Volume 2 Season 22, Epilogue

The great frontier tends to dominate our minds and, rightfully so, is the capstone of our season.  Of course this year was consistent, in that it was new and unpredictable- and the first time since our rookie outing that the weather got the best of us.  But as I pulled in the last rainbow trout today from my home waters- I realized that AK this year hadn't defined my season.  I guess my season has become so long, with so many regular outings, AK is just a grand chapter this year, but not the whole story.  Seems it just reinforced this seasons plot line.

One of the prized pictures in my home study- thanks to Pablo- is one of a young Jack Berry holding a monster Lahonton Cutthroat in the kitchen of our house on Welling way.  Just a little taller than the trout he is holding is an 8 or 9 year old Mickey, decked out in pajamas and grinning in amazement.  A premonition?  Well, I had some great early days chasing trout on Paradise Pond, right in the heart of Reno and taking a date to catch rainbows in a big pool below the substation on the Truckee.  Dad took us with Grandpa to cast to ocean run Shad on the Feather River and we regularly cast for bass in the dredger ponds of California or Lake Lahonton.  But as happens- basketball, girls and whatever else, soon pushed out the fishing and for many years I never took a rod in hand.  Almost fatefully, my last winter in Provo I think the stress of grad school and the looming weight of a professional career drove me back to the water.  I so distinctly remember one late March day, rising early and with a bottle of potzki's balls of fire, crawled up on a railroad bridge and took a couple of rainbows from a big deep pool on the lower section of the Provo River.  The morning chill, the calm solitude, the flowing water and the wriggling trout- I had found something I'd lost, something I needed.

A couple of years later, Pablo introduced me to the fly rod and I began scouting the waters of Appalachia.  It was slow and tedious, but just being in the woods was reward enough. Jones' Hole that year truly marked the beginning of the volume I'm still writing.  Neoprene waders in the July heat and huge, locally procured crane fly larva tied with rubber bands so as to be chewy- yielded for me a few rainbow trout at the base of a 400 foot red rock wall- a setting beyond description.

Today the conditions were challenging.  Fish weary from a thousand drifts and dwindling like August Sockeye, skies cold and windy- but it wasn't frustrating.  It wasn't endurance.  It wasn't opportunity lost.   Thoughtfully, peacefully I switched flies, wrestled greedy tree branches, laughed out loud at the refusals and long distance releases.  Made great casts and sloppy casts and even took a few memorable fish.

I believe this season has ended the volume begun on the railroad trusses over the Provo.  I don't need a counter, I don't need pictures of red striped behemoths, or tales of the backing.  I just need the water, a rod and a fly and I'm back in my pajamas in the kitchen on Welling Way, a big ole grin on my face.

Careful What You Wish For

Just one fish. That's all I needed. Just one. After the first one I felt the greed begin to creep into the recess of my subconscious.  "Man, that was too easy, fourth cast, one fish", so went my thinking. 

Fall is ebbing away, much too quickly.  First time out this Fall, can't believe it myself. What has my life become? Distracted summer, moving addresses in the Fall. A punishing trip to AK. 

I'm distracted by the odd things I find stream side.  Found a tennis ball, thought comes into my head, "would be odd if I found a soccer ball".  Wish granted.  Time to go. Just one more fish, just one more.  Wish granted. 

OUCH!

Just a quick note.  Back from AK. Still licking wounds. Hurricane force winds, flood stage water. Few fish.
Will elaborate later, when the numbness wears off.

T- Minus 4 Weeks: The final gear list amendments

Gees, I head to Salt for a few days and no one sends out a picture of the day and all the pre trip enthusiasm bleeds out like a dolly hooked through the eye ball.  Ok, so it's close enough now to start real, earnest gear review and obsession.  So here is my personal "add on list"- things I've noticed from film, read in my journal or dreamed about.  Feel free to add, but don't subtract:

• Bigger (3L) video camera bag that attaches to wading belt
• Versa tip (easy change between floating and sinking, cause this year I AM going to do more mousing)
• 5-6 more dalais, assorted flavors
• dry gloves to wear around camp

Group questions sill outstanding:

• What'd we decide about chairs?  Does Mike have 6?  Yes, I think Mike said he has 6. I'll ask for sure.
• Maybe we do still bring the rod caddie so at least 3 of the rods are stowed and not being walked on.  Depends on weight, if we can, take it.
• Do two of us bring an extra reel and extra rod, as "group spares" so everyone doesn't bring one, yet we've got a couple in case we break a rod (likely) or drop a reel in the river? everyone better bring an extra rod.
• I never heard back from Janet about a second raft, do I try again? Yes, we'll take it. ask again.
• How many snickers bars are you sending up JB?  Are you still incharge of buying and shipping all the food? yes, I'm in charge. I think I have about 120??  I sent up Dehyd food last night.
• Who's bringing stoves?  Last year we had 3 but only used 2... so it should figure that 4 stoves will suffice for party of 6.  JB, Hondo and I each have jet boils, Steve or Bill, ya'll got a stove to bring?  AND since we can't bring fuel on the plane, you sending any fuel up JB? I think 3 Jetboils are fine. two to a stove. Fuel? we have some in storage, we should probably try to find another can or two in Dilly.

What else?????? Bear spray. I'll order some, or get Mike to buy some for us, and reimburse him.
what else Gov? you're the man with the list and journal etc.. what'd you have written down?

We're going When?

Ok, I can't argue that the best fishing is in August. The bo's and Dolly's are up in mass, and they've gotten girth on the first two waves of salmon (kings and reds), there will be some pinks still around and with some luck there will be silvers. We'll be fishing in bone land with all those carcasses littering the banks, but the rainbo's will be fierce and the dolly's decked out for the spawn..... BUT DANG MAN, it's so LONG TO WAIT... kids just got out of school and we aren't going until they are BACK IN SCHOOL. Sheesh, I can't take this. Some one's gotta do something!

The Distant Future, The Distant Future...

This is what Alaska looks like, from three months out.  Can't quite make it out, a bit shrouded in fog, but I know it's there.  For some inmates I won't name, like Mule & Hefe, this is the only thing keeping them alive; while with bleeding fingers they paint tally marks onto the walls of their cells.

Here's to dreaming boys, a bright future; only 3-4 months away

SEEN from the Great North

Hurry and snap it man, this thing weighs a ton

Ummm let's see, that's 29, 30, 31.... whew, that's longer than I can count

Heard from the Great North

Mikey aka Alaska Mike, aka, Softserve Mike, Aka "if ones good, twos better" Mike ( and a hundred other terms of endearment for this lovable nutcase of a piscator), had notified us that he was hitting the mercurial naknek this weekend. Weather prognostication was perfect for an early spring outing. So all weekend I'd cast my thoughts to the naknek and Mikey, wondering, wondering, pining to be there, but glad I hand't endured the travel torture (see Pablo's post: The UnGuided~  Season 1  Episode 1  The Naknek) if it was a total bust. Well, typical Mikey, he has to keep the torment up as long as possible (must be that special forces interrogation training he got in Nam)... this message showed up in my inbox on Monday morning, it's so painful I just had to share...

From: "Mike Larsen" Date: Mon, Apr 30, 2012 12:10 am 
Subject: hey 
To: "John Berry" 
Complete success. Hope to send pics soon. What a weekend. Every dream was fulfilled, and that's saying a lot.  ML

Dear Senator Hatch

Recently, I penned a letter to all my Congressmen and Senators, voicing my concerns and opinions about the Pebble Mine fiasco.  I've received one phone call (by a yawning, bored aide) and this letter.
Following the letter, is my response (penned by El Hefe). 
__________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Mr. Juan Pablo:

Thank you for your email concerning the proposed Pebble Mine at Bristol Bay in Alaska. I appreciate your attention to this matter, and I welcome the opportunity to respond.

As you may know, the deposits of the minerals in question are located on land that is owned by the state of Alaska. I value your input and hearing your concern for the salmon population and surrounding environment. As a federal representative from the state of Utah, my position precludes me from exerting jurisdiction over matters that belong to another state. While some believe the federal government should exert its authority to block this proposal, I ultimately believe that matters on state lands should be decided by the respective state. You may wish to contact Alaska’s governor and federal congressional delegation to voice your concern over this proposal for development.

Thank you for being vigilant in the protection of this unique resource. Please feel free to contact my office in the future in any matters involving the federal government. 

Your Senator,

Orrin G. Hatch

United States Senator

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Senator Hatch,

 You sir are a coward!  Do you remember hugging my wife a couple of years ago?  Well, that was fine, no big deal, but now, you have crossed the line.  If you don't protect these fish, you have no standing to call yourself a man let alone a representative of our great state of Utah.  You sir, have offended my honor, I therefore, challenge you to a duel! You may choose the weapon and I will dispatch you with out further thought!  

PS. I'm heck with a scatter-gun, just ask that she-bear on the Pongo.  If I were you, I would not choose the scatter-gun.

SEE YOU IN HELL!

Yours truly,

Juan-Pablo Secreterio

El Presidente, Rocky Mtn HQ
THE Unguided

Hog Johnson

The Fish Gods granted me three tries, count them, three, to hook Hog Johnson.  How can I ever repay that debt?  Biked in to Upper LB, of course not a soul in sight. The clear water, golden stones to match the outrageous colors of the trout.  Cutt, Brown, Bow.  Wild fish, is there anything better?

Go Big or Go Home, sort of

Finally got out on LHF, Friday. Good day, fairly warm, some rising trout.  I did manage to lodge a fly (contest is to guess which fly) into my neck.  I succeeded in doing this trick with a roll cast that was grabbed by a gust of wind, bringing my fly to my left side, just as I was punching forward with the cast.  Of course, I had not debarbed my fly, a fleeting thought 4 minutes prior to this feat.  I surgically removed the fly using my hemostats and a loud yell.  Then I went big.  I tied on a big double Renegade, which brought rewards immediately.  I'm always surprised when a large gaudy fly brings the fish running. Landed a few others on this buggy looking thing, then found a run with a large Cutt patrolling.  He refused the Renegade, that's when I went small. I loved holding that Cutt in my hand, 13" maybe, colored like a two bit hooker. What great day.

Stream of No Return #2

To quote those two sages of the seventies, "My brain is like a sieve!". That's cheech and chong if you didn't remember that album. I was disrupting my wife's rest at midnight on Wednesday trying to pin point on the iPad map the location of the Mitchell river. What exit off 77? By the way, the trout "maps" on NC wildlife's website SUCK! (to quote another auspicious toker from the 80's, Spicoli). Who makes a map whose only points of reference are interstate highways and unnamed blue lined rivers and streams with little black triangles in a row to designate trout water. It's the freaking stupidest thing I've ever seen, and of course I bought them online two years ago for the whole state, so I've got this lovely 11x17 publication, second edition no less, that is totally WORTHLESS! But I digress. So in my frustration I thought I remembered writing about my first venture to Mitchell and calling Steveo aka Indian chief, on the phone and getting directions in route, surely I blogged the directions. So I found the entry from 2010, clever, entertaining and well written, like all my entries, but no specific intel. Somehow I was able to go back and forth between the wildlife map and the iPad map and a vague recollection of a road names Zephyr (why is that familiar???)and finally found it.

So I showed up on a foggy morning. Remembered the better fishing was down low. It's not a pretty stream per se, though it does have a certain pastoral feel to it, flanked on all sides by corn and soybean fields, a few old barns and one pretty farm house. But muddy bottoms and cloudy water aren't to exciting to me, I don't like wading when I can't see my feet. I could at least see where my feet should've been if not for the 18" of muck that is the mosquito lagoon. Well, I didn't cover much water, but caught a few brookies and a Bo as well as two little sucker fish with strange blister looking marks on their heads, and a sunfish. But after seeing exactly 5 fisherman in a total of 35 yards of water, and needing to get to my meeting in High Point, I decided, Mitchell is going as number two, right below "Brown Sugar" on my list of steams of no return! I'm making a NC wildlife quality map of these streams so I can never find them again.

Is my writing brilliant, or is it just me? How am I not published in FFJ or drake?

Waiting on the Spawn

The Alaska fish and wildlife department has fish counters on the Blank River (I guess they gotta do something when they aren't giving Mikey tickets) and one of my favorite June and July activities is to monitor the number of salmon heading up river and chart it against previous years data, trying to discern how good the fishing will be when we touch down on unnamed lake.

Well the NC spawn is a little easier to monitor. I can tell you with perfect certainty when and where 4,500 rainbow, Brooke and brown trout will enter the waters. They have endured miles of concrete and a steady pellet diet to return to their proverbial birth waters and satisfy the needs of desperate piscators locked in offices, cubicles and factories. Hail the spawn, long live the spawn. And, luckily for me, I can tell you exactly when the spawn will end. On the first Saturday in June all trout will have completed their epic journey of piscatorial satiation via stringer, breading and fry pan. Replenishing the bulging guts of trout slaking worm chukers of every color, creed and gender. The circle of life is complete. Hail the spawn, long live the spawn.

~The Return~ pt 1

One fish two fish, red fish blue fish

Actually would've been happy with one or two fish, certainly saw a lot of red fish. Like all first ascents into a new biosphere pursuing a new species I was the proverbial duck out of water. The kayak thing was fine, but there was minimal standing up and definitely no casting while standing. The drill was to paddle to an area where you could see and hear reds wallowing in the foot deep water, stealthily as possible hop out of the kayak, sink to your shins in muck and cast to the closest most recent disturbance. Several times I felt certain I was right on the dudes dinner table but stripping didn't get any attention and letting the fly just drop into the grass and out of sight didn't seem to make sense. The casting distances were tolerable, 30-40 feet, some closer. What was comical was when I'd be out of the kayak, anchored to the lagoon floor facing one direction only to glimpse a roll to my right or left and try to turn at my waist and cast in that direction with feet still planted. Course that wasn't as comical as the two times my tether to the kayak dropped off my wading belt and I'd look up from a strip to see my ride catching the breeze and scooting away, enlisting a panicked slow motion plunge complete with terrible sucking sound. Yah, and try getting your fly line untangled from your legs when your feet are cemented in 18" of goo. I'm actually proud that I survived the day with out a single face plant in the turtle grass. I can only imagine the dilemma of both feet and hands (and reel) sucked into the muck- that might yield the first piscator drowning in a foot of water!

Well, I can saw the barrier has now been officially broken. Maybe next year I can spend 2 or 3 days flailing away until it clicks. But for this time, my last day in salt country will be spent with 50,000 of my closest friends waiting in line to touch Harry Potters Wand! When I do, I'm gonna cry out, "redfishimus catcherosa expeliromus!". Couldn't hurt.

Judas Iscariot Hogwallup!

Here I sit.  Staring down the barrel of the longest two months of my life. True, we have not had a "killer" winter yet, but the weather app says over a foot of snow tonight. I hate January and February. Well, maybe hate is too strong of a word, but unless I'm out snowshoeing or otherwise enjoying the back country, I guess I do hate these two miserable months.  To make matters worse, the people that are supposed to be my support group through this Hell, the ones that should commiserate with me are betraying me!  Yes, you read it right!  Betraying me. I've already been left by the Mule, he's off in la la land playing Ozzy and Harriet.  Now comes the final blow. The Gov thinks he's off to the salt tomorrow!  Yah, you heard me! Salt!? What does he know about salt?  You're right! Nothing!  But it's all he can talk about.... salt this, salt that,  and it's MY hypertension that's going through the roof!  SODIUM intake be cursed!  I curse his eyes!  Good for nothing traitorous pond scum... Here I sit. Go ahead, rub salt in my wound.

"The Truckee, what? are you kidding me, the Truckee"

Jim Mora, a football coach who's famous rant about the playoffs has outlived anything he's accomplished on the field, fills my head. I'm reading in the Drake about some ski bum from Squaw v
Valley fishing the Truckee River, and here comes coach Mora, "the Truckee, are you kidding me, the Truckee!?!".

So of course Montana (not Joe, the state of) is unequivocally the Mecca of trout fishing. But, my fishing roots have periodically been featured in some magazine. A few months ago the ladders of Pyramid Lake were on the cover of TU's magazine, and now this, the Truckee. What next Paradise Pond, Sparks Nevada, that trout haven tucked in-between the drive in theatre and House of Fabrics? Where a stringer of hatchery rainbows and hamster cage full of crawdads could be procured by 6 grubby boys looking for a summer fish fry, carrying rods and booty on their bicycles.

It's kind of legitimizing and mystifying at the same time to read breathless stories in fly fishing rags about the very places you cut your baby fishing teeth. The Truckee River, oh if that river could talk. Now my experiences there are shallow and few compared to Pablo and Loren Mills escapades. But I will tell you there was an afternoon, when I took a blond cheerleader to a favorite spot, not far out of town. I was wearing my green Galena Creek basketball camp shirt from 1979 and a pair of cut offs. I waded out into the pocket water and deftly let my Pautzke's Balls of Fire on a #6 eagles claw tumble down the current and was quickly rewarded with a 12" rainbow and then another. The water was too cold and the cheerleader too hot to keep wading, so I came and joined her on the sandy beach next to a deep green pool. A few split shots were added to the rig and I cast into the middle of the pool hoping the fish action wouldn't be faster than the lip action. My infatuation for the cheerleader grew deeper as I watched her excitedly clean my catch. It was a hot sticky day on the Truckee, I remember smelling for the first time in my life my own BO in the arm pits of that green shirt, probably was during a laundry strike my mom pulled from time to time, and for some reason I couldn't stop sniffing that shirt.

We left there that afternoon deeply, deeply in love like any high school couple and myself particularly bemused by the unlikely intersection of perfume, BO and salmon eggs. I was going to marry this girl and we were going to fish happily ever after.

On the banks of the Truckee river!

"Playoffs!?"