Articles With the Tag . . . explore

New Structure | Old Structure

One of my favorite places in the world is a deeply shaded valley that runs north and south between two towering mountains of mixed hardwoods. The forest floor has enough conifers mixed in to block much of the sunlight, even in the winter. The ferns of spring grow tall, and thick moss is spread throughout. The ground remains soft enough here that all large trees eventually surrender to the valley. When they can no longer support their weight in the soft spongy ground, they fall over, leaving a broken forest of deep greens and the dark-chocolate browns of wet, dead bark. It’s gorgeous.

Fallen timber also dictates the course of this cold water stream. The fresh tree falls force the creek to bend away from the hillside. Rolling water carves away the earth and lays bare the rocks — these stones of time, as Maclean puts it. And when water cuts into a neighboring channel, previously dry for centuries, new river banks are undercut and fresh roots exposed . . .

Fishing With Kids — It’s About the Adventure

All of our favorite rivers were high, but clearing. Joey is ten years old now, so he knows the drill. We fish, because trout like water. And it’s the water clarity that matters, not the flow so much. We find wadeable pieces of river in almost any conditions, as long as the river isn’t the thin, brown color of Yoo Hoo.

Last weekend, sandwiched between two big days of baseball games and long team practices, we short-planned some time on the water together.

It was a trip to remember . . .

Obsessions

Just after one-o-clock, I glanced up from my notebook and saw the rhythmic taillights of a small USPS Jeep outside my studio window. Its red lamps brightened and dimmed rhythmically through a misting rain and a spring fog which the afternoon couldn’t shake off. The mail carrier stopped at each mailbox, and the lights pulsed, all the way down the long hill of my cul-de-sac.

I typed but a few more words before I remembered — Sawyer’s line should arrive today!

Moments later I jogged down the hill of my driveway with untied boot laces. I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt just before exiting the carport and aimed for the mailbox with the excitement of a kid at Christmas.

And there it was. Mixed in with a few articles of junk mail and a bank statement, I found a small standard-white envelope which Sawyer had addressed as such: Domenick Swentosky, Esquire (a long-running inside joke that the mailman unlikely found amusing). On the way up the driveway I fingered the circular wraps of monofilament underneath stiff envelope paper . . .

Save the Discovery

Burke had been traveling.

North, south, east or west I cannot share because I’ve been sworn to secrecy. You see, the best river spots are enhanced by our conviction of their rarity, believing that they are special enough to be protected, even if they aren’t all that far off the radar.

Week after week, Burke had returned with stories of catching large brown trout and the photos to prove it. Not club fish, because he wouldn’t bother with those. And not private water with trout fed from the banks and kept like zoo animals. That wasn’t our game. Ours was the unremitting chase of wild brown trout, and perhaps a fundamental urge for discovery . . .

Fishing With Kids — It’s About the Adventure

Fishing With Kids — It’s About the Adventure

All of our favorite rivers were high, but clearing. Joey is ten years old now, so he knows the drill. We fish, because trout like water. And it’s the water clarity that matters, not the flow so much. We find wadeable pieces of river in almost any conditions, as long...

Obsessions

Obsessions

Just after one-o-clock, I glanced up from my notebook and saw the rhythmic taillights of a small USPS Jeep outside my studio window. Its red lamps brightened and dimmed rhythmically through a misting rain and a spring fog which the afternoon could not shake off. The...

Save the Discovery

Save the Discovery

Burke had been traveling. North, south, east or west I cannot share because I’ve been sworn to secrecy. You see, the best river spots are enhanced by our conviction of their rarity, believing that they are special enough to be protected, even if they aren’t all that...

Explore | Learn | Return

Explore | Learn | Return

Feeling boxed in with the changing weather, I walked into the sunroom to see Joey with an expression that matched my own state of mind — restless. “Want to go for a hike?” I asked my ten-year-old son. He perked up and immediately reached for a sweatshirt. “Yeah, Dad!”...

Finding bite windows — Fishing through them and fishing around them

Finding bite windows — Fishing through them and fishing around them

Predicting when a trout will eat is about as difficult as predicting the weather. You get it right sometimes, but just as often you’re dead wrong. Even experts with all the tools of observation and experience can’t really crack the code. But we look at the weather report anyway, don’t we? They get some of it right part of the time, and that’s better than nothing, I guess. Correctly forecasting trout feeding patterns, and finding bite windows can turn lousy days into the most memorable ones.

The best fishermen I know seem to have a theory for everything. Fishing success is so ephemeral that we need somewhere solid to drop an anchor. We want predictable things to believe in. So we search for events that are possibly repeatable and hold onto them. We look for bite windows — the times when trout eat with regularity and (perhaps) some predictability . . . . .

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One Thing at a Time

One Thing at a Time

. . .By focusing on just one thing at a time, I learned each element without the distractions of other tactics. And when I exhausted the variations of one method, I suppose it was something like boredom that suggested I move on to the next thing.

And now, my favorite days on the water are spent adapting, using all the tactics that I’m familiar with to fish whatever way best suits the next piece of water. Changing rigs is second nature to me. It’s not a chore, and I’m no longer confused by the different options.

I think I’m always looking for the next obsession too — the next stage of fly fishing to jump to (or back into) — just to keep things fresh . . .

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