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.

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.