In the Arms of God-Part II

Okay-here are some fish.  Today's were all taken on a yellow Boone's frog, in a tough post-spawn period with rising water and thirty mph winds from the south.  Some strikes were aggressive, others were half-hearted.  No fish at all until about ten o'clock, which meant we had left some promising smallmouth waters in our rear view mirror.

Above is a view of Indian Creek, where the oldest human remains found in the US were discovered.  Turns out they were Asian. We pulled in here for our lunch break, and were entertained by two juvenile spotted bass who cruised up and down nookin po nub.  I had a pastrami sandwich from the Czech Stop-I would have taken a photo, but I wolfed it down too quickly.  Delicious!  Read about the Horn Shelter here:  http://www.texasbeyondhistory.net/horn/

Water still a little murky from last night's release.

Two solid bass.  Probably a spot and a largemouth.

A great trip, an easy drive, and a comfortable night in the Czech Inn in West, Texas.  I found out that a lightweight jon boat is a more efficient way to traverse these shallow Texas Rivers, more suited to my style.  Much more comfortable for my creeky old back, easier to stand in, capable of carrying more gear, much better visibility than hunkered down in my kayak.

Trusty Boone's frog, none the worse for wear.  

In the Arms of God

Much like the late lamented Francisco Vasquez de Coronado, my body and soul were thirsting for clear, free flowing, life sustaining rivers of life.  After a brief visit with Mom in Fort Worth, I headed down I35 to the tiny town of West, Texas, best known for the always-busy Czech Stop Ser-Sta-Gro and bakery.  The Czech Inn, a nice little motor hotel just off the highway, was my home for the night.  Let me say I was impressed with the friendliness and comfort of that establishment.  Nice pool, nice sauna, excellent exercise room, and the "Las Palmas Taqueria" right in parking lot.  I was set.  The next morning, I was up early to meet Chris Shafer for a float down the middle portion of the Brazos de Dios, from just north of 2114 almost to Waco.  We met at the dam, and then trailered off to a secret hidey hole launch on down the river.  A group of young adults-early twenties, maybe-had found the spot and had actually camped across the county road, blocking access to the river.  Chris convinced them that moving might be a good idea, before the landowner came down for his daily property check.  Good thing.  So, on down the green Brazos.  Fishing was pretty slow, slow enough that Chris invited me back for a rematch after things settle down a little.  And, to make matters worse,I couldn't seem to drive a hook home to save my life.  I missed at least half of my strikes, and lost the biggest fish of the day when it dove into the weeds and pulled off.  Nevertheless, I caught more than enough to be satisfied. Chris is a thoroughly interesting man, having fished the BASS circuit "back in the day", has run his own lodge, has invented tackle and lures, and even hosted a tv show for a while.  Smart, capable, observant, and thoughtful, he is truly a gifted guide.  After another wonderful day on a new stretch of water-maybe my favorite yet, my thirst for flowing water is quenched.  My spirit has been renewed by encountering the Brazos, just as thirsty Coronado's life was saved by providentially stumbling upon these very waters.  Chris has invited me back for round two sometime in June.  I'll take him up on that.  

A few views of the beautiful old Whitney dam.

Every afternoon, lately-there has been a significant release.  The lake is full going in to the summer for the first time since 2008.

A major expedition preparing to leave from the dam.  Two one-man cats, a kayak, and a two man drift raft.  They fought headwinds to thirty mph all day, then got caught up in a three foot rise.  Hope they had a good time!

Last time I was at Whitney, I got food poisoning from a burger joint.  And you could fish up below the dam.  Thanks, Homeland Security!

The wild flowers had peaked weeks earlier, but still put on a good showing.

Looks like the hog traps put out by the TPWD work.  They might want to check them a little more often.

Although not nearly as spectacular as the soaring cliffs below PK, there were enough cliffs and dripping springs to take a few photos.

Downstream from the launch.

It takes a Humvee to launch at places on this river.  The sign?  It says "NO Trespassing".  Not to worry-Chris knows a guy.

These goobers were camped right below the no trespassing sign.  and blocking the ramp.  More photos to come in Part II.

Poppers Got A Brand New Bag

Now for something entirely different-

Muggy and overcast and pretty darn windy at Crawfish Pond across the road from the new Hagerman Visitor's Center.  After a long run, my pooped-out pup and I took the Sage Smallmouth out for a spin.  Aside from the usual stunted sunnies, this little jewel sucked in a black popping bug, and hooked himself well enough to allow for a quick photo op.  I had seen him cruising the weedline with some of his brothers, and took a shot at him just for the halibut.  In forty-five years of flyfishing, this is the first time I've ever taken a whiskered fish on top.  Nymphs, yes.  Streamers-quite a few.  But a popper-this was unique.  A few casts later, I scooped up another one-only not quite as large.  (read that-about four inches) I'm guessing the Fish and Wildlife may have stocked a few in the ponds in preparation for the kid's fishing day later in May.

Down the San Marcos-with Marcus

 Ahhhhh-the Hill Country.  I have wondered aloud why every body doesn't live in the Hill Country.  More and more, though, nearly every body does.  To experience the beauty of the region you've got to get away from the crowds.  That means you either have access to a high fenced ranch, or you take a worthy craft and paddle down one of the gems of the Hill Country.  On this date, I had arranged to float the San Marcos with expert guide and canoeist Marcus.  I had fished with Marcus before, and had found him to be as pleasant, competent, and capable as a guy could be.  Seems he knew every tree, every plant, every fish, and every snake (including the little copperhead that I damn near stepped on-and Marcus probably did step on- at lunch.)  He knew where the fish would be, suggested areas to cast, flies to use, and styles of retrival.  Most importantly, he didn't complain when he had to rescue flies from tree tops, and didn't laugh at my sometimes competent casting. All in all, I had a great day, and I hope he did, too.

Up stream and downstream from the launching area.

If you find the sign that says Caldwell on one side and Guadalupe on the other, you'll be there.

First, you have to paddle under the bridge and navigate this dam.  This is Alvin, another well-known Hill Country fly fishing guide, deadlining his raft down a steep staircase.

One of the reasons for choosing the San Marcos, aside from the fact that it still has flowing water, was its' reputation as a fine spot to catch a Rio Grande Perch-this was my first ever, and I was able to scratch off another item from my bucket list.

Lots and lots of bass of various genetic makeup.  A few probably pure largemouth, lots of guadalupe-smallmouth hybrids, and a few that appeared to be spotted bass.  Who knows-certainly not me.

Hero shot of Marcus-he is my hero, after all.  He even tied a blood knot for me.

At the takeout.  He doesn't look like a guy who got up at five, drove for an hour, picked up his client, paddled nine miles, caught fish, tied knots, told stories, gave advice, cooked lunch, dodged a copperhead, took pictures, and showed me a grand time.  Thanks Marcus, for another great day.

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