A little something fun done with a photo of my father and a Brown that he caught on the Green River in Utah.
Yes i want to go.
Original photo most likely taken by CJ.
So i spent the whole day hiking Guadalupe State Park yesterday. I only caught one fish, a Guadalupe Bass that was so small he couldn’t have been more than six inches. I felt so bad about snagging him that i gave plenty of slack so he could throw the hook, which is exactly what happened. After being skunked the day before at Pedernales i was surprised to find that i didn’t really care, don’t get me wrong…i love catching fish, but on days like these simply being alone on the outdoors is its own reward.
So i realized it was getting late quick and that i should be heading home. But somehow in my Zen state (without any food in my stomach 
due to leaving it on the living room floor) i tapped into the fact that i should check out the Other parking lot incase anything was going on there. I can’t imagine what the inner me really thought would be there, but as i pulled up i saw a huge truck festooned in “Yolo Board” branding. As any regular reader will know, i’ve been chomping at the bit to get a “Yolo Yak” to fish from on all the rivers around here. So imagine pulling up in a parking lot with one car to find it bearing the object of your desire strapped to the top of a truck.
Had this happened a few years ago i would have been jumping out of my skull analyzing the probabilities, anymore i’ve just come to realize that’s the way the universe works so i really wasn’t shocked that this i ran into this single man, sponsored by a small company, dealing in something so foreign to most, with the object of my desire strapped to his truck. It all seemed inevitable.
Anyway it was Dave Meadows whose life i had stumbled into. He’s currently touring the US while writing a blog about it and was nice enough to grab the Yolo Yak off his truck and help me down to the river with it. Folks…this is the future of floating rivers and catching fish, seriously. Being high above the water you’re able to see fish you would never spot from a sit on top. Plus the simple act of basically walking on water is a hard thing to explain in words. Cruising under Cypress and over whitewater from the perspective afforded was nothing short of spectacular.
Thank you Dave for making an already chance encounter that much more special by taking time out of your day to let me check it out.
It’s hard to believe that all of the ground i hiked yesterday at Pedernales State Park was under water just a couple weeks ago. The rains back then registered at over 20,000 CFS. An amazing number when you consider that 50-100 is the average flow, but 
even more eye popping when you walk down the banks now, look up and see an uprooted tree perched 50 feet up in another tree.
The conditions were a little weird with water clarity only being about twelve inches. I know that there a lot of fish in there but i just couldn’t seem to spot any, i’m guessing they’re hunkered down on the bottom waiting for the “Four Fishmen of the Apocalypse” to come swimming in, drought and parasites in tow.
I’m not sure what the deal is, but i feel like i’m loosing any skills that i might have acquired over the last few years of fly-fishing, what with the continual skunked days and all. I mean i guess it is possible that the fish are a little nervous after spending months in drought conditions, only to have them be replaced by flooding flows. It just seems so weird to blame a fish that is living completely in the moment, while my mind and cast might be distracted by a thousand things such as, how am i going to get out of debt, should i go back to school, and why the hell aren’t the fish biting?
The highlight of the day was seeing the colors that the cooler weather is bringing 
out. The Bald Cypress are turning rust red, the flowers are blooming like wild fire and the vegetation is doing everything it can to harness the recent surplus of water before the freezing temperatures set in.
I really only saw a couple fish at all during a whole day of fishing, and these were Carp feeding off the surface, so if you’re willing to risk possible disappointment be my guest, just bring lots of dries.
Oh yeah, when you start getting frustrated from the lack of bites on your fly, just look up…look around…suck it in, and smile. It worked for me.
I’ve spent a lot of time in and around the flowing waters of Barton Creek. And by “a lot” I mean less than some, but more than most. I’ve been with it through bad times, where the disappearing water left little more than rings to show it had once been there. I’ve also seen it during good times, like now, when the waters’ flow swaggers through the hills as if it has always been more than a creek, maybe even a mighty River.
During all these years my favorite area has been around the Hill of Life. A hill that along with the limestone cliffs, frames this area of the “River”. During a recent fly-fishing/hike it was this vibrant and magical area that was my focus.
I had hiked from Lost Creek down past the Hill of Life, fishing as I went, disappointed with every casts in my ability to find and arouse any fish into striking. The high waters caused all aspects of the “River” to be unfamiliar. Banks I normally cast from had disappeared under a steady flow of liquid Gin. Rocks that I normally waded out to throw line from were so far under water that the only way to spot them was by looking for the whitewater they were stirring up on the surface. That combined with the excessive growth of plant life brought on by recent rains made for a strange “lost/deja vu” feeling that nagged at me throughout the day.
The Bluegill that saved my sanity.
After hours of wandering around, looking for fish, it was a small Bluegill that came to rescue me from my recent streak of fishless days. It’s still amazing to me that after all these years, given the right amount of disappointment, something so small can bring you back to why you took up fishing in the first place.
After the Bluegill I promised the “River” that one more fish would be sufficient to soothe my anxiety about “loosing” my fishing abilities. One Red Breast later I was loading up my pack and breaking my four piece down into two sections to facilitate its transportation through the forest, while simultaneously keeping it ready for any sudden fish sightings.
On and on, two miles back through Cypress and Cedar, along a limestone cropping that was still damp from rain, making every step something that was closely calculated. After fording the river close to the car, with the sun dropping behind the bluffs, and exhausted from the evening of hiking, i look down to see (or not see) the tip section of my rod is not in my hands.
…DAMN…
According to the Virginia Creeper, it's Fall.
After about 30 seconds of weighing my options i found myself slogging back across the river to look for the proverbial “needle in a haystack”, the needle being the tip of my 3WT, and the haystack being two miles of trails blanketed in thick foliage. After making it all the way to the turn around point and heading back for one last sweep on the way to the car, i found myself talking to the “River”.
At first it was just me expressing my hope at finding my tip. But as I hit the “intense” part of the trail again, where you climb up and down along the bluffs, the sky turned into overcast grayness with shards of intense light highlighting different features all around. As i progressed without any sight of my rod tip, my interaction with the “River” became much more intimate. I found myself conversing out loud, with the “River” as if it were a friend that I was only now catching up with, despite years of occasional fleeting interaction.
NOTE: I just now typed up an entire two paragraphs of what happened next, but realized that it was such a special experience that it probably should be kept inside and brought forth around a campfire, instead of…say, a blog. Suffice to say:
- No mind altering substances were involved.
- I am not what you would call “spiritual”
- I had one of the most “spiritual” experiences I’ve ever had.
- I found my rod tip.
Thats right. After hiking for miles I was ready to cross the “River”, be done with the whole thing and head home. Standing there on the bank, I asked the “River” one last time if was willing to help bring me back to my rod tip. I was calm, I was serene, I glanced down…
and there…
it…
was.
Miles of vegetation, water and overgrowth, and I found a sixteen inch long, 1/8th of an inch thick piece of dark green carbon fiber.
Thank you Barton River,
Le Russo
Last night my wife and i had a great time at Scholz’ here in Austin, Texas. We enjoyed free barbecue and the film “The Present” by one of my favorite filmmakers, Thomas Campbell. The event was put on by the Central Texas chapter of the Surfrider Foundation to raise awareness about Proposition #9, something that i hadn’t even heard of before attending this event. Apparently on November 9th Texans will have the opportunity to make public access to Texas’s beaches part of the Texas constitution.
“The passage of Proposition 9 has the potential to set a precedent for the protection of public beach access and that every coastal state in the United States can strive to draft and implement.” - Surfline.com
Anyone that’s ever enjoyed surfing, fishing or simply strolling along the Texas coast should be aware that they have the chance to preserve that pleasure for themselves and others. With the rest of Texas being one massive swath of private property it’s really the only place left where one can wander.
So…GET OUT AND VOTE “YES” ON PROPOSITION #9 ON NOV. 3RD!
Screening "The Present", courtesy of the Surfrider Foundation.
Be Careful What You Wish For!
Published October 26, 2009 Pedernales River 1 CommentTags: Pedernales River
Okay, enough already. It’s getting to be so a fly-fisher can’t go anywhere but the San Marcos, and not even there if he doesn’t have a car.
Having just one car this week meant that “Family Fun Day” (aka Sunday) was my first chance to get further than a bike ride away from the homestead. After taking a family vote we all ended up piling in the Element and headed out for the mighty Pedernales River to hike, explore, and possibly fish. The water flow there had been dropping for days, so i hoped against hope that i’d be able to spot a few fish. No such luck. There is just too much water all over Central Texas right now (what a difference six months can make). None the less, it was nice to cast some line and try some of my newly invented flies, if for no other reason than to see if they floated.
I have off on Thursday, i should have a car again, and i’m hoping (for the first time in a long time) that it doesn’t rain much between now and then. But just to cover my bases i’ll be heading to the San Marcos. I promise not to do any more dances or say any more prayers under my breath wishing for rain…at least for a while.
Pedernales Falls at 100 CFS.
Man…there is a lot of water around us right now. To bad it doesn’t stick around longer.
This morning i checked the USGS graph, saw that Barton Creek had a healthy flow of 50 CFS, and decided to spend an evening trying to redeem myself after getting skunked last time i was there. After biking an hour, in the wind, i showed up at one of the access points to Barton Creek only to find a locked gate, and a sign informing me that the trails were closed. GREAT.
So on i biked to the Lost Creek entrance knowing i could get in there and fish. However, when i showed up this was the sight that drained every ounce of fisherman out of me (above photo). One thousand cubic feet of water per second flowing through my fishes’s home. Quite considerable when you observe that the average is 2-4 CFS. When i got back home i found this graph. Bad timing, good thing the photo was taken from a hammock with me perched inside reading some fly fishing literature. I hope the fish were as relaxed as i was.
Knowing something to be true, but having the curiosity (or just plain stubbornness) to question it anyway seems to my default setting in life. I mention this because just the other day i set off on a day long hike looking for fish in a place that i KNEW they wouldn’t be. And if this were a great story, it would have turned out that there actually WERE fish there, all over 18 inches! Unfortunately this is just an okay story, there were no fish, and i didn’t learn anything about myself that i didn’t already know. The day just reinforced the things that i knew, and maybe in some Zen way that might be learning.
For lack of a car, i decided to bike to the 360/Barton Creek access trail, hell bent on finding some new spot on the Creek that could cough up a Bluegill or two. I had
Wondering if this was a good idea.
been checking out the flows and the creek was still up around 70 CFS which is a healthy flow for Barton Creek. Biking up to the Creek right below the 360 bridge, i was greeted by translucent rivulets careening off every rock in their path. It was a sight to behold. It could have been mountain run off with Trout in every pocket it was so beautiful. As i stood there scanning the water for life, a thought crept forth blanketing all the others…
“This is the first flow here in six months, what the hell are you hoping to find?”.
Ah yes, one healthy flow on what has been a dry creek bed for half the year probably isn’t the best place to hope to find fish.
Base camp!
I knew that miles upstream there were sections that i fished religiously, with pools that could carry fish over form drought to drought. But on this stretch it was just one disappointment after another. Somehow the bad idea of dragging my commuting bike, which is not suitable to the trails along the BC, became the albatross around my neck that fueled the stubborn part of me carry on. Mile after mile i dragged my worn out self, and my heavy ass bike up and down rock formations, crossing the flowing creek numerous times, and slipping through large sections of mud brought on by the recent rain. I’m sure i’ve mentioned it here before somewhere, but i REFUSE to turn around and retrace my steps, especially so when i’ve had a lapse in judgement. Unless my wife is along to insist on doing so, because afterall most of the time it makes sense, i will go well out of my way to avoid seeing the same thing twice. This day, doubly so.
I never caught a fish that day, and i didn’t learn anything about myself i didn’t know…except that i might even more stubborn than i thought. But i might have learned (finally) that SOMETIMES you just can’t expect the unexpected.
Not a fish, but a found creature none the less.
I was reading some Griegrach last night and a name popped up that set off bells in my head.
Cheesman Canyon
Back in August i was lucky enough to visit my parents in Monument, Colorado and have my dad take me out to some of his favorite local waters. Day one was the Platte and Dream Stream experience that i’ve already shared with you (here). Both were beautiful and scenically numbing in a way, but the REAL adventure was on day two when we tried to drop in on the backside of Cheesman via the Upper Trail which drops you on to the river, right below the dam. We had NO IDEA what we were getting into, and i’m glad, because if we had, we wouldn’t have pushed ourselves, and we wouldn’t have shared a story that i’m sure will reverberate in our minds for some time to come.
We started off in a thick of pine trees that seemingly went on forever, until we came around a corner in the trail and were confronted with the devastating effects of the Hayman Fire. The fire reached national attention back in 2002 when 137,000 acres were burned to the ground. It was mentally hard to grasp that less than a decade ago pine trees mostly blanketed the area. It felt as if the trail twisted and turned through a graveyard: it was really quite heart wrenching. The hardest part to believe was that it was seven years ago and between my father and i we only spotted one sapling, which my father gave words of encouragement to as we passed by. I don’t remember his words exactly, but he somehow managed to wrap sarcasm, a nihilistic outlook, true hope and compassion, and just a drop of contempt, into a few brief words, punctuated by a light rap to the tree’s fledgling trunk. Aaaahhh yes, that’s where i get it from.
The hike was incredible, much more than we bargained for when we decided to attempt it on a whim. It was hard enough just hiking in to the river… Getting there and finding that the flow was ROARING and that no fishing (that we knew of) could be done was pretty disheartening. Yet sometimes, like at that moment, the fishing becomes secondary as the real thing you’re there for comes slinking out of the shadows…the wilderness, the wildness, the unknown, and the adventure.
My dad smiling. Taken before we realized the mess we had gotten into.
After dropping streamers with multiple split shot from the banks for a couple hours, i think we realized we were both hanging out for the same reasons. To spend some time as a father and son. To spend some time away from the hustle and commotion. And lastly, to spend some time putting off what was obviously going to be a Herculean effort on our part to get the hell out of that canyon.
The hike back out was summed up an hour later, when we were standing in the local “fly shop” with Budweisers in our hands. The owner, in a bitter voice, intoned what we were feeling at that moment, ”There isn’t a trout in Colorado big enough to make me hike that dam(n) trail.”
Man was he right.
And we’ll be back.
- first night in the 50’s (after months of 100+)
- a hammock
- bottle of port
- stainless steel flask
- first Gierach re-read of the season
- a perfect night
Troll Under a Bridge
Published October 9, 2009 Barton Creek Leave a CommentTags: Barton Creek, Black Bass, Rio Grande Cichlid, sunfish
I don’t know about you, but It’s amazing how revitalizing this rain has been for my spirit. Over the summer i felt my soul shrivel up, like so many of the plants in my yard, but now the waters here and the adventurer spirit is back in bloom.
Today’s adventure was to one of my favorite local creeks, Barton Creek. Although i’ve been to other areas of B.C. many times, i finally explored an area that i’ve never set foot on, though i’ve passed over it countless times. Other than all the trash on the banks, this stretch of the creek is absolutely gorgeous. This day at least, the water was crystal clear with visibility of easily three to four feet, possibly more but i didn’t encounter a pool deeper than that, yet.
The most vivid markings on a Bluegill that i've seen yet.
At first the vehicles passing overhead seemed deafening and obnoxious, but eventually the beauty and excitement of a running line muffled the din of the traffic. For such a relatively shallow stretch of water, there was a lot of diversity, bass, Longear, Bluegill, and Rio Grande (swoon) were all shoulder to shoulder in one of the main pools i fished, just yards from my vehicle.
All hail the mighty Rio Grande!
It’s still amazing to me that years ago when i started fishing the Austin area heavily, i couldn’t land anything BUT Rio Grande, and this year i’ve only caught three total. And not for a lack of trying i assure you. But i have a feeling with my personal discovery of this place that’s about to change.
If you’ve been there before you’ll recognize the photo below for sure. If not then put on your adventurer hat, grab a small trash bag, and get out there and discover.
"The Flex Phantom" aka "Sushi Casualty"
Last night it was 8PM, my wife and son were in bed and i thought.
“Time to hit Cabela’s for some fly tying materials!”
So i headed down there to get some large hooks (size 4) and some materials to help me tie a streamer that would fool some unsuspecting bass into thinking it was a fellow fish that would make a great meal. Since this particular fly required a weed guard (20# monofilament) i headed nervously from the “Fly Fishing Shop” to the “Bait Shop”. It was like a candy shop for adults of a certain disposition. Neon colors, USA flags, jelly worms and more logos than a Nascar race. It felt like fly fishing merchandise on steroids. I honestly felt overwhelmed as i strolled up and down the aisles looking for some simple plastic line…and then i saw the Flex Phantom (above).
I stared in disbelief as i suddenly thought how:
- The ultimate goal in fly fishing is to fool a fish in to taking your hook.
- That is achieved by tying a fly that tricks the fish into believing it’s a food source.
- That is done by tying a fly with “lifelike” traits.
- Nothing i will ever tie will look as “lifelike” as “The Flex Phantom”.
- Therefore i should give up, or take up by bait casting in order to achieve thought number #1.
After processing all this and arriving at self-doubt, i meekly found my monofilament and headed back to the comfy confines of the “Fly Shop”. I only snapped out of it when i looked around at the brilliant marketing and realized that i don’t need to reinvest in a new sport, i just need to invest in a $400 Sage Bass Rod.
Thank you fly fishing marketing. That was a close one.
The Luckiest Fish i Know.
Published October 5, 2009 Barton Creek 5 CommentsTags: Barton Creek, Black Bass, sunfish
Yesterday i crammed a lot of fun into two hours by heading down to Barton Creek to do some exploring. Arriving at the Lost Creek low water crossing, i was lucky enough to see sufficient flow to paddle upstream towards the golf course. I hate to spill the beans, but some of the biggest bass in the creek can be found in a couple of the deeper holes up this way. Fortunately they are only accessible by water craft able to handle the long shallow stretches between them.
It was up this way that i was lucky enough to meet the “Luckiest Fish” i know. Paddling into the headwaters of a nice pool i casts and felt the faint tug of this Red Breast less than a second after the popper hit the water. Surmising that his size was on the small end, especially after recent sunfish strikes, i let the rod go limp in hopes that he would free himself with a quick flick of his head while i got the kayak/paddle/rod/excess line thing all situated. Moments later i heard what i thought was a small child or beaver splashing into the water just 20 feet away. I turned quickly and saw the waters spray crashing to the surface.
“Surely that wasn’t my little…”
CRASH…
Suddenly i see an easily 2 foot bass leap out of the water with my sunfish leaping forth from it’s jaws! I strip line as fast as i can…
SPLASH…
Strip…
BAM!
With every strip the sunfish somehow manages to escape the jaws of death aided by his surely overstimulated desire to avoid death and my quick strips of line.
With the sun fish an arms length away i plunge my net down into the crystal waters between him and the starving bass bringing the sun fish to the surface. The sunfish just looks dazed, but the bass…all two feet…just sits there next to my kayak within arms reach, obviously trying to decide whether or not he could take on me, my kayak, and the sunfish. Apparently he’s a little over exhausted as he relaxes and slinks away to the darker depths of the pool.
I’ve been fishing MANY, MANY times but have never experienced anything like that. I doubt that the “Luckiest Sunfish Alive” has either. Here’s to Royalty!
Spotted Bass caught in the same area.
Going With the Flow
Published September 30, 2009 San Marcos River 1 CommentTags: San Marcos, sunfish
After getting the family on their way today, i immediately hopped online to check the water flows only to find that it must have rained everywhere BUT at my house last night. All the usual spots were seeing some crazy flows, again. Thank goodness for this rain, but it sure is making choosing fishing ventures rather difficult…BUT I AM NOT COMPLAINING…PLEASE CONTINUE TO RAIN!
Site of an old mill on the San Marcos River.
Since my kayak was still on my roof from the McKinney Falls clean up just days before, i decided to head down to the ever consistent San Marcos. I paddled a ways down stream from Thompson’s Island to explore some areas that i’ve been meaning to check out for quite a while. That section of the river wasn’t very great for bass since the river bed is really just raw limestone with very little vegetation. I did however see my first Koi, around 20″ long and amazingly orange. I was in shock for the first few minutes wondering what exotic creature i was observing, before realizing it probably just escaped from some water feature at a nearby house or golf course.
While i caught a lot of small sunfish down stream from the island. it wasn’t until i headed up stream from my original put in point that i ended up scoring this amazing Redbreast. With the fight it gave me i thought for sure it was a largemouth, until i saw those colors. It really was breath taking. With its shear size as well as it’s Technicolor appearance it was easily the most impressive Redbreast i’ve caught yet.
By the way, that's a size 4 popper.
