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Category Archive:   dF Feature


Sorry for the lack of posts the last week, but i’m currently camping / fishing in the mountains around Crested Butte, Colorado, far removed from technology and electricity.

I can’t wait to get back and share the stories with you, but first they must be experienced. Until then, enjoy some older posts and get out there and fish my friends.

P.S. The above photo has not been Photoshopped. It’s just that amazingly scenic here.

They’re few and far between, but days that start off with fish, and end in fish are amazing. The other day was a classic “bookend” day, starting off at Brushy Creek, working a full shift at my job, and ending up before nightfall wading at my home away from home, Barton Creek.

I’ve only fished Brushy Creek once before near the skate park, but this time i was scoping out spots much further downstream in a much more creek like setting. Finding a turnout and pulling off the road i immediately saw two fly-fisherman decked out in gear head to toe. Instead of being bummed, i decided to turn it positive in my head, and looked at it as a sign that i was in the right place at the right time. Grabbing my two weight and sling bag i hustled a ways upstream and lobbed a chartreuse popper against a cut bank. Within a few cast i saw my popper, much to my astonishment, get pummeled by a quick uppercut. The line ran, the rod bent, and not long after, i was pulling a healthy and vigorous ten inch bass to hand. (I’m a little ashamed to admit this, but as i was battling him i actually glanced downstream to see if my fellow fisherman had registered the fight.)

A few cast later, a decent sized green sunfish provided an awesome display of chutzpah as it tore the waters surface a new one. I released the fish and then as quickly as i arrived, i hopped in the car and made my way to work. Twenty minutes on the water, and two wonderful ways to start the day.

After work i made a B-line for Barton Creek and wasted no time getting in the water and working the far bank. Pulling in small sunfish after small sunfish, my mind started wandering as the sun shimmied down the other side of the trees. For some reason my mind was fascinated with the fact that most of the highlights it experienced over the course of the day began with the letter B. There was the bookend analogy, experienced at Barton and Brushy Creek, b-lines, and brush lined banks, as well as the the bass that had put the bend in my two weight.

The only highlight of the day that didn’t begin with B was the much loved Rio Grande that put up a fight right as the last shafts of light vacated Barton Creek. Releasing it, i snipped the the fly off, broke down the rod and headed back to the car, it was the perfect way to end the day.

Thank you day, and bye bye.

The day was miserable, at least as far as the weather was concerned. The sun beat down on us harder than a Bootsy Collins bass line and the humidity was thicker than New England Clam Chowder, but it’s not as though you can expect anything different when you’re fishing Texas in the summer.

The plan of attack had been hatched late the night before during the “Jungle Fish” screening and after a respectable amount of free drinks. Chatting with Miles about the Pedernales, we decided it would be a good idea to scope it out the next day and try and land some carp and/or gar. Sucking his buddy Chase into the mix with promises of MANY HUGE FISH we exchanged data and agreed to meet the next day.

In case you’re new to the sport of fly fishing, let me be the first to tell you, fishing trips have a way of falling apart faster than most marriages, especially when the trip is planned late at night over drinks. Having experienced this many times over the years, i was shocked the next day, when despite the lingering effects of the previous night, we all came through and loaded into my ride to make our way to Pedernales State Park.

Within 30 or so minutes of being on the water i was bewildered to see the “New Kid” (Chase) land a juvenile freshwater drum followed closely by a catfish and a seemingly endless string of smaller fish. I don’t know about Miles (who has fished quite a while) but after a an hour or so of that i was starting to feel a little jealous of Chase’s ability to show me up on what i would definitely consider my stomping grounds, but as they say, when you’re hot you’re hot.

Although Miles had been here a few times before, and Chase was showing us both up, i still felt like i was playing the role of guest, trying to show off all the good fishing spots, pointing out spots where i had experienced past success, and hoping that they would catch decent fish and have a good time. It was difficult, since i wanted to put them on some fish but still manage to land some myself, just another in the long series of life’s many conundrums i face i guess.

It wasn’t until a few pools down stream that i managed to hook into my first fish of the day, a moderate sized drum (below) that truly put up a hell of fight for a fish of it’s size, something that is always appreciated. Not long after snapping the photo and releasing the drum, i tossed the black Wooly Bugger one more time against the cypress bank and was rewarded with one of the few channel catfish that i’ve ever caught (above) and the day suddenly started to feel wobbly and abnormal. Adding to the sudden strangeness of the day, i found myself a few minutes later staring at the abandoned boat in the first photo and wondering how it got there, (lost in the roaring waters a week or so before, ditched by passionate lovers “playing” in the woods, or maybe a temptation being watched by folks with air rifles?) The desire to pole it around as a “flats boat” was strong, but i’ve been pelted by BB gun fire before and had no desire to recreate the scene (ahhh…third grade antics). Onward.

Further downstream i hooked my second catfish of the day (below) which was proof positive that the day was a strange one, after all, i’ve hardly ever caught any catfish, much less two in one day and a drum. The thoughts started parading around in my head as i wondered, why was i all a sudden catching catfish, and what was that strange boat doing just sitting there, beached like a whale, and why have i suddenly found myself (every last antisocial bone of me) comfortable with group outings.

With the heat becoming so intense that these delirious thoughts were starting to swim naked in my mental pond, i proposed heading back to the car and was surprised to find that all were willing, a good thing since drinkable water and shade were both becoming as obsolete as rational thought.

I felt terrible that night and the next day, sick from exhaustion, but of course i’d do it all again. The camaraderie, the fish and the mystical waters all have far to great a pull, they always mix and morph, presenting a seemingly endless string of combinations, always promising something different…something new. I love that more than anything about fishing, and i wouldn’t have it any other way.

There was something wrong with me. As a contestant in the Texas Hill Country Mixed Bag i had slowly found myself treating time like an enemy, contest borders as a fence that caged me in, and fish that were under the required minimum length to be nothing more than a nuisance. I had blurred the lines between what i did for enjoyment, and what i did for competition and the outcome had turned me into a stressed out individual loosing the one thing that helped me keep from gonig completely mental.

It wasn’t always this way. After catching some big fish recently, including the gar that got me onto Moldy Chum’s Slab of the Month, i had gotten mentaly sucked in to the world of “bigger is better” and forgot what it meant just to go fish if only so that i could rest the chaos swarming in my head.

The comment on F-book from Dean (anglerwanabee.com) about the gar summed it up well.

“…and I knew him back when he was posting about how all he needs to catch are little panfish to make him happy. Now Slab of the Month…”

Rereading this little koan the other day i chuckled, shut down the computer, opened the rod case, grabbed the 2WT and headed out the door and drove straight to Barton Creek. It was time to find myself once again.

Walking upstream into an area seldom seen, i worked the shallow, narrow waters (pictured above), and caught crazy amounts of small energetic sunfish on nothing more than a tiny Wooly Bugger and a 2WT. They didn’t put up crazy fights or take me into my backing, but they did start to help me reconnect with myself, and through extension, the reason for this blog.

Working my way back to the car, i fished a small pool and was lucky enough to pull one of my favorite fish out of the water, the Rio Grande. The markings on the fish were so intense that i wanted to freeze him as he appeared at that moment and slip him into my pocket so i could glance at him whenever i need a reminder of what is REALLY important to me, but of course that’s not how life works, so i snagged this photo instead.

It’s a photo of a beautiful Rio Grande for sure, but it’s also a photo of a hand, the hand of a man that is grinning and once again discovering the joy of all the small things.

Thanks once again Barton Creek.