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...

The Sandhills

While fishing in the beautiful Black Hills this past weekend, I was reminded of a trip we had taken down to the Sandhills of Nebraska a few years back.  It was also brought to my attention that a video was never produced.  Well, I hope this one accurately portrays the beauty of the area and the fish we had an opportunity to view up close and personal.  It was a great trip!



Snake River from Buddy Seiner on Vimeo.

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

White Bass Bonanza

I love talking to other anglers about their fishing experiences, fly fishing or otherwise.  Lately, I've happened across of number of folks who had a disappointing year in 2014 fishing for white bass.  You see, in Pierre, SD, we have a very special resource in our white bass population.  During the spring spawn and throughout the summer, they can be found in large numbers throughout the Missouri River system.  These fish are usually fat and sassy and very willing to take a variety of patterns.  And when you do it right, they rival walleye as table fare.

I can hardly recall an occasions where the white bass fishing has been less than stellar.  2014 was no exception.  I have expressed my surprise when the conversation briefly goes to white bass and thoughts or fears about low numbers.  While the numbers are not all time highs, they were still pretty great last year.  The fish did seem to be more particular in the patterns they favored, but were still very willing to take when presented with the right fly.  I remember one day in particular when I stood next to another angler at my favorite white bass spot hooking fish after fish.  His pattern offered the same color scheme as mine, however, was different in size and weight.  He did not hook a fish.  I offered one of the "working" flies, but he was content.  Awkward turtle moment...

Here is a short video featuring a few of the fish caught in 2014.  Early season fish were some toads!  Here's hoping for a 2015 run that rivals it.  Enjoy.



Whitey Ford Fourteen from Buddy Seiner on Vimeo.