Best Fish, Worst Story

The story, our lives are about the stories. I wish this trout had a better story, it deserves a better story. It deserve a brutal slog through a torrential downpour, a long wait to spot it, an even longer cast and perfect swing to elicit the take and then the epic battle. What it got was a guide (yah, I know, how can there be a story with a guide on the unguided- my head is hanging in shame) motoring Steve and I over the "glory hole" with 8" spoons trolling 20 yards behind the boat. No sooner had we fixed our lines I started to tell about the last time I trolled for Stripers on Smith Mountain lake with a foul mouthed, idiot of a guide (there it is again) in a bitter wind for 8 hours....as soon I said, "I hate trolling" the rod in my hand jolted like I'd snagged a tree and instantaneously this rainbow began an acrobatic display fit for the cirque du soleil. It was incredible, and I admit I gave Steve STRICT instruction that his filming must not show the bait casting rod in my hands or the guide at the helm. Of course those were impossible orders and in the one shot you can even hear him say, "your going to have to SENSOR that, I think I got the pole in it". That is hysterical, Steve- what a great sport.

Ok, well, I guess this biggest 'Bo of mine does have a story- just not the one I would have like, but the one I got. And such is life- at least my life.

Midnight on the Kvichak

Funny when the year mark is creeping up on a trip, all pain, sorrow and suffering is forgotten, all fish are big, the weather is great, the companionship unparalleled and you want to go back in the worst way.. THEN you watch the footage! Not even that snickers bar (number 26 as I recall) could improve Pablo's mood. THIS, THIS is why we are the UNGUIDED.

I'm reading my fish journal from before and after this trip. I am hoping that all this experience is teaching me to slow down, enjoy the moment, whatever it may be and just let it flow. I've spent so many years and trips all keyed up and anxious- creating totally unrealistic expectations in my mind which must invariably be dashed and only in hindsight can I appreciate what did happen.

It's a Sockeye! Pt. 2

It's a Sockeye! Pt. 1

 The Adventures of the UnGuided. The behind the scenes footage of the outrageous antics of the bumbling crew. Join them as they try to get "the shot" and end up with comical results instead. Part 2 will bring it all to a shocking conclusion.

Overheard at the Watering Hole

I tell you, strange things are said at the watering hole... I cross my heart this is the whole truth and nothin but the truth as I hear it;

Piscator 1: "Dang it, dad gum it all together. Turned the wrong way this morning. Should've stayed straight heading to "unnamed river" but turned right to work"

Piscator 2: "now why you wanna do that?"

Piscator 1: "I can't explain it.. just a weak moment, felt like I better get some work done. maybe if I worked harder while I'm at work instead of pissin around on the email and text I'd get more done and have time to fish..... nah.... prob not."

Piscator 2: "I tell myself the same thing, oughta work harder then be free to fish.. who am I foolin?"

Piscator 1: "It ain't our fault. Look at our grandpa's, both sides, we got us a double barrel full of screw around the woods and water genes. Heck, we're doing pretty good considering how hard we be fighting the deep genetic encoding... come from a long line of outdoorsman and frontier types."

Piscator 2: "Darn straight, I'm all teary eyed thinking of it"

Piscator 1: "No wonder I feel like I'm in a dammed cage when I'm in this office. It ain't my natural habitat... sheesh.. what am I, a dang zoo specimen?! They don't want to be fed, they want to hunt and kill! Or catch and release... a more modern, kinder gentler frontiersman."

Piscator 2: "No animal deserves to be in a cage!! It ain't right!"

Piscator 1: "Heck ya! I wanna see some dang "outdoorsman rift group: outside my office picketing for me to be set free. Throwing reams of white copy paper on passersby and screaming, "YOU CALL IT AN OFFICE, TO HIM IT'S A CAGE!!

Piscator 2: "SET HIM FREE, LET HIM FISH!"

Piscator 1: "Aw crap! I just realized this FRS healthy energy drink I kyped from Atlanta and had been swiggin this a.m. has 65mg of caffeine... no wonder I'm all freakin.,. better shut my mouth before I fire or give raises to everyone"

Piscator 2: "That's too funny"

Piscator 1: "You know we got that dang alcoholic gene too. We're trouble man. You know cousin whatshisname is on trial... sheesh.. we really like steelhead fightin up stream all the way"

Piscator 2: "Dang cousin whatshisname should've taken up fly fishing instead of shooting roomies"

Piscator 1: "See, that's what I'm saying, it's fly fishing that's kept me outta prison all these years!"

Piscator 2: "IT'S THE GOSPEL TRUTH!"

Piscator 1: "Sheesh, I think we got us a sitcom here. I'm going to write us up a pilot. We gonna be negotiating with NBC and people will watch it cause it's on TV!"

Piscator 2: "What's your drink called? I gotta get me one"

Piscator 1: "FRS natural energy, all lumped up with blueberry skins and spider saliva- natural antioxidants, but come to find out it's really the caffeine that's energizing you.. dang blueberries and spiders are just marketing hype. Lance Armstrong swears by it... I gotta whole backpack full for free in Atlanta, unfortunately, that was the same weekend I swore off caffeine.. no wonder I didn't mind dropping 75 $ at the Coke cathedral.... it's all making sense now.. sheesh, I gotta dump this stuff, I don't care what Lance says, probably gave him cancer"

Piscator 2: "Yah, he lost some testicles"

Piscator 1: "I need some Tylenol"

Fishing Village and River Club

A couple of weeks ago as I was hurrying up to the DH on Wilson, I realized I had no food stuff to sustain me through 6 hours of fishing. I had noticed the transformation taking place at "the old campground store" at the entry way to the Pisgah. For at least 20 years and probably much longer, this area had been a campground. That's Appalachian term for a place where people of modest means have their second home, or travel trailer or tent as it be. But basically its private property on some body of water, where a group of people lease a spot of ground where they can erect or drag some type of living structure. They then come with family and friends during the scorching days of summer and find cool respite. The camp ground also provides amenities- a small store, picnic areas, and sometimes even water slides and some improvements to the "swimming hole". Such is or was the campground at the entry to the wilson creek gorge.

But things are a changing in these mountains. A few years ago I noticed that another "campground" further up the stream, one of decided ill repute and marked by a tattered rebel flag, had been completely torn down and refurbished to a more natural state- making lost canoers feel much safer I'm sure. So I think last year, I noticed a sign go up on the campground store, "Got flies"- that was interesting, since most of the wilson creek patrons don't care if the zipper in their cut-off blue jeans works or not. So on this hurried day with out food stocks I decided to stop in and see what was going on at the old camp store. The wooden trout over the door, orvis, simms and other logos plastered to the windows was only exceeded by the person inside. After years of chasing new waters, I've been in my share of little country stores all over Appalachia- I have never seen a fit, patagonia wearing, running shoe clad woman of 45 in such a store, let a lone running it. She gave me the low down. She and her husband were managing the place and turning it into a "fishing village and river club", complete with weekly stay cabins, private water here at the "village" as well as guided trips into the wild waters feeding this federally designated "wild and scenic river" as well as open fishing in the Delayed Harvest section. WOW. I was amazed. She was super nice and actually gave me a prepacked salad for lunch and showed me the petition they were taking to dissuade the county government from building a public park up in the DH section where the old mill structure sits. As I was leaving her husband drove up and explained to me more about the vision they have. I made the mistake of saying, "Yah, I was wondering what was going on with the campground"and he replied very seriously, "campground is a term we don't use around here." He invited me to come back and fish the private water where he has a variety of trout stocked- including cutthroat in some "very technical water". I don't know exactly what technical water is, but I think I will take him up on the offer the day after the DH ends and every cutoff wearing, egg piercing, meat head officially takes every trout out of the stream.

I don't usually like things to change. I'm not real crazy about all of the exclusive second home communities that until the economy stopped, where sprout up all around my stomping grounds. But I also must concede that the typical campgrounder and drunken wilson creek skinnydipper are not exactly my cup of tea. So, maybe I need to withhold judgement and see how this "fishing village and river club" works out.

Fortress of Fishability

Much has been said lately (among the two of us that actually read this drivel or care about the art of the angle) concerning our "Fortress of Fishability". I "LQTM" as I read the Guv'na's comment on my last post. Knowing he had just laid another brick around the foundation of his Fortress, and what a price he paid for that brick. BTW, how was that fried coke?

My Fortress is built mostly on ignorance. Many of my "outings" are done not so much secretively, but when others are doing things of more importance. All the better for me. As Guv'na said, and I quote, "Can't rush it, it takes time. My fortress of fishability still wobbles at the foundation from time to time." So take it where you can, built it brick by brick. By and by no one will care what you are doing with your fairy wand, you'll be left alone to wade the waters of wisdom.

Speaking of fairy wands, I took mine, the new 5ft 2wt up LHF on the Fool's Day. (great day to fish) I christened the wand on many a mighty trout. well, even those little 10"ers had their way with me once I had them hooked to my wand. I do tell you though, using the little rod with a bow 'n arrow cast was deadly. I could sneak up to within about 6 feet of those little trout that were hanging out under willows and sticks, punch a little bow 'n arrow cast right under the obstacles (use O' Brother dialect) and hook me a trout, and we'd be off to the races. It had me wondering what a 16" trout would do to me.....