Birthday Week- Friday

Hey Kids,

It’s Friday on my Birthday Week and I’m listing some things I’m thankful for in my life; those things that make getting older, worth it.

Friday- Fishing.

Green River, Utah

Green River, Utah

I probably lost some people with this one but fishing has been such a part of my life that I can’t imagine my life without it.

Fishing is what brought me and my grandpa closer. We spent many hours on his boat and it is there I learn who he was. Many people have a different opinion of the man than I do, and they are most likely right in their own views. He had some problems. But he had a good heart and out on the boat I got to feel it.

Flyfishing as I mostly do now, is as much therapeutic as it is sporting. A book I read, Pavlov’s Trout, makes the case that within the practice of regular fishing trips, a balanced happy life can be achieved. The ironic part about this is that my Ex gave that book to me and she did not agree with the philosophy that I gleaned from it. The book also gave me my dying wish. After hooking a massive Steelhead, I hope my last words are “Get the Net.”

Looking forward, I know I will never be guide quality. It’s OK. There are so many fish I want to meet, I need another 70 years from now to get to only some of them. I’ll take what live gives me and call it good.

I hope it’s closer to 70 than it is to 7, however.

Day 81

Last Cast

Hey Kids,

Festival-Icon-web1-550x345Last night I attended a fly fishing film festival, IF4.

Independent film makers submit their films and IF4 chooses the best ones and shows them together in a parade of festivals or screenings for groups across the country. I missed the showing earlier last month and went fishing instead that night. Last night apparently was an unscheduled extra showing and I couldn’t pass on it twice.

The films were the typical fishing films. Slow motion shots of rivers, casting, and fish being held after being caught- held towards the camera, eye staring at camera, mouth yawning open and gills flaring. But as expected, I enjoyed many of the moments projected and even cheered for a few of them.

I wonder why I enjoy these films so much, despite the constant use of every cliché imagined. It’s not too complicated. I live through those scenes. I see myself catching those fish. I imagine and wish, the fishermen were me.

The final film took place in Mexico fishing the surf for Rooster Fish. They were fish I’ve never seen, in a place I’ve never been, following methods I’ve never used.

The piece documented the trials of two men pursuing these fish. They looked for a big Rooster. They had early almost-success but then experienced 12-13 days of failure. On their way back to the lodge, on the last day, accepting defeat, they spot a giant rooster in the surf. They cast to it, they hook it, and they land it.

The crowd in the theatre cheered. I clapped. And on that note, the film and the festival ended to smiles all around.

Why did I clap? Why did we cheer? It was a nice fish, yes, but we all recognized the last cast miracle.

No matter how many hours you have fished that day, a last cast catch is always you last hope. Usually “last cast” consists of at least 20 so declared casts. It’s the hope and dream of every caster to catch that monster fish on one of those last casts. Fight it, bring it in, admire it, let it go, and walk off victorious. Fulfilled.500520041_640

That last film, let me live it from the comfort of a theatre seat. It reminded me that it’s possible. It inspires me to get back out on the water.

And when I’m on the water, I’m happy. As happy as a man can be.

 

Day 59

Weekend Results

Hey Kids,

Weekends are made to relax, to unwind, to recharge. Sometimes.

Other weekends are for gearing up, winding up, burning up.

If Monday comes around and you are refreshed and ready to take on the world, or so exhausted you can barely stand; you did it right.IMG_20150329_160148_420

Today, I’m spent of all energy. I left it fishing on the Green River for the past three days.

Oh yeah, sometimes weekends can be more than just the two allotted days.

Day 35

 

Green Around the Edges and Down to the Middle.

Hey Kids,

I’m getting ready to spend a few days fishing one of my favorite waters, the Green River. I’m Up%20Canyon%20from%20Shark%20Alley,always surprised at the amount of stress that comes along with the preparations of a fishing trip and especially when to a favorite site.

Do I have enough flies? The right flies? Is my leader ok? Do I have enough tippet material? The right tippet material?

What’s the weather going to be? What do I bring to wear? Do I have enough to wear if it rains? Hails? Snows?

Food? Secondary concern, I know, but a concern nonetheless. How long can the body go between meals? Is water to drink really necessary? How much equipment do I have to sacrifice to make room in the vest? On the boat? I might need that space for fly tying equipment. Drinking is nice, but what about the hatch?blue_winged_olives_park_city

There are always too many questions. And they multiply as the water draws closer.

But once on the water: serenity. A fine cast, a perfect drift, an explosive take and a fine fight can make all the worries of life fade to the back ground.

Green River I hear you calling, and after all this ruckus of packing, I’ll be there.

Tight lines.

 

Day 31

Photos borrowed from: http://www.oldmoeguideservice.com/  & http://provoriverguides.com/utah-fishing-report/

Expectations vs. Reality

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For the second year, I have anxiously looked forward to the “ice-off” at Strawberry Reservoir.

It has been famed and legended that as the long winter’s ice recedes from the shoreline in the early days of the high mountains’ spring, these channels between the shoreline and the darkened ice covered depths, warmed in the direct sunlight, attract small fish in big numbers. And small fish in turn attract hungry big fish.

The legend says these times are the time to find the fish concentrated within casting distance of the shore and eager to take minnow imitations. And as most legends go, the stories are too tempting to not to want to participate. And I, like others, watch for the word, like the beacons of Gondor, to take up our arms and seek the broad-backed, gluttonous, monster Cutthroats of Strawberry Reservoir. Friday afternoon, the torch was lit and on Sunday I arrived at the 7,600 foot elevated lake.

The promise is that so long as your arm can cast and your presentation reaches the water, the fish would be in-line to take your offering. A fish on every cast is what I had been conditioned to expect.

Well, as the day progressed, it became apparent that it would take more than one cast per fish.

I endured the wind, the snow, and the hours of standing on a cold shore, casting in various angles and using various speeds to attract the fish that prowl the slim channels in search of their spring buffet. But these fish do not get large by being caught every spring. They still possess their smart, suspicious hunting prowess.

In all I spent 8 hours for 6 fish landed. Legendary? Not exactly. Worth it? Oh hell yes.

You see in reality, at least for me, the fish made me do exactly what I like to do: to use my own skills. I had to change colors, change speeds, depths, and action. I fished. 6 fish in 8 hours? Yeah, I’ll take that. I’ve done much worse. And the quality of the fish was incredible. All 18-21 inches. All hefty and all hitting the jig with no doubt. They expected a juicy stray minnow and instead were completely fooled.

All my fish landed yesterday returned to the reservoir and are most likely plundering the warm-water-seeking little fish again today. No harm done, but perhaps making them a bit wiser and tougher to catch next time.

In reality, if the fish were as easy to catch as legend promised, there would be many more people there and many more fish removed from the lake. In reality, I’m happy to put in the hours to be rewarded as I was rewarded yesterday. Am I adding to the legend? No. But in reality, that’s a good thing.

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Searching for Life’s Mysteries

1e01f62c38d8b8bb3d27588c8cfe09efI’m not sure if it’s the nearer to death one becomes as one gets older in age, or that I realize now that I am beyond dying young and with no assurance to grow older than what I already am, but I find myself weighing each decision I make with more gravity and spending more time wondering if it is the “right” thing to do. I find that, instead of savoring my time and experiences, I have fallen into the trap of overthinking the value of everything.

The problem with the pondering and assessments is that it rarely leads to more time “doing”.

I feel some important things have fallen to the wayside or have slowed down to speeds unacceptable.

Not unacceptable because of no other reason than I want to do more stuff. Not as a rush against a two-minute clock or anything. Instead it’s more like: “Why do I care what it’s worth if it’s what I want to do?”

My writing has slowed down. This blog is a great indicator of a general lack of committing enough time to wrte as much as I want to. One of my main goals for this blog is to leave a record of my thoughts. Remember when Blog meant Web Log, or Web Journal. Now too many times, Blog means marketing. Not exactly why I started my first blog years ago and not exactly enough reason to make me want to write posts. When I blog, I blog because I want to.

I write posts in my head all the time while riding my motorcycle; however, it’s not very condusive to taking notes, or leaving behind a posted entry. I write posts in my head because I enjoy it. How have I allowed life to take place of writing posts for real? I know it’s mostly for me anyway. It’s time to write more blog posts. If any of you read them, I hope you enjoy them. And if you like the posts, maybe I can interest you in a book. *Eye brows raising up and down*. Seriously, do as you wish, that’s what I’m doing.

And Fishing. I really need to fish more.

Ice-off is coming soon to my favorite lake. I will be fishing it. And then I will not stop until it’s frozen again. I will set a goal of how many times my waders need to be wet each month. There’s always something more important than fishing. At lease in other’s eyes, and yesterday in my own. That has to change.

There was a time that I dreamed of being a guide. The big reason I decided not to pursue that dream was that I worried about feeding the family and the thought of leading others to that fish of a lifetime and then being the one at the end of the net and not at the end of the fly rod just didn’t seem right.

And with that dream lost, I somehow also gave up my effort to be as good as a guide, to think it was important to keep the pulse of my waters,  to be the expert, to always know where the fish were, what were they hitting, and to always be into many huge fish. I let things more important dictate skilled fishing wasn’t worth the time and effort.

Life is short. It flies by so fast. And when one is looking at the last stretch of forty, one never knows just how short the remainder might be.

But a lot can be stuffed in a very little. And if God grants me anywhere near as many years in the future as he has in the past, and I fill, no, stuff them with the things I want to do, I have a feeling I won’t feel cheated or wanting.