Is conservation preservation - Part 1

Chase the Rainbow, be the Rainbow

I had a nightmare last night.  One that reoccurs from time to time.  As I'm walking down to a creek that is frequented by many, a young lad approaches me to help him identify a fish he had just landed.  Happy to help, I follow him to a 5 or 6 lb rainbow trout gasping for breath on the shoreline while a large aberdeen hook and attached night crawler hang from it's gaping mouth.  I have this nightmare every-so-often because it was an actual experience.  As we walked to the fish, the kid was explaining to me that he has a large rainbow mounted on his wall and he wanted to mount a brown trout.  He was checking with me to see if this rainbow trout was a brown trout.  He had no intentions of keeping a rainbow, and yet, there it lay.

I hurried the fish into the creek.  It was spring, and the water was ice cold.  I sat holding this fish under water for about 15 minutes, but it seemed like an hour.  I don't recall at what point I lost feeling in my arms and hands.  I don't know how long the fish had been out of water, but I'm sure some damage had been done.  Eventually, the big fish gingerly swam back into the darkness of the hole. I sat and waited, long after the kid had left, to ensure it didn't float downstream or go belly up in the hole.  I didn't see it again, but I had a feeling that it was not going to make it, and it took the wind out of my fishing sales before I even began.

It got me thinking about a radiolab podcast I listed to recently.  The story follows a wealthy businessman in Texas.  Long story short, he bids on an endangered Black Rhino hunt, and a radio producer follows him on his adventure.  What results is a dramatic discussion about conservation and the morals surrounding it.  Give it a listen.  Whichever side of the fence you are on with this topic, I'm sure you will enjoy it.

http://www.radiolab.org/story/rhino-hunter/

Part 2 of this blog post coming soon. Stay tuned...

Road Hunting for Arctic Grayling

Deciphering the code of the Arctic Grayling

We had already had an amazing time in Alaska.  A whirlwind adventure that took us through Grizzly country, crystal clear Arctic Grayling creeks, fast and furious Silver Salmon runs and a deep see arm workout for the ages.  So why was I hesitant to bring up my desire to fish one more day, our last in Alaska?

We were on our way to relax in the Chena Hot Springs, a beautiful resort at the end of Chena Hot Springs road, east of Fairbanks.  At five or six locations along the 45 minute drive, the North Fork of the Chena River crossed under the highway.  Each time we went over another bridge, I had a perfect view of excellent grayling water.  Our flight wasn't scheduled until the evening of the next day, so a morning fishing adventure wouldn't really be an unusual suggestion if it weren't for us being run ragged from the two weeks prior.  So when I threw it out there to Uncle Al that I would like to try fishing in the morning, I wasn't too surprised when he started scheming right along with me.  Our plan:  to drive up to Chena again in the morning, and road hunt our way back to North Pole.

Scouting water takes some time.  When time isn't a luxury you have, scouting becomes a lot more work.  While we did drive down to a few spots, we ultimately determined that the best bang for our time buck would come by stopping at each bridge and checking for fish.  The first spot looked promising.  A long stretch of slower water on the back side of a riffle.  A seam that stretched for about 30 yards and fish where holding in all feeding lanes and along the shoreline.  A red copper john and hot spot hares ear combo did the trick for me.  Getting down to the fish was critical, and when you did, you found plenty willing to bite.  Fish, after fish, after fish.  

Everything I had read about grayling fishing had been accurate up to this point.  Pick a fly (dark in color) and show it to them.  They'll eat it more often than not.  So when we pulled up on the Chena and found these fish holding deep, it was fun to try some deep nymphing to more particular fish.  After catching a lot of grayling, we hopped back in the truck to hunt for the next spot.  Each stop after presented new challenges and beautiful fish.  A great end to an amazing adventure.  Arctic grayling and their home waters are prevalent in Alaska.  If you have a chance to get there, do some road hunting.  You won't regret it!

Aspire to be great, but expect little

Double trouble on a tough day

By my calculations, it was June the last time I casted to a hungry carp on Lake X.  I pondered this while dreaming of what Saturday morning would bring.  With the fall weather finally upon us, thoughts of 2014 danced in my head.  My daydream began with me parking on the side of the gravel road.  The crisp September air prompted the addition of my windbreaker before rigging up.  A quick glance up at the lake left my jaw on the tailgate of my truck while I watched hundreds of common carp sipping on the surface.  What a morning at Lake X that was.

Flash forward to present time reality, and my alarm was already set.  On the road by 6:30, fishing by 7.  I picked up Burt before heading north.  With rain in the forecast for that morning, we wanted to make it with plenty of fishing time to spare.  Recent experiences, along with limited exposure to Lake X over the summer, had forced high expectations upon my rational thought processes.  Today was going to be a great day!  

We arrived to cool, calm, foggy conditions.  Seemingly perfect for fall fishing.  But where were the fish?  Usually, the drive along the rip rap offers up mouth watering anticipation.  Strike one for expectations.  No worries!  They're probably all back in the bay.  We come around the corner expecting to see fish crashing out of the water, and cruising the surface, only to find...nothing.  Steeeeerike two for expectations!  We gear up and begin moving toward the old road bed.

Walking this shoreline on a normal day would have an angler pushing out shallow carp with only a puff of Lake X mud as a sign that they were there.  Today, only painted turtles scooted out of our way.   Curiouser and curiouser.  As we come up to the road bed I stop suddenly.  The large golden back belonging to a six or seven pound carp stood out from the rocks about 15 feet ahead.  Before I had a chance to strip out some line, he had turned and leisurely swam off.  I walk to the road bed...Nothing.  Steeeerike Three!  Expectations had gone out the door at this point.  We were grasping at straws searching for answers.  As we started for the rip rap, the answer became apparent.  Big schools of what we call "floatillas" (large groups of carp on top of the water in the form of a raft) were scattered across the main part of the lake.  Reaching them was impossible at this point, so we continued on to the rip rap, hoping they would eventually move closer to shore.

One step forward, they swim two feet back

The rip rap offered little relief from our difficult start to the fishing day.  On the plus side, there were fish.  All along the shoreline.  The bad news...they were small fish keeping plenty of distance.  We took one step forward, they swam two feet back.  As soon as you would get within casting range, they would disperse.  After casting to a few groups, we decided to make our way back to the road bed.  

15.49 #s

It's looking pretty grim at this point.  If fish hadn't moved near the road bed, or into the back bay, we'd be reconsidering out fishing options.  Fortunately, we arrived at the road bed to find a few floatillas, and some individual fish cruising the surface.  While they were also playing hard to get, we were finally able to sight fish for specific carp. What a relief that is!  After only a few minutes of inching towards fish, I hook up.  "Fish on?" asked Burt.  "Fish on!" I replied.  I was still hesitant to begin celebrating a hook up considering our luck so far that morning.  Maybe I snagged it, my leader might break, I might lose him on a run, etc.   But when I saw the hook firmly embedded in the golden bone's top lip,  I exhaled with relief, "Ahhhh, top lip."  It was a nice first fish too.  15 pounds and some change.

After a few more fish, and a double, the wind began to make things a bit more difficult.  Six fish by 11:30 wasn't so bad given our situation.  We took it in stride, along with our lesson for the day.  High aspirations, low expectations.  You never know what you're going to get.

Super Secret...and Full of Bass

Extra large please...

I fished until the sun began to set on the horizon.  And then I fished some more.  I lost track of how many times I told Lucy, "last fish and we're going home girl."  So did she.  An impromptu trip to a long-neglected favorite fishing hole had turned into an evening of crashing, thrashing excitement, and quite the workout for my right arm.

A dreary and rainy Thursday had me second-guessing my perceived need for adventure.  After a quick dinner I found myself contemplating my fishing options and whether going out after that rain would even be worth it.  Lucy stared in disbelief.  She could actually tell that I was considering an alternative use of a rare free evening.  Eventually, her stare, and my conscious, got the best of me.  We ran out the door.

I entered the pasture around 7:00 p.m.  The rain-soaked tire tracks offered a makeshift slip-n-slide over the ruts and prairie dog holes.  With my white truck sufficiently covered in prairie mud, I pulled up to the gate.  The quiet calm of the grasslands was interrupted only briefly by the barking of nearby prairie dogs.  Their skittish behavior suggested target practice occurred earlier that day.  Lucky for them that was not my intention.  We entered the field.

Lucy and I marched through the grass like a prairie bird hunting pair.  Lucy's nose to the ground, my stride filled with excitement.  The cool rainwater jumped from the grass and beaded off of my White Sierra pants as I bounded toward our destination.  The prairie dramatically morphed into a bowl ahead of me.  The mirror-like pool shined in the sun below.  Now... would there be fish?

I stripped out 20 ft of fly line before tying on my favorite spring bass pattern.  The mud surrounding the dam responded to my boot like quicksand to a weary wanderer.  I was in up to my ankle.  The joys of stockdam fishing after a spring rain.  I cast my cactus chenille crawler toward the middle of the dam.  If I could have one gripe about fishing stock ponds on the grasslands, it is the fact that anticipation is short lived.  After two strips the fly line goes tight.  A green head explodes from the water like lightning from a thunderhead.  Again, the fish leaps through the air without effort and fights for deeper water.  One cast and one fish to hand.  I admire the largemouth before sending her back to the "super secret" spot.  Maybe next time I'll take a few home for the frying pan.

As I grow as a fisherman, I've come to appreciate the settings in which I experience life.  Shortly after that first fish, a pack of coyotes howled over the ridge.  Roosters began to cackle  as they settled in to evening roosting spots.  Like fighter pilots, Pintails and teals conducted flyovers of my fishing hole.  All while the iconic sounds of the meadowlark echoed through the open air.  This setting made me wonder why it had been so long since I've taken the time to enjoy this special place.  Priorities had changed, not only in my family life, but in my fishing life as well.

After a few hours of catching, it was time to go.  My boots now matched my pickup, and my muddy dog.  Trudging back as the sun set in the distance brought back great memories of past stock dam conquests and rainy day quagmires.  You can't get that feeling form a tv show, or magazine article.  Only by being in the moment.  It is a feeling I hope to experience again very soon.  Maybe tomorrow...

Admiring Super Secret

Carp Fever

Are you serious right now?

Damn Carp!  Just when I think I've got them figured out, they go and mess with my emotions and my head.  For years, I've taken time to chase carp during the spring.  Their early season displays lead one to believe that their aggressiveness and assertiveness would be imposed upon a well presented fly.  This is the behavior that leads to...CARP FEVER.  Each year I get it earlier, and each year leaves me wishing I had focused my early season fishing efforts elsewhere.

This year I had the antidote.  The cure that would free me from this figurative mental prison that holds me from May until late October.   I had come to a consensus with myself that, yes, my mind and emotions would be strictly focused on big rainbows, pike, white bass, smallies, and walleye in 2015.  There are, however, other causes of carp fever...unfortunately for me, it's contagious!



My friends have had carp fever for a few weeks now.  Scouting trips, fishing attempts, and even a few landed fish photos have been sent my way.  All acting as consistent reminders that carp season is near.  Just like the spring air, I felt my temperature rising.  Don't let the fever take hold!  Like a child fighting the urge to sleep, I fought this fever.  A 70 degree Sunday afternoon was when the fever finally took hold.  At 5:30, I took my fishing partner in search of active fish.  We arrived at a favorite spot nearby, one with very active carp all season.  Nothing big, but I knew there would be fish there.  Sure enough, a few had already gone into their spring ritual.  Tail dancing through the shallows like dolphins at play.

It's strange pulling a set of waders on before pursuing carp.  Wet wading in the warm sun has become one of my favorite reasons to chase them.  This cold water gear almost doesn't allow for the carp fishing mentality.  But it's not enough to fight the fever.

Tiny baitfish scattered from under the bridge.  A perfect place to begin in terms of presentation.  I begin casting my micro-clauser deep.  A few casts in, I've got the perfect rhythm of a slow steady retrieve that has become synonymous with much of my early season fishing, especially for carp.  Sloooowwww strip...pause.  Sloooowwww strip...pause.  Sloooowwww str...LINE STOPS.  I strip set into a nice fish.  Two head shakes and it's gone.   This location offers great spring fishing for many species.  Could have been a channel cat, could have been a whitey, could have been a walleye, hopeful it was a carp.  I didn't have it on long enough to feel comfortable venturing a guess.  I start the process again.  Three casts later, the line stops again.  I strip set into another nice fish.  This time, it's not going anywhere.  It crashes to the surface revealing a brilliant copper body and dark olive back.  It then heads for deeper water.  "Did I snag it," I wondered as I motioned him back toward shore.  The ease at which I controlled the fish suggested otherwise.  It took the bait.   Top lip...

There are days when carp fishing can befuddle even the most adept fishing enthusiast.  One day you'll catch 20, the next, you MIGHT land one.  I had only been fishing for about 15 minutes, and I already had two on the line.  What a great afternoon.

Over the next hour I would land another two fish and lose two more.  Not a bad outing for a quick carp adventure.  I checked my temperature when I arrived back home.  The digital thermometer read, "Carp Fever".  I didn't know it had that setting.  Looks like I'll be calling in sick to work tomorrow.  Damn carp!  Just when I think I've got them figured out...

Fishing with Bitterness

Burt with a hefty and battle tested Oahe Bow

My name is Buddy Seiner, and I'm an elitist.

The first step in the recovery process from being an elitist (AKA - Head up your ass syndrome) is by admitting there is a problem.  I found out today, that I have one.

It was 65 degrees in Pierre today.  After enjoying most of the day, and doing a few projects, I decided to head to the marina to chase rainbows (if the pike would let me).  Fellow fly enthusiast and Golden Bone pro staff member, Jason Burt, agreed to join.  While many trips were taken throughout the winter months, only northern and musky have come to hand for me in 2015.  We were optimistic that today would be a good day for rainbows.

The day was made when I stepped into the water.  Bald eagles were calling from their cottonwood perches, Canada geese flew in perfect fighter jet formations overhead, while fat black midges clumsily glided through my personal space over, and over again.  I could have very well stood in the water without a rod and still enjoyed that moment in time.  It was beautiful.  And it was about to get better...

"FISH ON!!"

Burt's first Bow in Oahe Marina

I heard Burt yell from across the marina.  My first thought, "Please don't be a northern, please don't be a northern".  *SPLASH* A green back erupted from the water, thrashing as a big rainbow does when hooked in the top lip.  I started into long, wader-laden strides, toward the fight.  This was a special moment for Burt...His first Oahe marina rainbow.  A few photos were followed by accolades and excitement.  Burt experienced all the symptoms that came along with my first, and most recent, marina rainbow.  Excessive excitement, shaking, huge, shit-eating grin, more shaking, and anticipation!  It was fun to be a part of it.  Not long after, Burt hooked into another football shaped fish, and we started the process all over again.  **FIST BUMP**

Now, it wasn't long after that second fish that my problem reared it's ugly head.  Somewhere in between fish 1 and fish 2 some anglers staked a claim on the opposite shore where the ice had cleared.  "That's a great spot," I told Burt.  I've fished alongside bait guys many times in that marina, and it usually ends in them asking me what I'm using to catch fish.  I know anglers experience great success when using live bait for these big rainbows.  We all know that Rainbow doesn't want to be fed, Rainbow wants to hunt.  Still, I had never personally witnessed live bait anglers land a toad rainbow (technical term) in the marina...  Until today.

After Burt released his second fish, I waddled over to my spot to proceed with what I call fly-casting. Soon, I noticed one of the guys hauling in a big, fat rainbow.  My heart sank.  "No!" I thought as they tossed it on the ice heave.  Then the other guy landed one.  Bitterness entered my heart.

How, on a day like today, could I be bitter about anything?  I commented to Burt, "For some reason, that really bums me out."

Burt reminded me that if it were a walleye or a catfish, we wouldn't give it a second thought.  He's right.  And I completely understood.  So why did it not remove the bitterness?  Why was I still upset that those anglers on the opposite shoreline had bucketed two beautiful rainbows?  Am I becoming an elitist of catch and release?  Was I becoming a, *GULP*, fly fishing SNOB??

Step two in the recovery process is proper reflection.  After having some time to reflect, I feel I've determined the root of my elitist evening mentality:

1 -  There are very few places in South Dakota where this experience can be had.  These big fish don't come along every day.  Yes, we are catching rainbows, a very prominent resource in our state, but they are catching fish that have already beat the odds.  These fish that have come from an unnatural hatchery setting, been thrown to the wolves of the wild, and survived.  And then they stumble across a hapless minnow twitching on the end of a crappie rig.  Well...  Rainbows are placed in the South Dakota great lakes because they would not be there otherwise.  They are placed here for the enjoyment of anglers (both in fight and table-fare).  Their size has nothing to do with the reason they are there.

2 -  It shouldn't be that easy.  For some reason, the idea of these guys tossing out some bait and hauling in what holds on made the work that I put in to catching fish seem less meaningful.  This is complete bull-shit as you can already tell, but I'll write more about why to make myself feel better.  I have caught more fish via fly than I could have imagined.  Essentially, I'm creating a very realistic food source imitation and presenting it in a very appetizing way.  Who is cheating here?  I was intrigued by fly-fishing because of the challenge it offers.  Yes, there are still challenges that exist, but I can more easily overcome them with the fly.  I almost always have the advantage.

3 -  This resource might not be around forever.  We need to preserve it so future residents (mainly myself in the future) can catch bigger fish.  This is so selfish!  Again, Jason was my voice of reason here.  This resource was put here for all anglers to enjoy.  If some want to enjoy it on the dinner table, why shouldn't they do that?  It's like my brain abandoned every bit of skilled dialog training and fishing zen I've received and was switched to negative scenario auto pilot.  What if they discontinue the stocking program and they completely wipe out the rainbow fishery?  What if they chop up that fish and leave it in the freezer for 3 years?  Bladdy, bladdy, blah.

January Marina Musky

4 -  I wasn't catching anything.  For the first time this year, I had zero takes.  Not even my good pals the northerns were showing my fly any love.  I am supposed to be out-fishing the bait anglers, right?  This is a competition, right?  This is proving my worth as an angler, right?  Wow...so wrong.  I've said many times that I could die any day completely content with the number of fish (and their size) that I've  caught over the years.  I should have been pumped, not only for Jason, but that two other anglers got a chance to experience the rush of a rainbow.  It's a great feeling.  

The last step in my recovery process is acceptance.  Yes, I had a weak moment.  It happens, and might happen again.  I know I'm not an elitist.  My progression as an angler is my own, and not that of any other.  I love fishing, and will always share a common bond with anglers of all specializations.  I'll be out on the water again tomorrow.  If live bait should win the day, maybe I'll wander over to their side of the marina...to ask them what they're using.  

Shivering Observations

I arrive to the spot where I've parked many times before.  The dock had been removed with the arrival of cold weather and rested on the deserted marina shoreline.  A dozen redhead ducks began to paddle away while honkers called out from the far shore.  Pheasants and squirrels searched through the grasses on the north side while bald eagles observed from the many tall cottonwoods that envelope the winter fishing hole.  This is the spot.

The 25 degree temps and northeast wind had deterred all but the bird watchers who occasionally cruised the area for a view of the winter eagles.  Lucy and I had the fishing to ourselves. The cold weather brings grumbles from those still in town.  "This is January weather," they say. "It's too cold to be fishing," they gripe.  Not everyone complains about the cold temps.  Ice fishers ready their augers and ice rods for an equal chance at putting some meaty fish in the freezer.  I welcome the cold temps with open arms because,  in Pierre, it means the beginning of winter fly fishing.

Rainbow trout are released in the marina each spring.  For a few weeks, hatchery trout are taken by fishing enthusiast, fish, bird and mink.  The few that survive their short time in Oahe marina join the Missouri River ecosystem, and begin to grow.  Each winter, they find their way back to the marina, and stay until temps increase again in the spring.  Ice will often prevent any fishing during the late winter months, so early on is my chance to get a shot at these rainbows who have gotten fat off of Missouri River smelt, shad, crayfish, and aquatic insects.  They are big!

Spring ice out is when most fly anglers will seek out these nomadic bows.  Catch rates will be higher, and temps more tolerable.  Winter is for the extreme.  For those who are content with the possibility of not catching a fish.  Or...for the dedicated anglers who are able to brave the conditions long enough to land a monster bow.  As I stood in the frigid water a bald eagle glided slowly overhead.  It's difficult to stay focused when so much is going on around you.  I lackadaisically presented my kreelex to the depths as a vehicle approached.  They parked on the opposite shoreline and began to ready their equipment... they were fly anglers.  They had a pop-up camper, so I assumed they were visitors who were obviously aware of the opportunity that existed here.  The two began to cast, large nymphs if I had to guess.  It wasn't long after they arrived that I hooked into a nice rainbow.  The fight was intense and powerful.  Her first run took every bit of stripped line before she crashed to the surface in an attempt to throw the embedded kreelex.  Shaped like an american football and all the colors of a wild rainbow.  The aggressive take, fight, and release all made managing the cold a treat.

Not long after the two visitors arrived (20 minutes or so) they decided to depart.  They had taken a break a bit before, so the cold was apparently taking its toll.  A bit later a pickup had arrived.  A man wandered down to waters edge with a spinning reel, made a half dozen casts or so, and called it a day.  I had been fishing for about 2 hours, landed one and lost two others (which sometimes happens).  This prompted me to consider the necessary adjustments for winter fishing in the marina.

Yes, proper gear is essential.  The most significant upgrade a winter fishing enthusiast can make, in my opinion, is to switch to a neoprene style glove.  My love for Glacier Gloves is no secret.  They make a difference for me and allow me to spend much more time on the water than I would be able to otherwise.   Outside of the other obvious essentials, the biggest need for winter fishing enthusiasts pursuing rainbows in the marina is to dedicate the time.  There have been days when I will catch a fish on the first cast.  There have also been days when I've spent an hour on the water before feeling the tug of a hungry rainbow.  Either way, I dedicate at least an hour each time I make the trip, and am prepared for the winter conditions that exist.  Do that, and you too may catch fish like this on you next outing.  They're in there!  

Why not Gary Creek?

Late September offered a rare chance to visit Deuel County in northeast South Dakota.  This county is home to Gary Creek, said to be the only home to naturally reproducing trout in eastern South Dakota.  While I've been to Gary, SD many times, I've only ever fished Lake Elsie, located in town next to Buffalo Ridge Resort.  This is stocked annually and holds some decent rainbows.  This year, I was determined to explore more of the creek to see if, in fact, it holds fish.

Gary Creek winds its way through Deuel County farmland until eventually reaching a portion of town designated as Game Production Area by South Dakota Game, Fish and Parks.  This allows access to hunters and fishers alike.  I walked through prairie grasses along a fence line my decent into the densely populated forest was immanent.  Like at an art gallery, I stopped to take in the beauty of this particular area before following the rough trail down to the clear creek below.  That sound is intoxicating. The trickles and gurgles of the creek as it winds through thick brush and trees.  This place has potential.

Under the canopy of overhanging trees, the creek runs cold and clear.  Other vegetation surrounding the creek make for difficult fly casting.  I press upstream, casting (slingshotting) my soft-hackel hares ear into pool after pool.  Only the occasional curious creek chub would be brought to hand which brought back fond memories of catching chubs in Rapid Creek while my brother and I were kids. Not one trout bolted from the bank, sought refuge under brush as I moved upstream.  Only the chubs darted here and there.

While Gary Creek has many of the components necessary for a sustainable trout population, I can see why they no longer call this place home.  But why not Gary Creek?  Habitat restoration efforts are going on all over the country to create and improve sustainable populations of while trout.  Gary Creek could be one of those projects.  A lot needs to be done, and that means dollars will need to be spent.  We have a difficult time finding funds for projects on our already productive streams of the Black Hills let along a current dead zone in eastern South Dakota.  Partnerships between GFP, South Dakota Trout Unlimited membership and the Black Hills Flyfishers will be required to move forward with actually work getting done.  Funds could come from fishing enthusiasts around South Dakota with the opportunity for them to purchase a trout stamp.  However we raise money, the time is now to start on projects that will make South Dakota a better place.  Let's get something done South Dakota!  Why not start with Gary Creek?

Why I Fish...This might take a while.

A carp bolting back onto the flat.  It never gets old.  

I bet the most commonly asked question of fishing enthusiasts by friends and family who are rarely seen holding a rod and reel is, "So...Why do you fish anyway?"

I never really have a good "elevator" reply for why I fish.  Mainly because there are a variety of reasons that seem to change each time out.  I know I'm guilty of mentally asking the same question of others who enjoy a pasttime that's not my cup of tea.  It may be difficult for them to express just how much they enjoy a particular activity, and it may not.  It really doesn't matter.  If something makes us happy, and is not immoral, I'd say it doesn't require explanation.

I, on the other hand, would like more people to pursue fly fishing.  I believe that more fly fishing enthusiasts in the world mean more people working hard to protect our wildlife and fisheries.  For that reason, I need an elevator pitch.  I need a quick statement that let's people know why I fish in hopes that they will be intrigued enough to inquire further into the prospect of trying for themselves.  Maybe by the end of this I'll have something thought out.  Until then, here is a list of my top ten reasons I love to fly fish.

9 - The moment when you hook into a big fish:  I was standing in the cold Rapid Creek water approaching a deep hole.  New to fly fishing, this was trial under fire.  A seam holding two big fish and my constituents giving me the first shot at landing one while they watch from shore.  Finding a sturdy hold in the creek, I begin casting to the top of the hole.  Time and time again my fly drifted through with nothing to show for it.  It seemed like I stood casting to those trout for an eternity.  As a noob, I felt the seconds turn into minutes and began worrying about the guys on shore.  Are they checking their clocks?  Do they want to start casting?  But my comfort level was still well enough to keep on.  These were the biggest trout I had ever presented a fly to, and I wanted to know what it felt like to land one.  With each drift I would watch as the trout lazily swayed from left to right munching the entire time.  Until, one seemed to open it's mouth wider than it had before.  My indicator twitched only slightly when I set the hook.  "A snag," I thought, while I lifted the rod.  It felt like a cinderblock on the other end of my 5x tippet.  And then the head shakes began, and the fight was on.  My heart and mind started into race, almost against each other.  One trying to determine how to land this fish among the fast water below, water hazards and slippery rocks, the other just trying to give me enough blood to stay conscious.  The brown didn't fit in my net, but I got it to hand.  I was mocked the rest of the day for having a "barbie" net.  I'll never forget the hookset.  Like a cinderblock.

8 - Solitude:  Standing all alone on a stream when big snow flakes are falling;  casting to 7 lb rainbow trout when it is 10 degrees and the wind is howling; casting for carp on the flats of Lake X...the list goes on and on.  Having always held professional positions that require a vast amount of communication, fishing provides a getaway.  No problems, no deadlines, no worries.  The only listening that is required is to nature and the only talking I do is with my golden retriever.  It's an amazing feeling.

7 - Fishing in the rain:  The pitter-patter of raindrops on my hood creates music to my ears.  The droplets falling from the bill of my hat make me feel sheltered and warm in my fishing cacoon.  The smell makes me feel like a kid.  And the fish...boy do they bite in the rain.  I don't know if I've ever had a bad day fishing in the rain.  And not many other people like to do it, so someone has to catch fish on rainy days!

6 - Anticipation, daydreaming, and possibility:  I don't only tie flies in the winter like many folks.  Often on weekends and lazy weekday evenings, you'll find me at the tying bench, or table, or nightstand, or whatever will hold my vise, dreaming up new patterns and the fish that will eat them.  On the water, like most people with fish on the brain, I always believe that next cast is going to produce a fish.  One last cast usually turns into 10 or 20.  One of the great things about fishing is that you never really know what will fall for your presentation until it happens.  You never know which spot is going to hold that fish you've dreamed up while tying.  I still get giddy and excited before a fishing trip, even the short ones around home.  I guess I'll probably still enjoy it until that feeling goes away, maybe even after.

Vote for this photo on TU's facebook page Nov 3-11
I could win a fly rod!!

5 - Getting up close and personal with a wild animal:  I wish I had taken up flyfishing as a young child.  I recall with great delight my childhood visits to the grandparents' house in Spearfish.  Standing on the bridge near the fish hatchery scanning the creek below for feeding trout was a favorite pastime.  I could always spot  them in the turbid water and only wanted to get a closer look.  They are all so unique and beautiful, like a fingerprint.   Each warrants special attention when they are brought to hand.  Great care is taken to release them unharmed (outside of the small hook hole in their mouth) and as much time as they'll allow is invested in watching as they escape back to the honeyhole.  You can't get any closer to enjoying nature and not taking a life.

4 - Skillz pay the billz:  As often as I try to find solitude while fishing, I am happy to share a fishing hole or location when fellow fishing enthusiast are present.  More often than not, I will also end up sharing my strategy for catching fish with them.  I am usually very fortunate on the water, which has a lot to do with the lucky flies that I tie, and people take notice.  "what are you using?" they'll ask after I release a few fish.  I'll take a second to explain the fly and give them a look at the pattern I'm using before they're almost guaranteed to reply, "I've got a fly rod at home somewhere, I should get that thing out".  Plain and simple, I can catch fish with a fly rod when others won't.  I've landed fish after fish in locations surrounded by bait and artificial lures alike without seeing another fish brought to hand.  I have confidence in this tactic and take a lot of luck out of the equation.  With the fly, I'm presenting to all of the fish's senses vs. a select few.  They can't help but eat it.  

3 - It's very challenging:  Now that I've explained how well fly fishing works, I'll get to the caveat.  Fly fishing gets easier with education.  I've been humbled many a day fishing for various species in various locations.  Even today I find myself in situations, chasing fish that I'm not prepared to pursue.  Fly fishing requires constant improvement and improvisation to stay one step ahead of your quarry.  This applies at the fly tying desk as much as it does on the water.  Preparation and education are key to being a "good" fly fisher.  I love getting smarter every day.

2 - Evolution:  Our family fishing tournaments remain as some of my most cherished and vivid

memories from childhood.  It was here where I began to evolve and adapt as a fisherman.  It all started with salmon eggs.  What a great way to catch trout as a kid.  I wittnessed the largest rainbow I'd ever seen caught when I was around 11 or 12.  Hanging out of its mouth was a red and white daredevil.  I never used live bait after that.  Soon I discovered gift shop flys and their propensity to attract rainbows behind a clear bobber.  I would draw crowds because I was catching so many fish.  Everyone wanted to know how I was doing it, and I had no idea why it worked.  I sure put the acting hat on though.  Could have given me one of those meaningless awards they give to celebrities for pretending to be other people.  My uncle gave me my first fly rod and introduced me to fly fishing cinema.  Trout Bum diaries was the first video I watched.  I was hooked forever.  I enjoy reminiscing about my progression through the phases of fishing.  I only wish that I had been introduced to fly fishing at a younger age.

1 - Spending time with good friends and family:    While solitude is more my game nowadays, I still find great value in fishing with those that I enjoy spending time with.  My dad and brother always entertain me, while the tuesday tyers continue to surprise me with their talents.   My girls have continued to show interest and have caught some fish all on their own.  I hope they both stick with it.  My favorite fishing partner, however, is Lucy.  She's the best dog around and even loves fishing more than me.  She told me so.



If you don't fly fish now, I hope you will consider trying it.  If my reasons don't persuade you, maybe you can think of a few others that would make it sound more appealing.  If you love to fish, I'd like to hear why.  See if we have some common ground.  Now go fishing.  You deserve it!

Before it was Cool to Like Carp

Top Lip...Just how I like it.

I like to think that my brother, our friends and I started the carp fishing trend before it became mainstream and "cool".  We grew up in Rapid City.  There was a pond by the Rapid City speedway that we so lovingly referred to as "the pond down by the racetrack".  Some of my fondest fishing memories come from a time where we were armed with nothing but spinning tackle, a can of freshly dug worms from the garden or canned corn, an egg sinker, a gold aberdeen hook, and youthful anticipation.  Back then, it wasn't about catch rates, size or bragging rights, it was just a grudge match between us and the most powerful fish to swim in fresh water.

While we were only in pursuit of the common carp, to us it felt like a hunt for a mythical creature with extraordinary powers.  They broke lines, eluded the net, dragged rods and reels to a watery grave, and filled our dreams with excitement and wonder.  We had names for many of those fish that got away, hoping that someday we'd feel their fight at the end of our line again.  Fishing was more simple back then, and seemed a lot easier.

Fishing for carp never got boring or went out of style.  Today it's similar only on a national scale.  Magazines, tournaments, television shows, websites and blogs all devoted to the "slimy" and "ugly" nuisance species.  I'm quite confident that I won't be fighting off fishing traffic for this terrific fish in my neck of the woods anytime soon.  Until that day comes, I'll enjoy roaming my home waters with pup in toe, reminiscing on a time before fishing for carp was cool.

Walker's Cay Chronicles

Here is a great resource for anyone interested in watching some old episodes of Walker's Cay Chronicles.  Great storytelling, genuine enthusiasm for the sport and for nature, and some awesome fish.  No Rock 'n' Roll, heavy metal hero shots required!  Enjoy...

http://hellsbayboatworks.com/media-pages/media-walkers-cay-chronicles-1

Daydreaming of Home

Old marble-eye

As a kid who loved fishing (and knew nothing about fly-fishing) I clamored for anything fishing related.  When I wasn't able to get out to the local stock dams, or take a trip to the Black hills, television was my vise.  Walker's Cay Chronicles, Spanish Fly, Tony Dean Outdoors were some of my favorites.  These shows did not captivate me with huge fish and hero shots while rock 'n' roll or heavy metal music played in the background.  Rather, these storytellers painted a picture with words.  They told a story that sent me on a whirlwind adventure in my own mind.  So began a life of daydreaming.  Fishing in exotic locations for fish so beautiful you have to see them in person to believe their brilliance.  Traveling across state borders to be tested by the best fish that respective state has to offer.  But how often do we daydream of home?

One of my favorite snapshots of all time...

I'm ashamed to admit that it is not as often as I should.  Even when I daydream of my home state of South Dakota, It typically involves me standing in rapid creek as the sun dips closer to the horizon for what can only be described as kamikaze trout attacking the helpless insects that await on the surface.  There is a time, however, when the lilac's bloom, the water temperature warms, and the fish begin to feed on the river.  I then find that while I've been dreaming of fishing elsewhere, others have yearned for the chance to visit South Dakota's State Capital.  And why wouldn't they?  Smallies, white bass, largemouth bass, an amazing northern pike fishery in Lake Oahe, hungry carp, and don't forget the walleyes on the fly!  We even have giant rainbows in the winter/spring.  We have so much variety, so many fishing opportunities throughout the year, it's impossible to be bored in this city if you have a fly rod in your hand.

I believe this is likely true for many great fisheries in this country.  Taken for granted by local fly fishing enthusiasts, and somewhat forgotten as a dream-worthy fishery.  I won't let that happen to me anymore.

Next time I need a break, rather than daydreaming of a beautiful white sandy flat on South Andros Island surrounded by 8 lb bonefish, I may just be wading a sandy bay in Oahe Downstream recreation area with a school of common carp nose down headed straight toward me.  Time for me to make a cast...

How can you HATE the Bighorn River?

I had an interesting conversation with a guide/fly snob prior to heading out west.

Me:  Yeah, we're haeding out to the Bighorn for a week.  Pretty excited about it.











Fishing Snob:  Hmm...I hate the Bighorn.  Too many people.  I'd much rather go someplace else.













Me:  Hmm...Good to know.  See you later.

How can you hate the Bighorn River?  I get that it's one of the most heavily fished streams in Montana. I get that fly snobs and enthusiasts will travel from all around for the chance to show their stuff, or get a heavy dose of humility.  But to say you HATE the bighorn river because of other fisherman is snobbery at its finest.

The Bighorn boasts 10,000 fish per mile.

 The best part of our three full days of fishing, I caught all of my fish in near solitude.  Whether because I was fishing while it was 15 degrees fahrenheit on day one,  fishing spots that had been passed up time and time again, or just finding the "fishy" spots, I was catching fish without competing with the masses.  At one point during day one, a great group of guys from Spokane approached me to see if they could fish the stretch of water around me.  I'm not sure if they had watched me catch a few fish, or if they were genuinely interested in this stretch of water.  I let them have it, chatted for a while and moved on to the next hole.  I'll camp out on a spot once I find some fish, but I'm not going to be opposed to moving on unless I know there is a beast in there I've yet to catch.  Even then, I'd still be willing to let a fellow fishing enthusiast have their shot.  As long as they aren't a snob.  Like I said, if I can't find a few fish out of 10,000 per mile, I might need to go back to the drawing board.

We had a great trip out west, and it's something I've come to look forward to throughout the year.  Not only because of the fishing, but the challenge presented (elements, bugs, changing conditions), camaraderie, and chance to see some magnificent fish up close and personal.  Don't turn into a fishing spot snob.  Let's find appreciation for the great resources around us and make the most of our time on the water with friends and family.  Life is too short to hate a fishing spot, or to not fish the Bighorn River. Here are some more snapshots of some beauties you won't find anywhere else:

The Toothier The Better

They're getting a bit bigger...

While chasing spring rainbows in the bays and marinas of Pierre, it's inevitable that you'll eventually cross paths with the toothy northern pike that occupy the river system in abundance.  Pierre (lake Oahe in particular) is knows nationally for producing some of the largest spring northerns around.  While traditional fisherman utilize quick-strike rigs, treble hooks and large chubs or shiners; the right fly has a special way of enticing northerns to take a bite.  While I've yet to venture up top (to Lake Oahe) for spring/summer Northerns on the fly, I hope to this year.  40"+ fish are commonplace, and I'm willing to guess they would be more than willing to try the fly.  Not likely they've seen it much before.  Seems to me there is going to be some unmet demand this spring.  Time to get the boat ready...

This guy took a "dying" streamer presentation

So Pumped Right Now!

I don't really have anything to say at this point.  Still too pumped about today.  Persistence and positivity pay off I guess.  The photos will say it all.

1st of two hogs caught in Oahe Marina on Saturday

This is one of the many reasons why I fish.

I was so pumped!!