Resolved...

Another turn of the wheel, another trip around the sun.  Another cake with candles, another year with the girl of my dreams.  And another year older.  A few weeks ago, I woke up-early-in a cold sweat, and realized that I was staring right down the barrel at the big 6-oh.  The years fly by, and in spite of my best efforts to stay athletic and healthy and relevant, old age is sneaking up.  Sixty sounds OLD.  God only knows how much longer I have to flit around this big blue ball, and it seems to me that 2012, while a fabulous year for family and career-was almost a complete bust when it comes to fishing.  I have not ventured out since JUNE!!! That's right-JUNE!!!!  Perhaps I can remedy that in 2013.

Big news in my family-and it pertains to fishing, sort of.  My baby boy Hunter is moving to Denver this week.  Hard for me to believe that my blue-eyed, bouncing blonde baby boy, the last of my four, is man enough to move to another state.   It might as well be another world.  He will be following his dream, studying acting and film at the Colorado Film Institute.  Pretty sure this missus and I will find time for a few junkets up there.  Maybe this June, I'll be sharing some trout water with Hunt. 

If I have one item at the top of my bucket list, it would be a late fall trip to the Devil's River.  This needs to happen soon, while I'm still fit enough to take the abuse.  So, this year's guided extravaganza will probably be a brief junket to visit the Devil. 

After fishing twice with Chris Shafer on the Brazos, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll do that again.  And, I am now convinced that a fourteen foot jon boat is the absolute perfect vessel
for flyfishing.  I plan on treating myself to a new one for my birthday on 1/17, and outfitting it with seats, a trolling motor, a front mounted depth finder, and  an anchor system.  I've already got a trailer, but will upgrade to sixteen inch wheels and new tires.  This should be ideal for the tiny lakes that I frequent in North Texas as well as the upper and lower Brazos. 

I had originally pencilled in a return visit to Alaska this year, but that's going to have to wait 'til next year.  2014 is a pink year, anyway, and the pinks were amazing fun on Montana Creek.  Next year, we are going to stay at a bed and breakfast in Talkeetna.   Mid-July of this year will bring another giant family excursion to Disney World.  Maybe I can squeeze in an Indian River adventure during that time period-maybe a tarpon????

As some of you know, running has become a passion for me in my old age. Science shows that daily running can add up to twelve years of meaningful, healthy life to the average American male.  Don't know about you, but I can surely put another twelve years to good use.  Tam and I are going to do the Disney "Wine and Dine" Half Marathon next fall, and my running resolution is to average eighteen miles a week this year.  Looking at last year's log, I trudged just under 700 miles for 2012.  That's down a bit from 2011, a bit under fourteen per week. I need to remedy that disparity.  I did too many two mile jaunts in 2012-they need to be at least four miles.  I started out with a five miler today.  Also, I need to do one long run per month-at least eight, maybe ten.  Life is too precious to waste-I need as much as I can get!

Once again, I was too slow on the draw to get into the Steve Hollinshed Blue Damsel excursion to fish the skwala hatch in early April on Montana's blue ribbon streams.  They do have some openings in April, but that coincides with the Green-to-Green 10k Run in Houston, and I have committed to run that with my wife and girls.  It's a hoot of a run on Earth Day.  The World's Fastest 90 year old guy runs  that race-about ten minutes faster than I can!!!  Maybe I can hook up with Steve and Keith and the whole blue damsel crew in 2014.  And-believe it or don't, I have never fished Texoma with Steve.  He is the absolute master of this amazing fishery-I should take advantage of that.

So what do I expect to accomplish in 2013?  How about a few days, self guided, on the Brazos below PK, and again below Whitney.  Surely I can find the time for that this spring.  How about a few days in the blue ribbon fisheries of the Gunnison area?  How about a trip or two per month on the local mini-lakes, like Loy and Waterloo?   How about a trip with Steve on Texoma?  How about round three with Chris in the arms of God?  We never have hit it just right. How about a couple of days on the Eisenhower arm of Texoma in May-by myself?  And, if it ever rains again, how about a float down the might Red to Carpenter's Bluff?  Don't forget little daytrips to the beautiful Blue and the amazing Lower Mountain Fork. ( If you go, stop for fried shrimp at the Valero station in Fort Towson)

So-there you have it.  Fifty-seven in the books, about to embark on lucky number fifty-eight.  May 2013 bring you luck, and life, and love, and joy.  My prayer is, that for you and for me, this is the best year ever. Peace out.

June 1 on the Brazos-saying "Nay" to the naysayers

So, I made my annual pilgrimage to the Brazos below PK.  Last Memorial Day, I recorded my experiences with some nice carp and a juicy cheeseburger. This week,  a guy (from the metroplex) on an internet message board was looking for advice on good rivers in the New Mexico for his upcoming vacation.  Then, he went on to say that he had limited dollars and an unreliable vehicle.  I had the temerity to suggest that perhaps it would be better to stay a little closer to home, and added that this stretch of the Brazos is a fascinating and productive stretch in the early summer.   Some nimrod on the   board jumped all over me for recommending this stretch for summertime, noting that "it smells bad and is covered with slime".   You know, you can talk bad about my wife, my kids, and my dog-but don't say anything negative about the beautiful, beautiful, Brazos River.  Cool and green, a little salty, and blessed with a huge biomass, the Brazos has nurtured, sustained, and yes, even saved lives for tens of thousands of years.  She remains my home water, and my favorite piece of water in the world.  Alaska, Montana, Florida, Canada, Wyoming, Colorado, New Mexico, Mississippi, the Hill Country, the Bahamas, Arkansas, Missouri-even Oklahoma-I have been blessed to fly fish in more than my share of exotic locales.  There is, however, no place like home.  Sure, she gets a little low and green and goopy in the summer, but this is TEXAS, for Christ's sake.  What do you expect?  I guess it was General Sherman who observed that, if he owned both Hell and Texas-he'd live in Hell and rent Texas out.  It's hot, and it's dry, and it's windy-but it's by-god Texas, and I'll love her 'til I die.  So, to defend Mother Brazos's reputation, and to check it out for myself, I  made a mad Friday afternoon dash to the dam.

 After dumping the dog at the farm, I slipped in to the water about four o'clock in the afternoon, with a brisk southerly wind and a temp of about 95.   Cool and green, a little mossy, and just enough current to counteract the wind.  Fish were visible everywhere, and most were willing to bite.  The first bass I saw sucked up my foam topwater bug without hesitation.  After five or six refusals, though-I switched to a black cone-head wooly bugger  and stayed with variations of that pattern the rest of the day.   I was pleased and surprised to find that a bugger, fished deep and slow in the main pool, was poison for channel cats.  I pulled six or eight from that hole, and could have stayed with that pattern all day.  "Never leave fish to find fish" they say-but I did just that.  I wanted to catch a few more bass, and scout for stripers and sand bass.  I did find a few smallish blacks, but the Roccus species eluded me.  I hear the early morning bite is better for those particular species, but I was long gone the next day.  All in all, I'm guessing I had a hundred or so fish on, in the middle of the afternoon, on public waters.  You've got free camping, bathroom facilities, cell signal,  even sort of a boat ramp at the highway 16 crossing.  (That low water bridge, by the way, now known as the John Graves Memorial Bridge-is worth the trip just to see the dang thing).  It would be nice if there was a takeout at eight miles for boats, but there isn't.  But-down and back (against the current, but generally with the wind) is possible if there is any flow at all.  Without much flow, like today, you're better off wading.   My only real complaint about this area is the difficult, dangerous climb in and out of the river at the dam.  I don't understand  how a park that has been in existence for seventy-something years has not been improved.  The Red below Texoma has multiple wide, stable, un-erodable concrete stair wells that lead right to the water's edge.  Here, you scramble up and down in a few thorn-ridden, slick, snakey, damn near vertical cliffs.  I think I'll write my congressman.  

There you have it.  Reports of the Brazos's demise have been greatly exaggerated.  Had I been able to be there at first light, and able to climb down in to the river in the near dark, I'm certain I could have worn myself out on stripers and sandies.  Bass and sunfish, on the other hand, prefer banker's hours, and don't really heat up until the sun is on the water.  Didn't have time for a cheeseburger at the world's loneliest Whataburger, but stopped at Chicken-E for a bunch of hot wings on my way back to the farm-and Tucker. 

Views of the Culvert Hole.  I've caught a million fish out of this hole over the last forty years or so.  The culverts have begun to show their age.  The water was surprising clear and cool.

 Dozens of sunnies-greens, red bellies, yellow bellies, pumpkinseeds.  No bluegills today.

 Two nice views up towards the dam.  Can you spot the guys on the scaffolding?  Lots of work going on on the old Morris Shepard dam.

 There are some fine flatheads in this section of the river.  I've never caught one, but this seems to be proof.  Two groups of guys were seining shad to use for the evening flathead bite.  Good luck, gents!

 Who says there is no water being released?

 Lots of kitties in the pool, all caught on a black Woolly Booger.  Biggest about two,  most less than a pound.  Kind of neat, though, to see all these healthy young cats in this cool flowing water.

 A chunk.

 Several little basses, about this size.

 This is what a woolly booger looks like when it retires.   Maybe a hundred bites.

 Even a little drum.

 Lots of trash in the river-as always.  Even a roll of adhesive tape.  Also, you can see the sediment on the rocks.  Pretty slick.  We need a good wash-out.

An unceremonious end to a great fish.  Can't understand the carp/gar hate.

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.