So of course like everything in life, or at least mine, once you stop trying to force something you’re in the right place for it to happen on its own. That’s exactly what happened on day three of my trip into the Hill Country. I woke up at sunrise and laid in my hammock relaxing with a fresh cup of coffee, thank you Jetboil, and simply watched the sun come up over the rough and weathered hills. After a breakfast of leftovers i packed camp and started heading back towards Austin. The Garmin (GPS) advised me that a right turn out of the KOA would be the fastest way home but i couldn’t help but be drawn to the thin blue line that represented the Llano river. A left turn would mean a longer trip home but it also meant two things that would save the trip:
1) I could skirt a fish able river almost the whole way home.
2) I wouldn’t be retracing my steps, after all i am the person that will drive hours out of my way just to avoid a previously driven route. Always forward, never backwards, to bad i can’t apply this to other parts of my life…working on it though.
So i made the left turn, crossed the bridge and entered the right state of mind. Suddenly it was scenic back roads and low water crossings galore. And unlike the water crossings on the Sabinal and the Frio these had ample area on the side of the road so that i could park and 
stroll a few feet to the bridge and lower myself into the translucent waters. This sounds so easy, and in fact is, but up until then all i could see were signs warning me i would be shot on site, strangled with barbed wire etc. This is after all Texas country and it took me days to get up the courage to do what i knew was perfectly legal to do. I mean for all the scare tactics and intimidation it is legal for you to be there. Of course stories and rumors abound of crazy ranchers that don’t care about your rights and will fill you full of salt rock or worse. But as i stood there just outside of Yates on the low water crossing i finally had the realization “If they really were killing fly fishers out here don’t you think you might have seen something on the news?”. It seems to be the world i live in now that fear keeps people paralyzed. I know that i feel like a victim, but a lot of time you’re a victim by choice and it just takes the ability to see past the scare tactics and maybe throw a little caution to the wind. I know that when i stepped in the water i felt a sudden confidence, after all i was fishing, being a part of the river as it undulated all around me. I was a participant and not just an observer, it just felt right to be there.
Suddenly i was playing my first fish of the trip, a small but feisty Guadalupe Bass that put up an amazing fight for it’s size. Or maybe it was just that it was any fish on my fly. It was an incredibly beautiful bass, it was silvery and blue, almost a frosty transparent much like the water it came from. The fish brought me the renewed energy that i needed to continue to explore so off i drove to further points downstream.
A little further down the road and south of Mason i came upon James’ Crossing. It’s a rather large island of rock just below the juncture of the Llano and James’ Creek. It was the Holy Grail of my trip. On the upstream side i waded for a few hundred yards in water that never got above chest level. Along the banks i caught countless Sunfish, Largemouth and Guadalupe Bass. The wind was fairly calm so i was using the 2WT which turned every fish into a dramatic game of give and take. Along the way i wrestled with my conscience as i noticed fishing lines suspended from branches arching over the banks. On one there was a catfish the size of my leg struggling for freedom, splashing violently on the surface of the water. I REALLY wanted to cut the line and set it free, after all where is the sport or participation in hanging a line and letting a fish suffer for hours or possibly days before killing it? But the closer i got the more i thought, these aren’t my stomping grounds and these aren’t my people, i have no right to do this, plus the thought of a pissed off rancher filling chasing me down the banks wasn’t very appealing. Writing this i’m still not sure that i did the right thing.
That night i camped up hill at the Dos Rios RV park which was nice enough to let me set up camp for $14 which seemed more than fair considering i was miles away from
traffic and sitting there cooking with a glass of wine while admiring the sun setting over the limestone cliffs that abounded in this stretch of the river. Even my neighbor cranking his “Country” music from his dually couldn’t entirely shake me from my relaxed state. I eventually ended up sprawled on the grass, a little inspired by the red wine, staring at thousands of stars trying to find the few constellations i could remember and thinking how great the day had been.
The last day i took the kayak down off the car and decided to explore as far downstream as i could before turning back. The quick current took my towering limestone cliffs that seemed on the verge of toppling into dark, deep pools at their bases. The river was magnificent down there, it had some sense of remoteness to it that was lacking on the upstream area. Cow skulls were lying on the bank, whether the dead cow or man had put them there was tough to say. A few sunfish were caught down this way, but the highlight was again a Guadalupe Bass in the 16″ range. These fish in my mind are the true trout of Texas. Like trout they spent most of their time in clear fast moving currents, are more similar in appearance to trout than the Large-mouth they are related to, and they fight like crazy, usually heading for swift current to make their escape. As the sun arched above the wind kicked up and practically blew me back to my starting point with little effort.
Once back on the island i ran into a fellow that was fly fishing the wrong spot of water with flies that were for trout up north. I ended up showing him a nice pool that was tucked away on one side of the island and giving him a Wooly Bugger so he stood a better chance. It was an
area that was practically impossible to fish without catching something. He had only been on the water a few times so he asked if i could give him a few pointers. I helped him with his knots and gave him enough advice to get him close to the fish. Then i pointed to a deep area near a fallen tree, “Look for places for them to hide, like that over there.” i told him. Then with a subtle cast landed my popper next to the wood…BAM, 14″ Guadalupe on the first cast. I held my astonishment in check and reeled it in to show him a Guadalupe. Two casts later it was a Largemouth, then the next casts was a Red Breast. The mans eyes widened in amazement. I just laughed on the inside, knowing that nothing like this would probably ever happen again. I thought i better quit while ahead so i said i had to be going. As i started off he initiated the formal Texas “My name is…” while extending a large Texan hand. It turns out it was 60th birthday, and he thanked me for the gifts, the fly and the tips. I mentioned that it was perfect timing, i came out here and managed to not have any sort of discussion with people for four days and here it was right before heading him that i met him and appreciated the conversation and company. It was the perfect end to my trip. Feeling like a competent fisher and a decent human being.
