Alright, this is not an adventure yet, but in 24 hours it will have been one. For years i’ve tried in earnest to fish large pools of Pedernales State Park down from the falls for the massive fish located there, but have always been limited to the tree lined banks that produced little, if anything at all while massive splashes teased from opposite banks. The hike in is far to miserable for kayaks…but wait…i seem to recall buying a pack raft years ago for a specific trip in Colorado. That raft has been rediscovered, is now patched and ready to go in the bottom of my pack to ferry me down the deep waters of Pedernales State Park tomorrow, hopefully for many fish (gar, carp and bass) before pulling out at the youth camp, deflating the vessel and hiking back the two and a half miles to basecamp (the Element). Wish me luck, and wave from the shore if you happen to be there (which you should.)


Running a blog takes an inordinate amount of time and energy, there is no doubt. So time-consuming in fact is it that fly fishing blogs, once as abundant as tricos, have quickly fallen like a spent hatch, victims of time, responsibility and sometimes simple exhaustion. After all, there’s not a lot of reasons to spend hours almost every night creating graphics, editing photos, and pouring over carefully chosen words other than the simple passion to create something (hopefully) new and unique.

Every once in a while though there is something that re-stokes the coals, causes a smile, and gives you the renewed energy to keep on going. Today that was a slightly thick, nondescript envelope all the way from France that was soaked in interesting, hand scrawled text. Inside was a stack of awesome stickers from the creative folks at www.riviè I highly recommend checking out their site and if (like me) you don’t speak french, use Google translate to convert the site in to words you’ll understand (like this).

Obviously passion transcends cultures, borders and language, and for that i’m eternally grateful.

Merci amis! Très cool!


The boys from Geobass are back for season two of epic bass fishing around the globe with the help of Costa. Episode one finds them armed with the culminated knowledge of their previous seasons exploits and heading into the amazon for peacock bass (though in classic Motiv style they still have stuff go wrong almost immediately). Check it out, feel the rush of new adventure, and get out there and make it happen for you, even if it’s just new local waters.

Note: The first 4 minutes and 20 seconds are a recap of season one, with the new season starting at 4:21. Strange, right?


It’s easy as one, two, three.

  1. Go to our Facebook page at
  2. Look for the contest post at the top of the page.
  3. Leave a comment on where you wish you could travel and take this duffel

The small print: One random winner will be selected from all of the comments on the contest post on our Facebook. To enter you only have to leave a comment, but if you decide to share the post that is awesome and we thank you! Contest entries accepted from 03/21 until 03/29, winner will be announced 03/30! The prize is a North Face medium duffel in red.


There comes a time every year when the focus seems to shift. The cold water, along with its necessary boots and waders, lose what little appeal they ever had while wet wading and flip-flops take over their rightful place on the fly-fishing throne. The majestic trout, once the sole focus, are quickly relegated to “Plan B” while the first of the warm water fish, the jovial and curious white bass, take their place at the forefront of many anglers minds.

Un-packing my car in hopes of a break-in-less day while parked at The Slab near Kinglsand, TX, i actually found myself shaking in anticipation of “The Run”. Even in this day of instant information it’s still incredibly hard to know if the right combination of weather, flows, and sex drive have pushed the white bass up into the tributaries without actually going out there yourself and looking. So it was that i set out to discover for myself, anxious and bereft of my back up angling supplies, whether or not this was in fact the time of year to be chasing down these schooling wonders.


Shortly after arriving and parking i was informed by a couple of fathers relaxing with beer and their brood, that indeed the white bass WERE down there. As a father and family man myself, i couldn’t help but notice that they were offering information in hopes of somehow becoming a part of that day’s fishing. I understand, after all, it is possible to love those closest to you and what time you have with them but still wish you were doing what you enjoy. Personally, as long as you find a balance, i don’t think that makes you a bad spouse or parent, just a person that has passions, is interesting and will hopefully be a healthier, happier spouse, parent and individual because of it.


Eventually i did find the bass, along with all of their curious friends that would constantly chase their hooked comrade all the way up to my feet. The great thing about fishing for white bass is that when you find and hook one, you’re likely to find and hook many, many more. The flip-side is that due to nature and the cycle of things, all of these bass will be more or less identical in size, meaning that if you caught one, you’re going to catch a whole lot more like them. Of course this is by no means a bad thing, just a little odd when you’re used to fishing waters where your odds of landing a tiny sunfish are as good as landing a five-pound largemouth.

It’s common among fly fishers to mention that if you have a newbie, take them out for white bass. The amount of strikes they get is sure to hook them on fly-fishing. In this way white bass are kind of the gate way drug to bigger and harsher addictions (say…gar, carp, tarpon, bonefish, etc.). If you happen to be the conservative type of fisher, wait a few weeks and start scouting out the waters for the black bass. If however you are the type that can’t get enough tugs in one day and aren’t afraid to be sucked in and spit out whole by take after maddening take, the white bass are on…and waiting for you.



I will preface this article in saying that last weekend was better than this one. Around this time last week I was with friends in Broken Bow, Oklahoma casting at rising trout with dry flies. This weekend I am spending most of my time editing video for an upcoming project and doing tech work for the one and only, you guessed it…SXSW.


Around 3 weeks ago some friends of mine, Daniel Hughes (@cordova_custom_rods) and Cody LaCroix had the spontaneously fantastic idea to hit up Broken Bow before spring break totally cuts loose on all the rivers around here. Daniel and I had been talking of shooting a promo video for his custom rod business and after we brought up the idea of Broken Bow, I knew there would be no better time to shoot the promo than a spring-time camping trip to the river. From there we set a date and started prepping for some cold weather bug slinging. Being the gear-hauling never pack light person that I am I packed up the trusty  Element and headed north out of Austin where I am stationed at the moment due to the hipster hatch. After a brief detour for some last-minute supplies in the Dallas area, and a painfully long process to procure a Oklahoma fishing license from Wal-Mart by a high school kid named Garrett, I was pulling into my campsite at Broken Bow right at dusk.


I was about 8-10 hours ahead of the rest of the group so I set up my hammock and began taking long exposures of the campsite. This was short-lived as a herd of cats began attacking my food over on the picnic table. I instantly regretted my campsite choice but because of my need to re-charge camera gear, electricity was a key feature and this was it, an RV campsite fish-camp. I polished off a few Dale’s Pale Ales, watched wood burn and admired the stars for a few hours before snuggling into 2 sleeping bags, my home away from home in the cold.


I woke up around 7am Saturday morning to the sound of a car pulling up… ALAS, the crew had arrived after an all night drive from San Antonio. Our group for this weekends outing was Daniel Hughes, Chloe Partida, Cody LaCroix, Logan Mcllveen and myself, Davis James. Some of the guys/gals were tired but everyone was ready to fish, there was no question about it. We were headed to the water by 9 and we were no so surprised to see just how many anglers there were. It was cool seeing such a healthy scene of dedicated fly anglers but the downfall was locating prime fishing territory without stepping on anyones toes. Luckily everyone on the river that day was pretty polite about things and after about an hour we started to figure out what the fish wanted to bite on and lines began to tighten.


In the afternoon a friend of ours from Longview, Michael Armstrong took the short drive up and joined us for the remainder of the weekend. It ended up being a beautiful bluebird day and everyone in the crew got their taste of what Broken Bow had to offer on the first day. From Buggers to San Juan’s and Nymphs to dries we were able to fool fish on a variety of table fare. The night was rounded off with food prepped by Chef/Captain Cody LaCroix and beers curated by myself. As a group, Day 1 was a wrap.


Day 2 started bright and early for myself and our visiting friend Michael from Longview. He and I departed to the water around 7am trying hard not to be too quiet in case anyone else wanted to join in on the fun. No dice. The crew that rode 4 deep overnight from San Antonio was not budging. As to be expected the 7am start was a good idea as we were able to fish some sections of the river that were occupied the day before. Within 20 minutes of arriving to the 1st pool of the day I was hooked up and happy as could be! The next few hours were spent drifting, untangling and re-tying under an overcast sky with solid potential for afternoon showers. Michael Armstrong and I headed back to the campsite for lunch only to find our friends still asleep from the night before (light-weights AHEM). The morning team woke up the sleeping beauties and ran into town for a much-needed cheeseburger and additional beers for later. We returned from town as things started to rain and were not surprised to see the group huddled under a make-shift rain tarp making breakfast in a scene that I commonly refer to as a “Nam Fort.”


After lunch everyone did the wader-dance and prepped for a wet afternoon on the water. The weather was definitely a damper to a degree but it turned on the fish even more than the day before and the damper was quickly no longer an issue. I split the day fishing and filming and managed to keep all of my gear somewhat dry while I stacked clips for that Cordova Rods promo I had mentioned earlier. Some discussion was in the air about going to gamble and after a solid dinner and a near-encounter with a nap, we took off to the Choctaw Casino to adorn our clothes in cigarette smoke and check out all the hustlers, pimps and playas of Broken Bow, OKC. Fast-forward to the next day and I’m up $40 off of $5 playing penny slots while the rest of the gang had broke even, or gone in the hole all of $9.


​Our last day of the trip and travel day for everyone was Monday March 9th. That morning we all woke up fairly early and began to pack away the campsite in the rain. From there, Daniel, Cody, Chloe and Logan packed in their station wagon and made south to San Antonio while Michael and myself made one last stab at snagging some fish before going home. Broken Bow is a beautiful fishery located near the edge of the Ozark Mountain range and smack dab in the middle of Ouachita National Forest. From rushing deep pools to narrow technical runs there is something in Broken Bow for every fly angler. I will be going back soon, 100%.       -Davis James

P.S. For more awesome photos from Davis James visit his website at and his Instagram at Hope you enjoyed our first guest post, now get out there and fish!



There are a lot of reasons that i love fly fishing, wading through the cool spring waters, time alone to let the thoughts sort themselves out, and wandering along new trails to see what lies at the end of the path are just a few. One of the other main ones though is that just as fish are in touch with ever-changing temperature and water flows and adjusting their actions, so too are anglers like me constantly checking the weather, flows, and various seasonal changes to figure out where the to be and when, and in addition what to show up with, an endless puzzle that changes daily.

For the last few months i’ve avoided my usual stomping grounds with good reason, knowing that those warm water fish were hunkered down and largely inactive (much like myself) for the duration of the cold weather. The only real active option (at least for fly fisherman) have been those waters stocked by GRTU and TPWD with cold water trout.


Don’t get me wrong, i have mad respect for trout and the amazing fish stocking programs that happen here in Texas just to keep anglers satisfied during the “cold” months, mostly because i’m one of the people whose malaise is saved by the stocking of trout. In all honesty though, it can get old quick, fishing the same exact holes for months on end. As any casual reader of this blog already knows, i love to wander and explore just as much as i love to fish, sometimes even more, and stocked trout holding in certain spots aren’t exactly conducive to that.

I guess even though it was still cold and the trout were still biting, something deep inside of me knew it was almost over. I headed down to the Guadalupe with a much different mindset than i had the last dozen or so times. I truly believe the fishy part of me, hypersensitive to temperature and flows knew that it was just about time to wrap up this ongoing story and start heading out for new waters, new fish, and new experiences.


If this was indeed it, it was a sweet goodbye. Marching down some of the best local trout waters i know of, i thought loosely about the previous few months and all the experiences crammed within. As far as straight up fish numbers go, it was one of the less rewarding and more frustrating ones in recent memory. However, there were so many amazing memories and experiences crammed around the edges of that fish theater that i couldn’t help feel like one lucky S.O.B. The run ins with famous anglers, fishing days with friends old and new, the in depth conversations with local gurus, the new spots i’d never fished, and the many “off the record” tips and tricks that i guess i mostly earned just by sticking this whole damn thing out this long.

The fishing lasted for a few hours, drawn out by desire to fish hard for a few casts, then set back and watch the herons, hawks and ospreys while being sure to pay special notice to the mist trapping across the crests of hills and trees. In time i managed to land a couple of decent sized fish on my own hand tied nymphs which caused me to swell with joy and pride as i reeled in the haplessly duped fish linked to a small hook and thread i’d tied myself.

All in all it was by far the best day i’d had on the river this season, bar none. Obviously the gods (or stars, fish, spirits, etc.) were trying to throw a wrench in my thoughts, trying to lure me back with their whitewater gurgle siren call, but i refused, if i was going to leave for the season, i wanted to go out on top. Besides, i love the trout, but the bass, gar, carp, sunfish, etc. are slowly waking from their slumber and i’d hate for them to start talking amongst themselves and spreading rumors of trout being my one obsession. That’s obviously not true. My obsession is to move, to seek new adventures, new fish and new spots. My obsession is to migrate.

So long trout, hello everything else.