In the previous post (part one of two) about my recent trip to visit family in Colorado, i mentioned the brief foray to Red Tooth, a quick trip that resulted in temporary satisfaction, at least as far as fishing went. But it wasn’t until a couple of days later (Mother’s Day of all days…bad timing) as i drove with my brother up into Eleven Mile Canyon for a REAL fishing foray into icy, flowing waters, that i could feel the fishing jitters subside.

The sky was overcast for the entire duration of our drive, right up until about the time that our waders connected with the water, suddenly the clouds vanished, the sun broke out of hibernation, and the trout suddenly saw us standing knee deep in their territory. I might as well have been wearing day-glo 80′s clothing since they bolted just as i was starting to get within casting range.

After 5-7 failed hook sets i started to get paranoid that maybe i was trying to set the hook as if a Largemouth was on the other end. Watching my brother actually catch one of these wily trout, i started feeling the familiar sense of dread that maybe i didn’t know what the hell i was doing and that i might end the day skunked. Working my way desperately downstream i eventually came to the end of a small pool that spilled over into a mesmerizing set of rapids that tumbled down the canyon with more energy and bustle than a room full of sex starved teens. As the Coper John rose slowly from the bottom of the pool and made it’s way  to the lip of the quickly exiting water, it got slammed by a trout that was obviously eager to inhale the “food” before it disappeared out of view and off into the cascading netherworld below.

A gentle upward pull of the rod (no more bass sets here), the hook was set and the action began.

With the current and flows running though this bottleneck portion of the river it would have been fun to land this fish on any single digit weighted rod, but working it upstream and into manageable current was UNREAL on my dads’ 8’6″ 3WT that is my de facto rod of choice when visiting him in the Rockies.

Meeting back up with my brother David, (who lives and fishes in Oregon and blogs at Fishkamp.com) we half heartedly attempted to fish another stretch of the canyon before noticing that not only was our deadline to meet up with the family  for Mothers Day dinner in Manitou Springs starting to distract us from matters at hand, but also that some sort of Crazy Ass Weather Apocalypse seemed to be creeping in over Pikes Peak from the east.

Twenty minutes later while hurriedly heading home, we were caught in the hailstorm to end all hailstorms as we tried to beat the clock back to Monument before the mothers in the family (his wife, mine and our mother) decided we would never fish again. Going 10 miles an hour while having your fathers vehicle get rained on by marble-pinball sized hail, and not knowing how long you’ll be driving that fast can be a little unnerving anyway, add three let down mothers on Mother’s Day!? You can’t imagine the pressure, eight years of college wrapped into one day couldn’t compare.

Suffice to say, a few miles later we ended up breaking into the same clear cool weather that had betrayed us to the trout hours earlier. We made it home on time, got dressed and waited for every one else as if nothing had happened, but it took an immeasurable amount of luck, on so many levels to be standing there, waiting for the ladies, dressed in some of our finest clothes. If i felt like i had to explain it, i would. But if you’re reading this, you fish. That means you likely understand.

P.S. Thank you Colorado. Thank you Alan and Sandy. Thank you beautiful mother of our child.

I truly believe that only an Austin based business like Howler Bros. could come up with a shirt like this. If a cowboy shirt and a technical fishing shirt had a one night stand along the shores of Laguna Madre, this would be the ending result. A poly-nylon blend with pearl snaps, a vented back yoke and flower embroidery and you can’t go wrong. Be a man, sport the flowers!

To be entered for your chance to win of to the Howler Bros. Facebook site, like them and share the post for a chance to win!

Hours after landing on the tarmac and having my father drive us from the Denver airport to my parents house one and a half hours south, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains (not always the case, and yes i feel fortunate), i was already packing, making apologies to loved ones, and backing out of the driveway, on my way to my bliss.

As mentioned on this blog over the years, Red Tooth’s real name is Upper Reservoir, a seemingly nondescript reservoir to Colorado locals, but a source of magic for me when visiting my parents due to the fact that it takes 15 minutes to drive to, and 45 minutes to hike into some AMAZING scenery and even more amazing stillwater fly-fishing.

As with any Colorado local, it’s hard to know what to expect in terms of weather, doubly so when you show up during some freaky ass cloudy / cold front which i suddenly found myself in the thick of.

Hiking into the canyon wearing pants and a short sleeve shirt, i started wondering why in the world i was dragging a pack with random warm layers up the steep and tiring incline.

By the time i was set in “MY SPOT”, cast a few times, and suddenly had a decent sized trout (below) taking my fly for a tour of the reservoir, i completely forgot about the extra weight in my pack, and all the things that seemed before to be such a burden. I’m sure you’ll agree, any inconvenience can be forgiven once a fish is in the line.

As i caressed the trout and let it work it’s gills in the ice water before racing off, it dawned on me that the summer heat was rapidly dropping. Within minutes it went from sweltering heat to a cool fall, and i found myself digging my heavy down coat out of the pack.

With the coolness sitting into my bones i watched patiently as a group of Brook trout worked their way along the bank. After a few dozen casts were turned down, i suddenly found a Brook willing to take the emerger that i was (graciously, i thought) offering. A few minutes later i was holding the beautiful specimen (far above, and below) that held me entranced with it’s bizarre markings, it seems to me that the Brook seems to possess all the best markings of many different trout, and it’s truly always a treat to catch one.

Two minutes after releasing this fish and snapping some photos, the cold came whipping in, and i was immediately immersed in a crazy Colorado snow storm. Throwing the rain shell over the down coat, i still found myself shivering…and smiling. The fishing was done, the weather was kicking me out, i was shaking uncontrollably, and i couldn’t have been happier…

…more to follow…

Just a quick note, the rains are coming. The fish will be on the move, and spots recently void of good sized fish will suddenly appear as if by magic to hold fish. As an icthiologist friend told me recently, fish seldom work their way downstream in heavy flows, so work your way up from holes that have worked in the past. Those small creeks (Bull, Barton, Brushy,  Shoal, Onion, Walnut, etc.) will at least temporarily provide some interesting fishing, provided you head out with lightweight rods and smaller expectations than normal.

So set the large rod aside for a week or so and go experience the creeks while they last. If you’ve been here long at all, you know it won’t last (unfortunately), and it’s best to enjoy them while there is life in them.

It’s coming to a theater near you, but who knows how long it will be showing. Get out there now!

P.S. I am so tired of seeing endless boring videos of trout fishing on Vimeo, if anyone out here reading this blog has REAL camera gear and skills and is interested in shooting and producing a real piece on Barton Creek or the Texas Hill Country please let me know and we can get the ball rolling. I wish the above layout (image) was for something real…anyway, contact me and we can start making it happen!

On the drive out to the Pedernales i rolled over the newly formed plan, and mentally cataloged everything i would need to throw in the daypack to increase my chances of success. Stalking Drum, Carp, and Gar meant a couple of rods (3WT and 6WT) and a selection of flies that ran from nymphs for Carp, to freshly hand tied Gar flies that appeared to be suffering from Bed Head (below photo). The sun was burning with a vengeance, causing me to dip religiously into the giant bladder of water that was weighing me down as i patrolled the waters catching nothing but ridiculously small sunfish that were young and naive enough to pounce on the nymphs as though they might be the real deal.

After a couple of hours i was casting the 3WT with a leech against a deep bank, letting it sink, and stripping the fly slowly when i felt a relatively immense tug on the other end. Shocked and surprised i responded by tugging even harder on my end, when…SNAP, the line went slack and my fly was gone. Quickly tying one on (a fly that is), i cast in the same spot, repeated the motions and was rewarded with another heavy tug. CAREFULLY setting the hook the action began as my 3WT went horizontal and the reel began to hum. After a few solid, long distance runs i saw the dark outline shoot past my legs, the first Freshwater Drum of the year was here! The feeling of satisfaction was intense, not only did i do everything right to land it, i also had another species entry for the Texas Hill Country Mixed Bag contest i’m participating in.

Hours later, while targeting some carp in a shallow stretch with the 3WT, i saw a long, cylindrical shape cruising slowly along the bottom of the pool. Switching rods, faster than politicians change stances, i let the large new streamer fly towards the Gar, hit the water off to it’s side, and started stripping eratically  trying to get the Gar’s attention. As it curved it’s body, snapping it’s jaw on the fly, i heard myself say “Almost there, almost there…” giving the fish time to snag itself on the mess of nylon fibers. As soon as i pulled the rod up, the fish suddenly realized what was happening and bolted like a bat of hell 30 yards before tail-walking across the water, and performing amazing aerial acrobatics that sent my heartbeat racing.

While pulling the fish in, i somehow managed to put on my $3 rubber gloves, get out the measuring trough, and get the net ready to…to what? The opening on my net is about 20 inches, and suddenly i found myself with about 40 inches of solid bone. Suffice to say, the net was useless. I shocked myself when i suddenly took matters into my own hands, literally, grabbing the huge jaw full of teeth with one hand, while readying the camera with the other. Suddenly the Gar went berserk, flipping itself up and out of my grasp and landing in water less than half an inch deep. Stunned, i leapt forward with the useless net falling on me knees, and wondering just what i was thinking. The Gar apparently was stunned too, he stopped for the briefest second before lurching forward again where i immediately replayed the fool, jumping for him, determined to find a way to keep him from escaping before a photograph could be had. This ridiculousness replayed itself eight times before he made it to deep enough water to swim away in, and left me with nothing but cuts, scrapes, and chest pains (exertion, exhaustion, heart break?) to remember him by.

Oh yeah. And he took my fly.

I am thankful though for the day on the water, and the first Drum of the season. Plus, it’s nice to know that i caught my first intentional Gar (and the second total), but i’ll be back soon, with a camera ready to go, a armada of newly improved flies, (hopefully) extra hands, and at least a 50 inch wide net.

Time. I truly believe if i could have any one thing, whether it was money, eternal bliss, etc., i would choose time above all else. With the limited amount of this item i’ve had available to me recently, it’s been much more common to find me working a 6″ deep pool along the putrid waters of Shoal Creek than it is to find me stalking big fish on the Pedernales or elsewhere.

I know this might sound weird, but with my love of small creeks around Austin, it’s become a bizarre personal challenge to try and win the THC contest mentioned many times recently on this blog, by catching the largest fish possible in the most unlikely (read: small) of places.

A perfect example is the above Red Breast that i caught on a recent return to a special section of Bull Creek. It had been years since i’d been there, and i was hoping to reacquaint myself with the beautiful waters that flowed though her contours. While i was wading the clear, cool waters, i managed to land what looked to be my first THC sunfish entry, a 8″ Red Breast that posed nicely for the measuring board photo before throwing the hook, robbing me of the “Fish in Hand with Scenery to Prove Location” in the background to make my entry official. At the time it felt like that 8″ inch fish had taken a fist to my heart. Luckily an hour later i landed a much more photogenic Red Breast that also happened to measure at nearly 8.5 inches. (Above Photo)

The same unsuspecting joy was found the following day on a one hour lunch break from my work at 10th and Lamar. Returning to a recently discovered jewel on Shoal Creek (well…a jewel one to two feet deep, with all kinds of scary toxic runoff, bizarre algae and insane amounts of litter) i was hoping to catch one of the Rio Grande i had caught there a week or so before to a add to my contest submissions.

Stripping the fly with jagged starts and pauses, i saw a Red Breast of about six inches lurch for the fly, something that filled my heart with more anticipation than it probably should. Suddenly a dark silhouette came flying in from below before confidently engulfing my tiny popper. This poor Largemouth had probably never seen a fly, living in these strange unfishable waters. He shot out of the water with the popper in mouth,multiple times, performing exotic cartwheels two feet above the waters surface, before returning to the water like some spent trapeze artist.

It wasn’t the 14″ Largemouth i needed to be able to submit for the contest, but knowing where it lived, what it endured, and it’s chances of even existing a month from now, it felt like the fish that put me at the top of my personal challenge. And on a one hour lunch at that.

Lesson? Don’t pass up the skinny, dirty waters.

With the warm weather around here in central Texas starting to flex it’s muscles, it’s kind of nice to see some fishing with snow on the banks. And the fish? DANG  they are big and beautiful.

Want to see more? Check out Hooke videos on Vimeo.

Well, once again i’ve shown myself that all the truisms i think i know about myself are indeed valid. For example, i’ve always known that i’m extremely competitive to a ridiculous degree, useful information that i use to keep myself out of any sort of challenge based scenario for fear of become obsessed with being number one. Until now.

I recently entered the Texas Hill Country Mixed Bag Contest being put on by the folks over at Texas River Bum. If you’re unfamiliar with the contest, basically, to win you need to catch a wide variety of fish (Trout to Gar, 20 different kind in all) between now and October 31st. The strategies and spots for yours truly have been selected and planned and now it was just a matter of getting out and landing fish.

First stop was the Guadalupe River for the Rainbow Trout checkbox. After landing double digit trout during most visits in February and March, it felt weird to have to fight so hard for one. After losing two good sized fish on one of my favorite holes (over the course of a few hours), i headed to another productive area, paid the attendant, and begged with every cast for JUST ONE LAST TROUT FOR THE YEAR!

After a few lost fish, i was surprised as anyone to see my indicator dip, strip the line, and feel the hook set firmly in an angry Trout’s jaw. As a matter of fact, i was so surprised, i set the hook, slipped, and went in over my head into the cool waters of the river, while still managing to keep my arm, the rod, and line high enough to not lose the fish (eat your heart out Brad Pitt!).

It’s done now, photographed and submitted, but now i’m worried about the obsessiveness it might take to get my shots at these many other fish, after all, there are Redhorse, Catfish, Crappie, White Bass, Smallmouth Buffalo and Gar (and many others) to go. I don’t know what will happen over the next six months, but i can promise you this, i won’t back down, i will fish until my knuckles bleed, and there are stories to be told. Stay tuned.

And not that i really want more competition (I’m looking your way Shawn) but you should really consider signing up if you need an excuse to hit the water more than you do!

Growing up around Washington D.C, in the mid to late 80′s i was lucky enough to be there when the feeling of D.I.Y. (Do It Yourself) really seemed to blossom and mean something. Fugazi and Dischord records were just figuring out how to take this mission global without giving up control (as was SST, Rough Trade, Wax Trax and Sub Pop). Punk bands, (Government Issue for one) were playing for free at the skate parks i skated at, which were springing up like mushrooms in the area, and zines, posters, and compilations (on TAPES no less) were being distributed like STD’s among the local scene.

I’m not nostalgic by any means and have ZERO desire to go back in time, (i wouldn’t go back if i could) i only mention this because the people behind Southern Culture on the Fly either grew up then, or have somehow zeroed in on the non-conformist attitude of those years. They were somehow odd, unprofessional, and strange, (in an un-60′s way) purely for the sake of being so, something that these folks seemed to hone in on. With most things in the present being strange just to cash in on the oddity, it’s refreshing to see that some people aren’t being different because they are waiting on a paycheck, but because they feel have something different to say.

Visit their online zine here.

Check out their we bite here.

Kudos S.C.O.T.F.