Unexpected Pleasures (Of Making a Challenging Activity More Challenging)

A while back Cam Mortenson over at The Fiberflass Manifesto got me real interested in fiberglass rods after I happened upon his blog.  For many reasons the idea of fishing fiberglass was appealing.  One, being born at what was about the tail end of the fiberglass era (I'm vintage 1973 right here) put fiberglass in my field of vision.  I've also had an eye for bamboo, and it's slow rhythm.  The problem there was budget.  A decent small stream boo rod may be accidentally found for a hundred bucks, but realistically it goes up fast from there.  There's also the fact that I can't have just one of anything (get me a bag of Doritos and you'll see what lack of will power truly is).  I started hearing glass is like poor mans bamboo.  Hello, I'm not poor exactly, but certainly thrifty.

My first purchase was a Cabela's C.G.R. 6'-6" 4 wt.  It felt like a wet noodle, and kinda scared me the first time I picked one up.  I was truly interested in a 3 wt rod, but in that series the 3wt is a 5'-9" horse whip.  It scared me to think of fishing something so short and soft.  There's irony when I reflect on my days of spin fishing.  A 6'-6" spinning rod is considered fairly average.  I ended up finding an old American made Pflueger Medalist 1492 reel and spooled it with a 3wt WF sage line.  First rod and reel completed.

Quickly my obsessive mind couldn't get glass out of it.  It stuck in my brain like the itchy shards of my old high school football stadium bleachers.  The gel-coat of the Millard South bleachers was baked off by the sun, and wearing shorts on those bleachers wasn't a good idea.  Unless you have fun itching and scratching for days after sitting on a bench for 20 minutes....then it would have been a great idea.

I digress, back to the obsessive compulsiveness of the glass rod consumption.  Apparently a single rod wasn't enough, so I added the C.G.R. 7' 5wt with medalist reel.  After looking at those 2 new "old fashioned" rods something didn't feel authentic.  I became involved with the Fiberglass Fly Rodders Forum and soon ran across my first classic glass rod.  What a beauty too, an A&F Yellowstone 7 1/2' 6 wt.  My obsession collided with e-bay to amass several more reels.  Then I ran across some rods at a garage sale.

Before I knew it, my collection looked like this:

4 rods, 6 reels, and one broken butt section.  By the way, ZERO fish had been caught by me on fiberglass at the time I acquired this collection. (yes, my yard is an example of water conservation, and possibly....okay, definitely also an example of just not caring about a fancy lawn.  It's only greenish because of recent rains.)

While the C.G.R. rods are pretty to look at, the rod that has me captivated is this one.  It's an Abercrombie & Fitch 7'-6" 'Yellowstone" rod made for them by Phillipson (not sure when, maybe the 50's or 60's).  Yes, that A&F, but not really.  Only in name because the outfitter that built outdoor gear went bankrupt in the 70's.  The name was subsequently acquired by it's current incarnate.  It's a pure joy to cast, and I stuck an Ocean City 77 reel on it.   

This rod was my winter project.  It's a pretty heavy rod built from a blank I picked up at a garage sale.  Originally it was a spinning rod that I stripped down and rebuilt.  It was just something to do I figured.  The rest of the story will follow soon once I get it out on the water.  If you just can't wait click here to see the whole rebuild documented on Fiberglass Fly Rodders forum.

So far this year I have only caught fish on the 7' 5wt C.G.R. and it's been a hoot every time.  Getting used to fishing a shorter full action rod has been great.  I've only fished the Yellowstone once really, and I'll tell you more about that day later.  Got skunked, but had a truly beautiful evening.  Strangely I felt connected with people from the past when fishing it.  

My rhythm has been altered by fiberglass, and for the better.  When casting these rods they pretty much tell you what to do, and they're never in a hurry.  They're never easy either.  At least not for me.  It's taken some adjustments.  It's taken some patience.  It's given more appreciation of the simple act of fly fishing.  I guess as they say (whoever 'they' are) anything hard is worth doing.

Road Music

It's sad to think about what gets overlooked on a daily basis.  Often these items can be contemplated when in solitude.  Solitude found on the road, and more specifically roads in Southern Wyoming. 

Sometimes when preparing for a week of sales calls I hope Carol doesn't look in the back of my trusty Pilot.  It's hard to decipher if the trip is business or pleasure.  Two file boxes of literature, company swag, printer, computer bag, briefcase, suitcase, 2 rods, backpack containing waders boots and reels, vest, and other sundries pertaining to fishing.  

These road trips are bittersweet.  It's time away from the rigors of raising 2 children.  Time away from a loving wife and family thought of and missed.  Lots of driving, calls, work.  Extra work for Carol.  Extra opportunity to fish, and have no pre-determined end other than sundown.  Sometimes sun way down.

A brief trip up Highway 6 a week ago to fish Clear Creek brought the idea of driving without the radio.  It was interesting.  I did it again, and again.  As the week wore on through the harsh beauty of Southern Wyoming I listened to what the Honda was playing.  I can close my eyes and tell you if it was new or old asphalt.  Concrete.  Has the concrete been tined?  Is it heaving or old, and singing " ba bump, ba bump, ba bump".  Am I falling asleep or not paying attention as the shoulder's rumbler's play their tune?

My car is simply an instrument on the road.  The engine hums the melody.  The transmission and contents of the vehicle play their part too.  The road is the musician, and it's texture creates the notes.  There's excitement in on and off ramps.  Back roads in Iowa have rumble strips to alert you of upcoming stops.  Sounds so impossible to ignore as if the needle completely left the record.  There's the percussive nature of Rocky Mountain dirt and rock roads. Improvisational clangs of larger stones.  The satisfying slow drive over crushed gravel.  The wash-boarded road that rattles you to the core.  The sweet hum of a highway traveling at top speed down I-25... almost home.

My vehicle is an instrument.  Each vehicle has it's own sweet pitch.  We're merely listeners, easily distracted from the music being played.  The act of changing lanes, roads, speed, windows up, windows down, is like playing a different track on a record.  Sure I may tire of the record some day, but this one's been playing on a loop for a while now.  Think I'll listen to it again later today.

 

Stickers, Stickers, and More Stickers

Are fly fisherman really just sticker collectors? In the last several months I've acquired at least a dozen stickers. Some representing great causes such as TU and Defend the Colorado. Others were created to boast the best of FF culture like The Fiberglass Manifesto, The Drake Magazine (I mean really, does a better publication exist?). Then there's just the plain old braggadocios expensive gear stickers. So what the heck am I supposed to do with them?

Back in my college days I thought it a brilliant idea to plaster my '87 accord hatchback with a steal your face and Phish sticker. In hindsight not so smart. I may as well just put a neon 'Dope Smoker on Board' sign there too. Then again, the foot long beard may have implied such information.

So the question remains, where to put the stickers? In my pragmatic opinion plastering one's vehicle with stickers often advertising overpriced gear seems to be an invitation to thieves. Thieves who know you're likely miles from your car, and expensive gear may be inside. Then again any thief who sees a car parked near a river with nary a soul in sight just may not need stickers to rob your ass blind.

So my sticker quandary has been solved at last. I pimped my stripping basket.

The stripping basket could be one of the most useful items I've built as of recent. An old strap from a backpack, a $5 dollar plastic tub, some zip ties and hot glue (stickers were free). Eat your heart out Orvis. Time to re-think your $79 school tote with a belt. It doesn't even have stickers on it.

So if you see some fool perusing the shores of a local pond with a sticker laden plastic tote around his waist.... go break into his car.

I love Lunch Hour

I just couldn't help myself today and had to hit another bass pond. The funny thing about these fisheries is how many of them exist in our peripheral vision. Taken for granted like the mountains can be on a morning commute.

I first moved to Boulder in 1998. I used to sit and eat my lunch in my therm-a-rest chair and just admire the grandeur of the Flatirons. Often people would ask what the heck I was doing, to which i'd reply "just taking it in". Often eyes would be rolled, but some got that look in their eye and realized they took these hills for granted. I never wanted to be that guy, but it seems somedays I have become just that.

When living in Iowa I became a gravel and back road traveling junkie. The wildflowers were simply magnificent, and peacefulness of gravel, 97 degree weather, and a field in mid vegetative growth was like no other thing I've experienced.

I came to realize the most beautiful spots on earth take some work and deeper looking to appreciate.

This is something I'm still discovering. Even in the least expected places. Places where a body encased in concrete shoes seems more likely than life, such as the pond I fished today, life exists and even thrives.

While I still long to get into those valleys and hills that draw me so, I'm finding pleasure exploring those places with less obvious beauty. Places where for the second day in a row I can connect with a beauty such as this largemouth, and forget about all the loudmouths, even if it's just for a little while.

Kicking Some Bass

I'm not one of those guys that gets his hair styled. Oh no, nothing but the best for me Clark. A genuine barber shop is all that will do. I've been getting my ears lowered with Barney and Larry about 11 years now. I've always noticed several ponds near their barber shop.

So today after getting the hair cut, I tool a little walk around one of them. Needless to say this particular pond holds plenty of bass. Not too shabby in size either. They were really on the move today. One might guess the warm temps have triggered their brains to think about one thing only. I could have swore I heard cheesy electric guitar and synthesizer music in the background. Maybe even a cheesy John Holmes mustache on one fish.

Last year I spent some time tying up a handful of poppers, and naturally that's what I tied on first. After many looks, but little interest I had to go to plan b. I tied up a dozen backstabbers a couple weeks ago, so figured it was time to give them a test run.

On the first cast and retrieve, there were 5 customers window shopping, but no buyers. When I stopped it close enough to see, then gave a couple quick finger strips, deal closed.

The first was the biggest, then I picked up 3 more in a similar fashion. I never considered myself much of a backstabber, but today I'm proud to admit I was stabbin' back.

Get Down with the Undies

Expression.

How can I express myself when I'm full of gratitude, and love.  One of the most emotional releases I've been blessed to participate in is the creation of music.  Today is one of those days when I can't play since my equipment isn't near, but I can experience by listening.  Even seeing.  

There are few folks that can express better than Susan Tedeschi and Derek Trucks.  The first couple of blues and soul in my mind.  Derek has a way of making those strings cry like a sitar, and Susan can hit that pit of pain and soul on a whim it seems.  Watch and listen if you care to.  

Head with them to Harlem:

Or find yourself Glory Bound:

My band, Highland Underground, has been working on some originals lately and we're in the process of putting it on record.  By the end of Summer maybe we'll have something done.  I can't say we do it nearly as well as these folks above, but the effect it has on us is profound.  No gimmicks, no flash, no perfection, just laying it all out there is where we shine.  I know we're bound for some glory.

We've also got a few gigs booked for early Summer.  A couple of which are parties up in the Loveland/Ft. Collins area, and one I'm real excited about in Pueblo.  We'll be playing the Boats Bands and BBQ on the Historic Arkansas Riverwalk of Pueblo (HARP) Saturday June 9th. If you find yourself in the area (I hear they got some good fly fishing near) come join us.

Muddy Waters and Football Shaped Shadows

Not long ago I found a Colorado DOW publication called "Fishing Close to Home" which can be purchased from the DOW store for 7 bucks.  Well worth the scratch IMO.  In order to increase the number of fish brought to hand this year I've made the realization that getting to know the ponds near home will help.  This publication does a great job of covering every body of water (lakes, ponds, streams) from Ft. Collins to Colorado Springs, South Park, and the Western edge of Boulder County.

One of my first outings was to a previously unknown little mudhole about 2 miles from my house by way of the crow.  Man I wish I was a crow sometimes. Especially when in the mountains.  So yesterday I took a slightly extended lunch and tossed some flies at this little pond.  

I think I've found a good setup to take with me at all times.  It consists of a 7wt rod spooled with floating line, and spares of intermediate and type IV full sink, a stripping basket I put together (essential on brushy shores and rocks), a hat, and a small box of pond flies.

So upon approaching the mudhole the smell of still water filled the air, and I chuckled.  Being a young boy at heart I still think farts are funny.  Still water has a way of smelling like a bunch of 13 year old boys hanging out in the commons area of a middle school playing the fart game.    

Back to business, as I approached the water and was encouraged.  There were about a dozen golden bone fish hanging out in the inlet area of the pond, and a turtle standing on a submerged log.  I noticed a mud bar that stuck out like a peninsula, and promptly stood out there casting.  The fish were real active.  The sound of a fish breaking the surface and crashing back down from time to time made my pulse rise.  After casting to the one end about 20 minutes with no interest, and losing a couple flies on snags (one being a tree) I moved.

As I made my way around the pond a guy standing on the bank fishing with corn landed a real nice, maybe 12-15# carp.  The tail on these creatures is a display of brute strength, and beauty the way they're colored.  Tones of deep red, orange, and yellow.  Impressive.  He told me of another he landed that morning which he guessed to be up in that 20 plus pound range, but you know fisherman.  Then again, I have seen huge carp so I don't doubt too much.

As I walked around the little lake I could hardly stop my heart from racing.  Pods of shadows rose and cruised the murky water.  The path around the lake plays to my advantage and disadvantage.  It seems these fish were used to seeing people and don't immediately spook.  Advantage, check.  People constantly walking by, fences, and trees all make a back cast difficult.

After some poor attempts and losing another fly to an unknown snag in the water I was getting real discouraged.  I was ready to call it quits but my just one more cast syndrome kicked in.  I tied on a goofy looking bugger concoction with a red yarn tail, picked out my target lurking near shore, and dropped a cast right in front of it's nose.  The shadow moved, and I lifted.  HOT DAMN!  I've hooked my first carp on a fly.

Nothing I've caught on a fly compares to the fight that ensued.  Once all line was on the reel, my drag got a workout.  Then my next dilemma.  How was I going to land this fish?  Luckily as carp go this one wasn't huge.  After playing this fish on my 3x tippet a while, I got the nerve to pull it in closer.  The water was a good 2 feet below the sidewalk I was standing on, and the only dry spot was a rock another couple feet out.  I managed to get a foot on the rock and pull the fish close enough to get where I could reach the fly/fish.  Luckily the fly popped out before I fell in, and with a nudge of my toe the golden bone ran away.  I have no idea how big the carp was but can guess maybe 5# range.  Of course no pictoral proof, so take me at my word.  I'm as honest as a Denver man can be.  Man that was fun.  Needless to say, I'll start bringing a net with me.