Had some free time this afternoon and I took all three of my kids fishing. Now, I'm not hiding the fact that the real reason was so I could get my line in the water. But getting to spend time with them is more important. What tipped my scale was that my dad took me fishing, and it always seemed that I could never outfish him either. That wasn't the case today.
The wind has been blowing quite a lot and it has changed the beach where one of our tribs enters Lake Michigan. But there were still chromers frolicking. I had been reading and watching some videos on center pin reels and float fishing so I decided to try my hand at something like it. I used my spin caster (I know, I know. What's a fly fisher doing with a spin casting reel...) and kept the bail open as I threw some weighted spawn bags into the now formed lagoon. Several fish jumped again by the time I get my line wet. In fact, one of them did a complete gainer. I didn't have my camera to take that shot but it was amazing. Needless to say not even a bite. So, I grabbed my fly rod and helped my oldest daughter get some more practice casting. My other two children found some dead fish nearby. Overall it was a good time. I think with them, though, I'll go searching for Perch. I don't want to discourage them right away. But it is easy for them to have fun. I want to be like that. I want fun to bubble out of me for their sake. Dour is easy. Joy is sometimes hard to bring out. But being with them helps a lot.
Fall is here in SE Wisconsin. The weather has taken a decided turn for the more chilly and snow will be here soon as well. I was told that the steelies will continue to run until mid-October or so and some will even stay through the winter. All the tribs around here are milky and I'm still amazed that any sensible trout would dare venture through these waters. I miss those slick freestone streams in Montana, especially the Blackfoot.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Fly Rods, Reels, and Foofaraw
I've often wondered what makes a good rod a good fly rod. Fly shops can be some of the neatest and most depressing places on the earth. I build cabinets, so I'm not rolling in a lot of money. But like any good fly fisherman I'm addicted so I need lots of gadgets. How many zingers do I have on my vest now?
So, in Chicago there's this great Orvis store. I've been in there a couple of times very often drooling over the merchandise. Please don't misunderstand, I love good rods and good brand names. And if I make a purchase I will do so with thoughtful consideration. In fact, I love my Orvis rod. It's a great 9' 5wt. that I can pound some of the small streams around here with. But I've also got this Fenwick I've been fishing with for almost 15 years. It's big and it's got backbone--more than I thought. I just recently tussled with a 20+ lb. chromer and it held its own, proud to say. But I didn't pay a lot of money for it. In fact, my dad got it for me as a gift when the three of us (my brother included) all decided we wanted to fish with the fly. But it gets the job done.
You've got to admit, though having one of the cool rods on the water makes a statement. I see those statements all the time. In fact, we get so many guys from the Chicago area I almost feel threatened by an invasion and I've only been living in Wisconsin for about a year...is that normal? I almost feel that these are my home waters now and what right do you have to come fishing on our waters with your $3K outfit? Like I said, that's an odd feeling.
My mother-in-law gave me a bamboo rod one Christmas (she really understands me). I've fished with it one time. It was beautiful. I felt the ghost of Ernest Schwiebert standing right next to me. I didn't catch any fish, but I made sure that those around me were watching my bamboo get in some great action. And I felt in touch with the past. I was walking in the steps of Dan Bailey, Joe Brooks, Lefty Kreh, Bing Crosby, Schwiebert, et al. The list is endless. Nowadays, it's power fishing, trout bums, galore (I still secretly want to become a trout bum--I envy those guys).
So neophyte fly fisherman beware. You will plunk down mountains of cash for the simple pleasure of holding a piece of graphite or wood in your hands and you will lose sleep over the fact that you can't get out to the water fast enough.
Oh yeah, and wait till you decide that because you have spent so much money on that fly rod of your dreams you will now have to resort to tying your own flies.
So, in Chicago there's this great Orvis store. I've been in there a couple of times very often drooling over the merchandise. Please don't misunderstand, I love good rods and good brand names. And if I make a purchase I will do so with thoughtful consideration. In fact, I love my Orvis rod. It's a great 9' 5wt. that I can pound some of the small streams around here with. But I've also got this Fenwick I've been fishing with for almost 15 years. It's big and it's got backbone--more than I thought. I just recently tussled with a 20+ lb. chromer and it held its own, proud to say. But I didn't pay a lot of money for it. In fact, my dad got it for me as a gift when the three of us (my brother included) all decided we wanted to fish with the fly. But it gets the job done.
You've got to admit, though having one of the cool rods on the water makes a statement. I see those statements all the time. In fact, we get so many guys from the Chicago area I almost feel threatened by an invasion and I've only been living in Wisconsin for about a year...is that normal? I almost feel that these are my home waters now and what right do you have to come fishing on our waters with your $3K outfit? Like I said, that's an odd feeling.
My mother-in-law gave me a bamboo rod one Christmas (she really understands me). I've fished with it one time. It was beautiful. I felt the ghost of Ernest Schwiebert standing right next to me. I didn't catch any fish, but I made sure that those around me were watching my bamboo get in some great action. And I felt in touch with the past. I was walking in the steps of Dan Bailey, Joe Brooks, Lefty Kreh, Bing Crosby, Schwiebert, et al. The list is endless. Nowadays, it's power fishing, trout bums, galore (I still secretly want to become a trout bum--I envy those guys).
So neophyte fly fisherman beware. You will plunk down mountains of cash for the simple pleasure of holding a piece of graphite or wood in your hands and you will lose sleep over the fact that you can't get out to the water fast enough.
Oh yeah, and wait till you decide that because you have spent so much money on that fly rod of your dreams you will now have to resort to tying your own flies.
I started this endeavor--you know fly fishing--almost 20 years ago. My dad got it all started when I was little. My brother and I went a lot--we cut out of work several times to hit a small, beautiful stream in Missouri where we grew up. I also married a beautiful woman from Montana. Of course she doesn't fish. I also watched A River Runs Through It too many times to count. But I guess the clincher was the fish itself.
Like Norman MacLean, the Montana of my youth was a mystical place. As a family we would travel to Glacier Park and camp and picnic. The clear streams flowing from the mountainsides were teeming with life. My first rig was a stick, some line, and a gold hook. One of my cousins said to me, "Just throw your line in the water. You'll catch something." I'm not sure if he realized what he was saying to me.
After a couple of minutes I did indeed have something. I caught a glorious little Cutthroat and I was caught myself with the magic and beauty of that fish. My mom took a Polaroid of my smiling, toothless, six-year-old face. From that point on I have loved fishing--especially for trout.
Thoreau wrote, "Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." I partly agree, but I'm not a Transcendentalist. I do go fishing to catch fish, and more importantly big fish, but I also enjoy the beauty of the surroundings: the quiet of a pool, the chatter and singing of birds, the take of a trout on a dry. There's something immersive about the experience. In that way it does transcend reality and I'm thankful for it.
For the last few years I've been learning and practicing my dead-drifting technique. Never was I aware of the vast amounts of information regarding the various disciplines. I don't think I could go out on the water and point to a fisherman and say, "Oh, that's the Leisenring Lift." Rather, "Hey, that's a cool technique. I wonder if I could catch more fish that way." And that leads to questions and sometimes conversations and pretty soon it leads to shared stories and experiences. That's the good of the sport. Most fisherman love to talk about their passion. I do. That's why I'm writing of course. But I've also done it for a long time. Hopefully, some of my knowledge can be useful to others. I even have techniques that I like to use that others can benefit from as well. And I'm still learning. Especially in this area of the country, living on the shores of Lake Michigan. I've never gone after big fish before this. And I've had two encounters with Chromers. But I'll write about that later.
Like Norman MacLean, the Montana of my youth was a mystical place. As a family we would travel to Glacier Park and camp and picnic. The clear streams flowing from the mountainsides were teeming with life. My first rig was a stick, some line, and a gold hook. One of my cousins said to me, "Just throw your line in the water. You'll catch something." I'm not sure if he realized what he was saying to me.
After a couple of minutes I did indeed have something. I caught a glorious little Cutthroat and I was caught myself with the magic and beauty of that fish. My mom took a Polaroid of my smiling, toothless, six-year-old face. From that point on I have loved fishing--especially for trout.
Thoreau wrote, "Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after." I partly agree, but I'm not a Transcendentalist. I do go fishing to catch fish, and more importantly big fish, but I also enjoy the beauty of the surroundings: the quiet of a pool, the chatter and singing of birds, the take of a trout on a dry. There's something immersive about the experience. In that way it does transcend reality and I'm thankful for it.
For the last few years I've been learning and practicing my dead-drifting technique. Never was I aware of the vast amounts of information regarding the various disciplines. I don't think I could go out on the water and point to a fisherman and say, "Oh, that's the Leisenring Lift." Rather, "Hey, that's a cool technique. I wonder if I could catch more fish that way." And that leads to questions and sometimes conversations and pretty soon it leads to shared stories and experiences. That's the good of the sport. Most fisherman love to talk about their passion. I do. That's why I'm writing of course. But I've also done it for a long time. Hopefully, some of my knowledge can be useful to others. I even have techniques that I like to use that others can benefit from as well. And I'm still learning. Especially in this area of the country, living on the shores of Lake Michigan. I've never gone after big fish before this. And I've had two encounters with Chromers. But I'll write about that later.
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