The UnGuided

Waiting on the Spawn

2012-02-28T09:03:00.000-08:00

The Alaska fish and wildlife department has fish counters on the Togiak (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

2012-01-31T08:40:00.001-08:00

One fish two fish, red fish blue fish

2012-01-21T20:20:00.000-08:00

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!

2012-01-18T08:52:00.000-08:00

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"

2012-01-14T08:20:00.000-08:00

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!?"

Inner Rumblings

2011-12-14T09:13:00.000-08:00

The inner workings of The UnGuided film crew have finally begun to move. The long awaited production and editing of, "~The Return~" is underway. There is no telling how long this process will take, but regardless, the full length film will delight and appease at least 4 people.

Stay tuned.

Naknek what the Heck?

2011-11-28T19:44:00.001-08:00

As my wife sent me off to find "such & such" at the grocery store; I passed the magazine rack and quickly forgot my errand. I noticed a fly fishing rag had fingered one of my AK haunts. "What the heck, don't finger the Naknek"! There it was, in full gory, some chump giving the deets on another great river. WHY?! "Scumbucket!" I screamed to no one in particular. I quickly perused the rag article, noticing furtive glaces of hate and disdain coming my way. "I will NOT buy this rag", I muttered halfway under my breath, "how dare they". I found a silver lining though, obviously this underpaid over-privledged, dare I say, author? had never fished it without a guide. Hence he left out the secret of the UnGuided. "He left out the secret!" I blurted, not caring where I was or who I was shouting at, "Heee HEE HEE". I quickly snapped a photo with my phone and sent it off to the Gov. He'll understand, he'll understand, I thought. "Now, what did I come here for?" I asked the redneck who stood near me as he flipped through a copy of his own guilty pleasure. "I'm in dutch with the wife".

First Tracks

2011-11-21T08:11:00.001-08:00

I wish I could tell you that a pristine little trout stream lay at the top of the mountain and that I found many willing trout on the end of my line this day, but alas, I cannot. When life gives you snow, you make tracks. The trail head parking had not even been plowed yet, good sign. Not a human track was found, only deer and a coyote. We covered several miles enjoying the cold air and dearth of people. I suppose I could have been on a trout stream somewhere, but in 22 degree weather, I'd rather be snowshoeing. Wilderness is wilderness, no matter the activity.

Autumn

2011-10-18T20:05:00.000-07:00

What is the feel of autumn? The canyon color is at its’ peakright now. I've spent more time in thiscanyon this year, than any other year; by far. It has all been either painting or hiking. Possibly the record snow fall is accountablefor the blaze of colors, splendid oranges, glorious reds and unearthlyyellows. At times I've hung my head inwonder at the beauty of it all, especially when I have tried to put it tocanvas. I know the color of autumn; I knowthe smell of autumn as well. Today I putthe brushes away, hid the hiking boots, instead I grabbed the four weight, abox of dries, a DMD and off I sped. As Istrung the rod streamside, sitting in the warm sun enjoying a slight breezetouch my face, I realized why I fish, why I’m afflicted with this disease. I realized I didn’t even need to catch atrout. I still don’t. “Whatis the feel of autumn?” I don’t mean tactile, I mean emotionally. To me it is abeginning. Even though it may be the beginningof the end, nature seems alive. Every living thing seems bent on being alive,totally and thoroughly alive. Just as I was;standing in the cold water. What is thefeel of autumn? It feels like a cutthroat.

Sausage

2011-10-04T15:43:00.000-07:00

The Summer of 1985 found me on my maiden voyage to western North Carolina and to pay passage, I gained employ at a meat packing plant. Hogs rolled in from Iowa and bacon, sausage, ham and eventually scraps for the dog food plant left the building. I had the distinct honor of working on the sausage line, packing little boxes of sausage into bigger boxes. I learned first hand that summer how sausage was made, to this day, I don't eat sausage.

John Deere Gator HPX-1

I hit Wilson on a sunny morning with the first hints of fall in the air. The delayed harvest should be underway I surmised. But after slogging through my favorite runs and spying only a couple of perch, I got back in the car, confused, bemused, bewildered and began the long dirt road back to civilization. As I passed the "old mill" turn out, I spied a couple of guys and a truck with a state agency tag, sitting around a gator with a big rectangular box strapped to the back. I pulled down for a closer look. If any question remained, the large long handled shallow nets leaning against the gator subtly answered. I pulled by and backed into a parking space, still in my waders and rod stung up and stowed from the back head rest to the front passenger floor board. I sat there for a few minutes, not sure what to do and pounded out an SOS on my Ipad to Pablo, but there was no signal. A few minutes passed and an old man in an older Subaru pulled up and spoke to the men. I rolled down my window to hear the reply, "They start right up there at Harper's bridge, didn't you see them? We're waiting for them to get down here."

I felt strange, like a rubber necker at a car wreck, but I had to go,I had to see it for myself. I drove to the bridge and pulled inconspicuously off the road just before the bridge. Through the trees I saw two guys hoist nets brimming with wriggling trout from the truck's tank and jog down to the stream. I didn't actually witness the spawn, but I heard it. I heard the splashes, and saw them jog back up the bank, nets empty.

I was still sitting in my car when they drove by me. I felt ashamed and looked down at my lap. They seemed to want to pull off the road just past me, so I pulled forward to accommodate them. I pulled right where they had been parked. I waited, I waited for them to be around the corner, out of sight.

The little angel on my shoulder told me to break my rod down, peel off the waders and head for home. But some disgusting, ugly, dark part of me, the part I try to keep buried deep in my subconscious, took over and I walked, rod in hand, in their very foot steps, stream side. Never has the bend of the rod and whir of the casting line left me so flat. No more than 5 casts later, I gave into my good side and packed it in. Maybe leaving fishless could redeem me from giving in to the dark side.

MMMM GOOD!

The joyless ride home was full of questions. Profound, soul wrenching questions. Yes, I have known for years that my delayed harvest trout are not real, they are as synthetic as this keyboard, as cyber as this blog. But I had never had to see the spawn, I'd never experienced the absolutely hollowing scene I'd just witnessed and I wondered. I wondered if I could ever eat sausage again.

No Entry

2011-10-02T19:24:00.000-07:00

after the fact, I realized I fished on Friday, not Saturday... sssshhhhhh.... don't tell.

~The Return~ trailer

2011-09-29T13:17:00.000-07:00

2011-09-06T11:34:00.001-07:00

2011-09-06T11:32:00.000-07:00

It's not all about the fish

2011-09-06T08:48:00.000-07:00

In the process of editing footage; sifting through all the poor footage (hear that Mule?) I'm sure though in the end, we'll have some stellar trailers with the possibility of a feature length film. Be patient.

The Bear that messed with us.

2011-08-06T15:32:00.000-07:00

Gear List

2011-08-04T16:00:00.000-07:00

Tent- 6 man

Sleeping bags

Therma-rests

Dry Bags for gear

Toilet seat

Matches/lighters

Fire starter

Fire Logs

Kelty Rain Tarp

Rope

Firearm/shotgun

Ammo

Bear spray 3

First aid kit?

Small shovel / hatchet

Saw

Bunji cords

Seal bombs

Air horns

SPOT (Hans)

Net (Hans)?

Kitchen

Table

Jetboil Fuel

Jetboils

Chairs 3

Cooler (with raft?)

Salt / pepper

Paper towels

spoons

Binoculars

Water jug (collapsible)

Or hanging filter

Bed bag
Thermals/ long garments
Cap 4 top
socks
dry bag for night clothes

Go home clothes
Socks
Shirt
underwear

Personal
Sunscreen
Wet wipes
Bug dope
Towel/Soap/ deodorant/Toothbrush / paste pills/travel sickness
GPS new batt’s
maps
Water purification tablets
Windproof sock hat/O.R. hat/Waders-belt/Liners for waders/Socks 3 pair for wading
Shirts 2 (1 fishing 1 t-shirt)/Underwear 3
Wading Boots/ Wading / Waterproof jacket/Pants (wear)/Gloves, fingerless/Atom / vest
Cap 3
Sunglasses / Headlamp- new Batt’s
Fish equip./backpack / Rods 2, Reels 2 / License- buy online / Water bottle / Headnet
Vid camera, water proof bag reg camera / Tickets, itinerary / Cash, lots
Hand warmers, feet / Neoprene booties?
Pillow / sleeping bag?
Aquaseal for wader repair 2

Food for Thought

2011-08-01T17:17:00.000-07:00

The preparations for AK 11 continue. Today I shipped up the stove fuel. Last week I bought and shipped up the tent. Tomorrow I better buy the Bear Fence eh? I think we should take turns rolling ourselves up in the fence.. that ought to do the trick. I purchased the rest of the food today, will ship it up soon. We are going with the basics: Granola bars, Clif bars, Oatmeal, dried fruit, PB&J's, Jerky, Hot Cocoa, and freeze dried dinners. Still have to buy some licorice, and oh, Snickers. That's it boys. It took a lot of self control not to over-buy today, probably still did, but I think we're pretty scaled down. I'm counting on Mikey to make us up some Gorp. Here's the menu for 8 days.

BK- Oatmeal (with some dried fruit) and a Bagel/Cream Cheese
LN- PB&J, jerky, clif bars or granola
DN- Freeze Dried meal.

Snacks include; Gorp, licorice, snickers. That's it; probably a good weight loss program.

Unbroken Silence

2011-07-16T10:15:00.000-07:00

Every hour or so I check for email from the spot device. Was pretty cool to get a point while they were in flight to the lake. Then got a wayward point that had them half way down the river before other points have put them in the same spot for two nights, which is possible. About every half hour I check my watch and subtract 4 hours and wonder if they've gotten any sleep or if it's raining or what Reese thinks about fighting his first 15 pound chum. About every evening I sit down at the computer and edit film for the unguided production of Pongo 2010, which puts me with them, on the river bank setting up the tent, in the moments of boyish frivolity and laughter and the moments of homesickness and wondering why for 11 months you build this up to untouchable expectation when all it is is standing in cold water with little sleep for hour after hour of casting, when even catching a great rainbow doesn't make it worth it. Of course experience has taught you that those empty moments are caused by fatigue so deep you know you could lay down on the tundra in your waders and sleep for hours, and that its all part of the adventure, part of wilderness, part of you. And when your not there, you sure wish you were. Awfully quite in the lower 48 this week.

Rituals

2011-07-08T21:04:00.000-07:00

I know. The last trip is barely in the books (a movie not even made yet, a blog not yet written) but here I go. Slowly beginning pre-trip rituals. Laying out the gear... enjoy.

Pregame jitters

2011-06-27T18:34:00.000-07:00

Golden, that's the term Pablo used to describe the conditions we might find on the famed brown sugar creek. With high flows from dam releases necessitated by epic snow fall and subsequent run off, just now coming down and the potential of hungry browns and a salmon fly hatch, the table is set for a memorable outing. Brown sugar has been anathema to me. I've had decent days and I've had mediocre days there, while Pablo and Hondo DeMule have had hopper crushing days of satiation, seems every time I was not in company. A little added pressure comes this year as Jr. The yet unconverted prodigal son will be along, I'm hoping for that magical moment that will transform him from dutiful fishing partner to rabid trout bum, ( well, not too rabid as I am still paying his tuition).

Expectations in this game are a dangerous thing, and I know JB's delusions of gold are more driven by pent up demand from the failed black canyon expedition than any hard data, but what man ever did travel thousands of miles to done waders with out a 49ers pan full of optimism!

So, to the brown sugar gods (last time didn't we catch more rainbows?) I tip my hat and genuflect with the hopes that a trout will rise.

The Best Laid Plans of trout and men

2011-06-18T20:13:00.000-07:00

Dang it all to heck! Teeth grinding frustration of the winter from Hades. Why didn't I have more sense than to check the snow pack before booking a flight to Boise back in march for June. I'll tell you why! Because winter does that to a fisherman. It makes him desperate and wildly optimistic at the same time, a heckofa bad combo. Now it's flipping June the summer solstice and there is too much snow to get into big creek. My calendar is a mess, I spent a horrific amount of money on gear for this trip, Wilson help me, wore out an Alaska air visa. Pablo is heading north in a month anyway so this would only be an appetizer for him. I smell the curse of the fish gods settling upon me. It was the Kvichak/ Pongo double haul last year that stoked their displeasure for sure. I figure with Pablos triple haul this summer we'll go down in a fiery ball of float plane against an ungivinuk mountainside, and that will be that. dang it all to heck. My greed has gotten the best of me! I'm being humbled. For the first time in 3 years I will spend July 4th on a merrily decorated golf cart with a pack of octogenarians and toddlers dancing to beach music, lighting sparklers and watching fireworks. Instead of in an airport come or going to the great hatchery of the north country. Dang it all to heck!

The UnGuided~ Season 1 Episode 1 The Naknek

2011-05-25T13:10:00.000-07:00

Gov asked me to write about my experience on the Naknek; but I cannot. That whole trip was a roller coaster ride, at times I even thought of throwing up (Eddies Restaurant, don't get the Reuben).
That river, oh that river; she gives and takes away. Fickle as a ...(insert favorite noun)... her blustery moods can destroy, she can give up her jewels from the crystal water, or she can write you a $200 ticket. Either way, you'll never forget her. She will forever haunt you. There, I did have something to write.

Here it is.. Episode 1

The UnGuided: Pilot (unedited)

2011-05-17T13:13:00.001-07:00

Here's the Pilot episode for the upcoming (after editing) new reality show. Anyway, this is a quick peek at some raw footage. I'll see if I can put something together in a few weeks, or at least wax poetic (Guv'na's raison d'etre), till then.. enjoy Naknek Chrome! Narration courtesy of Mikey.

Sometimes the Dog bites your Behind!

2011-05-10T14:02:00.001-07:00

I only write this to document the conditions of BC on 5-5-11. The feelings are still to close to the surface, for me to speak or write about the events of that day.

Every Dog has it's day

2011-05-08T13:34:00.000-07:00

It seemed to happen so often I can't now exactly remember the details, but the memory is basic. I'm at work, toiling away, in another meeting, grinding out an existence. The phone rings, and it's Pablo and the Mule. They are drunk with a cocktail of exhaustion, satiation and red bull. The signal is broken up because they are just now on the saddle above brown sugar, overlooking the Reservoir.... "Greatest..... huge browns..... man o man.... super slow motion..... monster head rising...... just tore down to the backing..... best day.... huge browns.... best day..... man o man..... just sucked in the fly..... saw this behemoth... behind rock....." Eventually the signal would drop and I'd feign throwing my phone through a window.

There is balance in the universe as Pablo and the Rook (need to change his nick to "facilitating SOB") got blanked for 6 hours on BC and two days later, on a lark really, I head out to JFork for a quick jaunt and bust chops. You know it's good when your royal wulf's ears are hanging off his butt from the mauling.

I won't rub it in, cause heaven knows I've spent many hours with tired legs stumbling aimlessly over rocks and aching shoulder with nothing to show, and I'll have another of those soon enough, but for now, the sun is shining on this dogs elk hair behind!

Best Fish, Worst Story

2011-04-30T20:13:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-30T19:54:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-25T08:47:00.000-07:00

It's a Sockeye! Pt. 1

2011-04-15T19:15:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-11T19:52:00.001-07:00

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

2011-04-10T13:35:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-09T18:00:00.000-07:00

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.....

Sweet Stink of Success

2011-03-31T15:42:00.000-07:00

FINALLY. The planets aligned. I made it up LHF. Even parking next to a petrified pungent painted pest, could not keep the excitement at bay. Finally. I cannot count how many times I've fished this stretch of stream, but it changes every time. No man can step into the same river twice. I am enthralled at the capacity that standing in rushing water, casting a small tangle of feathers and fur with a graphite stick has in making one forget all else. A single minded focus takes over, time, space and bodily functions cease to matter. What could be greater? Possibly the DC you stashed in a snowbank for the walk out. Possibly. Will try again tomorrow.

Kodachrome

2011-03-23T19:05:00.000-07:00

It's all about the pictures. The visual images that adhere themselves to the dendrites in our grey matter. I can't remember things I said in a meeting last week, but in a nano second with perfect clarity I can see my first fly fishing run on Jones Hole. Flipping a monstrous rubber band based crane fly larva through the mossy run, trying to distinguish the take from the moss on the bottom. The blue of the sky contrasting against the massive red rock wall rising above the stream. Looking up to a circling bird till I lose my balance. The image has no meta data, can't remember what year it was, or even what time of year, but it was early and unforgettable. I remember how it looked and felt.

Volumes of these images reside in some random order in my mind. When I return to a familiar body of water, the images become even more detailed and specific. Looking at a particular run on Wilson's creek brings back the cast, the drift, the mend, the rise, the take, play and release- all like it just happened and I feel connected to that place and that moment, but especially that place, like we shared something special together that neither of us will ever forget.

And it's a little disappointing when that run doesn't hold a fish on this day, but the image isn't tarnished, expectations simply increased for the next time.

I read once, years ago, of Traver pining over lost brooke trout water in his beloved UP (upper peninsula)- decimated by logging. I didn't then, but I do now, understand that losing the creek meant losing those images, losing those feelings, losing part of himself.

So I returned to a favorite run, one with multiple vivid images. And this day, certain holds were empty, but high water created other opportunities and I stood high on a rock and surveyed flat, shin deep waters, slow, but not pooled, difficult to fish and I imagined standing on a flat searching for a bonefish. Eventually a feeding brown was spotted. A gentle cast left him oblivious until the fly tumbled into his view and he shifted to and took it in. Another day, another trout, another visual image for a favorite spot, not competing with other fond images, but standing on it's own, providing it's own reward and adding to the depth of connection to this place.

A Winter Month and The 74 Vikings Quietly in the Books

2011-02-02T17:49:00.000-08:00

I don't think I've ever landed a trout in January. I think the precedent was set in 1991 or 92. A few months after Pablo and his crew, at that time a paltry crew of 3 skinny boys, relocated to Oxford NC we decided to start the new year off right. On the stealthy intel of a neighborly lawyer and equally effected piscator whose name I believe was Norman, first or last, I can't recall, we learned of the Smith River, which flowed along the NC- Virginia border. With detailed directions which included, "turn left by the vacant mirror factory" we set out on a bleak, cold new years day. I only recall the cold and greyness of the day and the large, slow water, and being skunked. Seems we drove a lot and fished a little. A pattern that marked the early years, whether east or west. Doubtless if we had the gear we now possess, especially after 6 weeks of unprecedented splurgery, we'd have stayed in the water if nothing else to test our gear.

Every year since that maiden January 1 voyage, I've fished sometime in January and never even whiffed a trout. Analyzing why I continue this pepe le pew, I think it's the Santa Clause effect. After several days of bleary eyed gluttony, stumbling around the house over scads of new toys, clothes, shoes, gadgets and wrapping paper, after hopefully taking down every visible indicator of the winter fest which I've cursed since Halloween, I've flat out gotta get out of the house and into the water. Doesn't really matter if there are fish in the stream or if those fish ignore me and all my little deceptions. I just gotta get out, gotta start of the year with cold clear water running around my legs.

But now alas, the most stingy and dreary of all winter months, January is now quietly in the books of 2011. Used to be that the Super bowl was in January, but one year January lost it to February. Speaking of which, I was just reminded by a high light that all through my childhood, I pulled for those Minnesota Vikings that could never win the big one. Fran the Man, the Purple People Eaters. Why is that? Why didn't I switch over to Snake, Biletnikoff and the Raiders like all my buddies or the Cowboys like all those fair weather geeks. Why was I content to wear an Ahmad Rashad jersey (yah, he played for the Vikings before he married Mrs. Huckstable and he was #28, cool number for a wide out) when everyone had Lynn Swan. Need to share that with my therapist, probably something to that one. Ok, where was I....February is upon me and that usually means a day or two of spring will poke it's head into the month and fill me with hope. And, of course, February is the quickest of it's twelve brothers and March marks the glorious dumping of thousands of test tube trout in two creeks within an hour of my house. Yes, the Minnesota Vikings of trout- they get no respect, they are not the sexy, gear marketing spring run steel head. Patagonia isn't going to name their next line of waders after Wilson Creek. But, I was Viking fan, so I'll take these runner ups, take em on dry fly, nymph or streamer, whatever it takes. I'll be finding little pockets of time when I can watch the trees green up and the light dabble the current through their shadows. I can bring my stupid non-hunting, hunting dog mix (Minnesota Vikings??) in my hand-me-down little truck and maybe have a new reel to try out.

Heck Fire man, January's gone, February's working it's way through, Ahmad Rashad is from Oregon- WHOA, now this is really getting freaky... I'll be hooking stockies (sounds cooler huh) till June and then, and then, well everyone know what happens then, we head north, and I don't mean Minnesota! Though I hear they got some nasty musky up there, fish for em with a fly called the purple people eater.

Great Expectations

2010-12-18T15:01:00.000-08:00

After several days of waking to teens and highs below freezing, I could tell early on it would be well into the forties, felt almost balmy. The snaking back road drive feels completely different in December than in spring or summer. The wall of green casting shadows on the road has given way to bony ragged scarecrows pointing knuckley fingers in every direction. Grey is the sky, horizon and landscape. I'm lost in thought, happy thoughts, contented thoughts, an oddity for me this time of year. Powerful is boyhood, especially at 46. Sitting on the bumper I hear Christmas carols whistled enthusiastically as I pull

on my waders. "What is this Mr. Scrooge, why the holiday cheer?"

The stream is lined in Christmas green by mossy rocks and those marvelously resilient southern mountain mainstays, laurel and rhododendron. Ice covers the backwaters and reveals the many springs and seeps feeding the creek. Cold fingers pull the fly line through the guides, feeling their way as I'm loath to take my eyes off the winter wonderland. Dim light, numb fingers and reflective-less fluorocarbon make attaching twinkling tiny nymphs something less than a labor of love. Finally a gentle roll cast has the floating ornament bobbing in the slow current. Eventually it's in exactly the right spot and the

indicator pauses slightly, creating a nano break in the current. A raise of the rod creates a bend and the ever memorable frantic tug-tug and flash of silver. I still hear the same Christmas medley whistling around the stream as I lay my rod down and kneel on the moss admiring the trout. Hundreds of dark black spots on a green background yield to silver with a crimson streak, and that little shiny nymph poking out of his top lip.

The rocks are slick, the ice too thin to walk on, but thick enough to hide the depths and contour below them. The scarecrows reach out and grab my little shiny ornaments with regularity. There are lots of fish in the run below and above the picnic table. Mostly at the back of pools and holding together in pods, look mostly like rainbows, don't see many brooks or browns. The little boy wants to just stay there until I catch every one, but I push on to scout more water. A few large ones are right there under the tree on the far bank of "slick rock". I love that hold. It's almost impossible to cast to and in

the summer I've seen big splashy rises, but don't remember ever catching one there on a dry. Finally I push up to Christian's hole and find it barren and iced all but a narrow channel in the middle where a little current still moves through.

The shadows have gotten long. For all the scheming and casting I've only landed one trout. But the melodies still whistle from my lips as I contemplate the ensuing holiday and it's vacation days- trout days. Any 46 year old little boy will tell you, it's hard to wait for Christmas, but the expectation is the thing.

Giving Thanks

2010-12-14T05:35:00.000-08:00

The day before Thanksgiving, I set out early. Intent on fishing the whole dharvest section of Wilson, with one caveat, blowing by the deep runs where swinging nymphs and wagging streamers are the ticket. Sticking strictly to the shallower runs where a trout may well rise to a well placed wolf or caddis. The first flat run yielded a little rainbow on a yellow humpy as I recall. The air was crisp early, but held the promise of 50 degrees, and I was excited to try out some new gear, as any true gear whore would be. The new jacket I sported, at the absolute insistents of Pablo (I think he got a commission or something) was noticeably unnoticed due to it's unhindering lightness- but perfectly warm at 35 degrees, the marvels of technology.

The day progressed nicely as skipping the deep pools had me covering more water, casting more and switching flies less. I sat on a sandy bank to nibble on a cliff bar and swig back some mtn dew. Reclining with my hands behind my head, the sun shined on my face, a splashy little rise was audible above the gurgle of the stream. My heart had carried a spirit of gratitude all morning and in that instant, I could feel ma nature herself whisper, "You are welcome."

As the late afternoon shadows darkened the water, I stood at an old mill site where the remnants of a hundred year old dam towered on either side of the stream. A fat brookie shot out of the depths and inhaled the fly swirling at the head of the of the pool. I laughed out loud and told the trout how much I appreciated his native aggressiveness, and the sheer reckless abandon it took to rise to that fly from such depths. Enjoying the play of the fish and basking in the final moments of the day, I did not notice a young piscator who had come to the bottom of the pool on the bank opposite me. Undoubtedly he'd heard my silly dialogue with Mr. Brookie, and may well have rolled his eyes and this goofy old man, talking to a trout. But I was undaunted. As the trout shot back into the darkness, I clipped the fly from the line and blew on it. Turning to the young piscator, I grinned broadly, "It's all yours my friend." I said, sweeping my hand up stream and across the wooded hillside before us. "Oh, thank you" he replied. "You are welcome..... You are welcome."

The Wisdom of the Old Chief

2010-10-31T20:07:00.001-07:00

NEW TATONKA

Tooling back from meetings in Winston suddenly realized I was in the vicinity (or could be) of Steveos Mitchell River, and miraculously had gear in my truck (don't ask me!) Raised Steve on the phone in route and got critical intel- like where the heck it is and which exit to take. Unfortunately didn't follow his specific river intel to fish the lower sections. Instead drove to the upper reaches and fished for a couple of hours with nary a trout. It was a gloriously beautiful day with the leaves in full color and enduring one big deluge, eventually found a run (under the Bridge, Steve where the one road crosses) where I took one on a sanquan worm (sp) and two on a little bead head nymph. Saw trout rising above the bridge so scurried up there and tied on a dry. Haven't cast a dry in a while. After being ignored I realized they were taking an emerger so tied on little dropper and took two. Unfortunately, with fish swirly all around the pool I tangled up my flies trying to release both trout and spent precious time tying up and trimming a dry down to a dropper, just in time to watch the last swirl and the pool go as empty as my vacant stare.

Never the less, new aqua is always fun and Steve was right, is exactly 64 miles from my house, 70mhp all the way. Thinking of wilson this week. Intel says they (the fish gods?) have birthed more trout in wilson now that water levels are up.... "When the buffalo are gone, we will hunt mice, for we are hunters and we want our freedom" Sitting Bull

"When the wild sea run trout are gone, we will fish stockers, for we are fishermen and we want to fish" Sitting Govna

The Lottery

2010-10-31T17:03:00.000-07:00

As I crossed the border into Idaho I always stop at La Tienda to purchase an out of state license ("he don't even have a licese Lisa" name movie). As I walked in I was assaulted by throngs of people, never had I encountered these type of crowds at La Tienda. I silently mused that fishing must be really good for all these folks to be purchasing licenses. As I was elbowed out of line, cussed at, ignored by the cashier, I looked around and realized that NONE of these people fished. Or if they did, it was with live bait or other evil sundries. I then noticed the crowd scratching cards furiously, then tossing used up unlucky lottery cards pell mell around the store. LOTTERY time.. I inwardly, or was it outwardly?, smiled and chuckled at these desperate folks. Finally garnering the attention of a butch hair cut cashier, I purchased my license and bolted for my car. I was laughing at my superiority as I blasted down the highway heading to my river. It then struck me as lightning does a metalheaded man, that I was no better than the hordes I had just witnessed. Had I not purchased the ultimate lottery ticket? Was not chance my date to the dance? I wondered if my numbers would indeed prove lucky today, or was I wasting my hard earned cash on a frivolous adventure? Maybe I was the fool in this story. Nope. Even if I had been skunked that day, I would have still been the luckiest man alive.

fine day on the BC from John Berry on Vimeo.

Hello to BC

2010-10-08T12:04:00.000-07:00

I'll continue to add vid's and pic's of this trip as I can, for now, this will get you started.

Hog Johnson III from John Berry on Vimeo.

Hondo & Hog Johnson II from John Berry on Vimeo.

Hondo & Hog Johnson from John Berry on Vimeo.

'bow on BC from John Berry on Vimeo.

Hall of Fame from John Berry on Vimeo.

What is WRONG with me?!

2010-09-14T19:05:00.000-07:00

Eyes are blearing and mind unstable. A long day of work, a long week of work, home late, eat a little dinner, home work, play with kids, a little Wipeout on TV, perfect for fatigue humor. Must get sleep... but NO! Must gear whore. Go back to the same dang web sites I've looked at the last 17 consecutive nights, look at the same stuff and make the same non decision. Can't buy a sleeping bag when you can't feel it. Isn't that like a law of physics?

Not sure what I need (nothing). Read THE list, but too far away to shop for Alaska, surely I need something.... If analyzing the wieght and zipper formation of five sleeping bags on 3 sites isn't lame enough, I've gotta blog about it on a blog that only my dumb brother reads and already knows what I'm doing cause we've been talking about it every day on the phone...

I SUCK! Gotta get something on the calendar, can't survive in the endless wilderness of unspecific adventure lust much longer!

Kvichak Bow

2010-08-31T13:47:00.001-07:00

Kvichak Bow from John Berry on Vimeo.

Kiwi Style Mule

2010-08-27T14:01:00.000-07:00

Kiwi Style! from John Berry on Vimeo.

THE List

2010-08-24T17:36:00.000-07:00

There we were, at the confluence of the pungo and togiak, rain pounding the canopy we put over the tent's rain fly. Pablo has dispensed muscle relaxers and in a haze of damp, fatigued brilliance, we analyzed and I catalogued in the fish journal all the gear needs from what had been a gear challenging trip.

Verbatim:

"1. Dry fleece top and bottom to wear in tent at end of wet days. 2. someway to keep water from come down from wet right hand/glove to elbow/sleeve of rt arm. 2. water proof down jacket to wear after fishing. don't need down vest- the layer I had this trip (base layer, wind stopper zip fleece, wading jacket and HH) kept me warm. 3. Extra set of wading wool socks and liners for when first set get wet. 4. 4 weather, heavy duty rain tent so don't have to put kelty over tent- that way you can use kelty for cooking and gear could back it up for back door of tent and store gear und in rain [bring tent and bag in AK airs free checked bag (seperate dry bag)- bigger wheeled dry bag. Put clean dry garments etc into zip lock bag (by day?) stowed in the personal dry bag. 6. LED lantern to suspend from top of tent and kelty (?) for light. 7. and may need 3 meltal bowls, 3 mugs and tops to bowls and 1 pot for water and larger frying pan- eat off paper and burn do no dishes- only mugs and spoons. Jet boil could replace stove, unless you want fish. Back packing food was good- still 2 much food. Bring the clear water jug (7 gallons - purify once and done). Way to pee at night in tent- Pablo says cam more has a "privey" that works. 6. Bear spray holster. 7. Hero cam or other h20 proof hd vid- 8. lace up back support- (jared had one on kvichak)... Since your bringing a check bag- check a 44 cal. Jb's buddy randy has the type. Light, stainless steel 16 clip with hollow points and shoulder holster. and or flare gun... does a flare round exist? Bear fence with better battery? 8. Better reel! 9. fly boxes, one spool of 10 or 15 lb. get a sersa tip so IF you want to go away from dolly you can get other flys down. just jet boil (2) and table, mugs and spoons- paper bowls thats it? No fishing shirt- only one for sunny, warm day. Water proof video camera- hero cam on hat w/ easy on-off button, zoom in. better camp chairs w/ wbbing bottom and backs/ better towels (tech towels?). Could a better Kelty have bug enclosures on sides? oar rights put in if needed and take off and store for next trip. Better balaclava- wind stopper fleece like clazier glove- mesh around ears so you can hear bears. better ear plugs- those rubber type / round ones. - night bag for everything in tent. New ply pro thin liners, back up rod and reel with versa tip- don't even un pack, only if bear front line rod. Fish w/ dolly lama on floating line (versa tip). Lot less med stuff and better organized stuff that likely wont use. Separate bag in dry bag w/ stuff not likely to use. Propane dryer or heater thing"

THERE YOU HAVE HER! Unfortunately I can't remember the brilliant idea Hondo had when he woke up at 3 am and was showing me how his droid had a flashlight application on it. It may have been the propane dryer or heater thing. Funny to see how the hand writing keeps getting worse. Definitely need to add muscle relaxers to the list- Pablo, better renew that prescription.

Definitely need to bring only 2 fly boxes and just a few types of flies. I definitely only want one spare reel and keep it packed away, sheesh, had like four reels rolling around the bag the whole flipping time. I'm definitely definite about those changes.

Ok, so I've got the new liners, but now realize I need another pair for in the tent and JB's got a new balaclava- other than that, it's every Whore for himself and only 11 months to go, better get out your mice an click or start frequenting the fish/ outdoor supply stores late at night that are not on your way home.

Oh, and if we end up taking some rookies- no sharing gear lists- got a have few laughs when they break out their stuff!

Untitled from Mick Berry on Vimeo.

AK '10 snippet

2010-08-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd post at least a short snippet or two of our recent excursion. May be awhile before the full length film is released.... anybody.. anybody..

Beauty Day on the Blank River from John Berry on Vimeo.

Release from John Berry on Vimeo.

Copy That

2010-08-13T13:45:00.000-07:00

I'm suffering bro's. Can't handle reality. (is this reality? I doubt it) Reality was on the river, nothing in my head except the next cast and surviving the bears. No worries. I am amazed at the power in that. I forget all when I'm out there.
Now I'm back, no rushing river outside my tent to fall asleep to, I kept hearing the distant roar of the Beaver engine.. I'm am slowly going insane.....

Alaska Blues

2010-08-13T11:35:00.000-07:00

No matter how bad the weather, how invasive the bears, even how poor the fishing (it was great this year) I suffer the Togiak blues when we get back from the great wilderness.

Exercise in Patience

2010-07-23T18:29:00.000-07:00

Yes, Gov, I did go fishing today. Took the boys up Blacksmith. Enough said. landed one nice Cutt. Need nicknames for the boys. Pablo out.

South Fork Revisited

2010-07-23T10:22:00.000-07:00

As the foolish man that I am, I accepted an invitation to fish the S. Fork again. Remember last time? Took the old man down the river in a raft, fishing stunk. This time I was tricked into thinking a monster hatch was taking place and the fish were crazy drunk. After buying a couple of the "magic" flies at the "Rip OFF Fly-Shop" on the river (never again! 2.50 a fly), we headed out in my friends nice jet boat. That was the highlight.
The hatch of "homo-erectus" was in full swing.. with drift boats evenly spaced about 50 yds apart. For our part, we zipped around the river looking for open riffles and rising fish. We found a few, let me repeat, a few. The massive hatch (not counting homo E) never materialized, though a few bugs here and there along with the occasional salmonfly kept a few fish active.
All told, it was enjoyable to blow by drifters and have the freedom to go up or down river at will, but again, the fishing left me cold, just like that gorgeous river. Is there a next time? Only if I get a free ride in a jet boat.

Fish Hunter: Appalachian Killers

2010-05-31T19:52:00.000-07:00

Fish Hunter: Appalachian Killers from Mick Berry on Vimeo.

The Proselyte

2010-05-16T18:03:00.000-07:00

I've got a young friend I'm trying to mentor in life. Seems like anyone who's a father of two at the ripe old age of 21 could use a mentor. I thought is was about time my mentoring included fishing, as I knew my friend enjoyed fishing because he told me once of catching a nice bass in a farm pond somewhere. Time to put away the worms and learn the fine art. In spite of or maybe because he had just lost his job (the one I'd helped him get) and been sleeping on a friends couch and everything in life seemed hopeless, it must be a good time for me to take him fly fishing.

We got to the stream about 4:00 on Friday afternoon. I figured a big deep pool would be a good place to start. I'm sure the other piscator we passed did a double take at my asian buddy with his flat billed ball cap, loud t-shirt, baggy shorts and strangely laced chuck taylor con's - it was like hip hop meets orvis. I've forgotten how difficult it is to watch someone truly, truly flail a fly rod. "slow down, slow down, don't drop your rod tip, let the line straighten out behind you, like this...." I realized much like any 21 year old, he wasn't going to listen to me, so I put him into the big pool and eased to the side where the current picked up. Before I had a fly tied on, he'd missed a rainbow chasing his fly in the slow pool and he was into it, whipping that line harder and faster, piling yards of it 5 feet in front of him, but I kept to my business and shortly was pulling out brookies at will. He did alright. He eventually took two bow's in that hole and a third, nice brookie in the big hole above us.

Later that evening I watch him in the fading light, sitting on his heels like I've seen day labors do for hours smoking cigarettes in front of "able body" waiting for work. He'd cast from that sitting position and strip it in slowly and I wondered, hoped that the current of the stream and the focus on the fly had pushed from his mind the real worries and troubles that were threatening to wash him away. I hoped that like me, he could find peace for a few hours on a trout stream in the midst of life's struggles.

Nobody goes there anymore cause it's too crowded

2010-04-24T09:46:00.000-07:00

After hearing about the opening day fiasco on Wilson Creek a couple of weeks ago, when I realized I'd be in trout vicinity and have an open afternoon, I was afraid to return to Wilson and ruin that wonderful relationship we've had. I just knew the shore line would be littered with empty blue worm containers and the nice runs pilfered of trout. So I decided to head back to last years spring fling, optimistic I'd have the place to myself.

Sure enough, I put in at the ranger's house, nary a piscator or anyone else in sight. The first run held one skittish little trout as did the second and third- I was going to have to get serious if I wanted to avoid a skunk. With the warmer weather I assumed there'd be top water attention but the royal wolf wasn't doing much. I took the first Brookie of the day when pulled the fly under water to start the retrieval. That was all the encouragement I needed to repent of my dry arrogant ways and go back to the "double dutch"(various woolly buggers flanked by small droppers drifted, swung and then stripped) method which has enticed so many trout this spring. There were still not a lot of fish, but as I hit the more overlooked seams and micro channels, I produced specks with some regularity.

Shortly after I'd removed the royal wolf, I casted into a slow deep run I've named the gorge. Although I'd had hits on the first two casts, my eye was not on my dancing green bugger working it's way against the languid current, but on a large, no, gigantic white mayfly that had just crash landed on the water and was flopping about furiously. On the third flutter a trout darted in and snapped the mayfly up. At that very instant, from the corner of my periphery I saw an underwater flash and realized a large, no, gigantic rainbow had just slammed my unattended woolly and was hauling it back to the black depth of the pool. My chuckle at the mayfly turned to a wail as I jerked my rod sky ward and felt two hard tugs and a pop. How is it that the most exciting part of the day usually entails a miss?

The final tally: 75 degrees with drifting cumulus clouds, three hours in the water, 0 people, 12 trout released and one blithe angler.

Combat Fishing

2010-04-15T16:02:00.000-07:00

Fine day out. Gorgeous weather (60 deg). walked into LH Fork. fished great section. take a look.

June Trip List

2010-04-11T17:23:00.000-07:00

Alright boys, this is just my rambling start to get me thinking. We're less than 60 days out, so ordering gear, etc, time will be of the escence in a few more weeks. Add to this accordingly.

Fishing Gear

waders (need to fix micro seat leak in mine)

boots

rods: 5wt, 8 wt

reels/ lines: 8wt verasitip, 5wt float and sink tip

leaders: sink, 15 lb test monofiliament ("These fish are not leader shy", Mike Larson July 5, 2008)

weights: split shot varieties, puddy weight

Flies: JB-Put in the email from Mike- can't find mine (Mikey says: wooly buggers, sculpins, smolt patterns, leeches of all sizes and colors. weighted for sure, strong current, deep holes. egg patterns and some big pink things that look like hat pins. bring a mouse or two. easy to fish over their heads, make sure you can go deep.)

Small chest pack

polarized glasses

Net: big net

Loon UV wader repair (couple of tubes, a must)

Clothing

Heli Hanson or other pvc raincoat (the breathable stuff doesn't cut it in a downpour)

waterproof hat

sock hat or baliclava

gloves (waterproof w plypro liner is ideal)

down coat

base layer top/ bottom

200wt or better wader liner

wool socks

poly liner socks

regular pants (same pair as wear on the plane)

water proof boots (same pair as wear on the plane)

Personal items

bug dope, head net

wet wipes

tooth brush/ paste

shampoo/ soap

ear plugs (Mick and Mike snore)

Misc Gear

Cameras: video, still, underwater, mini-tripod, wireless mics (?)Set clocks on cameras to AK time

waterproof camera bag etc (sucks to drop it in the river or get it rained on)

Ideas from Past Trips

Better way to carry video camera. Kept in top of waders last trip in a waterproof bag. Fairly good access for the unexpected shots and always having it available, but hassle to work around.

Some type of counting devise. After a few hours you totally lose track of how many fish you've caught. We've always thought it would be nice to have an accurate count, and we could pretend we are doing some scientific thing!

Have you met my girlfriend?

2010-03-26T15:34:00.000-07:00

Brooke Wilson, I call her Brookie for short. Her full name is Brooke Rainbow Wilson. Yeah, her parents were hippies I guess. This time of year she pretty much owns me, I'll do dang near anything to spend time with her and so far this season, we seem to really be hitting it off.

I've noticed some other fishermen, and spoken with a couple and I get the sense that most of them just don't know how to court Ms. Wilson. One guy today was fishing a dry fly down stream! I stood and watched him fish the top end of this run I had taken 15 trout from on my last outing and couldn't resist stepping into the pool below him and on my third role cast hooking a rainbow that jumped like his fins were on fire.

Took a second trout and then felt bad for showing the poor guy up and eased out of the pool, giving him a simple nod as we passed on opposite banks. As I moved up to the run above I kept an eye on this fellow and watched him switch sides and wade out to where I had been, but still, never saw him take a trout while I took 3 more from the small run above him. I spoke with another angler who shared that he'd only caught two fish. He boasted of his fly tying prowess and that he had "put a buddy on a 20" at the Davidson yesterday"- maybe so, maybe so. I didn't divulge what I'd done so far, or that I'd landed one probably bigger than his buddy's.

I did see one piscator in a group of three who took two small trout from a nice run while I sat slightly out of view and ate my sandwich. His one buddy must've been frustrated at the pool he was fishing because the "catcher" kept calling instructions out to him and as I got up to leave the novice moved over and stood right next to his pal, lessons I guess. The third guy was flailing like crazy in a run I had taken trout on 5 consecutive casts on opening week. I didn't see him take anything and he slogged quickly upstream, passing two or three nice looking runs. Ok, I feel like I'm boasting now, and pride goes before the skunk. On any given day the fish gods can fill our hubris with wind knots. I think most of Ms. Wilson's suiters are committed to nymphing, while I spend most my time drifting to a swing and then stripping it home- don't see any reason to change up an effective strategy.

Ms. Wilson had a bit of a cold shoulder today with some nasty gusts. But after cruising through some familiar sections I eventually worked my way up to new water and ended up at about 3:00 in a flat upper section with little structure. I took a spill and sat out for a bit to dry off, had a couple of hits but no takes in this so-so section and just for good measure, hoofed it back to the run where I took the big girl at the beginning of the day and took a few more from that section just for good measure before turning for home about 4pm.

After seeing a medley of fishing dog pictures in the Drake I decided I should take my mongrel and give her another try. She did much better this time. Oddly, for being a lab mix she doesn't like water, which is perfect. She only wades out to stand right by me and other than trying to retrieve a fish I'm landing, she was a good companion.

I wonder if it's too soon to call and ask Ms. Wilson for another date. Were becoming quite an item.

Lil' Bear

2010-03-18T07:35:00.000-07:00

A Day on the Lil' Bear from John Berry on Vimeo.

Jumping the Gun

2010-03-17T08:35:00.001-07:00

Just too nice to stay indoors any longer! Shoulder be damned! I decided to take a quick trip up BSF. Nice water, will go back when the water levels are lower and there's a hatch. It took actually putting on a dropper to get any action. Missed one very nice brown (lack of attention on my part), then hooked a couple smaller brownies. Looking forward to today (the 17th).

In Full Swing

2010-03-15T16:24:00.000-07:00

15 days since season opened and I'm in full swing... caught mostly rainbows but since Brookies are the natives, they get the airtime. Oh yah, and I caught a little small mouth just for good measure. Missed a shot a very large trout- tell ya about that next time after I land the great beast.

A Weekend in Rhythm

2010-03-07T18:10:00.000-08:00

AKA- The Journey to Excellence.

After my near fishless outing Monday, I'm texting Pablo while driving girls to volleyball practice (a misdemeanor in NC as of January 1st- texting, not volleyball). "I want to be a great fisherman" Doubtless this comment prompted a snort and chuckle from the Pab, watching snow melt and perusing unneeded gear on-line while waiting for his future in 4-6 weeks. He couldn't take it and rose to the offering with a phone call.

Here I articulate my mid trout-life crisis: I'm good at a lot of things in life, but I've never had the mindset and drive to be really great at anything. And of all things non-celestial, the thing I love the best on this earth is fishing. So it follows, if I'm going to climb the mountain of temporal excellence in the remaining years of my mortal sojourn, it oughta be on the river. With 15 years of fly fishing under my belt, I am still a late bloomer- I didn't spend my early years as a trout bum or guiding in Alaska- but I can make a good run for the next 30 years.

So Pab and I discussed in laughable (especially to Morgan who overheard the conversation) detail the mental and emotional demands of fly fishing excellence. Obviously this quest must be with in the bounds of father Adams curse (aka still have to earn a living), and I have no interest in anything competitive (competitive fishing is an absolute oxymoron) or a braggy exotic travel log. My quest for excellence is within; focused mind, stilled emotions, peaceful heart, precision cast- the rhythm of the river.

Fortunately instead of ruminating on the concept, I was back on the creek the next day. In the spirit of taking our writing to the next level, I'll hoard the details, that's for the fish journal, but I found the groove. Granted, these are hatchery fish, they are plentiful, but never the less, I found the rhythm of the stream and became the ultimate predator- although a meek and gentle one, expressing my gratitude to the fish gods with every release.

The average fisherman would've called it good and spent Saturday on the numerous household chores, but the questing piscator tied up flies on Friday night and rethought his strategies. Then, in the midst of the weekend crowds, stripped streamers to the delight of girthy rainbows in deep over worked pools and found the brookies in the current with the deft swing of tiny flash backs riding behind big bead heads. With the sun still shining, but the rhythm indicating impending gluttony, eased out of the water with a smile and a nod to the tail of the last trout and eased back to civilization with no clear fin count or desire to gloat, but the simple humility and gratitude for another step on the inner quest for constant rhythm.

Spring in the Appalachians

2010-03-04T19:16:00.000-08:00

Even after 20 years, the word Appalachian seems foreign. I'm native to the high desert ranges of the west, years later I'm still a transplant, like the rainbows and browns of my adopted riparian home. But I've followed their lead and adapted.

Snow falls of the winter of 2009-10 are reported to rival the banner year of 1960 and March may yet be a lion. I've felt slightly dirty this early spring as I've anxiously participated in the NC Hatcheries delayed harvest. A steady winter diet of "The Drake" will do that to you. But the smudges on my fishy heart didn't keep it from accelerating as I stood high on a bank and spotted the hypnotic gentle motion of a 20 inch trout drafting behind a rock in flat water no deeper than my knees and right below my high vantage point. The best part of the day was the 20 minutes dry on a elevated bank watching the trout as I switched up leaders and tied on a small Adams and plotted my taking of the first very nice fish of a new decade.

I'll blame it on rust, but after a day of nonchalantly flinging nymphs and streamers to deep oblivious trout, the entire cast felt like an air ball from the free throw line. With no sense of timing and the pressure of a nice fish in slow shallow water, I dropped the cast hard with the end of the fly line landing about at the dorsal fin busting the previously relaxed fish from it's lair, scattering smaller trout in an impressive surface wake as it shot out of sight.

In my days in pursuit of trout I have experienced those deeply satisfying periods on the water when I am in the zone. A skilled predator reading the movements, temperament and environment of the prey. Joyfully lost in the hunt and capture of these colored writhing beautiful works of art. I'm mystically in rhythm with everything around me, a part of the system. These moments are surrounded by hours of stumbling, slipping, flailing, mumbling and chucking and feeling as foreign to the wild rolling water as a 3 piece suited Philadelphia Lawyer in a rain forest. I analyze the cause of this contrasting experience. Rarely when I'm off the water, but always when I'm in the heat of failure and frustration. "What is going on? You are better than this!" I've not found the secret inner formula but the solution is typically a foolish trout that isn't where it should be and for some unknown reason (rebellion, piscator compassion, youthful exuberance?) assaults a poorly placed fly and in the very act of instinctively setting the hook and being connected with wilderness through a length of monofilament and tiny tuft of feather and fur I'm transformed from alien to native. Synapses, capillaries and muscles twitch in synced rhythm with the environment and I stand on the threshold of top predator.

Nice One..

2010-03-02T19:14:00.000-08:00

I thought this was great! enjoy the pitcha show boys!

Garmin Salmon from Darrin Hofmeyr on Vimeo.

Mystery Solved!

2010-03-01T20:12:00.001-08:00

Ok Boys, after many a month, and finally actually really reading (instead of just looking at the illustrations)"Trout & Salmon of North America"; it is Pablo's unofficial declaration that the mystery salmon ole Hondo caught near the confluence with the ##### River, is indeed a Sockeye, in pre-spawning glory.

Back to the Desert

2010-02-19T08:43:00.000-08:00

So what do you do in the frozen Northland when the itch to fish grabs hold, and you would rather not break ice out of your guides? You head South, and South it was. I headed down to Dixie, (work related, wink wink) and was greeted by 60 deg weather. I rattled off some lame excuse to my wife, slipped quietly away and drove to the little ole cutt creek that I had visited in years past. Suffice it to say, after a long hike in, and an inability to even cast a fly rod, I hung my head for the hike of shame, back to the car. What was I thinking? Oh well, felt good to at least feel the sun on my face and have even a modest amount of hope that a fish would rise. Take a gander at my little stream....

Hope or Insanity

2010-01-17T15:54:00.000-08:00

Inadvertently in December I had planned a meeting for this Friday morning in Morganton. How could I have possibly known that the Arctic grip my southern mountains had been under for over a month would loosen that very day, with a hopeful forecast of sunny and sixty degrees. How could I have known that my meeting would go spectacularly and at noon I would have a fly rod in my trunk and be wide open to hit Wilson Creek. OK, maybe I did put my gear in the trunk the night before, but never the less, it looked like the fish gods were smiling.

Ice lined the boulders of the gorge section and flat shallow pools boasted massive thick sheets in the deep shadows where the sun couldn't penetrate and the nip in the air reminded me that it was still January. As I pulled off at the ancient mill ruins two old piscators, complete with cigars walked by me. I stopped and rolled down the window, "Gents, how are you today?" "You don't look like your goin fishin, look like your supposed to be on a sales call." He responded. I smiled, "you haven't seen what's in the trunk" we chuckled as I eased by. The location and nature of the large stream with easy casting and not much need to wade around makes this delayed harvest on Wilson a veritable mecca for the more senior or otherwise unoccupied immobile casters of Western NC. And they were out in force.

They say hope springs eternal and they also define insanity as doing the same thing and expecting a different result. I'll let you decide which applies. The fish seemed to be stacked up in the big deep pools and I spent most the afternoon at one deep hole watching nice trout swim around my various bottom bouncing offerings avoiding them with disdain. It doesn't take much of that before you stop "fishing" and start hypothesizing why the fish aren't biting while you switch flies and techniques. "Waters just too cold" came the answer from a big rock above me in a distinct country accent which belied the decked out fishing gear. So we chatted and lamented our luck and analyzed the reasons we hadn't caught anything. I was surprised when he told me these fish were acting like the bull trout he'd fished for in Idaho. "Oh yeah, where abouts in Idaho?" Big Creek was the response. I was simultaneously surprised and disappointed. I didn't think Big Creek was that well known, certainly didn't expect to run into someone on Wilson Creek who'd been there. Come to find out he's got a place out there and has fished it many times. His favorite section is below monument where the river snakes back and forth a lot. He also said people float it and that we could float the whole thing down to the middle fork. Camp at the confluence and then you'd float the middle fork out about 20miles to a take out.

So, the day wasn't a total loss and I admit that I'm insane, I've never caught a fish in January, probably February either, but I'll probably try again next year when the weather clears a bit and the corner office feels more like a coffin. In fact I'm already trying to justify going tomorrow. Maybe insanity springs eternal.

The Winter Maliase

2010-01-03T14:50:00.000-08:00

Consulting my fishing journal, I have fished 4 times on New Years Day. Pablo can testify of one resolute trip to the Smith River in VA where our directions stated, "put in just past the empty mirror factory." We duly froze our empty creoles off. Every trip has yielded the same result- nada. Yet every Christmas Vacation would end with me pining to get out of the house and away from the traditional Christmas morass. This year I had the 'xact same pine, "I've been off work for 7 days and haven't wet a line". My father seemed to sense my doldrums and asked if I wanted to go fishing the day we got home. Boy how I wanted to go. But the temp was forecast for a biting 40 degrees with a Jack Daniels stiff wind and I foresaw a replay of years past save the added bonus of my 70 year old father's freezing hands clutching his new spinning setup while chunking a spinner endlessly through a probably fishless pool while I sloggged around up stream, drifting egg patterns to finicky if existent planters. So maybe I am gaining some wisdom. Instead of chalking up New Years skunk number 5, I took the trash out and felt that wind cut clear to the bone and slunk back into my easy chair by the gas logs and dreamed of my future trout adventures just a few months into this new decade.

Another fine BC Day

2009-11-09T20:11:00.003-08:00

Couple little clips for BC, "enjoy your picture show boys".

How (not) to land a Trout from John Berry on Vimeo.

Another BC... I know, I know.. from John Berry on Vimeo.

BC Again etc.. 10/24

2009-10-28T07:19:00.000-07:00

O the Joy! Those of you familiar with BC know the feeling of which I write. It was a cold gloomy day, rain threatened and the wind howled. Very first cast brought a decent rainbow to hand foretelling a great day. We started at the "regular" spot, Hondo catching fish after fish by doing the "stimulator dance". Sticking with dries, mainly big ones, we had a productive time. Later in the afternoon a major hatch of bluewings came off. After a time the fish lost interest in the big flies, and thus we switched over to tiny flies. This yielded the big one in the photo to the right. Eventually, I tired of not being able to see my fly, switched back over to a big bushy, and preceded to catch fish after fish in the "honey run". At this point, Hondo was crying for the cold, an begging for us to leave. I had him do jumping jacks while I caught another 3 fish. I finally acquiesced, and we hiked out. Glorious brothers, simply glorious.

Birthday Bash

2009-10-26T09:49:00.000-07:00

Took Hondo out to "mini-AK" on his birthday (10/10). It was a cool, beautiful fall day. Had a grand time, catching salmon, and a few 'bows and browns.

Mini AK from John Berry on Vimeo.

Mini AKII from John Berry on Vimeo.

S. Fork Bust

2009-10-08T07:37:00.000-07:00

The Unguided set out to conquer the mighty S. Fork, and were humbled. It has been blamed on perfect weather and a MASSIVE hatch of "homoerectus". Such is life. Enjoy the quick pics.

I need to clarify. We did catch fish. Our best day probably netted us 15 or so. Just none very large, and the action was slow. At one point on the last day, using a secret weapon, I hooked into 6 fish in a row. All smallish Cutts around 14". Hope that cleared the waters a bit.

Wilderness; A Gov'na Film

2009-09-03T08:22:00.000-07:00

Wilderness (the revision) from John Berry on Vimeo.

RELEASE

2009-09-02T17:10:00.000-07:00

Release~ from John Berry on Vimeo.

Again, BC

2009-09-01T15:14:00.001-07:00

Took Hondo and another friend up to BC. short outting, lots of bushwacking and stinging nettle. some fish. one very nice 'bow ended up at the end of my line, last cast sort of thing. Water was low and clear. need more time out there.. can't rush the BC. till next time..

A Little Suprise Today

2009-08-24T15:24:00.000-07:00

With the kids heading back to school tomorrow, I took today off and we headed to a favorite wild place on Harpers Creek. As an after thought I threw in my 3wt and a fly box. I gotta say, waving that little rod around after throwing the 8wt in Alaska felt awkward. I told the kids to swim in the lower pool so I could fish the upper plunge pool. 3 casts in this plunge pool from a spectacular water fall and I hooked a nice 11" rainbow. He had a little girth on him, for a wild NC 'bo, actually pulled so hard I though it might be a small mouth. So why tempt fate, I put the rod up after that cast (well, truth be told, I had tippet on that was deteriorated and I lost my fly on the next cast)... Makes me look forward to some fall outings on these little wild trout waters.

Hooked

2009-08-22T11:20:00.001-07:00

Another Unguided Production, a little rock n roll rendition of the Alaska 2009 trip. Quick n Dirty...

Hooked from Mick Berry on Vimeo.

Back on the Water

2009-08-02T13:43:00.000-07:00

Just a little jaunt up the canyon... fished a rough & tumble section, lots of pocket water, lots of trees... nice to be back out.

Back from The Last Frontier

2009-07-18T11:29:00.000-07:00

"Team Unguided" has returned from the wilds of Alaska with stories to tell, and hours of film to edit. The expedition was a resounding success and the fish were plentiful. All thanks to Mikey, his gear shop and hospitality was all one could ask for. I've never drank so many milkshakes!

Enjoy this teaser of the Gov, and more will be forthcoming. Oh, and Hondo the Mule is the newest "Oncorhynchus mykiss Club" member, congrats!

Unguided Alaska 2009

2009-07-03T14:11:00.000-07:00

The Time is NOW! The crew is off on their latest adventure, this time to the ******** River in SE Alaska. Below is a link to our "spot' page, track our progess.. and stay aprised of the latest developments.
See ya later!

http://share.findmespot.com/shared/gogl.jsp?glId=0MfA4oodxkj87uRSA6sU8smR0JGuykQ9R

Pablo
Mule
Gov'na

Salmonfly hatch 6-12

2009-06-14T12:50:00.000-07:00

Ran up the canyon here, with kids in tow, and found the salmonfly hatch going on. Caught fish after fish, they were smashing anything! Fun few hours. Even had Noah catching a few.

If you'd like to see the Rookie's latest escapades, check out his site.

http://www.troutundertones.blogspot.com/

Birthday Bash

2009-06-08T07:57:00.000-07:00

Black Canyon IV from John Berry on Vimeo.

well, what can I say boys? Amid rain and cold, we stuck with it and were rewarded for our efforts. Don't know if I can ever go back.. that would be tempting fate.

Best Day Ever!

2009-06-01T09:31:00.001-07:00

ok, that's all I can say. I'll post some photos, but it doesn't do it justice. suffice it to say, caught about 40 fish, mostly between 14-19" Jumping, hopping, slamming mutha rainbows.. I was amazed at the ferocitiy and downright disregard for life that these fish showed. Many took me to task, and won. I had many bust my tippet like nothing, or tangle me in rocks and limbs.. leaving me shaking and confused.. quote of the day, "OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOSH!" a few 'bows jumped 5 times in a row.. a site to see. Anyhow, I'll stand by my words. best day ever.

Black Canyon: the Threepeat.

2009-05-28T06:58:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'm not original.. but when the water is low and clear.. you've just gotta go.

Black Canyon: The Return... again.. from John Berry on Vimeo.

Not so Hot at New

2009-05-25T06:31:00.000-07:00

Small Small Mouth on the New River from Mick Berry on Vimeo.

Beautiful day, but not much happening with the smallies. Floated a section rarely floated because the water conditions were high enough, but that also made for darker water. Used a green wooly with no result, then tied on a egg leach which made it nice to see in the water. Figured out they would take it just hanging in the current when I had cast and was messing with the canoe (teathering it to my waste) when I caught a little smallie by accident. That worked for Christian also on her black rooster tail.

Quote of the day:
Govna: "can you see your lure right there spinning in the current"
Chris: "Yeah, I'm suprised it doesn't give the fish a seizure from looking at it".

May head up into Virginia section in June after the spawn and see what happens.

The Rook on the Weber

2009-05-20T08:09:00.000-07:00

Rook & Pablo on the Weeb from John Berry on Vimeo.

Black Canyon: The Return

2009-05-14T12:46:00.000-07:00

Black Canyon: The Return from John Berry on Vimeo.

Mikey on the Naknek

2009-05-11T12:42:00.000-07:00

Ok, boys, I'm writing this 0n behalf of ole Mikey.. The past weekend he finally got out to the Naknek and had a blast. He spent a couple days there, had some awesome weather and some not-so-awesome weather. One day had huge ice chunks in the river, one about took Mikey to the Great Stream in the Sky. He had to work a bit for the fish, usually landing about 20 a day. Had several that were 36", the average being 5lbs and up. You can tell by his sublime grin he had the time of his life, and is doing his best to get back there ASAP! Enjoy. ps. a lot of these were caught on a 6wt rod... he did though finally move up to an 8.

No Break in the Streak this Week

2009-04-23T18:39:00.000-07:00

Had to keep the streak alive boys. Hit the lower section of Jfork today. Put in at the horse trailer lot, haven't done this section in a couple of years, but decided to try since a truck was parked at the rangers house. With the volume of water, I was fishing all the "micro" runs. I imagine these are overlooked by most piscators, and sure enough, took my first brookie in a shallow run in the middle of the stream, what a delight. This section is marked by a lot shallow water, but again with all the volume this spring, there were some runs and fish in them. Also a lot of flat water. I was fishing downstream, working a woolly bugger. Caught a number of small mouth and red eye bass. Seemed to only be a couple of fish in each run. There are a couple of deep, long runs in this section where the stream runs up against the mountain but other than one little brown and the small mouth, didn't do much there. Lots of walking through the shallow areas, very pretty, but not too productive.

Took a couple of pictures and video on my blackberry, but can't $%#*$*$ figure out how to get them off. I aint bringing that thing again. Not only is it hard to take pictures with it, but it buzzed to remind me of a meeting I was missing- I don't like that one bit. When you're out you're out man, no electronic leashes to interupt the outdoor experience.

Black Canyon

2009-04-20T19:49:00.001-07:00

Pablo & the Mule in the Black Canyon from John Berry on Vimeo.

AK Fix

2009-04-20T19:42:00.000-07:00

Pablo Landing Salmon, AK 2008 from Mick Berry on Vimeo.

Quick Fix

2009-04-13T17:53:00.000-07:00

Felt that need, or itch to get out today.. the weather was too nice, though predictions of thunderstorms filled the afternoon sky, I ventured out regardless. Only to remember a doctors appointment, that cut my day short.
here's the 411:
Quick trip up LHF. Water was a tad off color and high, most of the snow gone, 60 degrees. Nice day, took several decent trout, tried a variety of flies. Check out the link for videos.

http://vimeo.com/4141020 The Intro
http://vimeo.com/4140722 The Catch
http://vimeo.com/4141555 Walk & Talk

if this link works, I'll add the others in a bit.. tight lines. Here's a couple of other vid's from the days events.

Men and Boys

2009-04-09T17:18:00.000-07:00

70 and sunny isn't necessarily a good thing on the Jacobs fork, just like a full moon, it brings out the -------. But, given my need to feed the addiction, I was going in regardless. I met my buddy Bill (need to add him to the site) at the 127/10intersection a little after 2. We were standing in the stream stringing up at 3:05. I toyed with hitting the lower section, something I haven't done this season, maybe not even last season, but there was a truck at a lower turnout, so we headed to rangers house- why is that you just get stuck in these routines? Mainly I wanted to get Bill into fish and this section tends to get less attention and even though it was Thursday, it was sunny and the day before a holiday, so I feared the worse for the upper section. As soon as we stepped in the stream I spotted trout in the shallow run above us. I advised Bill about the success of the egg pattern, and to prove my point, I took two brookies on the egg in the first few casts. I love fishing this stream when the water is up- gives so many more runs and fish seem to be more dispersed.

Bill got off a little slow, victimized by the combat fishing terrain. I guess I'm so accustom to these tight spots, it doesn't bother me much-

I'm not sure I can still back cast. I took one brookie on a slingshot cast up under a branch. Eventually as we moved up, Bill took a couple of fish and was getting in the groove. 8 or 9 trout in, I looked up and spotted two yahoos coming down stream. #@$@#^% %#$@&! I hate seeing someone in my river! I watched them for a minute and dashed up to the big pool I was working up to, just to stake my ground. Two young guys, I asked them if they'd put in at the campground- yes they had- meaning all water above us, all MY PRECIOUS, PERSONAL WATER had been pilfered over by these two naerdowells. I was particularly talkative and they passed by on the other side of the stream. Bill stopped and chatted with them, just out of earshot, and I happened to notice that number 2 was wearing topsiders for wading boots- I tried to get my camera out and snap a shot, but decided against it. As bill came up to me I asked what they said. Caught four between them, one guy had on a dry the other a streamer. Well, do we stay or do we go?

We eased up to the next hole and could see several nice fish in the tail. Bang, bang, bang, took them just like routine. Maybe these guys hadn't bothered anything. We kept having success and I caught a couple in fast little pocket in between pools, always fun, makes me feel so superior to these other fair weather piscators- only a real fisherman would think to prospect in these short little brushy runs, let alone take fish in them. I left a couple of runs for Bill and headed up to slick rock. Caught a sweet rainbow there (see film- no that's not a strike indicator, it's egg with a black wooly dropper) but he came off at my feet as I was getting the camera to still mode, he was nice 13" or so, good girth. I sent Bill on ahead to Christian's hole and took 4 more fish out of slick rock. When I got up to Bill he was fighting a nice brookie, good on yah mate! He proceeded to take 15 trout out of the pool while I watched and munched on snacks, lazily fishing the upper section and missing two trout because of my inattention.

I suggested Bill eventually switch flies and thought he might run the entire pool again with a second menu item, and I eased up to the next run. And so it went. All the way to the campground, right in the boot prints of the youngens- I guess that's the difference between men and boys.

Finished up putting on a show for 4 campground spectators who looked on in amazement as I deftly flicked the fly up under branches dangling with broken off lures and took wriggling trout after trout. There was a 14" light colored, possibly rainbow in the last run with several brookies and I took most all the brookies, but the big boy alluded me. On my final attempt, a nice trout drafting next to the bigun I was angling for actually took my fly off the submerged rock where I'd landed it trying to swing into the big boys nose- that was funny and I figured a good note to end, so I took his picture with my rod (notice the fly is a lime trude with a split shot head- I love being creative).

It's almost too easy- though very enjoyable. Bill told me of a fellow coworker who has been taking very nice trout at the top of linville gorge, right below the falls, says no one has the umph to hike down there... I'm thinking end of next week when wife and kids are at disney world, I may need to pay the gorge a visit. Pablo know's the gorge, this is the upper section where it's still a little open.

There you have it.

Tale of Two Rivers

2009-04-07T18:47:00.000-07:00

It was the worst of times and it was the best of times. Let me tell you the tale of the Black Canyon.
I arrived at 11 ish, the song from my car speakers blasted the aptly named song by the Cars,"hello, hello again". One car in the parking lot (found out later those yokels were shooting rock chucks) so I had the river to myself, a first. I quickly headed upstream a bit.. tied on a royal wulff and started casting. It was therapeutic to just enjoy the act of casting a dry on a large river.. haven’t done that for a while.
After a half hour of no rises, I added a dropper, and in a bit had landed a little rainbow. Added another in short order. That was it for 3 hours. I switched up flies many times, dry only, different droppers, nothing. As fatigue weighed in and concentration waned, I decided to switch up one more time. I put on a massive stimulator (stimulator?, I hardly know her) and tied on a bead head prince nymph (party like its 1999!) That’s when the action began. After one cast, I was fighting a jumpy bow… and so it went for a half hour. I landed 9 or 10, all decent size. I had started using different techiques, ie.. stripping that nymph, swinging it, and a little jiggle, teasing those fish into striking. The Gov'na would have been proud.

I was having a grand ole time, just like Black Canyon used to be. Things I forgot though. How hard it is to wade in that river, how you need a wading staff, need a net, need more nymphs, and how strong those rainbows are. I'm making this note to self.. bring those things next time! And bring a sinking tip line, with streamers! (n.t.s.)

that last trout was a dandy.... He flashed at my fly twice before taking it, right along the bank. He took off downstream, into that fast water.. I was holding on for dear life.. trying to keep from breaking off, and trying like mad to get downriver, after him. Those of you who've been to that river know how treacherous it is to "run" downriver after a fish...after 15 min & a hundred yards, I finally coaxed him into shallow water where I was able to "corral" him with my boots (I need new boots). Enough said, what an ending... all told 71 miles from my door (1 1/2 hours, n.t.s.) I must go back, soon.

Solitude

2009-04-07T08:01:00.000-07:00

What a day. No one in sight, clear water, many fish. Hiked into LHF, felt like walking into the arms of a familiar lover. The 411: landed 8 or 9 fish, nothing under 11. I missed several others, had a very nice brown on (twice) momentarily, and lost several flies to a wayward tree limb. The most memorable was losing that brown. I had come to a very deep run, had taken a trout from the back end, but then saw another swirl a little farther up. You know how you can see the back of the fish break the water, then the tail rotate over... you can tell its of good size.. I flicked a great cast right up into the overhanging tree, had to break off. Tied on another fly, lost that one too. finally put the fly right in the sweet spot.. gulp!.. I stung him and popped it out of his mouth! Tried again, nothing. Tried a new fly, smaller, gulp again! this time I had him on for about 8 secs.. that's right, I rode that bull for the allotted time, then he popped off... Drat! Fun nonetheless.. what a day!

I'm amazed by how many fish, and good size fish are in this stream. They were starting to stage for spawning, and I spooked out many fish in the riffles.. some quite nice, say, 16" or so.. and for this size stream the number per run or hole is incredible...

The Carolina Quartet

2009-04-02T17:42:00.000-07:00

How do you describe that feeling when it's a weekday and you've got trout on you schedule? I did stay focused through the morning and then about lunch time headed for my meeting with Jacob Fork. Cloudy and cool. I scoped out the upper section and one angler was up there. I decided to hit my favorite haunt. Water was very heavy from all the rain recently, it was a little off in color, and really amazing how the runs change when there is so much water. Couldn't sight fish with the volume and dark sky so resorted to "strip searching". Wasn't long before I took my first brookie on a black beadhead woolly bugger I'd tied as a dropper to the egg pattern, really using
the egg as an indicator, these trout can take it so gently you gotta try and see your fly under water, in fact I missed two fish before I took number one. Took a little brown on a dead drift in the gorge, watched a big fish flash around it, and then ended up taking the small mouth in the cut of the big rock (fished from the right hand side- if moving up stream) I was standing on. Fished all the way up to Christian's hole (took three brookies there) and then decided to keep going. It had been quite awhile since I've fished that section. With the water so heavy there were great runs in areas that wouldn't typically hold fish and I had a ball taking trout in fairlyshallow water swinging the woolly bugger down current. There are also two really nice deep runs up in this section, one of which yielded three trout on three casts. Fished all the way up to the campground, it really wasn't that far. Skipped some of the shallower water and then fished right there at the parking lot, taking the big brown. He hit the fly as soon as it hit the water and I missed him and on the next cast he hit again really hard and put up a good fight. The next section up I caught the little rainbow. The section just above the parking lot is really cool, couple of deep plunge pools and a gorge type section. I need to check this section out more thoroughly next time. Didn't catch anything in these pools, did miss a fish and saw another flash at the fly. By now it was getting dark and I was terribly dehydrated, so weak I could hardly walk. I had forgotten to bring water and although surrounded by clear cold water, I didn't want to chance giardia. With out the strength to walk the 2 miles back to my car, I had to rely on my British special forces training.

GEAR REVIEW:

Love the slimline chest pack. I picked out my flies ahead of time and put them on Velcro backed pads which fit perfectly in the vest. Loved being able to open my "fly box" by unzipping the pack's main compartment. Very light, don't even notice it and perfect for scampering under bushes and over rocks- excellent and cheap, I only paid $14 for it.

Didn't try the foot warmers. Its too warm here to try them out now. One of you snow bound boys gonna have to test them out.

Gear List- update as needed

2009-03-30T14:18:00.000-07:00

Group
Tent- 4 or 6 man
Sleeping bags
Pillows?
Thermarests

Matches/lighters
Firstarter
Fire logs
Tarp ?
Rope
Cargo nets
Firearms
Ammo
Bear spray 3 or 4
Brick of firecrackers 4
Rain slickers
TP
First aid kit
SAT phone or SPOT (Hans)
Small shovel / axe
Binoculars
Zip lock bags
Remote detonator (Hans)
Net (Hans)

Kitchen
Table
Stove
Fuel
2 pots
Frying pan
Paper plates
Utensils
Fillet knife
Mugs
Chairs 3
Dish soap
Scrubby
Paper towels
Storage box for kitchen items
Milk jugs with frozen water

Crying in my Rocky Road / Pablo's "Man Room"

2009-03-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

First Day out and skunked, but that's not what it's all about right?

2009-03-24T22:07:00.000-07:00

So, after a very pensive day, I took to the hills to get out of my head. It was a gorgeous day, mid 70s if you can believe that. New equipment begged me to break it in. Although the weather was "perfect", there was no fish to be caught by the Mule today. My years of not being skunked on the water have come to an end. But... who cares, fishing isn't just about the fish. It also has to do with communion with nature and drawing closer to our almighty creator.

So here it is BOYZ... my first day out in 2009 (somewhere near SLC, UT)

If This is Monday, Who Needs the Weekend!

2009-03-23T17:22:00.000-07:00

Got the water about 9am. Decided to hike to the top of the upper section and started where the two smaller streams flow together to form the Jacob's Fork. Above the confluence is wild trout water. I looked it over, lots of plunge pools, very steep on one side and cascading, who knows, maybe when delayed harvest ends I'll take a walk up one of those and see what it's about. I had missed a big brown in the first big hole my last time out... (Hey, I don't think I posted one of my outings...gotta check that out- ok, I checked, I haven't missed one, I didn't go last week- no wonder I had to get out today).

Anyway, I stumbled and fell down before I even made a cast, did one of those nice sit down falls where water runs down your back- that's always a fun way to start the day. I had hits on the first two casts and hooked numbero uno on the third cast. That is such a great way to start- gets you focused real quick. It's hard to go the first hour with out any action.

Spent a lot of time working down the upper section, up until noon or so, and only caught 3 or 4 fish. The whole time I was using a bead head black woolly bugger. Caught two stripping and one on the dead drift after he missed it on the first pass. I think that area has really been picked over. So as it started warming up and as I was getting close to the parking lot I decided to go check out the middle section at the rangers house.

Soon as I put in at the trampoline there were brookies stacked up in the runs. The egg pattern worked as usual, and it's amazing how you can take fish one right after the other from a small run and the ones left will scatter for a bit and then reconvene and you can just pick them off one at a time. By now it had warmed up nicely and I lost the fleece and a thick mayfly hatch started coming off. Trout (smaller ones, but still...) where rising at the top of the pool and I frantically put on a size 18 adams - but they were having none of it, rising around it but ignoring it. So I switched up to a tiny (24??) little adams looking fly and flicked it out there 5 or 6 times, same results. Thought it might be the color, both had light bodies, put on a black body fly 24 or 26- teeny, hard to thread the tippet. Even so, on that flat water it was very distinguishable. Alas, same result. By now the hatch had slackened so I tied back on the egg to drown my sorrows. I still hadn't taken any of the bigger fish and on the first cast a big dog flashed from nowhere (under the ledge of the long overhanging rock I was standing on) and hammered the fly. Ok, here's my great photo op, so as I'm playing the trout and trying to take out the camera to get some live footage, he runs up stream and pops me off!!!! Drat.

I took a couple more smaller trout with my last egg pattern and then decided to see what was cooking in the upper pools. Caught a couple in some pocket water as I made my way up and at the gorge caught 3 decent fish, but couldn't get the bigger ones interested. Slick rock was looking good with 8 or 9 nice brookies on the far bank. I skirted it, saving it for last and went up to Christian's pool. This big pool had 10 or 12 nice size fish in it and I cast my egg to them a couple of times but didn't do anything. I'd kind of gotten tired of catching them on the egg and really wanted to see if I could get a take on one of the minute dries at slick rock, so I headed back down there.

Trout were rising, but seemed to only be juvies and I made one cast with the egg (one last cast before I switch up) and bang, nail an average size fish and again as I'm wresting the camera out, pop, he breaks me off. So I sat down in my favorite lounge chair and chilled out for a while. Tried to take pictures putting my glasses over the camera lens to see it cut the glare and I think it did, see the attached photo where you can make out the brookies of slick rock lined up like a U-Boat armada.

So I decided that was that. I was tired, had caught 15-20 trout, and need to be back to take Morgan to vball practice. But instead of bushwhacking straight up hill to the road, I ambled down stream, doing the accompanying walk n talk- that's pretty cool. When I got back down to the trampoline hole I noticed a large trout at the bottom of the pool with an egg stuck in it's top tip.

Try as I might, I could not get it interested in another egg (whatever happened to two eggs over easy), or a couple of woolly's, so I caught one last consolation fish and broke down and headed home.

Luckily, when I got home I had the polypro gloves from Pablo waiting for me and he had graciously included a bunch of easter eggs in the packet- good on ya mate.

On the gear front, didn't have anything new for this outing. The low profile chest pack I ordered last week hasn't arrived, so that'll be the test for next week (already got that one on the calendar, Thursday, put it down). Lost my dang clippers- DOH! Hate it when that happens.... The video never does the stream justice. This is absolutely beautiful water, but I have to admit, there were times today when I felt a little stale with this water. Need to mix it up a little. I've heard the stream that flows around Mt. Mitchell golf course is loaded with trout and the other day, a nice old gentleman who I helped with a city issue invited me to play golf at Mt. Mitchell because his son runs it... don't care about hitting a golf ball out there, but maybe flicking a fly. Gonna call him back tomorrow.

First Day of Spring-

2009-03-20T15:22:00.000-07:00

Wish I could tell you boys I had a helluva day, and caught many fish, alas, it was not to be. It was one of those days were you work hard, fall hard, stumble around, curse flies and fish.... but ultimately, you land a trout, and it's all worth it. Such was the case today. It was just good to be outside.. fishing were there is not a chance of anyone fishing above or below you. No motorcycles nor four wheelers.. just you and water.

The 411: Fished above Porcupine. Weather, 45-50 deg. Water a bit glacial colored. Fish, not many. After fruitlessly plumbing the lower end of the stream, I was about to call it quits. Something in the back of my mind, questioned whether I should head upstream, to the open area, get out of this pocket water. Thus I did. It was only a short jaunt from where I ended in the pocket water, to the open grassy area near the girls camp. The first run I cast into I hooked the below featured trout. No skunk for Pablo.

Shortly thereafter, I retired for the day, glad to have been out, and to have landed a trout. All in all, the new gear (I've become a gear whore) worked quite well. The waders were great, breathed nicely. The chest pack was wonderful. The hat, light and comfortable. My feet, cold. Still working on that dilemma. Went directly to town, and the local Roundrocks fly shop, and bought more gear. YES!

Till next time... adieu.

Rain and 40 Deg

2009-03-14T15:36:00.000-07:00

Forecast called for mid 40's and rain, that sounds like the Togiak in July eh. So I packed gear the night before and got up early and made it to the Jfork by 8:20am. Surprise, Surprise, there were not 14 car loads waiting to get in today, hmmmm, wonder why. It was raining so hard I backed rightup to the Kibo at the lower horse trailer parking lot so I could change under the canopy. Both pairs of liners (polypro and 400wt camos), two pairs of wool socks and an extra neoprene booty over the sock foot of the wader, it was a little tight in the boot, but felt "OK" once it got wet. Hardest part was raising my knee high enough to get my boots on. With all that "stuff" down my waders, it limited the range of motion, but not a problem. Sweatshirt, 300wt fleece, wading jacket up top. Threw on a balaclava and man, that made a big difference, very warm head and neck. Only problem was my dang hood on the wading jacket kept getting down over my eyes, driving me crazy and of course my glasses kept fogging up, but I couldn't see anything anyway with it so dark and raining on the lenses. Eventually I figure out if I put my ballcap under the hood it kept it out of my face. The gloves where hard to get on, not sure I'll be able to wear polyprop liners under them, but they were actually warm and although we've debated the finger/thumb opening, I'm glad I've got them cause it's such a hassle to pull the gloves on and off, and actually you can blow into the holes and warm up your fingers a little.

Anyway, the fishing was tough. Couldn't see anything and with those gentle takes, I missed several fish. The vid explains the rest. Feet got just a little cold after 4 hours, not freezing or miserable, but they weren't warm anymore, not sure what the answer is there. More space in the boot might help. Also realized when I got out and changed clothes that my fleece was damp on the sleeves- that waterproof breathable just doesn't quite cut it, I wonder if there is a truly waterproof breathable jacket, maybe made out of the same stuff the waders are made out of??

Any way, that'll probably be my only "wet run" of the gear. No question I'll be in better shape than last year to cope with the weather, but I'm still hoping it's sunny and 65 all 8 days. Suite me to never even open my dry bag.