Guess Who’s BACK!!!!!!!!

CHI-KOW!!!! For those in the know, that’s a karate chop. After all of this time i finally found the app to upload a blog post… From my phone! How amazing is this world we live in? This thing we call technology. Just wow. I’m a pretty happy camper right now and i feel the need to recap this entire year. Granted, I’ve probably lost all of my readers, but it’s like a new beginning for me into an era of technology. My “konnetic” rod has been giving me advice on the future and says that i should really get with the times. Heck, even Sanders has begun the “neofly” slang without me.

It all began on a cold night, the kind of night fishing dreams are made of. I remember it perfectly. March something, 2012 was the date originally a pristine white on the calendar now carried the burden of a big black “X”. The gravestone of a buried day. The screams of drunken teenage skiers pierced the quiet dead cold night. I tied on the desk lit by a tiny lamp in the ancient hotel room. “The Usual” seemed to be the bug of bugs this winter season. The more I tied, the more i grew tired. My winter gear was in the laundry below the party. No sleep, the gear will find new legs.

The morning began and i was off to a late start so I figured, “why not do some fact finding at a local shop?” After shopping for a few, I saw it. My new fishing buddy. The one that would be with me for the rest of my life, the one to talk to me when I’m feeling lonely, the one to pick me up when I’m down. “The One” Who says you can’t buy love? Some may call me a sellout, Nate, John T. In my defence, I’ve had my old rod for the past 15 or so years. Time for a new one, and Nate, you have broken more 100 dollar rods in your life than this one cost.

When I finally made it up the Taylor, it was -8 degrees. Some may say that is too cold for fishing, but they were rising. The One was at home fishing with me, it new it’s fate. Since then, The One and I have…

Caught Blue River brutes,

11 Mile maniacs,

Crystal River crazies,

Frying Pan-handlers,

And participated in the g-town beat-down.

Also, not pictured was a natural tiger trout and some other assorted very large fish. The One was also with me when… I slid down the side of a mountain, was sucked into a river, almost broke my leg and hand and arm (all different occasions), nearly froze to death, attacked by bees and ants, and nearly struck by lightning.

This is what you have been missing and I apologize for the stories that I couldn’t tell, but today begins a new beginning. A very exciting and fun beginning. I’m ready? Are you?

Life and the River

The plan always begins at work. A small match lit in a cavern. The walls of which reflect vague ideas and a smattering of light for my planned day off. Throughout the course of the day, the flame of the match grew brighter, or my eyes grew accustomed to the low light to see a perceivable future. The path lead deeper into the mind’s eye and distanced itself from what I was doing with my hands. My automated flesh body acted and reacted from memory as if it were reciting Shakespearian quotation, while deep within the abyss of the mind, I was on the water. Relaxed and retreated from the hectic world that is life. I was already gone while the tiny part of the brain worked in form and function, and social small talk. Chaos and the unknown ruled. New water awaited.

Winter really has it’s downs for fishing. The cold, slow fishing, freezing guides, frozen water, busy tailwater, snow, and tiny bugs are just a small portion of winter woes. (Feel free to add to that list) With all of that being said, there is one major perk. A hotel room. Hot shower? Check. Flat screen TV? Check. Delivered pizza? Check. Ultra cozy King-Sized bed? Über check.

I didn’t remember waking up or getting lost in town, but I remember my first look at the water. It didn’t look promising. The 30mph wind ripped over the dam and through the handful of trees that spotted the riverbanks. The wind made it very difficult to cast upstream, but the fishing proved to be right on the money. 

The wind blew into the core of me as I cast into it. My love for fishing pushed back by it, forcing me to get too close to my quarry to be comfortable. When the sound of the wind calmed, the eerie silence crept in. The trees popped and snapped as they swayed as the river grew louder. The sound was calming. You could almost hear the insects footfalls on paper-like bark that wrapped the willows. Small pieces of dirt fell into the water as I walked the bank in search of the perfect stretch of water. In no time I realized that I was there and that the analogy of life and the river was realized.

The Shuffle

Not much writing has been getting done on my end as of late. The winter season hasn’t been holding the fishing down. Already chalked up 4 good days on the water. Recently, the time to write a well thought out post is defeating me. The pen goes to paper and draws blank spaces to fill a word in the game of hangman. The Gallows are drawn and ready and the proverbial stickman awaits his fate. The stickman and I have something in common, our yet to be drawn bodies hang in wait until the next choice.

It is work that has been taking time and filling my head as of late. Fishing and other cerebral activities such as writing have been postponed until I get into the swing of things. The swing that balances life (fishing) and work.

It seems as of late, the more I become stressed, the more creative I become. The flies I have been tying are more fresh, relevant, new, and tied better than before. I’ve organized my supplies for once, because I realize that there must be some sort of chaos in my life for me to thrive. Now the seed of chaos is at work. Not bad chaos, but the need to keep putting it back into order like shuffled cards. You deal, play out the game, collect the cards, shuffle, and see what the next hand brings. Now, in the blog world, I shuffle. I’m betting big on my next hand.

Rehash 2011

2011′s Trout species list:

• Rainbow Trout
• Brown Trout
• Gila Trout
• Snake River Cutthroat Trout
• Golden Trout
• Rio Grande Cutthroat Trout
• Brook Trout
• Colorado River Cutthroat Trout
• Greenback Cutthroat Trout

I was hoping to add Apache Trout to the list, but the fires in New Mexico and Arizona Prevented me from doing so and the fire in Raton was my last straw. The path I took this year lead me here to Colorado. I’m proud of this list, even though not as vast as some, it made me feel good to look back on my fish this year. The list of people I met this year are just as diverse and I am glad that I met each and every person. From Anderson to Zimmerman and everyone in between (also glad that I met both an “A” and “Z” name, otherwise it wouldn’t sound so expansive). I had a blast on our trips or short meetings. Above all, I’d like to thank the readers of my lonely little world over here. All 4 of you.

Hmmm… Top 5 trips of last year in no particular order:

• Cutts with Sanders.
• A weekend with the boss.
• High country with Erin Block of Mysteries internal.
• Night fishing with John T.
• The weekend that lead me to Colorado.

This year, fly fishing took a ritualistic turn for me. Not as far as bathing in the blood of a lamb and dancing around a fire, but I have realized the things I have done for years are quirks to my style of fishing. I blame this on the people I fish with and the fact that I am able to talk about fishing more. I’m stuck in my ways. This really opens a whole new post, but I’ll keep it to myself for now. It was a good year and I hope it goes the same or better next year.

Oh, The Night (The First 50 Yards)

The night creeps in slowly, hauntingly. The air, much like the river, drains down the canyon walls bringing winter with it. Along the mountainside, diesel engines from groomers pave new paths for skiers, and like the inner workings of a clock, countdown the time before this river and others slow to an ice-choked crawl. There is tension along this river, yet a sweet peaceful light is cast by the moon emerging from the canyon walls. The moon ushered in the night as the wind ushered in winter. Work quickly. Work patiently. An inhale with the back cast. An exhale to lay the fly in the seam on the forward cast. The exhale previously invisible, was now visible. More peace. Each nervous heartbeat ticked away the seconds left in the day. In my head was the rush of the river , the breathing, the casting, the machinery, all a symphonic crescendo to the coming end. 

I watched my nymph swiftly sink into the seam, a flash, set, tension, an explosion, release. Twice. Then, I hooked into my first 10″ freight train on this river. 

I looked at the moon. It shined a brighter light upriver. Begging me to test the waters further upstream. The leviathon awaits.

“Project Healing Waters Is a Go. Over.” *click*

I’ve been getting the itch to build a rod lately. I’m growing tiresome of the 15+ year old 5 wt. I have been using as my duty rod. My natural inclination is to ask someone I know to help me out. Enter Larry from Fly Fishing Crazy. We chatted about the blanks that I would purchase for my first build. For me to get acquainted with the process, I decided on building an 8wt. It didn’t take long after the decision was made before Larry brought up Project Healing Waters and the rods that T.L. Johnson has made to also support the effort. Did I mention that it was in his truck the whole time?

Project Healing Waters is an organization dedicated to the assistance of disabled vets through fly fishing. Unlike a lot of organizations out there, I can actually sum it up in that one sentence. Crazy, right? I have a few military friends and I know how active duty can change a person. My brother is one such soldier, sent to Iraq to fight. Coming back, he seemed a lot different and his social interactions with other civilians were gone. We took a lot of trips that summer and fishing really changed something in him. He said that it allowed him to concentrate on something other than the past, to focus on a new endeavor. A lot of these returning soldiers need that same kind of help. Injured or uninjured. PHW provides that support through tying and casting classes as well as fishing trips.

My Mission: To test the 4wt. T.L. Johnson Army #001 and return it safely to Larry.

My Location: Cache La Poudre; approx 1400 hours

Synopsis: I loved the 4wt. You could feel the rod load and release, giving you a smooth and accurate cast with a great presentation. The loading came in really handy when mending line. The rod easily threw around 5-6′ of line almost effortlessly. Too effortlessly for me. I would throw out a 6′ mend when I wanted 6″. Something I got used to in a short period of time. I’m used to nearly roll casting to get a 2′ mend in my old rod. The rod really did everything I wanted and the line followed it’s instruction like a soldier and his general. There were only two drawbacks to the rod (Larry told me to be honest). If you overload the rod it under performs. Which by all means exists in every rod out there, and the way this rod is made, you can feel that overload point and how much leeway it gives you is fantastic. Issue #2: There is a slight delay of about 1/4 to 1/2 second in the hookset time. The rod loads a bit if you try to quickly set the hook, making longer distances more difficult to set, but remember that this is a 4wt. You shouldn’t be trying to lay out 70′ of line. The playing of fish was fantastic as well, I could have easily fought a fish with an 8x tippet. The flex of the rod was great, and it holds a lot of power in the lower third. All in all, this rod was great! It really reminds me of a woman. If you try to push her to do something, she won’t. If you don’t ask, she does it on her own and then some.

Now… Should I finish the mission and return the rod? Oof… tough choice.

More on the Poudre trip shortly…

To edit this post, I did not mention that when you purchase a rod 20% and $20 of the purchase price go to Project Healing Waters. Order them here! You know that Christmas is coming…

The Best Bad Good Day Ever

Recently Sanders and I made a trip to one of the most fishy looking rivers on the planet Earth. The South Platte. To me, fishy is technical, confusing, and incredibly hard to fish. Just my style. Fishing isn’t really fun unless you work at it. This day was that very definition of the word fun. It was the best bad good day a person could have. Good: Watching healthy fish feed in every seam. Bad: Well, I guess that deserves a story.

The day started early with a phone call that I thought was my alarm. It was Sanders, I answered.

Me: Hello?

Sanders: You ready?

Me: (thinking Sanders was lost in my part of town trying to get directions) Where are you?

Sanders: In front of your house.

Me: What time is it?

Sanders: 6:00 am

Me: Shit! I’ll be out there in a minute.

As I scurried out the door trailing my boots, bag, and fly rod behind me I thought that even the best good bad days ever begin with a hitch, right? My hair was matted down from the pillow and there were creases in my face from sleep. It’s ok when you are fishing. I guess that applies when I’m not at work. It was cold in the morning. In the rush, it went unnoticed. Before I knew it we were off. Then again, maybe I didn’t know. I hadn’t yet fully awakened. To the gas station for crullers and coffee! Closed. Ok, to the river!

If I remember correctly it was in the teens. That’s too cold for fishing. Not because it is hard to endure, but because of line freeze. Being from New Mexico, I know cold. It is a place where fishing in the morning is a pipe dream with days that start from 0 and go up from there into the 50′s. Here, it’s just cold. All day. That canyon never saw 35 that day.

When we peeled ourselves from the warm car to greet the river I was chilled to the bone. Must have been 33 degrees. I’m not cold when the temps drop below 33 or when they are above 35 or so, but when it is in the 30′s woah nellie. We gawked at the river and the fish that were crowded therein. I walked along the ice that had collected on the waters edge. I had forgotten to bring the studded soles and was slipping around in the snow and ice. I felt like a child. I knew at some point it would give way, and it did. I’m glad I was wearing waders. I was ecstatic that the water was only knee deep. Hiking over snow covered boulders where the river was impassible was impossible. This is what I needed. Punishment. Punishment for a prior skunking. After wetting the lines in a few pools and coming up with nothing, I was only left with hope. Then, when we least expected it, success!

All of the time driving was worth it. Enduring the cold, worth it. Falling through the ice, worth it. Scrambling out of the house, worth it. Sanders stealing my glasses and holding them hostage, worth… Wait, that wasn’t really worth it. A day with a good friend and a few fish in the cold is the best bad good day I can think of.

Lesson 17: Test ice before walking on it. You never know how deep the water really is.

White Hot Love After a Blistering Cold Day

As I hiked down the trail back to the car I sang. Not a soul felt like hiking in that cold snow. I sang louder knowing that John and I were the only two people left on the trail. The karaoke disc in my head played silent Christmas songs and I sang them out loud to an empty hall. I’m sure John and the trees enjoyed it. After all, I feel like I’m a great singer and I’m sure the trees would agree.

The thoughts in my head were bouncing as well. The day was exceedingly hypnotic, fresh, crisp. I watched the snow collect on the pine needles and pull the dying grasses to the Earth. The clouds were low in the sky and the images of being there were perfect. The catching was on and my goal of the “Big Trio” was accomplished. There was a bounce in my step in the few miles of trail to the car.

Just before we made it to the car, I thought one last thought. Hot Chocolate. Not just any put-it-in-the-microwave cocoa. Cocoa from scratch. White Hot Cocoa. My mouth began to water and my body went into relaxation mode. After the hot cocoa, it becomes hibernation. Yes, this potent stuff has coma inducing side-effects. Here is how it is done:

Warm up 1 cup of cream in a big pot:

Add 1 cup of white chocolate morsels and allow them to melt, don’t get things too hot, good things take time:

Add 4 cups of half & half slowly. I usually do it 1 cup at a time every minute or so. If you go too fast the chocolate will recombine and leave strings of chocolate on top of your mug:

Right before you serve, add 1/4 teaspoon of the best vanilla you can find:

Serve. Enjoy. Hibernate.

Also, in an 8oz glass you are looking at like 1200 calories. Just saying. Note the beer mug I served myself, I need insulation this year.

The Secret Order

Freemasons, The Illuminati, Skull and Bones, Knights Templar, and a slew of others comprise a world unknown to most of us. Unless, you are a member of them. To the ones on the outside, it looks like hoodoo, like a farse of mystery that we here in our word will never understand. If you are in, you have the power to do things an ordinary person can not. The ability to side-step the law with a secret handshake. You can get special treatment at a nightclub with a certain ring. A few words to the right people and… you know. Problem solved.

As creepy and fanatical as secret societies are, they do serve some sort of purpose. It is their purpose, but it is still a purpose whether it be nefarious or noble. These purposes are secret. Secrets are power. The more secrets you know, the more important you are. Now that you know, you belong to the secret order.

Who doesn't know this symbol?

You are part of the most secretive of secret orders. One that has strict rules and moral that become more and more strict as you climb the chain. One with strange rituals that would blow your mind. A secret order that when members see each other in passing only a nod is exchanged. You are a fly fisherman.

Recently I was sent out on a high order mission to tie, modify, and test a few flies for a lofty client in The Secret Order (also known as my boss). A week or so ago while fishing 11 mile canyon we exchanged words about a fly stream side. He called it, “the orange crush”. Since the name of a fly exists by that name and my modifications to the size, contour, materials, and weight have changed, I have renamed it the orange sherbert. It is equally delicious.

There is another secret fly worth noting called the “Cromer”, but if I mentioned that, I might have to shake hands with people who know other people.

Lesson 16: Don’t share other people’s secrets and don’t talk about fight club.

Writers Block

I think every writer in the world writes about the block to get rid of it. It reminds me of that song in your head. You sing it out loud hoping that it goes away, or that skunk that rides along on your back. The blog here is giving me the smell of a good skunking and the rivers are yielding fish. The “Frenzy” really reminded me that I am an unpopular writer in the blogging world. Heck, even in the fishing world I’m not really known for anything. By no means is this a pity party, but you can feel free to bring some beer. I’m not a guide, I don’t work at a fly shop, I didn’t write a picture book of flies I have tied, my work isn’t published in a magazine, but I do spend well over a 3rd of my life on the water. Because of that, My writings and my trips sound the same to me. Walking away from this for a couple weeks was to get in order what I wanted this for. I want to make it more exciting for you guys. Here is a quick summary of the past two weeks:

Chased Brook Trout in the high country!

Climbed a tree for my last yellow sally.

Fished in the snow!

Ran through rambling rainbows .

Fished a great new river with John T. 

Caught a handful of Brown Trout this size.

Finally, although no pictures were taken, I fished with the boss again. In the same place as last time and it was even more fun this time. That was the past two weeks in a nutshell! I’ll Get you some fresh new posts next week!