TAP AND A TAP-TAP AT THE DOOR,

ON THE VERY NEXT DRIFT WHAT SHOULD APPEAR?

IT’S A CHROMER, IT’S A CHROMER!

AND CHRISTMAS AINT EVEN YET HERE!!

Mark Lynn December 17, 2008

I pulled that quickly out of my hat while pondering all the losers on internet fishing sites who talk about fishing, dream about fishing, open polls about fishing, beg information about fishing, scour the net for reports about fishing...

BUT NEVER GET OFF THEIR ASSES AND FISH!

Yesterday was December 17, 2008.

The rain had fallen pretty consistently for the last 2 days and I was supposed to meet up with 'Wilson' in 'The Basin' to feed roe balls to the steelhead.

I woke up and went back to sleep. I woke again and was dreading the thought of making that long trek across the bridge, down the hill, and then dealing with all the idiot long-liners and stick fishermen who if removed from the basin and their 15 ft. leaders, wouldn't have a clue how to legitimately hook a steelhead...

Then there was the prospect of frostbitten hands and trying to make numb fingers grasp and pull out a tiny strand of line to form a loop and insert wet, sticky, soggy clusters of eggs into it before rinsing the residue from my digits in the near-freezing waters of the river.

I turned to grab my rod, my waders, and my vest and then instead, turned around and reached for a mug, a filter and a bag of French Roast.

By now it was 0830 and Ted would certainly have been in to his first of several fish by now and wondering... "Where the hell is Mark?"

I drank my coffee, had a bite to eat, put on some warm clothes and was still feeling a bit out of sorts so decided to take the road less traveled. To hell with the basin... I'll grab a box of spoons and a few swivels and be on my way. No backpack, no vest, no weights, no hooks, no roe. Today I would travel light and commit to using bent brass dipped in fine silver and gold.

"SPOON MAN
COME TOGETHER WITH YOUR PLAN
SAVE ME
FROM THE CROWDED MISERY"

I got to the spot at 0930. The time of day when "It's OVER!" by my fishing buddy's standards. He's one hell of a fisherman but he doesn't know as much as he thinks he knows...

Two prior days of rain, excess cold air and water temperatures, the river running at 950 CFS (about 1/4th. it's usual flow for this time of year) and a 'bluebird day' can only mean one thing... STEELHEAD HOLDING! It makes sense if you think about it. Steelhead are cued by rainfall to migrate upriver. When it rains, the fish move. When the sun goes down; especially around a full moon; (which we just had...) the fish move, under overcast skies the fish move. But on a sunny day with clear, cold water and the deep holes few and far between... the fish do not move, THEY HOLD!

I fished a likely spot for nearly an hour without a touch before deciding to move up river to a deep hole below a tailout. I got there and tied on my trusty 2/5 oz. gold BC Steele spoon. My first drift was abruptly stopped by a rock. I slacked the line, popped the rod tip and lifted the spoon out of its entanglement.

Second drift was a repeat of the first... NOPE... the rock didn't move; it was still in the same place. I suffered no casualties though and soon had the spoon wound back up to my rod tip. I stepped towards the run and made a third cast beyond the snag where I sensed I could get a clean drift and get down to the bottom fast enough for the spoon to swing and flash in the sweet spot at 1-2 o' clock. TUNK TUNK... I knew that was no rock but it did feel like a smaller fish. I should have swung anyway as in colder weather and water big steelhead will sometimes taste instead of swallow a spoon...

I threw to the same slot on my fourth cast and felt the WHOMP, WHOMP, WHOMP of fluttering brass and the KLOP, KLOP of the same brass banging a couple of small boulders as it slowly sank out in front of me. Somewhere in that split second between the lifting phase of the spoon and my anticipation of either free-spooling line to keep it down and in the zone a bit longer or just letting it swing to a stop... I GOT RAILED!

It was one of those decisive grabs; it happens so fast and so furious that by the time the hit transfers through the spoon to your line and from your rod to your brain, the fish is already boiling on the surface, ripping her head sideways and yanking line from your spool. It's that moment when the world around you ceases to exist and your attention is immediately and completely dialed in on the fish and the fight at hand.

There's no room for error and so the thoughts race through your head... "How is she hooked?" "Is there an abrasion nick 10 or 20 or 30 yards up my line from that boulder I've pulled on 2 and 3 casts ago?" "Did I tie a good knot" "Is the gate on my swivel closed?" These thoughts weave their way subliminally in and out of your consciousness between head shakes, surface-blasting tail wags, crocodile rolls and bulldog runs. You know it's a respectable fish and since you've had it pinned on a size 1 Gamakatsu siwash well beyond 'the 10 second rule'... it's PROBABLY going to stay buttoned.

And then you figure what the hell... better hit that fish hard once or twice...

I loosened my drag a tad and gave a fast, moderately-driving-punch set to the hook to sink it and as I did this my reel handle starts spinning wildly out of control knocking my knuckles and spewing line from my reel (DAMN SPINNING REELS...). Somehow, my anti-reverse decided it couldn't perform under a load, SHIT!

Fortunately, my knuckles slowed the handle's rotation and I only had one loop between my rotor and bail armature and I was able to free it without giving slack to the fish. I spent the next 3 minutes expecting the worst and hoping for the best. I ended up making lots of drag adjustments, walking downriver of the fish while palming the spool and eventually turning the bright hen's head without letting go of that reel handle which now served as a crank AND an anti-reverse lever...

Oh the drama... but in the end I had a 9# dime on the rocks.

If I had known how well the fish was hooked when I first set up on her, I could have avoided some unnecessary stress.

My siwash point had pierced her tongue from the top side down...

...and then double-stitched it from the bottom side up- and deep into the tongue- so it wasn't just the cold weather which had kept this girl from getting airborne during the fight.

I'm a fan of the fan tail:

First step in preparing steelhead roe from a hatchery brat...

It was nice to see that the rain had brought some fresh fish into the system. And the forecasts are showing good weather from now until Xmas.

PS: GOOD WEATHER to a steelheader = cloudy, rainy, cold and all of the things which normal (actually strange...) people hate.

That's all for now, hope to NOT see you on the river~;)
Mark

THE BIG ONE THAT GOT AWAY AND THE BIGGER ONE THAT DIDN'T~AMERICAN RIVER CHROME!

2008-12-05T22:22:00.000-08:00

Set out to fish this morning at 0830.

I departed from the spot I'd been regularly fishing to try out some new water.

My first step into the river flushed out a large salmonid of one species or another. I never saw the fish but the V-wake was immense as the fish plowed through the soft water and into a nearby riffle. Likely, it was a winter-run salmon resting before navigating her next upriver migration.

I worked the seam water of a small tail out and then all potential holding water at the head of and on both sides of the island. My spoon went untouched and I saw no potential takers anywhere I fished or looked. I got down to the bottom of the island where the side channel meets back up with the main stem of the river. Perfect water... small to medium-sized gravel interspersed by larger cobbles. The island extends underwater for 75 ft. and breaks rapids from the main channel as the deeper, slower water of the side channel meets up with it to produce a long, wide seam of holding water.

I worked the close water first with a 1/4 oz spoon and made my way down to the sweet water below the island. I stepped in slowly as a steelheader should always step in to a run likely holding fish. I eased back in to the soft water of the side channel so that A) I wouldn't spook any fish in front of me and B) so that my spoon would draw along most of the seam of the main river and at the end of the swing would end up in the deep hole.

After two casts I realized that the fast water out in front of me was grabbing my spoon like a washing machine grabs a pair of panties on SPIN cycle... and was lifting it way too much in the last 1/3rd of the drift. I pulled out my 'go-to' spoon box and took out my only 2/5 oz. BC Steele in polished silver. With the consistently low flow of the river, the 1/4 oz. spoon has been working for me in most situations but here I clearly needed the extra density to get down.

I noticed that the hook on it was a barbless, Sickle Siwash (from Matsuo). This is a bit ironic to say the least because the night before I was reading hook reviews in a forum discussion on Bob's Piscatorial Pursuits and was later rehashing over the phone... the pros and cons of Matzuo, Gamakatsu and VMC siwash hooks with my buddy and fellow spoon-tossin' steelhead-junkie, Ray. I was recalling that I had lost some very nice fish with the Sickle hook... Oh well, what the hell... I threw the weightier spoon out in to the rip. Thump, wobble, clump... BAM! the spoon stops and I see a head and then a tail and a big splash. My rod loads. I set up on the fish and she clears the water dispelling my first thought that I had hooked a salmon... I've got what is easily a 12# if not better, chrome hen steelhead. I loosen my drag a tad and take a step sideways. The fish rips off 15 yards of line, breeches the surface, shakes her head and my line goes slack. I reel up and look at the hook and feel it. Damn sickle hook... and barbless... and dull!

Ironically, when I got my order of BC Steele spoons, I made up 12 all with shiny, new Gamakatsu 10009 #4 Siwash hooks and Worth or Roscoe #4 split rings. The one time I elect to use an 'old spoon' (really no such thing in any ACTIVE steelheader's boxes...) it has a worthless hook attached to it and I lose my biggest steelhead yet this fall...

With every let down there is a pick-me-up and for me it was Heck Yeah! I just hooked a beautiful steelhead in a new spot and there's bound to be another...

I spent the next hour consumed with that thought but finally decided it was time to try something different. I ditched the spoon and made up a drift leader to bounce night crawlers.

Tiny bit of lead, split shot, #8 egg hook and a lil' chunk of worm was next on the rigging menu. I got all tied and worked the setup for while and had a hit or two but no commitment. Also, the slug-like chunk of crawler and fast current I was throwing in to kept twisting my line so I cut and retied adding a barrel swivel and swapped the 'slug' for a skinny worm which I nail-pinched in half and threaded on the hook.

First cast and I felt tick, tick, tick... LOAD. Not a peck, not a slam, just a weight at the end of my rod tip and a slow, pulling head which I figured was a decent sized-rainbow. Turned out to be a 4# buck steelhead in dime-bright colors.

I landed the fish and snapped a few shots. He'd swallowed the hook so I snipped the line with my trusty, red scissors and sent the young fella on his way.

The next hour and a half yielded no hookups but I did get to see several fish (steelhead and salmon) jumping and swimming in the run. It definitely seems like more fish are showing up daily. We do need rain badly but I think the fish are looking at their fish calendars and saying, "SCREW IT! LET'S GO!!" Nature does what it must do to survive.

I was joined by another angler. He actually stopped about 150 yards above where I was fishing and then crossed the river and fished below me. Such is the courtesy so often shown during steelhead season in the LOWER stretches of the American River. It alone, is a great incentive to avoid places like Sailor Bar (when its open) and the Basin (which is always open). I made a few more casts and then decided to go home and have some lunch.

After a few chunks of smoked steelhead and a cup of coffee, I got my gear together and headed out for 'Round II'. I would be fishing a bit up river this time. Along the river, I met up with a guy totin' a 12' spey rod. He had the typical question and the typical answer of most fly guys I've met on the river... "Any grabs?" and "No, nothing..." I did tell him I'd lost a nice fish down river in the morning. We promised each other to do a rain dance and then parted paths.

I got to my destination by 1530 and figured I had a good hour and a half to hook something. Little did I know...

I was hitting the hole with fresh eyes and a 'fresh' spool of old line... As much as I hate braided line and pretty much swore off using it two years ago... I decided to give it a review and see if it felt right. I dug up a spool of 10# Power Pro.

I was hoping it would give me a better feel of the uneven river bottom and also allow me to make longer casts and drifts. It did both. I was now able to heave a 2/5 oz. spoon all the way across the river and the braid let me know by vibration when I needed to lift the spoon over a rock, tree etc... I concentrated on the middle of the rapids, a section of water about 100 yards long by 30 yards wide.

I hit the sweet spot on one cast and felt my spoon throb and then rapidly flutter to the bottom of the hole. It was crushed instantly and the fish wasted no time at all shaking violently and running out and down river. The head shakes were so fast and furious, I was sure I had a 'steelieus bruticus'. Not used to braided line, I wasn't sure how much drag I should button down on the reel. The fish checked out and was NOT going to just waltz in for a landing so I started moving down with it, keeping my rod tip up and reeling when the fish would give me a few yards. Five minutes in to the fight I knew that if I didn't start putting some heat on this fish, it was going to spool me. In fact, it damn near did spool me twice before I tightened my drag again and walked another 30 yards downstream. Every time I gained 20 yards of line, the fish would take back 40-50 and fast! I used my hand on the spool to slow it down. It may be a bad habit but it's the best way I know how to control drag without a stupid bail and some mindless washers trying to do it for me. Besides, I can change the pressure of my palm a lot more quickly and precisely than I can a turn a knob. I think my spool-palming is a carry over from my preference for using casting as opposed to spinning reels ...

It seemed like this fish was never going to tire. At some point, I had resigned to the fact that there was no way this was a steelhead. Too damn big to be one on our river and the runs were low and linear not erratic and on the surface or out of the water... Several drag zipping runs and another 50 yards wading to keep up and avoid applying too much pressure... later, I saw the fish breach the surface. Yes, definitely a salmon and I'm thinking it's GOT to be tail hooked or snagged in the ass. That would explain the long, downriver runs and what initially felt like head-shakes.

But, knowing from experience that sometimes a big, fresh buck King will act like a snagged fish AND the fact that I hooked him on a spoon and I rarely snag anything with a spoon because I drift/flutter rather than jig them... I decided to play it out.

Five more minutes of running me ragged back and forth across the river, I could feel the fish was at last beginning to tire a bit so I got downriver from the fish, laid my rod over sideways and slowly pulled back. The runs continued and were still strong but much shorter now and when the fish came to the surface again, I could see my spoon flashing as it dangled from a massive set of jaws. I finally got to the pump/reel phase and knew I wasn't going to lose my LAST silver 2/5 oz. ZOG-autograph.

20 minutes or so after the initial hookup, I landed the fish and got him to some soft water for a few photos. No, not the big steelhead I first thought I had but in some ways... this was better. This fish kicked my butt all over the place for 20 minutes. He made me walk, sweat, think, question, doubt, adjust, and fight like hell! and in the end he rewarded me with some quality photos and a killer memory.

This fish represented a lot to me beyond just a big fish that I caught. This was a mighty Chinook... the untamed KING! An individual driven by instinct, by desire, and by his will to survive against all odds.

We all know the plight of the Pacific salmon... Their numbers have decreased exponentially in a matter of a few years. It would be a tremendous loss to the planet and all of earth's inhabitants, sentient and otherwise, if the salmon should perish from their natal waters. I contemplated these things as I revived the creature and as I began to release him, I wanted to grab my camera and take a photo of him swimming away but it was in my backpack, 15 yards out of reach.

Once the buck started fluttering his pectoral and pelvic fins, swishing his tail and snapping his jaws, I let go and made a mad dash for the camera. Two seconds later with aperture open and shutter ready to fire... I returned to the cobbles where a mighty beast had regained his strength and stature... and had faded away into the great mystery~

DECEMBER 2, 2008-STEELHEAD SPOON SESSION-FISH AND LEARN

2008-12-03T00:33:00.000-08:00

Hit the American River today and traveled light; no pack, no vest, no bait...

The steelhead roe I got from my Thanksgiving day hen cured up perfectly. I donated 1/3 of it to friends and the other 2/3 sits insulated in foil and newsprint in anticipation of hungry winter steelhead.

I left the worms in the dirt box and grabbed 2 boxes of spoons and a few swivels.

Sometimes, I regret not bringing the whole arsenal of gear. There's always that thought about an hour in to a so-far-fish-less mission... "DAMN! If only I had my..."

Today started out that way... After 2 hours of wading, crossing the river and flinging spoon of various weights and colors... I finally hit paydirt in a scrappy 5# up-runner hatchery buck.

I'd been drifting mostly 1/4 oz spoons all morning but once across the river in deeper/faster water... I figured a switch to 2/5 oz. was in order.

It was a good call as the denser body of the 2/5 ounce BC Steele (1/2 and 1/2) got down, stayed down and moved more slowly through the run. I cast slightly upriver into the top of a tailout, reeled like hell for a few seconds and then let the river work its magic. I can't be sure if my spoon bumped the nose of the fish or if it came out of the cascade and followed it downriver before crushing it in the glide. My guess is that the former occurred since it was hooked in the lower palate.

A fish chasing a spoon downriver from right to left will usually result in a left-side of the face corner or upper palate hook set.

Whatever the case, he was not at all happy about his new dental plan and he made enough runs and jumps to make me think he was a she or at least a wild fish... turned out to be neither.

Not out of the ocean long enough to REALLY display his manhood... but enough of a kyped lower jaw, elongated body and jaw hinge to say HE and not she.

Not a true chromer but damn nice and bright and still sporting a few swashes of chromium on his tail rays...

I snapped a few pics, wiped away the blood and tears and sent him back home. It was cool hooking up on the gold/silver as I hadn't used that pattern for a long time. I thought for sure I had it all dialed and that I'd be hooking at least a few more fish... NOT!

The only other solid hookup I had was on a rock in water to deep to navigate and recoup my spoon so I broke it off and called it a day.

Amazingly, that was the first spoon I've lost in weeks so it didn't hurt too bad. my back, on the other hand, was KILLING ME so I picked the right day to pack light and leave early.

Spoon fishing is regarded as a brainless endeavor by many steelheaders but I have to disagree. Yes, one CAN catch fish on spoons without a lot of calculating, adjusting, or refined techniques but like anything... there are so many variables involved that one can make it as simple or as complex as s/he wants. I'm starting to believe that the more one questions and answers, experiments and puts theories in to practice, the more successful that angler is bound to be.

I've yet to read the books of the masters (Davis and Herzog). I will get to them eventually but I enjoy learning by doing more than by reading so I'm taking that route first.

Today, I fished some very different types of water and realized that although my gear (ultralight spinning rod with slow action, fast taper and 6# test) was suitable for most of the runs I fished... my drifts in some of the water would have been optimized by having a more moderately tapered, heavier-powered casting rod with thicker line and perhaps a few 2/3 oz spoons.

More on this subject later.

Mark

November 28 2008 American River Steelheading

2008-12-02T21:26:00.000-08:00

Went out to my backyard play land to try and raise a steelie or two.

Having had my truck broken in to a few days before, I elected to park elsewhere and take a different route.

I passed by the golf course and pondered the similarities and differences between sports.

Both require a lot of money, equipment and endless accessorizing, practical and technical knowhow, and constant refinement in order for the participant to be 'on his game'...

Each is an outdoor sport best practiced in the early morning hours. Each requires patience, perseverance and repetition for the sportsman to reap the inherent rewards and benefits.

Both involve hazards. In golf, there is rough, sand traps and water. In steelheading there is rough terrain (walked about in a 'skin-hugging neoprene straight-jacket'.

There are traps (usually not of sand but rather where all sand eventually settles... on the river bottom. The worst of all hazards is perhaps the miles of dead line, broken-off leaders, strands of mono-slicing Power-Pro and other worthless braided lines deposited by 'liners' who never got past the basic building blocks of drift fishing a river and can't seem to evolve beyond 'Cro-Magnon dredging' with an over-weighted, long-line and bead setup.

Tethered to these massive webs of dead line... are gobs of lead in long strands and cannonball-sized chunks suspended above swivels, more beads and hooks often large enough to pierce the ass of Jonah the Whale (or the ass of what few unsuspecting, king salmon remain in the river...) Together, these comprise a steelhead angler's worst nightmare.

Water... kind of speaks for itself as hazardous. It can infect you (Giardia) with one lick to your line while cinching a knot tight or it worse, drown you rather quickly in any of its many currents, back eddies, undertows, and/or submerged debris piles.

In each endeavor, at the end of the day, one can measure his or her successes/failures by the final tally kept with pen and paper. Golfers fill out a scorecard. Steelheaders complete a report card. They both serve a similar purpose but are numerically opposite in what constitutes a good score. Golfers strive for low numbers and hope for the miraculous occurrence of a hole in one. Steelheaders strive for big numbers and hope for the miraculous occurrence of hooking one in every hole...

Oh the shit one ponders on his way to the water for a few hours of fishing.

I brought the Himalayan Adventure pack, stuffed to the gills with way more shit than a man could ever need or use in an entire steelhead season...

I arrived and decided to ditch the armada of drift boats in the vicinity of my usual run. I retreated back up river and found a little cutaway in the willows where I could make a cast and get a decent drift. After 20 or so casts, I started thinking I might have fared better at the golf course... but I don't golf anymore so I kept on fishing.

At some point, I got tired of my night crawler sagging and sliding down the shank of my #6 hook so I downsized to a #12 Gamakatsu single egg hook. This was better for presentation but not much hook to embed in the mouth of any respectable steelhead so I cut and replaced with a size 10 and added a Corkie for bouyancy. The next drift was money! I hooked a small wild fish that lept out of the water and showed its spirit.

Lots of spirit but not much money... about 2 cents on the trout richter scale of size... but hell at least I knew I was getting down to the fish... Strangely... it was one of the very few smolts I've hooked this fall as most of the fish have been at least approaching 2# and up to 4#/5#.

I wandered around in search of the elusive winter or at least larger, fall run fish and after many casts decided that the worm wasn't going to make it happen. I clipped my leader and broke out the trusty spoon box. The BC Steele 1/4 oz. Gold has been the most consistent producer this fall so out it came and on it went.

By now, all of the boats had disappeared and my 'tee-off slot' and spot were open. I walked down and worked the close water first. Every 10 casts or so I moved down river and in a few inches closer to the current seam. My spoon got thumped pretty hard and finally I'd hooked a respectable fish. After a short and sweet little battle, I landed this 4# hatchery buck.

He revived fine and swam away healthy despite that I gave him a bloody lip. It's amazing what I sometimes overlook and the camera always picks up... Poor guy got his lip ripped.

Maybe that'll keep him smart and away from any more sharp hooks this season.

After releasing the fish, I realized what incredible lighting there was from the position of sun and clouds and so I snapped a couple landscape photos.

Benny and Sadie joined me later that afternoon but the fish ditched us and sent us all home with tails between legs.

I'm really looking forward to the winter run. Beating the banks for 1-3 hookups a day is better than a kick in the ass but I dream of multiple hookups and big, bright chromers.

WE NEED RAIN !@@!

Mark

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Said the 9.5# American River Chrome Steelie~:)

2008-11-28T22:37:00.001-08:00

With the passage of my grandmother earlier this year... the holidays seem a little empty.

This would be the first time in many years, I didn't fire up the truck and drive down to the bay area to be with family on Thanksgiving Day.

We decided to give it a bye for 08 and I stayed home. Yesterday, I thought about my grandmother and the rest of my family. I also considered my options for Turkey Day...

My order of Pen-Tac spoons arrived in the mail and so I had something very important to do as I thought...

By the time I turned in at 0145 this morning... I knew exactly what I needed to do and what any of my friends or relatives, dead or alive, would expect and want me to do after a steady rainfall in the late Autumn.

It was settled.

I got down to the river by 0830 and saw a fly fisherman so kept moving. I got to the intended run and found 2 guys up river, 4 guys across the river and 1 guy down river from where I wanted to fish.

The night before I'd outsmarted most of the 4 dozen or so night crawlers I grabbed at in the dark. A few of the worms were pretty witty, overly slimy or engaged in hermaphroditic sex and one of the he/she's slipped away. When all was said and done, I had lots of lively bait and enough mud under my fingernails to grow potatoes.

The fog had lifted and the clouds were still socked in over the somewhat swollen, stained river as I tossed out my 24 KT gold utensil with a #2 siwash hook where the handle should be.

I normally use a size 1/0 or 1 Gamakatsu but then again, I also normally use a 2/5 oz. spoon... This fall I've been rewarded nicely for tweaking things and sizing them down. I was contemplating the likely better balance of a smaller hook with the lighter 1/4 oz. spoon. Honestly, most steelhead inclined to hit a large, fluttering piece of brass could really careless about hook size but a spoon roller is always seeking that perfect balance and the #2 just made sense. What also made sense was that I only had 2's and 4's when I started the assembly line and I didn't feel like getting off my arse and driving 10 miles to the Sportsmart at 2100 hours but I digress...

Just before launching cast number 2, I see breezers moving along the slot and up into the riffle ...Maybe I should dump the hardware and rig up one of those suburban slimers...?

I dismiss the thought and chuck the spoon. On its descent, a very fast-flying, goldeneye manages to pick up my line and turn himself into a kite. Of all the birds that should be able to DUCK! I'm thinkin'... as my line tightens and my spoon travels skyward. About 3 seconds and 60 yards later, the line goes slack and the bird keeps flying. Thank God~

I made cast number three and 1/2 way through the drift, I was thinking that copper might be a better color, still a darker hue but a bit less luster than gold...

Damn steelheaders are always trying to navigate the astral universe with quantum physics before learning to just tie their shoes and walk... I think that's just the nature of the beast.

And then came the wicked grab that yanked my spoon, my line, my rod tip and all of those unnecessary thoughts, questions and doubts right out of my head...

My first thought was- 20# up-runner King. After the yank, came a couple of hard, fast runs and lots of head shakes. The fish only jumped twice and the second time she did, I knew there was no salmon at the end of my line.

I wasn't sure how well the fish was hooked nor how well my semi-battered 6# line would hold up so I spent the next 7 minutes adjusting my drag, and doing the gentle give and take that you can do with a 9.5' ultralight.

This wasn't a monster but it definitely was an Eel River fish not long out of the salt. She didn't make drag-screaming, air-born runs but she shook her weight around constantly and crocodile-rolled enough to make me sweat a bit. Her last act of defiance was to burst upriver, turn on a dime and then twist her shoulders around the slack line she created. I dipped the rod, righted the line, reeled fast and turned her out of the current-seam and over to the break.

I could see the spoon and swivel pointing towards the sky and the entire bend of the Siwash embedded in the roof of her mouth and I knew the outcome...

I tried to be nonchalant throughout all of this by keeping my enthusiasm silent and walking slowly backwards but as I beached the fish, the two upriver guys caught wind...

One guy yelled, "Is that a STEELHEAD?" He came over and asked if I wanted him to take a photo.

I stared him coldly in the eyes and screamed, "NO! I'm a loner now get the hell out of here!"

JUST KIDDING~

I gave him the camera and he kindly snapped a few photos.

We bs'ed a bit and I left him with a gold BC Steele 1/4 OZ. spoon, a few pointers, and I wished him a Happy Thanksgiving.

And once I pried my spoon away and got measurements (30 x 16) I did what any self-respecting steelheader would do with no roe in his freezer and a hatchery chrome hen in his hands... I sliced a few rakers and let her bleed.

My fishing partners in crime, Benny and the birthday girl (his 10 year old lab, Sadie) came down with their father Jim to wet a line. It's a tradition for the trio to get out and fish on Thanksgiving Day.

Benny hooked a nice steelie not long after showing up but of course as I was focusing the camera lens... it came unbuttoned. Oh well, I took a snapshot for the books anyway. I lost a second fish an hour or so later and we called it a day.

I left the river feeling really good, really grateful and I know my Grandmother was looking down and smiling on me.

My Thanksgiving Day 'Turkey' has fins instead of wings, orange instead of dark or light meat, and much smaller eggs but lots more of them...

Happy Thanksgiving
Mark

"Never On Sunday"... Unless The Steelhead Are In~and They Are~:)

2008-11-16T22:53:00.000-08:00

I usually don't fish on the weekends...

but this time of year nobody else does either and since crowds are my primary reason for staying home on Saturday and Sunday...

I decided to set out and see if I could repeat my success from yesterday.

Got up at 0700 and got my gear together.

Called my bud, Benny and left him a message.

Headed out to the river and arrived around 0900.

I saw a couple of fly fishermen and a kayaker.

Landed my first fish by 0940 and took some underwater shots before releasing her. Feisty lb and some change hen. Really pretty. She sucked and she swallowed so I had to cut out and leave her with an inner body piercing before the release.

Can you find her in this photo?

I went back to work and got a call from my redneck friend who was on his way with a tubba crawluz.

I still haven't figured this run out completely. It usually takes me a few days of experimentation before I know exactly how to fish it. And even then, it can sometimes pull a change up and what worked consistently before, suddenly doesn't.

So many variables involved to create the perfect drift....

I changed sinker diameter, hook sizes and styles, used fluorocarbon and straight mono, 8# 6# 4#, barrel swivels and pencil, pencil and split shot, 18" leader and 10" leader, thrown up current with light weight and down current with heavier weight, rigged the worm straight, wacky, with a puff ball and without, 1/4 1/3 1/2 the whole damn squirm, etc...

Benny came along and went upriver to fish a small piece of pocket water. He always likes working the small edge shit whereas I prefer the long, sweeping runs...

He hooks almost instantly.

I play camera bitch.

Pretty buck and half wild hen.

Benny likes Corkies.

My turn... straight crawler, no foo-foo shit.

Nice 2# hatchery buck. He gets released.

Benny hooks again...

...but the fish was faster than the fisherman and the shutterman so only managed an in the water shot.

Benny decides to call it a day. I contemplate leaving also.

Then the sense that God gave me kicks in and I realize that there is nothing more important in the world (or at least MY WORLD) than being on the river pursuing chromers.

I stay.

Hour goes by and nothing too exciting happens so I start thinking. Try a peach/orange spot glow bug whch gets railed by a big fish but I don't convert.

I keep dousing my glo-bug in Mike's Shrimp Oil and it keeps rolling along the rocks scraping up algae.

Back to the worm. Decide to follow Benny's lead and put on a peach corky above my crawler.

Good call!

Hook what I'm sure is a 12-15# salmon. My rod's bent over and the fish is slowly, methodically drawing its head side to side WHOMP-WHOMP-WHOMP... It never breaks water but it pulls like a crack whore on a slot machine handle.

Eventually, I see color and it is the right kind of color!

3# CHROME hatchery hen.

To be sliced and diced.

I add marks to my steelhead report card, hang the fish on a stringer and continue fishing.

*Yes, that is ok to do provided you don't take any successive steelhead out of the water...

I also crimp my barbs after I hang a fish just so I can't possibly kill any next one...

After a long spell, I get snagged on a rock. I bounce my rod tip to free the weight and it pops off without issue. As I'm reeling up the slack, my line goes tight and a 5# hen jumps straight up in the air... I make the connection just as I feel my line go limp and the fish cracks the surface as she splashes back down in to the river.

I lost one more smaller fish in the next 1/2 hour and decided to call it a long and lovely day at around 1700 hours.

Another sex-less-she-steelie with under-ripe ova...

Gullet and gut were piped with algae...

But wait! What's this?

The AR trout and steelhead #1 staple...

Caddis fly larva...

LOTS OF CADDIS FLY LARVA.

My fly rod will see action very soon.

M

Thank You AR Stripers/Welcome AR Steelhead

2008-11-16T22:41:00.000-08:00

My buds and I have pretty much thrown in the towel on AR stripers for the season.

Benny made his last hurrah today and got the same results I've had in my last 5 outings.

I think he's convinced now.

Yes there are residents and yes one could conceivably catch a striper in the river even in the winter... but one could also catch a tuna in the pacific ocean...

It all comes down to cost/benefit analysis and weighing other options.

In the last 2 days, I've fished less than 3 hours and had steady action on AR resident steel.

I've yet to catch an Eel River strain winter adult but that will happen well before the month is up.

I love November for many reasons... fall colors, comfortable weather, new fish coming in to the system and very sparse crowds.

It amazes me how a vast majority of the anglers who pursue steelhead on the American, go to "The Basin" to do it.

In years past, I myself have spent lots of time there rationalizing that because it's the farthest point upstream... that's where the fish are.

In reality, yes there's lots of fish there but there's also 25-100 long-liners, tons of trash, rotting/stinking salmon, and miles and miles of dead fishing line throughout all of the runs on any given day.

You spend 1 hour fishing and 3 hours breaking off and re-tying leaders, trying to get a good drift and then yelling and fighting with idiots either upriver, downriver or across the river from you.

Oh yes and that lovely music of the basin....

"LINE ACROSS!"

"FISH ON!!"

"HEY I GOT A FISH ON TOO" (He really has YOUR fish snagged in the ass with HIS hook...)

"FISH COMING DOWN" "HEY YOU'RE ON MY LINE ASSHOLE!"

"HEY HEY HEY STEP BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK YOU'RE STANDING ON THE FISH YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!"

So I have been fishing roughly 17 miles below the madness and my totals for one hour yesterday and 2 today are:

OTHER ANGLERS: (1)
ASSHOLES (0)
SNAGS (3)
LOST TACKLE (1 HOOK I CUT OFF AND LEFT IN THE THROAT OF A WILD FISH WHICH I RELEASED)
HOOKUPS (6)
STEELIES LANDED (5)
SMALLEST FISH (.5#)
BIGGEST FISH (3.25#)
WORMS USED (10 MC'S)
PEACE OF MIND (INFINITE)
SERENITY (ABSOLUTE)
REGRETS (-1 I DIDN'T GO TO THE BASIN)

Here's the purdy stuff. Check out how tiny the ovaries/roe skeins are in the one dead hen...

American River Spoon Session with the King and for the King 10-24-08

2008-10-26T22:53:00.000-07:00

Been many moons waxed and waned and many spoons tossed and lost since a certain fellow Fullspeeder sent me a long-ago PM (via the Fishsniffler...).

Something always came up... work, bad timing, poor fishing, even kidney stones...

But today I finally met and fished most of the day with "THE KING" himself... the cavalier, drug-pusher from North Carolina... Shit, I forgot to ask him if he had an in for a wholesale deal on Vicodin

KINGCOLE... aka Jeff Colville.

We met in the Region II hatchery parking lot, said our hellos, shook hands and grabbed gear.

I told him to make sure and fill out his steelhead report card ahead of time since the wardens do check 'em these days...

Oops, must be a North Carolina thing... lol.

Next stop, Region II Headquarters to buy a steelhead report card.

it was easy and the ladies there were super friendly.

In 10 minutes we were re-parked and good to go.

Jeff's a great guy, very laid back, easy going and eager to find fish. He asks questions but picks up on things fast and doesn't talk your ear off while you're trying to zero in on the fish. Anyone who can put up with my grumpy ass has got to be pretty cool.

I mentioned some basics about working spoons and we spread out a bit to cover the water.

Early on I hooked a beautiful 3-4# steelhead. I celebrated a bit too early as it jumped and dumped my 1/4 oz gold BCS. I thought it was going to be one of those WFO steelhead days but such would not be the case...

A bit later I heard a small voice from up on the hill behind me, "Hey Mark!" I turned around to see a regiment of about 24 field trip kids who had come down from the hatchery with Meg, a friend I used to work with at the hatchery many years ago. She was leading the lil rugrats on a nature hike. I took their photo and I think they all smiled when I said, "Cheese!"

Seconds later my line jumped and I was engaged in battle. It felt good at first but after the initial runs and jolts I knew it was the wrong kind of Oncorhynchus... On top of that, it was swimming funny and going downriver WAY too fast.

A 'dorsal-fin-bite'....

I ran her down and got downriver from her, laid the rod down and hand-lined her close enough to where I could remove my spoon. She swam off quickly. Damn... I hate looking like a snagger in front of an audience... but I'm sure Meg covered me with the kids...

Jeff had a hit in the meantime and it got his attention and also keyed him in on what to expect.

We walked a 200 yard stretch and hammered the water thoroughly. I lost another nice steelhead and had to make a few over-the-waist spoon recovery wading missions. I think on the day I only lost 1 spoon. I think Jeff lost 1 or none.

Down at the bottom of the run, I hooked a big red buck salmon on a silver spoon. It's always a little disappointing to hook kings instead of steelies but the sheer power of a pissed-off Chinook on an ultra light rod and 8# test is still a kick in the ass.

A WAY-solid 'center-of-tongue' hookset needs no barb to stay stuck...

I snapped some photos, gave the guy plenty of recoup time and sent him back out to find a few splooge-worthy hens to play with.

Not long after that, I look up at Jeff and his rod-tip's dancing in the afternoon sky. "I'M ON!!" he says... and so I dropped my gear and grabbed the Nikon.

]

He handled it like a pro and had his fish bank side in just a few minutes. I took a few fast photos and watched him release his first spoon-fed fish.

I was worried we might get skunked and so this took some pressure off. He was pumped (and so was I) to have had everything go right on his first spoon fish.

A chromer steelie would have been a little sweeter but hell... I remember the first time I caught a salmon on a spoon and it was pretty freakin' cool.

I also remember the agony and torment I experienced my first several trips fishing with spoons. I got a big fat (0) the first 3 times and wondered why the hell I was even bothering with this 'stupid new idea' of rolling a curved piece of shiny steel through the water in hopes that something would actually see it and eat it.

To hook ANYthing the first time you use a spoon... is way commendable. In fact, I'd be willing to say I'd better not take Kingcole up on his proposition next time we fish:

[quote]I'll bet anyone a 12 pack of Ice cold beer that I can out fish you at your best secret fishing hole!

Test Me Bitch!next time out... [/quote]We kept at it for 2 more hours. I landed another salmon and lost another steelhead and Jeff also lost a steelie.

It wasn't red-hot fishing by any means but we both had action, lost very little gear...

...and had a great time.

I admitted to Jeff that I'm kind of a fishing-loner... and it's not that I'm stingy about spots or info... it's just that steelheading and striper plugging are for me very solitary, full-focus types of fishing. Even with my regular fishing buds, we go to the river together but end up spending 90% of the day at least 50 yards apart trying to get our fix. When one hooks, we all celebrate but in our determination to hook, we isolate.

To this day, I'm grateful for Ray Hartley (aka, Chrome-Addict) who strongly suggested I try fishing for steelhead (and salmon) with spoons. I remember him telling me that once I got it dialed, it would be my go-to method... I didn't believe him. How could a piece of metal be more effective than a worm, a cluster of salmon eggs or a fly?

He was 101% right.

So there ya' go Jeff... next time you see Ray, the original AR/BC Steele Jedi... tell him his wisdom corrupted yet another Padawan.

Nice to finally meet you and fish with you today

FOR TYRUS

Mark

Battling Giants... The Big One That Got Away and Those That Didn't~AR STRIPERS

2008-10-20T21:48:00.000-07:00

Got up way too early this morning to fish with my cranky old bastard friend, Ted...

We got to 'The Hoff' at 0600 and started pluggin' away.

I had a blow up on a pencil popper right about the time I heard Ted talking with some Game Warden in camo...

As the warden approached, I realized the 'warden' was actually a civilian, and not just any civilian mind you... but our very own Brother Hookster.

I think he took a pic of me in my Lil Red Riding Hood outfit.

It was a tad cold in the shorts...

I saw no more auction.

Hook got spanked on the spoon by a steelhead or two.

I walked downriver and when I looked back, Jason had vanished.

Ted and I worked it for another 1/2 hour for nada so we bailed to one of his fav'e spots between Watt and Howe.

The game was fucking on! and the players were burly...

Ted got a 35#+ on a Bomber.

I couldn't buy a bite on any color pencil popper so I found my old friend (Steelhead Sporty Spook) and went to work. Pretty immediately, I nailed a 25# bass and got her in for the photo shoot.

Short and FAT sows have been the rule lately... Seems the girls are 'Hoe-Town Buffeting it' for the encroaching Winter. We ARE going to have a Winter, right?

I didn't have pliers so I had to use my small scissors to pry and cut a 1/16th inch flap of cartilage from her mouth to get the hook free. It worked and she swam off like she owned the place.

I moved down river a bit and continued walking the Sporty Spook. I got boiled on and blown off. Casted again, blown up again and blown off again... WHOA! she's BACK!! Sporty got hammered twice, three times and then... FOUR FUCKING TIMES later she was on and I set the hook three times to make sure I kept her there...

I fought what was an EASY 40# brooder-bitch striper for 4-minutes (a very long time for a plug to hang in an angry striper's jaws...) and I WAS DENIED! The hook came back to me with 1 out of 3 prongs straightened on each of the VMC trebles... Joey.... VMC's suck@!

My fault though for not swapping them out with Owners.

I put my trusty Zebra-striped pencil popper on just to switch things up a bit. I stuck a small (8-9# striper).

It got quiet for about 1/2 an hour. I had a smoke, collected my adrenaline and moved 100 yards downriver. Sporty seemed to be the choice of champs today so I retired the custom Cot'-Cordell and put the wood back on.

First cast yielded a healthy 18# fish.

I went home with no blood on my hands and feeling quite content.

This time of year... stripers are more sensible than humans...

They are cold, they sleep in. The bait is hiding, they wait until the sun warms up the air and water and brings breakfast to 'the table'.

I, on the other hand... opted to skip breakfast and go out at o-dark thirty to play with myself in the cold for three hours while the stripers sat there on the bottom of the river laughing at me and my cold, fog-blowin' surface lures...

Just goes to show that...
Persistence pays out to even the most foolhardy of Fisherman.

M

AMERICAN RIVER STEELHEAD 10-15-08

2008-10-16T01:14:00.000-07:00

Stupid Steelhead and Salmon... Buy 'em Breakfast and They EAT THE SPOON!

River's been real good to me lately...

Only had 2 hours to make it happen today.

Went to the bar and ordered steelhead.

Damn Bartender gave me a salmon... a big, red one with a nose like ALF.

Amazing to me that these fish bite a silver plated piece of steel but bite it they do.

I was thinking about my 3 seasons of fishing spoons.

Of all my hookups, Only ONE ever stuck outside a steelhead's mouth and only ONE ever foul-hooked a salmon (under the chin). Hundreds of other hookups have all been in the mouth.

Of all the methods one could possibly use including swinging flies... I would say that spoons (when fished properly and with a single, barbless hook) are the safest bet for not hurting fish.

Why does a salmon or trout bite a spoon?

Perhaps they strike out of instinct or territoriality. Maybe, they see a silver or gold flash and it appears as scales of a bait fish which if left unchecked would pose a threat to their offspring.

Whatever the case, if you don't have a few in your bag of tricks, you're missin' out.

One of the many things I'm discovering about fall-run steelies is that they will move a lot further from their hold to take a spoon than a winter fish.

This logically is due to:

A) They are still in feeding mode, gaining nourishment that will sustain their milt/eggs as they approach the spawning season in February.

B) The water is warmer so the fish's metabolism is higher and it has more burnable energy to travel greater distances to get a meal.

C) The river is extremely low and clear so a spoon dipped in 24 KT gold or Sterling Silver will flash under water and be seen from a much greater distance than in more typical, higher/murkier flows.

D) There is no distraction of mating behavior nor redd-building because that doesn't happen until winter.

Whatever the reason...

I found another bar and the bartender understood my needs.

I said, LOOK MAN!"

She said, What Chu' want?"

"One aint enough man ya' better make it three..."

I had the salmon stink off my spoon, and had moved out of the water holding salmon and in to the water holding the species of choice.

I went 3/3.

The first two fish were only about 2# but I had to pay attention to land them.

I think they'll make a cute couple...

My final hookup was 'Fish of the Day'

An absolute screamin' bullet that swam straight at me, then rushed 30 yards out, jumped twice, rocketed back at me again and then started swimming in tight circles as she jerked her head sideways trying to throw the hook.

It wasn't gunna' happen tho, no F'in way. She was hooked from the inside out and from the top side down and that's the best way for a spoon hook to hang and hold (for the fisherman not the fish).

I estimated 4/5#. I thought about roe for a second and then dismissed the thought and gave her back to the river.

Today was a live and let live day....

Mark

American River Striper Blasted My Popper And Sent My Blue Balls Downriver

2008-07-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

It's often that a man in pursuit will look everywhere but under his nose to find that which he yearns for...

One can look for love in all the wrong places...

Reach out far and wide to grasp what's holding just inside...

Walk a mile for blood, sweat and tears when the camel he walked towards was all along sitting legs outstretched, tongue out and hump up, hiding in the shade of a palm tree just around the corner of a near oasis...

Such was the case this Friday morning when I took a departure from my typical long-haul travels to a far reach of the Rio Americana and instead drove the 7/10th's. of a mile from my driveway on Stanley Avenue to the pearly, yellow gates of Ancil Hoffman Park.

I drove in with the idea that I would save time and gas by fishing close to home. In the same token, I'd be fishing water I hadn't paid much attention to this season so this would also be an exploratory quest...

Anyone who fishes the American, Sacramento or the Feather Rivers.. with any regularity, knows that we got slighted by mother nature and gypped by the water barons this spring. The AR flowed at a paltry 1000 CFS from April through June and most of the striped bass stayed low on the rivers or bypassed them altogether opting to instead spawn in the Delta from Rio Vista and down.

I was fortunate to get a 38# and a few high 20#'ers in April and May but the month of June was a lot of sloshin' and tossin' for relatively few fish and nothing over 10 pounds.

Today something semi-miraculous happened...

When I approached the first likely striped bass holding water, I noticed a strange, blue, spherical object rapidly advancing along the river's crests and currents.

It came to a halt in front of me and cast a reflection of itself in the water.

The seeker in me pondered the significance of this flotsam.

A large blue ball? Oh of course! The symbology was easily recognizable. BLUE BALLS! That's what a fishing junkie like me gets when he pounds the river day in and day out for so few hookups...

I'd actually caught a schoolie striper the day before in another hole but even that was my first fish landed in 4 trips.

I snapped a photo of the symbol, contemplated giving it to Tyrus to go with his vast, plasticine love doll collection, laughed a bit and moved upriver. Don't worry Unkie TY-TY, this report is laced with lushness for your lair of latent, latex lovers... Yours too Berman!!

As I trudged along, I noticed there was a 2 foot tall bathtub ring stretching the length of the clay on the opposite bank.

The river had obviously dropped considerably...

I've learned from past experience that a fast-dropping river is the best catalyst for a short-term striper feeding frenzy. Less volume of water = fleeing pike minnows, salmon smolts, and soft-shell crawdads. Concentrated food and surface area makes the holds much easier to pinpoint and 10 times more productive. The diminished flows also makes for better (longer/slower) presentation of poppers and spooks.

I found a nice spot where mud, algae, and small cobbles gave way to logs, larger aquatic plants and chunky boulders.

I stealthily waded past the ducks and muck and stood there, balls deep, where I could walk my ambulance popper along a nice little food trough.

I zipped the plug upstream and reeled fast to keep the line off the water. When the popper was out in front, I chugged and walked it slowly with intermittent pauses.

As Marcus would say... "Topwater doesn't work until it does"

and as Aram would say, "When you're walkin' the dog and your plug gets busted on... KEEP ON WALKIN'!"

The quick flash of soft white underbelly stung my senses briefly and before I could second guess... Fish? Lure splash? Blue Oyster Cult?

My plug got HAMMERED and WHOOFED ON!

Hundreds/Thousands of these episodes later... for me, it is no less intense and invigorating as the first.

I equate the sensation with 'busting a nutt'. I know... I AM getting old and I need to get out more…

Not the monster I was hoping for but I finally found a respectable schoolie to play with. No more 'blue balls' for ME I thought as I slid the girl on her side for a couple of quick happy snaps.

Unfortunately, this girl was suicidal. She took the front hook in the mouth but somehow managed to impale her right eye with the tail hook. Even though they were all barbless, the Owner 2/0 must have punched her in a bad way.

I did everything textbook C&R. I removed the hooks quickly, revived her BEFORE taking any photos, swam her in cold, clean water for 20 minutes afterwards but I could never get her from belly-up to belly-down

...so I strung her up with a piece of cordage (courtesy of some careless bastard who left it on the river bank).

Her stats were 34-26-34... er uh... I mean, 30" and 10#.

When the river recedes, it is amazing what copious amounts of crap a guy can find in such a short stretch.

I counted 3 Bic lighters, 5 lighters of the eastern, 7-11 variety, countless flip flops, a can of pepper spray,

and even an Oakland Raider stir stick.

If I didn't know any better I'd say we lost one of our two-fisted-drinkin' Red Cup Navy squids...

To go along with the big blue ball, blue swim fin and several blue Bics, ... I found 3/4 of a small, blue bucket.

It kind of gave me the blues... but it also gave me an idea. Mostly out of curiosity... I started flipping rocks which had only hours before been inundated with riparian waters. I collected half a dozen soft-shell crawdads in 2 minutes from beneath just 3 rocks.

I contemplated using one for bait but dismissed the notion since I don't usually carry bait-fishing gear in my pack.

I played with the little crustaceans and made them smile for the camera instead. "What's with the animal masochism today?" I thought... This one crayfish in particular pinched one of his antennae and just left the cheliped in lock-down mode...

"Doesn't that hurt?" I guess it's the equivalent of dogs and cats chasing and biting their own tails...

I continued plugging away and was soon greeted by a flotilla and then an armada of rafts.

One raft had a particularly-nice-to-look-at paddler on board. I was talking on the phone to Benny who had called to tell me that the river had mysteriously dropped 2200 cubic feet per second. "No shit? LOL..."

The bikini girl looks over and yells, "Don't drop your phone in the water!"

I answered: "I do it all the time... and usually when a raft floats by and a smokin' hot female like yourself starts giving me advice..."

Damn that was smooth. Why do I only think of shit like that when they're floating downriver?

I could tell she got it when she said "ooooooooooooooooooo", and kind of smiled and puffed herself up and out a bit.

When the distraction vanished from sight, I fished a bit longer but shortly thereafter, decided to call it good and get back to my truck before fire haze filled the skies and rigor mortis crept in to the joints of my tethered fish.

I said my thanks and goodbyes to the river and to Ancil Hoffman Park.

My final adieu was towards the Teed-Off'ers and Toms...

I rolled up in my driveway with windows cranked down and tunes cranked up a bit. Tom Petty: Jamming Me , was the tune tumbling out of my stereo speakers. It dawned on me that today was not just ANY day... It was FISH HEAD FRIDAY!!

Then the out-and-out FREAKY occurred... I heard the mellow and hypnotic voice of DJ extraordinaire; MR. BOB KELLER (formerly of KZAP and now the lunchtime musical server of the Eagle = KSEG 96.9 FM) and he prompted listeners to get ready for "le word de jour" This is a periodically-selected and broadcast word which faithful listeners can extract from the air waves and enter in to their computers to earn 'Eagle Points' redeemable for tangible goodies...

and the word for the day was...

ANCIL HOFFMAN.

I am kind of a Kozmic sort who believes in synchronicities which most pass off as coincidence… and when I heard Bobs' selection of word/s of the day, I knew I was ‘in-tune’ so I called him up and gave him a fishing report. I'm pretty sure Bob's a FISH HEAD like we Fullspeeders...

Sometimes it's a small world... all within the distance of a short walk and some radio waves.

HAPPY FISH HEAD FRIDAY!

Hope you enjoyed El Porn de Pescado
Mark

Born Bankie/Boat Bumbletard Folsom Bass 4-5-08

2008-04-05T16:51:00.000-07:00

Hit up Folsom Lake with Tony (Fish Trap).

When I got there he had one in the box but the bite was slow and the water was FACW (Fuckin-A-Crazy-Windy).

I watched Tony hook 3 more fish including a fatty smallmouth.

He tried to give the tuff guy, bite your ass with my fish mouth pose...

But Tony's better at impersonating himself = happy, nice guy Tony:

I complained a lot about the wind and made up a million excuses why I couldn't get the right 'feel' and hook a fish...

This was the second time I fished out of Tony's boat and the second time he schooled me on hookin and catchin.

We called it at 1830 and I decided to re park my rig and take a healthy hike back to point A to see if I could save face and ditch the skunk in my pocket.

By 1900 hours, the wind was choppin! Whitecaps and all.

I got a shoe wet and then both shoes, ankles and pretty soon, I was wading. Not sure who I was kidding thinking I would stay out of the water. I never do...

I was born to walk banks and wade waters. My trusted 'boat' this time of year is a pair of green ranger shorts and a left and right, size 12, New Balance, with CF# 476 on each...

I was challenged to cast against the wind so after a while, I got smart and went to a rock outcrop adjacent to a bay where I could get a semi-leeward cast in.

I did.

and I did, get bit and farmed the first one.

While later, I got a second chance at redemption and took full advantage.

A small fish but a fish...

This fish reminds me of Chilly B. Is it the eyes? I KNOW Chilly B made the same face somewhere on more than one occasion. Maybe we should make the FSF version of "MR LIMPET"...

I tried the jerk bait and the Zoom fluke and neither produced shit for bites. I'm thinking/hoping they'll produce better in calmer/warmer weather.

Thanks for the boat ride Tony. Nice hanging out with ya'.

Mark

Fast Folsom Fix~Pirates And Pequena Pillagery

2008-03-31T22:40:00.000-07:00

Saturday no fishing for me as I was performing music at a memorial service.

Emphasis was on celebrating her life as opposed to mourning her death.

I got away Sunday feeling a bit somber and serene and needed a lil pick me up so headed over to the Granite Bay boat launch area to try for my first Folsom bass of the season.

I arrived at 1830 and was greeted by pirates from the far southeast. They spoke to me.

Fear not ye wind for she blows to keep our girls under sail...

If'n yer not fittin to cast yer lines into her, narry a fisherman nye a sailor shall ye call yerself lad.

What say you vessel-less landlubber? Avast ye and turnabout fer yonder hills?

er brace ye wind upon your face, headstrong, and be well and be off with ya?

of course, I chose option B

My first cast yielded a small spot which I fought briefly and lost in a mid air shake and spit.

I moved 20 feet or so to another rocky point and hooked a 4+# smallmouth which I also farmed.

It was cool to feel that pressure bite throb and subsequent smack, smack zip that I hadn't felt since last spring... but damn pirates musta' bewitched me with ye olde farmer's curse...

Despair not, I carried on and kept working the shoreline.

Third time was a charm, I actually got a solid hookset.

Small fish but a fish. I snapped a pic of the lil spot and released her.

In the next 15 minutes I hooked and lost 2 more and had several taps that I didn't respond to fast enough.

The fish aren't in ravage mode yet, and are still making you guess if they're there most of the time... Likely a combination of lake level, temperature, and barometric pressure all a bit on the low side for this time of year...

I managed to C&R one little smallmouth before leaving the land of pirates and pequena pillagers...

Next time, I'll bring the float tube and some plugs.

M

Embraced By Spirits~Paiute Country and the Pyramid Cutthroat Experience

2008-03-27T23:52:00.000-07:00

Many moons ago I was invited by a master to travel Northeast and indulge in the great Lahontan Cutthroat trout fishery of Pyramid Lake.

The stars in my head were out of alignment and so for me the trip did not come to pass...

Over the duration of our cold, windy and snow-swept winter I saw the many accounts of the PDC... going where no sane fisher-man had gone before... through the storm-socked summits and passes, over the rocks which make you a "believer in the tow rope" in to the DANGEROUS-ly frigid waters to drink up, above and into the chest-wader line... alkaline ice water that would make even King Kong's balls shrivel, busting ass and and breaking axe handles to cut wood to fuel the sacred fire whose embers would radiate heat and make Patron bottle embers glisten and glow in the sub-freezing Lahontan Valley air.

The reports continued in to the spring and not just from PDC but now from: Q-Tip, Fishing Chick, Fernley Tim, Ric1Ric, Freon, Team Pile, and others. All the while, I read and I thought, "Ya know... SOME day... some day..."

Well, you know what they say about some day... it never comes to you. You have to choose one day, go to it and make it yours.

With a bit of 'slack-tide' between AR steelhead and stripers, I hadn't been fishing so much. I got the call from FSF member Q-Tip, aka Nelson, "Hey, what do you think about Pyramid next Saturday?" "Wellllllllllll uh, hmmmmm, yah maybe." The maybe turned in to a probably and the probably solidified to a "Let's Do It!"

Knowing it always takes me a semi-eternity to get my shit together... sleeping Friday night was out of the realm of possibility so I drank 2 WIRED+ pots of French Roast and readied my gear for the adventure.

Nelson made it easy. He drove up from 'the land of Bart trains and barbed-wire' (Oak-Town'), and picked me up at my casa in Carmichael. He told me to bring my rods, some 6# spectra and Fluorocarbon and that he had the BFH beetles covered. He also suggested I bring some CD's unless I wanted to listen to NPR, Country music or gangster rap.

That's Nelson... always placing the needs of others at or above his own interests... reminds me of another full speeder on this site and ironically, the same guy who gave detailed instructions to Nelson prior to his initial Pyramid excursion... a guy who enjoys playing "Net Bitch" for his bros as much as hookin' 'em up.

We left @ 0400 and The ride up was without issue. Nelson is a good brother and we knew we were in for some good times on the water.

By the time we got to Nevada the sun had cracked the sky. We were both in that delusional-but-functional state of mind wherein fishing-anticipation-endorphins take over and render non-existent any thoughts of sleepy or tired.

A little reinforcement never hurts though so we stopped here:

BEFORE quad shots:

AFTER quad shots:

and then here to say HI to Ronald and grab some hot grub.

Last stop was for the permits.

We had a minor setback on the way out when Nelson's truck carelessly backed in to a metal pole, maybe we should have poured some coffee (or S.T.P. GT) in the gas tank? but the casualty was a mere bumper crease and 2 sheared license plate bracket bolts so it was shrugged and we sailed onward.

We were on our way to church and service was about to begin. They even left the lights on for us:

Oh wait, wrong church....

Here we are:

Pyramid has many miles of shoreline and we weren't certain which stretch we would fish but I read some last minute reports and remembered two hot bits of information... Pelican Point and white beetles, pretty easy to remember since pelicans are white (no not brown pelicans but those are at the ocean...)

We easily found the sign: "PELICAN PT." on the west side of the lake. We also found hordes of other rv's boats, float tubes, ladders and people so decided to move it on over to the next cove.

I remembered the rituals of a master who always gives thanks, who pays respects to Indian Head Rock, takes time to notice the eagles and the sunsets and even bows before the PDC antenna ball pirate MASTER...

and I thought it a good thing to send an offering through the winds to the GREAT SPIRIT....

I played a humble song and exchanged tools.

The wind was howling and I was taking full advantage of my layers and neoprene waders. I was bundled up like a baby in a bomb shelter. Being an otherwise sunny, mild-temp' day, I developed an instant appreciation for the winter troops (Dan, Jason, Mike, Kevin).

I was so well-bundled that I spent a total of about 3 minutes on the ladder before handing it off to my compadre who wore breathables and left his ladder at home.

We would start our day 'in the box' using the preferred, BIG FISH HAPPEN beetle:

Nelson started things off with the first of 3 LDR's. Two were almost back to back and the third was after some time.

I was using white and he was using metallic green.

Well, I'm proud but I aint' stupid so after his 3rd hookup, I mooched one of the green bugs and tied it on. Q-Tip told me about the "Lahontan Shuffle" where you nonchalantly walk bank-ward dragging your bug without thinking too much. I tried this method and at the moment I took my last step between rock and mud, my drag started screaming and line peeled off my spool but as fast as it began, it also ended with nothing but a memory to show for it.

At least I finally had the hit-skunk whooped.

Two fly guys showed up in float tubes and leisurely made their ways in to the drink. About the time they started stripping, Nelson's rod goes bendo and he's on a good fish. It fought hard and put a serious bend in his IMX 781 ultra light noodle rod.

I grabbed my camera and net to do the honors.

First fish of the day was a nice colored up buck which was admired and quickly released.

Nelson decided to try the float tube. I didn't feel like swappin' shoes for fins and making the 'Caddis assault' so I went off exploring and learning the finer points of sliding, gliding, high-stepping and shuffling through the very uneven and slicker-than-shit substrate of the Pyramid benthos.

I made it through without pulling a DANGEROUS maneuver (sorry Mike) but I also found no fish... only forks and axles, go figure...

The fly guys each hooked one and bailed.

Nelson and I had a quick conference over sandwiches and Gatorade. We agreed that Life without solitude is hectic but that solitude without fish is unbearable... so alas we opted to join the ranks.

We made the short-hop drive to Pelican PT. and before we even got out of the truck, we saw a man and his wife each hook up in less than a 5-minute interval.

Imagine it... Pelicans at Pelican point!

It was 1500 hours so we still had well over 4 hours to make it happen. We looked at the scene and noticed that 95% of the anglers were in 25% of the water (mostly in the center) so we opted to set up on the NW flank of the cove.

Once in the water, it was obvious that the reports didn't lie... Hookups were happening all around.

I approached the man who had minutes before released a nice fish. I asked him what his wife had hooked up on and he said, "Oh she's usin' one a' those Panther Martin spinners..." I asked, "Lemme guess... the black body/yellow spots gold blade? and indeed it was the animal... I think that lure is the 'go-to' piece of hardware in most educated trout chaser's arsenal...

It seemed like the tides were about to turn a 180 and turn around they did.

I took my position in the line and made sure to leave lots of space between those to my right and the solitary couple on my left.

My first cast was quickly answered by a headshaker who put some bendo in my ultralight IMX graphite.

What these fish don't give you in acrobatics, they well compensate for with head-shaking, angry-bulldogging runs, crocodile rolls and sheer power. The last rod's length of the fight is no less intense than the initial run and these trout can swim between your legs, jump up and kick you in the ass so it's not over 'til it's in the net or near the beach.

Shortly after releasing my first Pyramid cutthroat, I made a cast and immediately hooked up again.

Both fish came on the BFH beetle in white body with chartreuse hackle.

I thought/hoped I had entered the 'eternally-on-fire' mode but my next 50 casts yielded only snags, and muck on my beetle's lonely hook...

Nelson was short on action also.

The fly guys to the right were killin' it! It seemed like every time I looked over, I would see a sissy-stick bent over and pumpin'. I approached the guy closest to me and asked him what he was using and he answered as if he were my fishing buddy from way back. "Copper John and a Prince Nymph... but they seem to be ravaging ANYthing today!" "I'm indicator fishing but some of the guys are using a full sinking line and hookin' up just as many on the pause or the strip..."

Moments later, one of the nymphers hooked and landed a 10+# fish on a size #14 Chironomid.

Equally gratifying as being in a spot where BIG FISH HAPPEN... all of the people fishing Pelican Point were super cool. It wasn't like the typical hog-line on a river where folks are tight-lipped and eyeball new comers as aliens invading their space. It was a 'feel-good' crowd where folks were having a blast and everyone worked together and happily and respectfully.

The 'Power of the Pyramid' was everywhere and even Anahoe Island, the very pyramid-shaped rock the lake was named after... was floating on the horizon, directly across from us.

As the sun got lower in the sky, more fish moved in and we were seeing them roll on the surface well within casting distance.

I mixed it up a bit with some flies and even tried jigging a spoon but it wasn't happening for me.

Nelson asked me if I had a float. He said something about crappie tactics and that he had an idea...

Indeed, I had two kinds of floats in my bag. I personally hate float fishing (for steelhead or anything...) but I know it's mostly due to my ignorance, and that if I approached it with a bit more perseverance and stealth... I would find it a deadly method in certain situations...

I directed Nelson to the right compartment of my pack and 10 minutes later he entered the water with his revised terminal strategy.

I once read a Marine Corps mantra on this website (Kurt aka, The Lead Bomber's signature)...

"ADAPT, IMPROVISE, OVERCOME"

That is exactly what Nelson did. He saw fish on the surface, he translated his crappie-killing expertise to the current location and situation and executed what would prove to be a deadly approach to spankin' the Pyramid trout.

Nelson is solid = one hell of a great guy, an innovator, a humanitarian, an adventurer and an engineer. Anyone who can hold his high-dollar touring bike together with Q-Tips is pretty damn talented IMO....

Nelson, some time ago, mastered the twitch technique of moving jigs through schools of winter crappie and getting them to bite when the fish were schooled up and tight-lipped for all other anglers including those in boats 10 feet from him and working the same fish.

I was blown away last year by the video footage he posted demonstrating the method he invented and that put him on over 100 fish that day...

Taking it a bit further, the guy doesn't like how the jigs come from the factory so he takes out a knife and carves his jig bodies into the 'new and improved' grub...

He talks about sin waves and amplitude and how they translate in to vertical, horizontal movements and velocity variations (all of which are controlled by the motions of 2 fingers of his left hand on a semi-hauled standing line).

Yah, crazy shit... I know but once the guy hoe'd a float from me and put his rig in the lake, his bobber spent as much time under the water as it did on top of it.

Every time I turned around, he was calling my name and I was attending my duties as 'camera bitch'...

This went on for some time and I eventually, again followed Nelson's lead and rigged up with his borrowed float and he rigged up with a clear Drennan float I also had. I tried to get jiggy with it but I was having all kinds of technical difficulties... problems with my reel's worm gear sticking, problems with my eyes trying to focus on that small piece of plastic in the glistening surface layer of sun-kissed, wake-spanked lake, and mostly problems with my sorry-ass twitching technique which was anything but refined.

Could it be that the fish moved on and/or the bite shut off? These trout seemed to pattern themselves by coming along in waves, towards the shore, along the ledge/color line, back out then back to point A. The rods would bend from left to right and then right to left if you watched the lineup... and of course being too busy trying to hook, I didn't spend a lot of time watching the ladder lineup.

Was it the fish or was it me? I kept thinking and then Nelson, resolved that question in my head by hooking another fish and yet another after that...

Make no mistake, I was stoked for him. I love it when a plan comes together and when I fish with friends, all hookups get me juiced, regardless of whose line's bouncing and singing.

Nelson released his fish as the last rays of sunlight were swallowed by mountains. I sensed it was time to go and felt a little sadness not because I only landed 2 fish to Nelson's 8 but sad because it had been such a magical day and I didn't want it to end. I feel this 'fishing post-partum' to some degree every time I fish and it doesn't seem to matter if it's a river I've fished 2,000 times. Neither does it matter if I've hooked and landed 'til my back, arms and legs are gumby ... I just can't get enough...

I wasn't quite ready to raise the white flag and call the day good just yet though...

I thought about the one trick in my bag I hadn't yet brought forth... hmmm... Blue Fox? Mepps? Panther Martin? maybe the gay spinner... Problem was, most of those spinners seemed too big or too bright or had treble instead of Siwash hooks which I most certainly would have grappled the bottom with and forced an 'early retirement'.

I remembered the #2 RVRFSHR spinners I bought the year before during steelhead season. Tarnished brass blade, black metal body, perfect size, color, weight, action AND a barbless single Siwash hook.

I only had one in my box and I tied it directly to my 6# Berkeley Fireline Crystal as this would be my last tie up of the trip. I launched the spinner and worked it back slow and steady with an occasional pop. It got short struck 10 ft. out in front of me so I reeled up and tossed it out again. 1/2 way through a somewhat faster retrieve, it stopped. "Fuckin snagged damn it!" and then the snag woke up and got my attention. FISH ON! <>?

It was sheer sweetness. The fish fought with spirit and made several vigorous runs.

It wasn't the toad I first thought it was but was still a respectable fish and that I caught it on a spinner, made it all the sweeter...

I felt my day was complete and my parting thoughts were not of remorse but instead of contentment.

Nelson got to be MY net bitch for a change...

Nelson snapped the parting shot of the trip as I released my 'twighlight trout'.

I find it interesting that no fish appears in the photo but rather the symbolic hands of giving of receiving of gratitude, of solemnity and respect. These are words and concepts which have taken up strong residency in my soul lately and they represent very well what this journey and the greater, journey of life is all about.

Pyramid Lake beholds a pure and powerful energy. The fishing kicks ass but there's a lot more to the place than that and I look forward to future treks into its deeper heart and soul. As always, I gave thanks to the place for having me there when I came to it and when I left it.

I'd also like to thank all who inspired this trip and especially a big thanks to Nelson for making it happen.

and... Happy (belated) Easter Tyrus

M

Sick of Same-old~sojourn to steelheading solitude~sunset At Sunrise~serene/successful

2008-03-18T23:40:00.000-07:00

Yah I know, my title hasssssssssssssss way too many S's...

I hit up the hatchery yesterday and pounded the same water I've re-learned to hate... traffic in the background, snaggers in the foreground, dead line on the riverbed and only isolated pockets of water not already picked and picked and picked...

Trying to fool the same small batch of weary, suspicious, downtrodden , barraged fish in an increasingly finite stretch of man-made, man-mangled river...

I lost so much gear trying to bottom bounce roe that I abandoned the idea in favor of the trusted spoon. I was 'pitching a no-hitter'... but still, I kept going through the motions, figuring I could make some fish out there so tired of seeing my lure that it would hit just to make me stop throwing it. I saw the cruisers along the rocks under my nose but resisted the temptation and worked the far away water. A dog walker's shadow hovered into place on the levee above me and asked if I'd had any bites... As I was answering, he excitedly tells me, "YOU got a follower! OH, OH, OH he just took a swipe at it! Here he comes AGAIN!"

How lovely that I now have a spotter to give me the play by play on what he can see and what I can only feel when the follow develops in to a strike. It never does... No hitter. Pitcher decides to retire, go down river where the fish are fewer but the quality of life is a thousand-fold...

Driving along, I'm undecided... Lower Sailor Bar? The Greens? Rossmoor? Goethe? El Manto? Ancil Hoffman? I get a call from a fellow steelheader whose talking about the Smith this weekend and I drive up to Upper Sunrise for a glance at some turkeys and a fast turn around.

It's decided... Lower Sunrise Access. I work the close stretch and aside from one fly fisherman, I am alone. No (fish-induced) love here so I move downriver.

On my way, I'm distracted by the mighty and magnificent transition that life on the American River Parkway is embracing. DAMN! wasn't it just a few days ago? I was wearing polar fleece and Long Johns and raincoats? Today, I'm in breathable waders with shorts and a tee shirt and I'm working up a sweat!

Trees are naked but soon won't be.

Others are fully regaled.

Gall wasps are starting to chew their way through and out of the foam-like cores of woody, spherical blisters, made by the enzymatic spit and eggs their mama injected in to oak trees in the fall.

I looked in on a hole I hadn't ever fished in steelhead season from the north side and only occasionally had from the south bank in higher water years...

The sun was sinking as were my hopes of catching a steelhead but the untrammeled waters I now found myself in made me care less and less about catching fish.

The sun painted the skies

and the waters

The birds were flying in from their daily sojourns to take refuge for the night.

I noticed a bird box across the river...

...and wondered if it sanctioned a wood duck, a kestrel, a brown bat or some other cavity dweller...

At some point, I took the camera off my neck but in transition, as I was snapping a last shot, I had the Nikon in my right hand and my spoon-dangling rod in the other and wouldn't ya' know... I got doinked. I made a few more redemption casts but didn't redeem. I put the camera down and went to the roe rod.

I saw fish rolling and sipping caddis and other emergers on the surface. These were mostly hp's with a few adults in the mix and I started to think I might have a shot with something besides the camera... after all.

I baited up with a small cluster of steelhead roe and a slinky. First drift my bait got hammered. Second drift, the eggs are drilled again. Third time was a charm. I hooked a scrappy 18"er that leaped and spat. I quickly re-baited and ran the same drill.... lost a rig, retied, and tossed what would be my last bait of the evening...

I got railed and missed. The next hit was a complete grab rather than the usual, machine-gun tap... and that fish wasn't checking out without a kamera-kiss goodbye.

17 inches of shimmering blue-back.

Before hitting the trail, I tossed once more for good measure. With only a ratty strip of egg-skein left to my hook, I had doubts. The next fish had no problem accepting the egg-less offering and fought like a champ... well at least fought like a top contender... it was a (Shhhhhhh) SUCKER@!

On that note, I snapped a parting shot and headed for home.

Monday blues kissed by Steelhead pink skies

2008-03-13T13:27:00.001-07:00

Feeling pretty heavy-headed last couple a days...

Today, had to let someone down to appease another someone.

Feelin' funky about it all.

Looked in the liquor cabinet and found no booze.
Oh yeah, I don't drink...

I next, remembered that old adage; "B_ _ _ _ _ is the ONLY answer"
stands for... B USTIN out the fishing rod of course...

So that I did...

Decisions, decisions...

My last two times downriver were tough so I elected to go up.

I took the road 'not-so-less-traveled'

and landed at the ever so popular and highly controversial bar of sailors...

Tyrus is our scapegoat, C'mon guys admit it! WE ALL LOVE FLOWERS...

I was happy to see no one where I intended to fish...

...and only one swatter up where I refuse/d to fish (on the redds).

I worked the small back slot below "Mini'Machu-Picchu" but nada pescada no era pasa...

Moved over to the main channel and hit the chute. I Casted to the opposite bank and fed line to get my spoon down deep.

It worked...

I hooked the fish 50 feet away and 15 feet under the surface.

After a few good runs, I got to see her.

and land her.

Not a chromer but a nice little blush-cheeked hatchery hen.

I sent her along and crossed the river.

Goose was hangin' out way too nonchalantly as usual...

Beaver's been busy... Damn they work hard to eat good. The fresh shoots on a tree are out of reach for a fat-ass beaver... until s/he cuts the tree down that is...

Trusty Steed (Ram actually...) guzzlin' fresh air instead of gasssss @ $3-freakin-fifty a gallon!@!

I think these folks had it figured out right...

The 'ancient ones' respected the river...

The 'aint-shit ones' get drunk on it, piss in it, toss their shit in it and leave their shoes behind as a token of gratitude....

AND SPEAK OF THE DEVIL... It's that time of year AGAIN... JUST DO IT, BABY!!

Rent a raft and loose your left sandal you bumbletard...

Things could always be worse I guess...

I traded silver for copper, moved upriver 40 yards and hooked/lost two bigger hot fish almost back to back. It was an intense 5 minutes... and I farmed 'em both. My life story lately, lose the hogs and land the lil piggies....

I wonder what fish broke this guy off?

I fished 'til the skies matched the cheek badge and pinstripes of the girl I tangled with 3 hours before...

No more fish were had but the sun laid down in glorious splendor~

"...Purple Haze all around...

...Don't know if I'm comin' up or down..."

Moons/spoons/police Lines/c-130's/blossoms/bungie Cords/dead Skunks/steelhead 2-21-08

2008-03-04T20:24:00.000-08:00

After I got in last night, I read something about a lunar eclipse and then it dawned on me that it wasn't a mylar, advertising balloon I saw up in the sky at dusk yesterday... but rather our planet's shadow on the moon...

Next, I read Nelson's reports on tubin' under a "Bad Moon Rising" (which I think was actually a full moon falling but his title sounded much better) and about how he hooked/surrendered to a steelhead at PB.

I had to package ebay goodies for shipment (actually been working for a change).

I got the last box boxed at 0400 hours and figured fishing made a lot more sense than sleeping.

A little voice inside my tackle pack said, "GO... look in on the stripers" (through the eyes and hooks of pencil poppers and Sporty Spooks) and round the day out with some spoon-tossin' for steelhead.

So that I did.

It was warm when I left the house. I forgot how cold it gets while wading balls-deep in 49 degree water while the wind's blowing and your hands are wet...

Spring was in the trees and on the ground

but winter was still in the water and in the air.

Also in the air was this cool 4-engine turbo prop: USAF C-130 perhaps?

I plugged away and never saw, heard nor smelled anything resembling a striped bass...

So I broke out the light-duty stick and chunked plated brass over all the likely trout holds.

I fluttered a 1/4 oz polished-silver BC Steel over a sweet riffle edge seem and on the swing I felt a spongy bite but it was REAL spongy... Could it be... a sponge? Sponge-Bob? a fish? fishing line?

Oh, of course! a Spongy-Bungie-cord...

WORD! Onward...

A few casts down the river, my spoon locks on to a submerged tree branch. I cuss, I lift, I reel, I cuss again (a HAPPY SH$#! this time...) the tree branch has LIFE!

A cute lil chromer bursts forth and tries to do the 'shake-a-sickle-siwash'

BUT FAILS!

A native, taped out at 16.5" and apparently, recently-ravaged by one of those 'hibernating' underwater pigs... (note the bloody eye and scrape marks/blood along and above the lateral line). My hook never touched either.

I released the striper nugget and walked along. I raced a couple and their dog to a beach where I was hoping to hit the water before Fido pissed and splashed in it. In my zeal, I ate crap (slipped on mud and banged up my knee real good).

Plugged away some more to no avail so retired the big stick and focused on trout. I saw a few frolicking about. They seemed hungry/playful not predated upon/scared so I kept after 'em.

At some point, I realized that it was raining, raining HARD! The 1-3 mph winds forecasted by the 'weather genies' was way off base... because it was blowin a freakin gail... and though I really wanted to fish some roe, my right hand was stupid. It couldn't light cigarettes, unzip zippers, or un-snap/snap interlock swivels... Not sure if it was cold, numb, arthritic, retarded, or merely suffering from a post-traumatic-stress disorder of some kind or another...

At any rate, I didn't feel like rigging up bottom-bouncing gear so I left the spoon attached and continued on my merry dreary way.

Complicating matters... I even had to cross a POLICE LINE to get back in the water.

No worries though... it was a short line.

Some little fish that thought he was a much bigger fish, decided to chew on my spoon.

An UN-measurement-worthy, 'hatchery brat' and probably one of the recently-released smolts from the Nimbus steelhead rearing ponds. By the way that went down last week and the salmon smolt releases are slated for 2.5 weeks from now...

I struggled for the next 2 hours... but despite that I wanted to hook an adult steelhead... I was content to just be on the river and be away from the hatchery. I never saw another fisherman between 0600 and 1400.

This is a bitchin' time of year when things are snappin' and colors are changin', birds are singin', and ticks are bitin' (well maybe not that part).

It's also cool because normally-unaccessible areas are now accessible due to the winter die-back of shrubs and grasses along the river's edge.

I walked and worked the 'flotsam/jetsam' stretch across from the golf course. This is the only place on the entire river where you can mark off every item from your scavenger hunt list in less than 100 yards and 20 minutes. NINE-WEST leopard skin handbag, really fancy Italian, signature volleyball, red christmas light flame-type bulb, panties, syringes, Jack antenna balls... were among some of the hot-ticket items I encountered during today's visit. I forgot to get back and take photos...

At some point, I had to go up a hill and around a tree to get to some good water. As I climbed, I suddenly became aware of just how jacked-up my knee actually was... I still gimped like a soldier up a flight of whorehouse stairs though and as I shuffled over the rocks, I noticed another kind of house...

Seemed to have been recently used...

SOMEbody's diggin in here at night...

The chick with the NINE WEST purse? Carlo manfort? or maybe a bobcat or coyote den...

SHIT! What's that smell?@!

One thing certain... if he did at one time... THIS GUY don' live there no' mo'

I decided to make a voodoo doll and cast a spell to permanently remove any and all 'l'essence de skunk' from my future river fishing odysseys...

I got the sticks but then was unsure how to make the voodoo work so I instead made a real live (I mean real-dead) NO-SKUNKS! sign and took a photograph.

I got back down to the river and lobbed my spoon in to the deep rolling waters. I figured I'd work the 'cast and walk down' method until reaching the bottom of the island and then call it.

When I reached the tree I ed around before, I decided to just open my bail, cough up some line and catch up to the spoon after rounding the tree. When I started reeling, the line stopped. I was going to lose my first spoon of the day. I opened the bail again and slacked some line to try and ease off the rock but it didn't work. I went to do the dirty deed (break out/off) and the rock moved. My rod was way bent and there was that spongy feeling again but it had a lot more substance to it... BIGGER bungie cord? NO, it was a fish. It felt big but don't they all when you never see or land 'em>?

It felt like a salmon and may have been. Sometimes a big buck steelhead will also hunker down on the bottom like that and not move until you're least expecting him to...

Maybe it was a log that rolled and pulled like a fish.

Whatever it was... it still is... with no recollection of me.

I walked back to the truck and stopped to snap a picture of an orchard remnant or escapee. Not sure if it's apple, cherry, or something else but it had lots of blossoms and the name TyRuS carved in its trunk.