I know it’s hard to believe, but trout in Texas aren’t restricted to the Guadalupe River under Sattler during the winter months. There are a plethora (yes, i know what a plethora is) of locations that TPWD stock trout at throughout the colder months in this giant state of ours (see the schedule and locations here) and recently i was lucky enough to camp overnight with my family at one of the most scenic of these sites, Garner State Park.

Even under normal conditions this spot would be an eyeful for the average Texas fisher person. Add the mist and grayness that were prevalent the few days we were there and you end up with this sort of quasi spiritual/mistical (spelling error on purpose) fishing area, at least as long as you ignored the RV camp on the opposite bank.

It was here that i finally got to test a Browning Siloflex fiberglass rod from 1964, given to me by my father over the holidays, which i was eager to string up with line and cast as quickly as possible. Unlike my carbon fiber rods, where the action takes place along the length of the rod, on this one it was all in the last quarter of the tip. The unfamiliar action made for some interesting casts and tangled lines at first. It didn’t the long though before i got it’s rhythm dialed and started reeling in trout after trout.

While the trout were decent fun to catch, the biggest fight of the day turned out to be a rather large Redbreast that i was, quite simply, shocked to catch in the cool waters of the Frio this time of year.

Even though the fish were why i was there, it was the scenery and the amazingly clear water that stole the show. While the sky seemed to do it’s best to obscure everything as if it were embarrassed of it’s past, the water was so transparent that it was almost dangerously deceiving, luring you with it’s siren call into deeper and deeper water. What looked to be six inches to a foot deep everywhere was more like two to six feet deep, possibly more in some spots.

The following photo is a great example, ignore the pale farm raised fish and check out the water around it. The rocks that you can easily make out are actually about 4-5 feet below the surface, the trout was being held at my chest.

So hit up the Guadalupe for sure, after all, the trout there are beautiful and wonderful fighters. But don’t forget to get out there and check out something new now and then, after all, “Variety is the spice of life.”

Plus, if you’re lucky enough, you might be there on a cold, gray day, with moisture both above and below, a fish on your line and a raw energy emanating from your wet, frozen, purple hands. If you are moved to let out a laugh of happiness, you’ll likely cause heads along the shore to glance to and fro in wonder. From your point of view you’ll be the only one there, lost in a timeless, misterious place. To those on the bank you’ll be a wild unseen laugh, and likely nothing more than a wandering spirit shrouded in the mist.

Longtime Die Fische reader, S. Rodriguez sent me a link to this awesome video sometime back in December when i was knee deep in retail. It was the appropriate time of receive it, since it’s all about the stress of work and the calming effects of fishing and discovery.

Luckily i didn’t walk out on my job, which is good news since i actually enjoy it, and things have wound down enough that i can squeeze in the occasional post-work fishing.

Here’s to the calming effect of water, light, fish and self discovery.

Thanks S. Rodriguez!

Ever the eternal pessimist, i plodded forward along the dusty trail without much hope. It had been a couple of months since i’d last been down this far on my beloved Barton Creek. That particular visit had been punctuated by the lack of ANY water at all, and the sinking feeling that it would be a LONG time before the creek would regain the fishing composure it once had in abundance.

But this day, after being ticked off by the new barb wire fence (below) that prevented me, and many others, from accessing the trails on the south entrance of Lost Creek, i made my way along the dusty dirty trail that skirted this amazing Austin jewel separated from the water by a thick wall of foliage. Everything seemed like it had on the last visit, dry and brown, but as i neared Bench Falls i heard a long forgotten sound…water rushing over the falls.

Staggering forward into the ubiquitous gathering of teens drinking on the falls, i stopped in my tracks, looking up and down from that vantage point it was hard to feel anything but sheer bliss as my gaze fell on water, water…everywhere.

“Holy cow,” my pessimistic brain seemed to chime in on cue “it’s half full.”

Wading into one of my favorite spots on the planet, slightly below the falls, i was amazed (although i’ve seen it many times before in texas) by the illusion that the cool, clear water created. What looked like a pool a foot deep, when waded into, revealed itself to be 4-6 feet deep. Even David Copperfield couldn’t pull off such a beautiful illusion.

Although there may be a ton of water now, there was little to none just a month or so ago, so what fish are there have an awful lot of elbow room. They’re also small and skittish, but i guess i would be too if i had spent the last year avoiding droughts, Heron, and larger fish that eventually got eaten by Heron.

When i finally spotted something swimming near me that was larger than a finger, i cast and stared in disbelief as it chased, bit, and inhaled my fly. I was dumbfounded.

It’s hard to explain how incredible it was to once again catch a healthy fish on my local flowing waters, although if you’re a fisherman and have experienced a drought you likely understand. To have that wild Redear on one end of my 2WT, and me on the other, brought a sense of joy that all the Trout in Texas can’t compete with (much respect to GRTU and those trout  though).

It may not be world class Trout water, or even the best spot to be in Texas. But like anything in life it just depends on how you look at it, and right now, to me at least, the Creek and the fishing in Barton Creek looks half full.

See you down there.

Fly fishing at it’s most frustrating is still better than say, raking the leaves. After all, if your fishing, you’re not working. Plus, it’s likely that you’re on (or in) the water, which is something i’m convinced benefits the average human psyche far more than spending hours on a couch chatting up a stranger about ones problem and then forking over hard earned cash.

At it’s best it’s a single moment, or string of moments, where many things come together in such a way that they put a fish on your hook, or at least a smile on your face. Such was the case a week ago for me on the Guadalupe.

After a few less than stellar trips to the Guadalupe, i started to wonder what i was doing wrong, why i was lucky to land one fish on a good day, when so many people i talked to were landing double digit fish (of course it’s not about the quantity, but the disparity shouldn’t have been that great). At that moment i was wondering about this while standing on the edge of a slippery ledge in the middle of the river and lobbing my nymph rig out into the current . While waiting for any sort of action i  became distracted, and then upset, by the obvious signs of fish all around me. The quick, breaking of the waters surface tension, and the tell tale ripples that spread across the water afterwards before crashing upon my waders. They were obviously there, they just didn’t seem to be interested in what i “knew they wanted”.

Watching the surface action, the gears started turning, slowly at first, as if waking from winter hibernation, and then suddenly they all fired up and it finally clicked. Damn…

Cutting off the sub surface nymph rig, i reached into the Dry Fly Box and grabbed one of the small Amy’s Ants that had managed miracles for me on the trout in Colorado last year. There was no reason that fly should have worked at all, even at a small (for it) size 10 it was gargantuan compared to the Trico looking bugs bouncing off the water, but there it was, flying through the air and falling on the water with a reckless passion and aplomb, as if it enjoyed the attention it’s swan dive had created. It’s confidence seemed arrogant as it fell, but the second it hit the water, the trout hit it harder than a Tyson uppercut, and all that was left was the sound of water sucking in on itself quickly in the fishes absence.

And so it went, fish after fish after fish. One fly, nine fish landed. Bite after bite the Ant flew towards the water oozing charm and grace attracting fish from all over the pool, but it never seemed smug about it, which is it’s own reward. As i tell my seven year old, arrogance is offensive and off putting, confidence is inspiring. I don’t have a lot of “Confidence Flies”, but apparently the Amy’s Ant is running for election.

Anyway, the moral? Forget everything you’ve been told will work. Just straight up forget it. Be observant and see watch what’s going on around you. Then try something different, something new, and watch the smiles start rolling in.

You could probably apply the same moral to fishing too.

Petri Heil!

Usually for me fishing is a solitary thing, a self imposed exile to a land of greens, browns and blues. It’s time alone for me to feed my imp, carousing with the forest spirits and generally being a slave to my impulses without offending, or worrying anyone (a little Tibetan throat singing anyone?). The few times i’ve fished with others i’ve had particular moments that stand out in my mind, but none can compete with getting to fish with my two brothers A.J. and David on one of the last days of 2011.

We’ve never fished with just the three of us, so it was fitting that this was the way i tied up a year of piscatorial firsts. The drought, the carp (and the madness that ensued), the Jack Rabbits, the Peccaries, escaped exotic African Sheep, spin fishing and many new spots all came to fruition for better or worse this year. So when i found myself standing knee deep in the ice cold waters of the Platte in Colorado, tucked within the breathtaking confines of Eleven Mile Canyon on one of the last days of 2011 with my brothers working their way down stream from me, it all seemed natural, like it was meant to be.

It had been a long day of no fish and lots of empty casts, and all signs were pointing to me getting skunked on the last fishing day of the year. Staring around at the wild world that cuddled me in it’s bosom, i somehow didn’t feel bothered by the idea of heading home empty handed. Suddenly, as i was coming to terms with my fish less day, David starting yelling and pointing up with an urgency that shook me back to things at hand. Looking up, i was just in time to catch a Bald Eagle flying directly overhead…another first.

As the sun started to shrink beyond the walls of the canyon, the leader tangled itself into endless unsolvable wind knots, and my hands starting to go numb, i decided “to hell” with the proper lightweight flyfishing tactics i’d been using. Tying on the largest unibobber made, and applying split shot that broke the surface of the water like a skipped stone, i cast and waited, expecting nothing.

On that ONE last cast i hooked the Rainbow that gave me one of the greatest thrills of my life. The line ran out as the fish shot across the current, making my 10′ 3WT rod with 6X tippett suddenly feel more like a 1WT, the chances of me landing the fish quickly diminishing with every leap and run. Screaming down stream for a net (want to catch a fish? leave the net in the car.) i realized that my brothers and the net were far out of range and that this fish would have to come to hand. I worked the fish over and over for 5-8 minutes, trying to get the bundle of energy close enough to hold and free. Grabbing the fish and sitting it on the ice shelf along the river for just enough time to snap one photo (10 seconds) i returned it to the water expecting to have to slowly revive it after a long and beautiful battle. However, upon being lowered in the water it bolted like a silver rocket right back to it’s spot where it immediately leaped and snagged a BWO out of the air…energy to spare. These are the moments i live for.

Winter trout in Colorado, another first.

With all that 2011 brought me, i’m a little nervous to see what adventures 2012 holds. Whatever they may be, you know where you can find me…

There is nothing quite like the pressure of trying to break a Skunk Streak, except of course, for that fist pumping feeling you get when you DO finally manage to get the elusive fish into your net.

Such was the case the other day when i spent hours on the Guadalupe spotting fish rising at numerous locations, but was unable to get any to even give me the time of day. Still feeling mentally constipated from the holiday madness at my shop, i couldn’t manage to make the obvious connection that should have occurred before tying a fly on. Instead i stood there in the river for hours throwing nymphs at the fish, my flies sinking right by them as they stared up and sipped their meat cocktails from the constantly flowing surface.

Late in the day i glanced over my shoulder and caught the sun sliding back behind the limestone bluffs, the deep blue sky creating a dark canvas on which the stark white clouds created their visual art. Turning back to the river i was just in time to see a BWO skitter across the surface before it careened into a small trout’s jaw. The visual seemed to loosen something in my head, and i reached (as i should have MUCH earlier) for the box of dries.

After tying on the dry, it was maybe three minutes before i landed this 13″ Rainbow. While he wasn’t huge, he packed a lot of energy, jumping out of the water time and time again as i worked him to the net. Besides, 10, 15, 20 inches, what did it matter? The Skunk Streak had been broken and the fog had lifted slightly in my brain.

Walking back to the car, parked on the crest of a hill, i sat and watched the sunset for a while and was treated with one of natures amazing pyrotechnical shows. Solitude, quiet, a fish and now this!

It was a good day.

After months or preparation, weeks of stress, and days where i was wound so tight as a retail manager that i started the day with a good dispensing of the previous days dinner (a.k.a vomit), it finally has come and gone…Christmas is over.

I haven’t had a REAL thought in a few weeks, lately everything had become a “if/than” response over the last few weeks leading up to this magical moment of consumerism.

So when i left work on Christmas Eve heading home and the iPhone “randomly” picked the Frank Zappa song “Blessed Relief” out of a few thousand songs in it’s digital memory, i paused along the side of the road, took a heavy breath and listened to my heart/soul for the first time in a while.

With my family waiting for me far away in Colorado at my parents, i suddenly felt the overwhelming need to visit and deliver a gift to one of my closest pals here in Austin. Hopping on the highway i made a b-line Barton Creek at Lost Creek.

I know this is going to make me sound like some hippie/new age freak or worse, but my sole mission with the visit was to empty the canteen of water i had in the car, adding to the creek’s flow while saying words of thanks, and conversing about the new year i hope to spend together, what with the new flows and all.

As the words and water flowed from one vessel to the other, i swear i felt the tension and stress of the last week leaving me and flowing forth into the watery distance.

Happy holidays everyone.

Thank you to Whoever for the wonderful gift of water, flows, chance, and the Blessed Relief.

Dear Barton Creek,

It’s nice to see you again, it’s been a while. You’re looking good and healthy with that 12 CFS you’ve put on recently, it fits you much better than the 0 CFS you were sporting for most of the last year, it gave you the appearance of an insecure runway model…i’m just being honest.

Not only do the flows look healthy, but the quality of the water flowing though you is refreshing to see, cool to the touch and clear as gin, although i prefer vodka myself. You’re so clear in fact, that just the other day i was able to perch myself on a boulder in your midst and watch a catfish larger than my arm take me for an emotional ride as he hurriedly inhaled my fly and just as quickly spat it out, some 10-12 feet down below me on the river bed. Sad.

I was lucky enough though to manage this redbreast on a dry fly before having to depart, something that i didn’t take lightly, what with it being the end of December and all.

Anyway, it was nice to see you, i really and truly love you in a way that is hard to explain to my non-angling friends. They don’t seem to get that you’re more than two banks with water flowing between them (sometimes), you’re also a shrink, a sage, a clown and a companion.

Welcome back old friend.

P.S. The Dueling Narwals graffiti was by done by unknown artist, but i commend their work. It put a huge smile on my face. You can find it on a big rock in the main pool downstream from Lost Creek.

Boy, the other day was rough. It was the second thursday in a row spent on the Guadalupe, and the second week of getting skunked. Working in retail right now has me wrapped a little tight and i think i’m putting a little to much pressure on the need to catch a fish, and therefore walking away from the water skunked, sullen and depressed.

The only good thing to come out of the other days visit to the Guadalupe was stumbling onto some bright lights at the intersection in Sattler. Like a moth to a flame i drove straight for them and found that a new fly shop is opening up there. They’re still setting it up, but it’s clear that it should be ready to go soon.

Pretty sweet deal if you ask me. Now there will be Reel Fly on the upper end of the Trout Zone, Action Angler smack in the middle, and Gruene Outfitters downstream in Gruene. A lot of shops for such a tiny stretch of trout water.

I can hardly wait to get back down to the river, possibly catch a few trout and spend a little while exaggerating the size of my quarry while digging through the fly selection at Reel Fly. I’m not sure that our small fly fishing population deserves or needs another fly shop, but i sure am excited to see what they bring to the table.

For now i’ll just sit back, sip a glass of red wine, and enjoy what i really feel is some of the most amazing low budget (not an insult) fishing video work out there.

Check out more inspiring videos at Yukon Goes Fishing.